Skip to main content

Full text of "The Catholic world"

See other formats 


iStJ^yvavrMO' 


v  &vr 

v 

THE 


•\ 


JJSK/S 


CATHOLIC  WORLD. 


MONTHLY  MAGAZINE 


OF 


GENERAL  LITERATURE  AND  SCIENCE. 


VOL.  XIII. 
APRIL  TO  SEPTEMBER,  1871. 


NEW  YORK: 

THE    CATHOLIC    PUBLICATION    HOUSE, 
9  "Warren  Street. 

1871. 


JOHN  ROSS  *  CO., 

PRINTERS  AND   STEREOTYPERS, 

27   ROSE   ST.,   NEW  YORK. 


* 

*• 


CONTENTS. 


Albertus  Magnus  Vindicated,  712 
America's  Obligation  to  France,  836 
Ancients,  the  Writing  Materials  of  the,  126 
Animas,  Las,  353 
Animals,  Love  for,  543 

Bishop  Timon,  86 

Bordeaux,  158 

Brebeuf,  Memoir  of  Father  John,  512,  623 

Carlyle  and  Pere  Bouhours,  820 

Catholic  Associations,  Spirit  of,  652 

Catholicity  and  Pantheism,  554 

Cayla,  A  Pilgrimage  to,  595 

Cecilia,  Saint,  477 

Church,  The,  Accredits  herself,  145 

Church,  What  our  Municipal  Laws  owe  to  the, 

342 
Civilization,  Origin  of,  492 

Dion  and  the  Sibyls,  56 

Dona  Kortuna  and  Don  Dinero,  130 

Dollinger,  The  Apostasy  of,  415 

Education  and  Unification,  i 
Education,  On  Higher,  115 
Egbert  Stanway,  377 

Egyptian  Civilization  according  to  the  most  Re- 
cent Discoveries,  804 
England,  The  Serial  Literature  of,  619 
Europe's  Future,  76 

Flowers,  305 

Froude  and  Calvinism,  541 

France,  America's  Obligation  to,  836 

Future,  The  Present  and  the,  452 

Galitzin,  The  Mother  of  Prince,  367 

Geneva,  The  Catholic  Church  in,  847 

Genzano  and  Frascati,  737 

Good  Gerard  of  Cologne,  The,  797 

Gottfried  von  Strassburg's  Hymn  to  the  Virgin, 


Independent,  A  Word  to  TAe,  247 
Infallibility,  577 
Ireland,  Ancient  Laws  of,  635 
Ireland.  The  Lord  Chancellors  of,  228 
Irish  Martyr,  An,  433 

Italian  Guarantees  and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff, 
566 


Laws,  Municipal,  and  the  Church,  342 
Letter  from  Rome,  134 
Letter  from  the  President  of  a  College,  281 
Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius,  772 
Locket,  The  Story  of  an  Algerine,  643 
Lourdes,  Our  Lady  of,  98,  255,  396,  527,  662,  825 
Lucas  Garcia,  785 

Mary  Benedicta,  207 

Mary  Clifford's  Promise  Kept,  447 

Mexican  Art  and  its  Michael  Angelo,  334 

On  Higher  Education,  115 

Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  189 

Our  Lady  of  Laurdes,  98,  255,  396,  527,  662,  825 

Our  Northern  Neighbors,  108 

Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future,  A, 

764 

Pantheism.  Catholicity  and,  554 
Pau,  504 

Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne,  677 
Present  and  the  Future,  The,  452 
Protestantism,  Statistics  of,  in  the  U.  S.,  195 

Reformation,  The,  Not  Conservative,  721 
Rome,  How  it  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago,  358 
Rome,  Letter  from,  134 

Saintship,  False  Views  of,  424 

Santa  Restituta,  Legend  of,  276 

Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father,  289 

Sauntering,  35 

Sayings  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Desert,  274 

Scepticism  of  the  Age,  The,  391 

Secular,  The,  Not  Supreme,  685 

Shamrock  Gone  West,  The,  264 

Sor  Juan  Inez  de  la  Cruz,  47 

Spanish  America,  Dramatic  Moralists  in,  702 

Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  U.  S.,  195 

St.  Januarius,  Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of,  772 

The  Church  Accredits  Herself,  145 
Unification,  Education  and,  i 

What  Our  Municipal  Laws  Owe  to  the  Church, 

342 
Writing  Materials  of  the  Ancients,  126 

Yorke,  The  House  of,  15, 169,  317,  461,  604,  746 


IV 


Contents. 


POETRY. 


"Amen"  of  the  Stones,  The,  16 
A  Pie  IX.,  684 

Disillusioned,  489 
Gualberto's  Victory,  96 
King  Cormac's  Choice,  413 
On  a  Great  Plagiarist,  206 
Rose,  The,  571 


Saint  John  Dwarf,  357 

Sancta  Dei  Genitrix,  771 

Sonnet,  603 

St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic,  745 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  133 

St.  Mary  Magdalen,  511 

The  Cross,  14 

The  True  Harp,  594 

To  the  Crucified  352 

Vespers,  273 
Warning,  The,  125 


NEW       PUBLICATIONS. 


Allies'  St.  Peter,  860 

Anderson's  Historical  Reader,  855 

Appleton's  Annual  Cyclopaedia,  575 

Barker's  Text-Book  of  Chemistry,  142 
Bret  Harte's  Poems,  144 

Caddell's  Never  Forgotten;  or,  The  Home  of 
the  Lost  Child,  853 

Catechism  Illustrated,  The,  854 

Clement's  Hand-Hook  of  Legendary  and  Mytho- 
logical Art,  143 

Coleridge's  Theology  of  the  Parables,  432 

Conyngham's  Sarsfield,  143 

Curtius's  History  of  Greece,  575 

Cusack's  History  of  Kerry,  855 

Divine  Liturgy  of  St.  John  Chrysostom,  573 
Elia;  or,  Spain  Fifty  Years  Ago,  141 

Fairbanks's  History  of  Florida,  857 
Familiar  Discourses  to  the  Young,  288 
Fifty  Catholic  Tracts,  430 
Folia  Ecclesiastica,  144 

Gaskin's  Irish  Varieties,  142 
Glosswood,  The  Countess  of,  288 

Hamilton's  Golden  Words,  860 
Heaven,  The  Happiness  of,  286 
Hefele  on  the  Christian  Councils,  718 
Hemenway's  Vermont,  857 
Higginson's  Sympathy  of  Religions,  286 
Holy  Exercise  of  the  Presence  of  God,  854 
Holmes  on  Mechanism  in  Thought  and  Morals, 

'39 
Historical  Gazetteer,  857 

Illustrated  Catholic  Suaday-School  Library,  573 
Jesus  and  Jerusalem,  140 

Kellogg's  Arthur  Brown,  143 
Keon's  Dion  and  the  Sibyls,  429 


La  Grange's  Thecla,  432 
Lallemant's  Spiritual  Doctrine,  287 
Lebon's  Holy  Communion,  573 
Life  and  Writings  of  De  Montfort,  141 
Life  of  St.  Gertrude,  859 

Martyrs  Omitted  by  Foxe,  575 
Meditations  on  the  Litany  of  the  Most  Holy  Vir- 
gin, 43i 

Miles's  Truce  of  God,  574 
Moran  s  Life  of  Archbishop  Plunkett,  574  858, 
Mrs.  Stowe's  Pink  and  White  Tyranny,  859 
Mulrenan's  Sketch  of  the  Church  on  Long  Is- 
land, 854 


Natural  History  of  New  York,  432 


Oakeley's  Priest  on  the  Mission,  719     • 
Perrone's  Divinity  of  Christ,  286 

Rome  and  Geneva,  285 

Russell's  My  Study  Windows,  427 

Seelye  on  Roman  Imperialism,  141 

Sestini'-s  Manual  of  Geometrical  Analysis,  856 

Seton's  Romance  of  the  Charter  Oak,  288 

Starr's  Patron  Saints,  853 

Stowe's  Little  Pussy  Willow,  144 

Sullivan's  Prayers  and  Ceremonies  of  the  Mass, 

144 
Synchronology  of  Sacred  and  Profane  History, 

144 

Vaughan's  Life  of  St.  Thomas  Aquin,  427 

Weiss's  American  Religion,  720 

West's  State  of  the  Dead,  574 

Whipple's  Literature  and  Art,  430 

Wonders  of  European  Art,  576 

Wonders  of  the  Heavens,  432 

Young's  Catholic  Hymns  and  Canticles,  719 


THE 


CATHOLIC  WORLD. 


VOL.  XIIL,  No.  73.— APRIL,  1871. 


UNIFICATION   AND    EDUCATION.* 


THE  Hon.  Henry  Wilson,  recently 
re-elected  senator  in  Congress  from 
Massachusetts,  may  not  be  distin- 
guished as  an  original  thinker  or  as 
a  statesman  of  commanding  ability, 
but  no  man  is  a  surer  index  to  his 
party  or  a  more  trustworthy  expo- 
nent of  its  sentiments  and  tenden- 
cies, its  aims  and  purposes.  This 
gives  to  his  article  in  The  Atlantic 
Monthly,  indicating  the  policy  to  be 
pursued  by  the  Republican  party,  a 
weight  it  might  not  otherwise  possess. 

Mr.  Wilson  is  a  strong  political  par- 
tisan, but  he  is  above  all  a  fervent 
Evangelical,  and  his  aim,  we  pre- 
sume, is  to  bring  his  political  party 
to  coincide  with  his  Evangelical  par- 
ty, and  make  each  strengthen  the 
other.  We  of  course,  as  a  Catholic 
organ,  have  nothing  to  say  of  ques- 
tions in  issue  between  different  politi- 
cal parties  so  long  as  they  do  not  in- 
volve the  rights  and  interests  of  our 


*  New  Departure  of  the  Republican  Party.  By 
Henry  Wilson.  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  Bos- 
ton, January,  1871. 


religion,  or  leave  untouched  the  funda- 
mental principles  and  genius  of  the 
American  system  of  government,  al- 
though we  may  have  more  or  less  to 
say  as  American  citizens ;  but  when 
either  party  is  so  ill-advised  as  to  aim 
a  blow  either  at  the  freedom  of  our 
religion  or  at  our  federative  system 
of  government,  we  hold  ourselves 
free,  and  in  duty  bound,  to  warn  our 
fellow-citizens  and  our  fellow-Catho- 
lics of  the  impending  danger,  and 
to  do  what  we  can  to  avert  or  ar- 
rest the  blow.  We  cannot,  without 
incurring  grave  censure,  betray  by  our 
silence  the  cause  of  our  religion  or  of 
our  country,  for  fear  that  by  speak- 
ing we  may  cross  the  purposes  of  one 
or  another  party,  and  seem  to  favor 
the  views  and  policy  of  another. 

Mr.  Wilson's  New  Departure  is 
unquestionably  revolutionary,  and 
therefore  not  lawful  for  any  party 
in  this  country  to  adopt.  It  is  ex- 
pressed in  two  words,  NATIONAL 
UNIFICATION  and  NATIONAL  EDU- 
CATION— that  is,  the  consolidation  of 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by  REV.  I.  T.  HECKER,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


Unification  and  Education. 


all  the  powers  of  government  in  the 
general  government,  and  the  social 
and  religious  unification  of  the  Ame- 
rican people  by  means  of  a  system 
of  universal  and  uniform  compulsory 
education,  adopted  and  enforced  by 
the  authority  of  the  united  or  conso- 
lidated states,  not  by  the  states  seve- 
rally each  within  its  own  jurisdiction 
and  for  its  own  people.  The  first 
is  decidedly  revolutionary  and  de- 
structive of  the  American  system  of 
federative  government,  or  the  divi- 
sion of  powers  between  a  general 
government  and  particular  state 
governments;  the  second,  in  the 
sense  proposed,  violates  the  rights 
of  parents  and  annihilates  the  reli- 
gious liberty  secured  by  the  constitu- 
tion and  laws  both  of  the  several 
states  and  of  the  United  States. 

The  general  government,  in  our 
American  political  system,  is  not  the 
national  government,  or  any  more 
national  than  the  several  state  gov- 
ernments. The  national  government 
with  us  is  divided  between  a  general 
government  having  charge  of  our  re- 
lations with  other  powers  and  inter- 
nal matters  of  a  general  nature  and 
common  to  all  the  states,  and  par- 
ticular state  governments  having 
charge  of  matters  local  and  particu- 
lar in  their  nature,  and  clothed  with 
all  the  powers  of  supreme  national 
governments  not  expressly  delegated 
to  the  general  government.  In  the 
draft  of  the  federal  constitution  re- 
ported by  the  committee  to  the  con- 
vention of  1787,  the  word  national 
was  used,  but  the  convention  finally 
struck  it  out,  and  inserted  wherever 
it  occurred  the  word  general,  as  more 
appropriately  designating  the  charac- 
ter and  powers  of  the  government 
they  were  creating.  It  takes  under 
our  actual  system  both  the  state  gov- 
ernments and  the  general  govern- 
ment to  make  one  complete  national 
government,  invested  with  all  the  pow- 


ers of  government.  By  making  the 
general  government  a  supreme  nation- 
al government,  we  make  it  the  source 
of  all  authority,  subordinate  the  state 
governments  to  it,  make  them  hold 
from  it,  and  deprive  them  of  all  inde- 
pendent or  undivided  rights.  This 
would  completely  subvert  our  system 
of  government,  according  to  which 
the  states  hold  their  powers  imme- 
diately from  the  political  people,  and 
independently  of  any  suzerain  or  over- 
lord, and  the  general  government 
from  the  states  or  the  people  orga- 
nized as  states  united  in  convention. 
A  more  complete  change  of  the  gov- 
ernment or  destruction  of  the  federa- 
tive principle,  which  constitutes  the 
chief  excellence  and  glory  of  our  sys- 
tem, it  would  be  difficult  to  propose, 
or  even  to  conceive,  than  is  set  forth 
in  Mr.  Wilson's  programme. 

Mr.  Wilson,  however,  is  hardly 
justified  in  calling  the  revolution  he 
proposes  a  "  New  Departure."  It 
has  been  the  aim  of  a  powerful  party, 
under  one  name  or  another,  ever  since 
1824,  if  not  from  the  origin  of  the 
government  itself.  This  party  has 
been  steadily  pursuing  it,  and  with 
increasing  numbers  and  influence, 
ever  since  the  anti-slavery  agitation  se- 
riously commenced.  At  one  time,  and 
probably  at  all  times,  it  has  been 
moved  chiefly  by  certain  business 
interests  which  it  could  not  advance 
according  to  its  mind  by  state  legisla- 
tion, and  for  which  it  desired  federal 
legislation  and  the  whole  power  of 
a  national  government,  but  which  it 
could  not  get  because  the  constitu- 
tion and  the  antagonistic  interests 
created  by  slave  labor  were  opposed 
to  it.  It  then  turned  philanthropist 
and  called  in  philanthropy  to  its  aid 
— philanthropy  which  makes  light 
of  constitutions  and  mocks  at  state 
lines,  and  claims  the  right  to  go 
wherever  it  conceives  the  voice  of 
humanity  calls  it.  Under  the  pretext 


Unification  and  Education. 


of  philanthropy,  the  party  turned 
abolitionist,  and  sought  to  bring  un- 
der the  action  of  the  general  govern- 
ment the  question  of  slavery  mani- 
festly reserved  to  the  states  several- 
ly, and  which  it  belonged  to  each  to 
settle  for  itself  in  its  own  way.  A 
civil  war  followed.  The  slaves  were 
emancipated,  and  slavery  abolished, 
professedly  under  the  war-power  of 
the  Union,  as  a  military  necessity, 
which  nobody  regrets.  But  the  par- 
ty did  not  stop  here.  Forgetful  that 
the  extraordinary  war-power  ceases 
with  the  war,  and  military  necessity 
can  no  longer  be  pleaded,  it  has,  un- 
der one  pretext  or  another,  such  as 
protecting  and  providing  for  the  freed- 
men  and  reconstructing  the  states 
that  seceded,  continued  to  exercise  it 
ever  fcince  the  war  was  over,  and  by 
constitutional  amendments  of  doubt- 
ful validity,  since  ratified  in  part  under 
military  pressure  by  states  not  yet  re- 
constructed or  held  to  be  duly  orga- 
nized states  in  the  Union,  it  has 
sought  to  legitimate  it,  and  to  incor- 
porate it  into  the  constitution  as  one 
of  the  ordinary  peace -powers  of  the 
government. 

The  party  has  sometimes  coincided, 
and  sometimes  has  not  strictly  coincid- 
ed, with  one  or  another  of  the  great 
political  parties  that  have  divided  the 
country,  but  it  has  always  struggled 
for  the  consolidation  of  all  the  powers 
of  government  in  the  general  gov- 
ernment. Whether  prompted  by  busi- 
ness interests  or  by  philanthropy,  its 
wishes  and  purposes  have  required 
it  to  get  rid  of  all  co-ordinate  and 
independent  bodies  that  might  inter- 
fere with,  arrest,  or  limit  the  power 
of  Congress,  or  impose  any  limitation 
on  the  action  of  the  general  govern- 
ment not  imposed  by  the  arbitrary 
will  of  the  majority  of  the  people,  ir- 
respective of  their  state  organization. 

What  the  distinguished  senator 
urges  we  submit,  therefore,  is  simply 


the  policy  of  consolidation  or  cen- 
tralization which  his  party  has  steadi- 
ly pursued  from  the  first,  and  which 
it  has  already  in  good  part  consum- 
mated. It  has  abolished  slavery,  and 
unified  the  labor  system  of  the  Un- 
ion ;  it  has  contracted  a  public  debt, 
whether  needlessly  or  not,  large 
enough  to  secure  to  the  consolidation 
of  the  powers  of  a  national  govern- 
ment in  the  general  government  the 
support  of  capitalists,  bankers,  rail- 
road corporators,  monopolists,  spe- 
culators, projectors,  and  the  business 
world  generally.  Under  pretence  of 
philanthropy,  and  of  carrying  out 
the  abolition  of  slavery,  and  abolish- 
ing all  civil  and  political  distinctions 
of  race  or  color,  it  has  usurped  for 
the  general  government  the  power  to 
determine  the  question  of  suffrage 
and  eligibility,  under  the  constitution 
and  by  the  genius  of  our  govern- 
ment reserved  to  the  states  severally, 
and  sends  the  military  and  swarms 
of  federal  inspectors  into  the  states 
to  control,  or  at  least  to  look  after, 
the  elections,  in  supreme  contempt  of 
state  authority.  It  has  usurped  for 
the  general  government  the  power 
of  granting  charters  of  incorporation 
for  private  business  purposes  else- 
where than  in  the  District  of  Colum- 
bia, and  induced  it  to  establish  na- 
tional bureaus  of  agriculture  and  edu- 
cation, as  if  it  was  the  only  and  un- 
limited government  of  the  country, 
which  it  indeed  is  fast  becoming. 

The  work  of  consolidation  or  uni- 
fication is  nearly  completed,  and  there 
remains  little  to  do  except  to  effect  the 
social  and  religious  unification  of  the 
various  religions,  sects,  and  races  that 
make  up  the  vast  and  diversified 
population  of  the  country ;  and  it  is 
clear  from  Mr.  Wilson's  programme 
that  his  party  contemplate  moulding 
the  population  of  European  and  of 
African  origin,  Indians  and  Asiatics, 
Protestants  and  Catholics,  Jews  and 


Unification  and  Education. 


pagans,  into  one  homogeneous  people, 
after  what  may  be  called  the  New 
England  Evangelical  type.  Neither 
his  politics  nor  his  philanthropy  can 
tolerate  any  diversity  of  ranks,  con- 
ditions, race,  belief,  or  worship.  A 
complete  unification  must  be  effected, 
and  under  the  patronage  and  authori- 
ty of  the  general  government. 

Mr.  Wilson  appears  not  to  have 
recognized  any  distinction  between 
unity  and  union.  Union  implies  plu- 
rality or  diversity;  unity  excludes 
both.  Yet  he  cites,  without  the  least 
apparent  misgiving,  the  fathers  of 
the  republic — Washington,  Adams, 
Jefferson,  Hamilton,  Jay,  and  Madi- 
son— who  were  strenuous  for  the  un- 
ion of  the  several  states,  as  authori- 
ties in  favor  of  their  unity  or  conso- 
lidation in  one  supreme  national  go- 
vernment. There  were  points  in 
which  these  great  men  differed  among 
themselves — some  of  them  wished  to 
give  more,  some  of  them  less,  power 
to  the  general  government — some  of 
them  would  give  more,  some  of  them 
less,  power  to  the  executive,  etc.,  but 
they  all  agreed  in  their  efforts  to  esta- 
blish the  union  of  the  states,  and  not 
one  of  them  but  would  have  opposed 
their  unity  or  consolidation  into  a 
single  supreme  government.  Mr. 
Wilson  is  equally  out  in  trying,  as 
he  does,  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
strong  popular  sentiment  of  the  Ame- 
rican people,  in  favor  of  union,  is  a 
sentiment  in  favor  of  unity  or  unifi- 
cation. 

But  starting  with  the  conception 
of  urtity  or  consolidation,  and  re- 
solving republicanism  into  the  abso- 
lute supremacy  of  the  will  of  the 
people,  irrespective  of  state  organi- 
zation, Mr.  Wilson  can  find  no  stop- 
ping-place for  his  party  short  of  the 
removal  of  all  constitutional  or  or- 
ganic limitations  on  the  irresponsible 
will  of  the  majority  for  the  time,  which 
he  contends  should  in  all  things  be 


supreme  and  unopposed.  His  re- 
publicanism, as  he  explains  it,  is  there- 
fore incompatible  with  a  well-order- 
ed state,  and  is  either  no  govern- 
ment at  all,  but  universal  anarchy,  or 
the  unmitigated  despotism  of  majo- 
rities— a  despotism  more  oppressive 
and  crushing  to  all  true  freedom  and 
manly  independence,  than  any  au- 
tocracy that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
The  fathers  of  the  republic  never 
understood  republicanism  in  this 
sense.  They  studied  to  restrict  the 
sphere  of  power,  and  to  guard  against 
the  supremacy  of  mere  will,  whether 
of  the  monarch,  the  nobility,  or  the 
people. 

But  having  reached  the  conclusion 
that  true  republicanism  demands  uni- 
fication, and  the  removal  of  all  re- 
strictions on  the  popular  will,  Mr. 
Wilson  relies  on  the  attachment  of 
the  American  people  to  the  republi- 
can idea  to  carry  out  and  realize  his 
programme,  however  repugnant  it 
may  be  to  what  they  really  desire 
and  suppose  they  are  supporting. 
He  knows  the  people  well  enough  to 
know  that  they  do  not  usually  discri- 
minate with  much  niceness,  and  that 
they  are  easily  caught  and  led  away 
by  a  few  high-sounding  phrases  and 
popular  catchwords,  uttered  with  due 
gravity  and  assurance — perhaps  he 
does  not  discriminate  very  nicely,  and 
is  himself  deceived  by  the  very  phrases 
and  catchwords  which  deceive  them. 
It  is  not  impossible.  At  any  rate, 
he  persuades  himself  unification  or 
consolidation  can  be  carried  forward 
and  effected  by  appeals  to  the  repub- 
lican instincts  and  tendencies  of  the 
American  people,  and  secured  by  aid 
of  the  colored  vote  and  woman  suf- 
frage, soon  to  be  adopted  as  an  es- 
sential element  in  the  revolutionary 
movement.  The  colored  people,  it 
is  expected,  will  vote  as  their  preach- 
ers direct,  and  their  preachers  will 
direct  as  they  are  directed  by  the 


Unification  and  Education. 


5 


Evangelicals.  The  women  who  will 
vote,  if  woman  suffrage  is  adopted, 
are  evangelicals,  philanthropists,  or 
humanitarians,  and  are  sure  to  follow 
their  instincts  and  vote  for  the  unifi- 
cation or  centralization  of  power — 
the  more  unlimited,  the  better. 

But  the  chief  reliance  for  the  per- 
manence in  power  of  the  party  of 
consolidation  is  universal  and  uni- 
form compulsory  education  by  the 
general  government,  which  Avill,  if 
adopted,  complete  and  preserve  the 
work  of  unification.  Education  is 
the  American  hobby — regarded,  as 
uneducated  or  poorly  educated  peo- 
ple usually  regard  it,  as  a  sort  of  pa- 
nacea for  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir 
to.  We  ourselves,  as  Catholics,  are 
as  decidedly  as  any  other  class  of 
American  citizens  in  favor  of  uni- 
versal education,  as  thorough  and 
extensive  as  possible — if  its  quality 
suits  us.  We  do  not,  indeed,  prize 
so  highly  as  some  of  our  countrymen 
appear  to  do  the  simple  ability  to 
read,  write,  and  cipher;  nor  do  we 
believe  it  possible  to  educate  a  whole 
people  so  that  every  one,  on  attain- 
ing his  majority,  will  understand  the 
bearing  of  all  political  questions  or 
comprehend  the  complexities  of 
statesmanship,  the  effects  at  large  of 
all  measures  of  general  or  special 
legislation,  the  bearing  on  productive 
industry  and  national  wealth  of  this 
or  that  financial  policy,  the  respec- 
tive merits  of  free  trade  and  protec- 
tion, or  what  in  a  given  time  or 
given  country  will  the  best  secure  in- 
dividual freedom  and  the  public  good. 
This  is  more  than  we  ourselves  can 
understand,  and  we  believe  we  are 
better  educated  than  the  average 
American.  We  do  not  believe  that 
the  great  bulk  of  the  people  of  any 
nation  can  ever  be  so  educated  as  to 
understand  the  essential  political,  fin- 
ancial, and  economical  questions  of 
government  for  themselves,  and  they 


will  always  have  to  follow  blindly 
their  leaders,  natural  or  artificial. 
Consequently,  the  education  of  the 
leaders  is  of  far  greater  importance 
than  the  education  of  those  who  are 
to  be  led.  All  men  have  equal  na- 
tural rights,  which  every  civil  govern- 
ment should  recognize  and  protect, 
but  equality  in  other  respects,  wheth- 
er sought  by  levelling  downward  or 
by  levelling  upward,  is  neither  prac- 
ticable nor  desirable.  Some  men  are 
born  to  be  leaders,  and  the  rest  are 
born  to  be  led.  Go  where  we  will 
in  society,  in  the  halls  of  legislation, 
the  army,  the  navy,  the  university,  the 
college,  the  district  school,  the  family, 
we  find  the  few  lead,  the  many  fol- 
low. It  is  the  order  of  nature,  and  we 
cannot  alter  it  if  we  would.  Nothing 
can  be  worse  than  to  try  to  educate 
all  to  be  leaders.  The  most  pitiable 
sight  is  a  congressional  body  in  which 
there  is  no  leader,  an  army  without 
a  general,  but  all  lead,  all  command — 
that  is,  nobody  leads  or  commands. 
The  best  ordered  and  administered 
state  is  that  in  which  the  few  are  well 
educated  and  lead,  and  the  many 
are  trained  to  obedience,  are  willing 
to  be  directed,  content  to  follow,  and 
do  not  aspire  to  be  leaders.  In  the 
early  days  of  our  republic,  when  the 
few  were  better  educated  than  now 
and  the  many  not  so  well,  in  the  or- 
dinary sense  of  the  term,  there  was 
more  dignity  in  the  legislative,  judi- 
cial, and  executive  branches  of  the 
government,  more  wisdom  and  jus- 
tice in  legislation,  and  more  honesty, 
fidelity,  and  capacity  in  the  adminis- 
tration. In  extending  education  and 
endeavoring  to  train  all  to  be  leaders, 
we  have  only  extended  presumption, 
pretension,  conceit,  indocility,  and 
brought  incapacity  to  the  surface. 

These,  we  grant,  are  unpopular 
truths,  but  they,  nevertheless,  are 
truths,  which  it  is  worse  than  idle  to 
deny.  Everybody  sees  it,  feels  it, 


Unification  and  Education. 


but  few  have  the  courage  to  avow  it 
in  face  of  an  intolerant  and  tyrannical 
public  opinion.  For  ourselves,  we 
believe  the  peasantry  in  old  Catholic 
countries,  two  centuries  ago,  were 
better  educated,  although  for  the 
most  part  unable  to  read  or  write, 
than  are  the  great  body  of  the  Ame- 
rican people  to-day.  They  had  faith, 
they  had  morality,  they  had  a  sense 
of  religion,  they  were  instructed  in 
the  great  principles  and  essential 
truths  of  the  Gospel,  were  trained  to 
be  wise  unto  salvation,  and  they  had 
the  virtues  without  which  wise,  sta- 
ble, and  efficient  government  is  im- 
practicable. We  hear  it  said,  or  rath- 
er read  in  the  journals,  that  the  su- 
periority the  Prussian  troops  have 
shown  to  the  French  is  due  to  their 
superior  education.  We  do  not  be- 
lieve a  word  of  it.  We  have  seen  no 
evidence  that  the  French  common 
soldiers  are  not  as  well  educated  and 
as  intelligent  as  the  Prussian.  The 
superiority  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
Prussian  officers  were  better  educat- 
ed in  their  profession,  were  less  over- 
weening in  their  confidence  of  victo- 
ry, and  maintained  better  and  severer 
discipline  in  their  armies,  than  the 
French  officers.  The  Northern  ar- 
mies in  our  recent  civil  war  had  no 
advantage  in  the  superior  education 
of  the  rank  and  file  over  the  South- 
em  armies,  where  both  were  equally 
well  officered  and  commanded.  The 
morale  of  an  army  is  no  doubt  the 
great  thing,  but  it  does  not  depend 
on  the  ability  of  the  common  soldier 
to  read,  write,  and  cipher ;  it  depends 
somewhat  on  his  previous  habits  and 
pursuits— chiefly  on  the  officers.  Un- 
der the  first  Napoleon,  the  Prussians 
were  not  superior  to  the  French, 
though  as  well  educated.  Good  of- 
ficers, with  an  able  general  at  their 
head,  can  make  an  efficient  army  out 
of  almost  any  materials. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  for  political  or 


military  reasons  that  we  demand  uni- 
versal education,  whether  by  the  gene- 
ral government  or  under  the  state  gov- 
ernments. We  demand  it,  as  far  as 
practicable,  for  other  and  far  higher 
reasons.  We  want  it  for  a  spiritual  or 
religious  end.  We  want  our  children 
to  be  educated  as  thoroughly  as  they 
can  be,  but  in  relation  to  the  great 
purpose  of  their  existence,  so  as  to  be 
fitted  to  gain  the  end  for  which  God 
creates  them.  For  the  great  mass  of 
the  people,  the  education  needed  is 
not  secular  education,  which  simply 
sharpens  the  intellect  .and  generates 
pride  and  presumption,  but  moral 
and  religious  education,  which  trains 
up  children  in  the  way  they  should 
go,  which  teaches  them  to  be  honest 
and  loyal,  modest  and  unpretending, 
docile  and  respectful  to  their  supe- 
riors, open  and  ingenuous,  obedient 
and  submissive  to  rightful  authority, 
parental  or  conjugal,  civil  or  eccle- 
siastical ;  to  know  and  keep  the  com- 
mandments of  God  and  the  precepts 
of  the  church ;  and  to  place  the  sal- 
vation of  the  soul  before  all  else  in 
life.  This  sort  of  education  can  be 
given  only  by  the  church  or  under 
her  direction  and  control;  and  as 
there  is  for  us  Catholics  only  one 
church,  there  is  and  can  be  no  proper 
education  for  us  not  given  by  or  under 
the  direction  and  control  of  the  Ca- 
tholic Church. 

But  it  is  precisely  education  by  the 
Catholic  Church  that  Mr.  Wilson 
and  his  party  do  not  want,  do  not 
believe  in,  and  wish  to  prevent  us 
from  having  even  for  our  own  children. 
It  is  therefore  they  demand  a  sys- 
tem of  universal  and  uniform  compul- 
sory education  by  the  authority  and 
under  the  direction  of  the  general 
government,  which  shall  effect  and 
maintain  the  national  unification  pro- 
posed, by  compelling  all  the  children 
of  the  land  to  be  trained  in  national 
schools,  under  Evangelical  control 


Unification  and  Education. 


and  management.  The  end  and  aim 
of  the  New  Departure,  aside  from 
certain  business  interests,  is  to  sup- 
press Catholic  education,  gradually 
extinguish  Catholicity  in  the  country, 
and  to  form  one  homogeneous  Ame- 
rican people  after  the  New  England 
Evangelical  type.  Of  this  there  can 
be  no  reasonable  doubt.  The  Evan- 
gelicals and  their  humanitarian  allies, 
as  all  their  organs  show,  are  seriously 
alarmed  at  the  growth  of  Catholicity 
in  the  United  States.  They  suppos- 
ed, at  ->  first,  that  the  church  could 
never  take  root  in  our  Protestant 
soil,  that  she  could  not  breathe  the  at- 
mosphere of  freedom  and  enlighten- 
ment, or  thrive  in  a  land  of  newspa- 
pers and  free  schools.  They  have 
been  disappointed,  and  now  see  that 
they  reckoned  without  their  host, 
and  that,  if  they  really  mean  to  pre- 
vent the  American  people  from  gra- 
dually becoming  Catholic,  they  must 
change  fundamentally  the  American 
form  of  government,  suppress  the 
freedom  of  religion  hitherto  enjoyed 
by  Catholics,  and  take  the  training 
of  all  children  and  youth  into  their 
own  hands.  If  they  leave  education 
to  the  wishes  and  judgment  of  pa-, 
rents,  Catholic  parents  will  bring  up 
their  children  Catholics ;  if  they  leave 
it  to  the  states  separately,  Catholics 
in  several  of  them  are  already  a  pow- 
erful minority,  daily  increasing  in 
strength  and  numbers,  and  will  soon 
be  strong  enough  to  force  the  state 
legislatures  to  give  them  their  propor- 
tion of  the  public  schools  supported 
at  the  public  expense. 

All  this  is  clear  enough.  What,  then, 
is  to  be  done  ?  Mr.  Wilson,  who  is 
not  remarkable  for  his  reticence,  tells 
us,  if  not  with  perfect  frankness, 
yet  frankly  enough  for  all  practical 
purposes.  It  is  to  follow  out  the  ten- 
dency which  has  been  so  strengthened 
of  late,  and  absorb  the  states  in  the 
Union,  take  away  the  independence 


of  the  state  governments,  and  assume 
the  control  of  education  for  the  ge- 
neral government,  already  rendered 
practically  the  supreme  national  gov- 
ernment;— then,  by  appealing  to  the 
popular  sentiment  in  favor  of  educa- 
tion, and  saying  nothing  of  its  quali 
ty,  get  Congress,  which  the  Evange- 
licals, through  the  party  in  power,  al- 
ready control,  to  establish  a  system 
©f  compulsory  education  in  national 
schools — and  the  work  is  done;  for 
these  schools  will  necessarily  fall  into 
Evangelical  hands. 

Such  is  what  the  distinguished 
Evangelical  senator  from  Massachu- 
setts calls  a  "  New  Departure,"  but 
which  is  really  only  carrying  out  a 
policy  long  since  entered  upon,  and 
already  more  than  half  accomplish- 
ed. While  we  are  writing.  Mr.  Hoar, 
a  representative  in  Congress  from 
Massachusetts,  has  introduced  into  the 
House  of  Representatives  a  bill  es- 
tablishing a  system  of  national  edu- 
cation under  the  authority  of  the  ge- 
neral government.  Its  fate  is  not 
yet  known,  but  no  doubt  will  be,  be- 
fore we  go  to  press.  The  probabili- 
ties are  that  it  will  pass  both  Houses, 
and  if  it  does,  it  will  receive  the  sig- 
nature of  the  President  as  a  matter 
of  course.  The  Evangelicals — under 
which  name  we  include  Congrega- 
tionalists,  Presbyterians,  Dutch  Re- 
formed, Baptists,  and  Methodists, 
etc. — all  the  denominations  united  in 
the  Evangelical  Alliance — constitute, 
with  their  political  and  philanthropic 
allies,  the  majority  in  Congress,  and 
the  measure  is  advocated  apparently 
by  the  whole  Evangelical  press  and 
by  the  larger  and  more  influential 
republican  journals  of  the  country, 
as  any  number  of  excerpts  from  them 
now  before  us  will  satisfy  any  one  who 
has  the  curiosity  to  read  them.  We 
did  think  of  selecting  and  publishing 
the  more  striking  and  authoritative 
among  them,  but  we  have  concluded 


8 

to  hold  them  in  reserve,  to  be  produced 
in  case  any  one  should  be  rash  enough 
to  question  our  general  statement. 
There  is  a  strong  popular  feeling  in 
many  parts  of  the  country  in  favor 
of  the  measure,  which  is  a  pet  measure 
also  of  the  Evangelical  ministers  ge- 
nerally, who  are  sure  to  exert  their 
powerful  influence  in  its  support,  and 
we  see  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the 
bill  will  pass. 

But  while  we  see  ample  cause  for 
all  citizens  who  are  loyal  to  the  sys- 
tem of  government  which  Providence 
enabled  our  fathers  to  establish,  and 
who  wish  to  preserve  it  and  the  liber- 
ties it  secures,  to  be  vigilant  and  ac- 
we  see  none  for  alarm.  The 


Unification  and  Education. 


tive, 


will  be  manifestly 
even  counting   the 


bill,  if  it  passes 
unconstitutional, 
Fourteenth  and  Fifteenth  Amend- 
ments as  valid  parts  of  the  consti- 
tution ;  and  there  may  be  more  diffi- 
culty ia  carrying  it  into  effect  than  its 
framers  anticipate.  It  is  part  and 
parcel  of  a  New  England  policy,  and 
New  England  is  not  omnipotent 
throughout  the  Union,  nor  very  ar- 
dently loved ;  not  all  the  members 
of  the  several  evangelical  denomina- 
tions will,  when  they  understand  it, 
favor  the  revolution  in  the  govern- 
ment Mr.  Wilson  would  effect.  There 
are  in  those  denominations  many  men 
who  belong  not  to  the  dominant  par- 
ty, and  who  will  follow  their  political 
rather  than  their  denominational  affi- 
nities ;  also,  there  are  in  them  a  large 
number,  we  should  hope,  of  honest 
men,  who  are  not  accustomed  to  act 
on  the  maxim,  "  the  end  justifies  the 
means,"  loyal  men  and  patriotic,  who 
consider  it  no  less*  disloyalty  to  seek 
to  revolutionize  our  government 
against  the  states  than  against  the 
Union,  and  who  will  give  their  votes 
and  all  their  influence  to  preserve  the 
fundamental  principles  and  genius  of 
our  federative  system  of  government, 
as  left  us  by  our  fathers,  and  resist, 


if  need  be,  to  the  death  the  disloyal 
policy  of  unification  and  education 
proposed  by  Mr.  Wilson. 

The  Southern  states  are  recon- 
structed and  back  now  in  their  place 
in  the  Union,  and  will  not  be  much 
longer  represented  by  Northern  ad- 
venturers, or  men  of  little  ability  and 
less  character,  but  very  soon  by  ge- 
nuine Southern  men,  who,  while  strict- 
ly loyal  to  the  Union,  will  speak  the 
genuine  sentiments  of  the  Southern 
people.  The  attempt  to  New-Eng- 
landize  the  Southern  people  has  not 
succeeded,  and  will  not  succeed. 
When  to  the  Southern  people,  who 
will  never  acquiesce  in  the  policy  of 
unification,  we  add  the  large  num- 
ber of  people  in  the  Northern  states 
who  from  their  political  convictions 
and  affinities,  as  well  as  from  their 
conservative  tendencies,  will  oppose 
consolidation,  we  may  feel  pretty  sure 
that  the  policy  Mr.  Wilson  presents 
as  that  of  the  Republican  party  will 
not  be  adopted,  or  if  adopted  will 
not  be  permitted  to  stand.  As  not 
wholly  inexperienced  in  political  mat- 
ters, and  looking  at  the  present  state 
of  parties  and  temper  of  the  nation, 
we  should  say  that  Mr.  Wilson,  as  a 
party  man,  has  committed  a  blunder, 
and  that,  if  he  has  fancied  that  his 
New  Departure  is  fitted  to  strengthen 
his  party  as  a  political  party,  and  to 
give  it  a  new  lease  of  power,  he  has 
miscalculated.  Nothing  in  our  judg- 
ment would  be  more  fatal  to  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  party  in  power  than 
for  it  boldly  and  unequivocally  to  ac- 
cept Mr.  Wilson's  programme.  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  reaction  in  human 
affairs,  and  reactions  are  sometimes 
very  powerful. 

The  educational  question  ought 
not  to  present  any  serious  difficulty, 
and  would  not  if  our  Evangelicals 
and  humanitarians  did  not  wish  to 
make  education  a  means  of  prevent- 
ing the  growth  of  the  church  and 


Unification  and  Education. 


unmaking  the  children  of  Catholics, 
as  Catholics  •  or  if  they  seriously  and 
in  good  faith  would  accept  the  reli- 
gious equality  before  the  state  which 
the  constitution  and  laws,  both  of 
the  Union  and  the  several  states, 
as  yet  recognize  and  protect.  No 
matter  what  we  claim  for  the  Catho- 
lic Church  in  the  theological  order 
— we  claim  for  her  in  the  civil  or- 
der in  this  country  only  equality  with 
the  sects,  and  for  Catholics  only 
equal  rights  with  citizens  who  are 
not  Catholics.  We  demand  the  free- 
dom of  conscience  and  the  liberty  of 
our  church,  which  is  our  conscience, 
enjoyed  by  Evangelicals.  This  much 
the  country  in  its  constitution  and 
laws  has  promised  us,  and  this  much 
it  cannot  deny  us  without  breaking 
its  faith  pledged  before  the  world. 

As  American  citizens,  we  object  to 
the  assumption  of  the  control  of  edu- 
cation, or  of  any  action  in  regard  to 
it,  by  the  general  government ;  for 
it  has  no  constitutional  right  to  med- 
dle with  it,  and  so  far  as  civil  gov- 
ernment has  any  authority  in  relation 
to  it,  it  is,  under  our  system  of  gov- 
ernment, the  authority  of  the  states, 
severally,  not  of  the  states  united. 
We  deny,  of  course,  as  Catholics,  the 
right  of  the  civil  government  to  edu- 
cate, for  education  is  a  function  of  the 
spiritual  society,  as  much  so  as 
preaching  and  the  administration  of 
the  sacraments ;  but  we  do  not  deny 
to  the  state  the  right  to  establish  and 
maintain  public  schools.  The  state, 
if  it  chooses,  may  even  endow  re- 
ligion, or  pay  the  ministers  of  reli- 
gion a  salary  for  their  support;  but 
its  endowments  of  religion,  when 
made,  are  made  to  God,  are  sacred, 
and  under  the  sole  control  and  man- 
agement of  the  spiritual  authority, 
and  the  state  has  no  further  func- 
tion in  regard  to  them  but  to  pro- 
tect the  spirituality  in  the  free  and 
full  possession  and  enjoyment  of 


them.  If  it  chooses  to  pay  the  min- 
isters of  religion  a  salary,  as  has 
been  done  in  France  and  Spain, 
though  accepted  by  the  Catholic 
clergy  only  as  a  small  indemnification 
for  the  goods  of  the  church  seized 
by  revolutionary  governments  and 
appropriated  to  secular  uses,  it  ac- 
quires thereby  no  rights  over  them 
or  liberty  to  supervise  their  discharge 
of  their  spiritual  functions.  We  do 
not  deny  the  same  or  an  equal  right 
in  regard  to  schools  and  school-teach- 
ers. It  may  found  and  endow  schools 
and  pay  the  teachers,  but  it  cannot 
dictate  or  interfere  with  the  educa- 
tion or  discipline  of  the  school.  That 
would  imply  a  union  of  church  and 
state,  or,  rather,  the  subjection  of  the 
spiritual  order  to  the  secular,  which 
the  Catholic  Church  and  the  Ameri- 
can system  of  government  both  alike 
repudiate. 

It  is  said,  however,  that  the  state 
needs  education  for  its  own  protec- 
tion, and  to  promote  the  public  good 
or  the  good  of  the  community,  both 
of  which  are  legitimate  ends  of  its 
institution.  What  the  state  needs  in 
relation  to  its  legitimate  ends,  or  the 
ends  for  which  it  is  instituted,  it  has 
the  right  to  ordain  and  control.  This 
is  the  argument  by  which  all  public 
education  by  the  state  is  defended. 
But  it  involves  an  assumption  which 
is  not  admissible.  The  state,  having 
no  religious  or  spiritual  function,  can 
give  only  secular  education,  and  se- 
cular education  is  not  enough  for  the 
state's  own  protection  or  its  promo- 
tion of  the  public  good.  Purely  se- 
cular education,  or  education  divorc- 
ed from  religion,  endangers  the  safety 
of  the  state  and  the  peace  and  security 
of  the  community,  instead  of  pro- 
tecting and  insuring  them.  It  is  not 
in  the  power  of  the  state  to  give  the 
education  it  needs  for  its  own  sake, 
or  for  the  sake  of  secular  society. 
The  fact  is,  though  statesmen,  and 


IO 


Unification  and  Education. 


especially  politicians,  are  slow  to 
learn  it,  and  still  slower  to  acknow- 
ledge it,  the  state,  or  secular  society, 
does  not  and  cannot  suffice  for  it- 
self, and  is  unable  to  discharge  its 
own  proper  functions  without  the  co- 
operation and  aid  of  the  spiritual  so- 
ciety. Purely  secular  education  cre- 
ates no  civic  virtues,  and  instead  of  fit- 
ting unfits  the  people  for  the  prompt 
and  faithful  discharge  of  their  civic 
duties,  as  we  may  see  in  Young  Ame- 
rica, and  indeed  in  the  present  active 
and  ruling  generation  of  the  Ame- 
rican people.  Young  America  is  im- 
patient of  restraint,  regards  father  and 
mother  as  old-fogies,  narrow-minded, 
behind  the  age,  and  disdains  filial 
submission  or  obedience  to  them,  has 
no  respect  for  dignities,  acknowledg- 
es no  superior,  mocks  at  law  if  he 
can  escape 'the  police,  is  conceited, 
proud,  self-sufficient,  indocile,  heed- 
less of  the  rights  and  interests  of 
others — will  be  his  own  master,  and 
follow  his  own  instincts,  passions,  or 
headstrong  will.  Are  these  the  char- 
acteristics of  a  people  fitted  to  main- 
tain a  wise,  well-ordered,  stable,  and 
beneficent  republican  government  ? 
Or  can  such  a  people  be  developed 
from  such  youngerlings  ?  Yet  with 
purely  secular  education,  however 
far  you  carry  it,  experience  proves 
that  you  can  get  nothing  better. 

The  church  herself,  even  if  she 
had  full  control  of  the  education  of 
all  the  children  in  the  land,  with  am- 
ple funds  at  her  command,  could  not 
secure  anything  better,  if,  as  the  state, 
she  educated  for  a  secular  end  alone. 
The  virtues  needed  for  the  protection 
of  the  state  and  the  advancement 
of  the  public  or  common  good,  are 
and  can  be  secured  only  by  educat- 
ing or  training  the  children  and 
youth  of  a  nation  not  for  this  life 
as  an  end,  but  for  the  life  to 
come.  Hence  our  Lord  says,  "  Seek 
first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his 


justice,  and  all  these  things  shall  be 
added  unto  you."  The  church  does 
not  educate  for  the  secular  order  as 
an  end,  but  for  God  and  heaven ; 
and  it  is  precisely  in  educating  for 
God  and  heaven  that  she  secures 
those  very  virtues  on  which  the  wel- 
fare and  security  of  the  secular  order 
depend,  and  without  which  civil  so- 
ciety tends  inevitably  to  dissolution, 
and  is  sustained,  if  sustained  at  all, 
only  by  armed  force,  as  we  have  seen 
in  more  than  one  European  nation 
which  has  taken  education  into  its 
own  hand,  and  subordinated  it  to 
secular  ends.  The  education  needed 
by  secular  society  can  be  obtained 
only  from  the  spiritual  society,  which 
educates  not  for  this  world,  but  for 
the  world  to  come.  The  virtues  need- 
ed to  secure  this  life  are  obtained 
only  by  seeking  and  promoting  the 
virtues  which  fit  us  for  eternal  life. 

This  follows  necessarily  from  the 
fact  that  man  is  created  with  a  spiri- 
tual nature  and  for  an  immortal  des- 
tiny. If  he  existed  for  this  life  only, 
if  he  were,  as  some  sciolists  pretend, 
merely  a  monkey  or  a  gorilla  devel- 
oped, or  were  like  the  beasts  that 
perish,  this  indeed  would  not  and 
could  not  follow,  and  the  reconcilia- 
tion of  the  nature  and  destiny  of 
man  with  uniform  human  experience 
would  be  impossible.  We  should  be 
obliged,  in  order  to  secure  the  peace 
and  good  order  of  society,  as  some 
unbelieving  statesmen  do  not  blush 
to  avow,  to  educate  in  view  of  a 
falsehood,  and  take  care  to  keep  up 
the  delusion  that  man  has  a  religious 
nature  and  destiny,  or  look  to  what 
is  false  and  delusive  for  the  virtues 
which  can  alone  save  us  from  anar- 
chy and  utter  barbarism.  Yet  what 
would  serve  the  delusion  or  the  false- 
hood, if  man  differs  not  by  nature  from 
the  dog  or  the  pig  ?  But  if  man  has 
really  a  spiritual  nature  and  an  im- 
mortal destiny,  then  it  must  necessa- 


Unification  and  Education. 


II 


rily  follow  that  his  real  good  can  in 
no  respect  be  obtained  but  in  being 
educated  and  trained  to  live  for  a 
spiritual  life,  for  an  immortal  destiny. 
Should  not  man  be  educated  accord- 
ing to  his  spiritual  nature  and  destiny, 
not  as  a  pig  or  a  monkey  ?  If  so, 
in  his  education  should  not  the  secu- 
lar be  subordinated  to  the  spiritual, 
and  the  temporal  to  the  eternal  ? 
We  know  well,  experience  proves  it, 
that  even  the  secular  virtues  are  not 
secured  when  sought  as  the  end  of 
education  and  of  life,  but  only  in 
educating  and  living  for  that  which 
is  not  secular,  and  in  securing  the 
virtues  which  have  the  promise  of 
the  life  of  the  world  to  come. 

All  education,  as. all  life,  should  be 
religious,  and  all  education  divorced 
from  religion  is  an  evil,  not  a  good, 
and  is  sure  in  the  long  run  to  be  ruin- 
ous to  the  secular  order ;  but  as  a  part 
of  religious  education,  and  included 
in  it,  secular  education  has  its 
place,  and  even  its  necessity.  Man  is 
not  all  soul,  nor  all  body,  but  the 
union  of  soul  and  body ;  and  there- 
fore his  education  should  include  in 
their  union,  not  separation — for  the 
separation  of  soul  and  body  is  the 
death  of  the  body  —  both  spiritual 
education  and  secular.  It  is  not  that 
we  oppose  secular  education  when 
given  in  the  religious  education,  and 
therefore  referred  to  the  ultimate 
end  of  man,  but  when  it  is  given  alone 
and  for  its  own  sake.  We  deny  the 
competency  of  the  state  to  educate 
even  for  its  own  order,  its  right  to  estab- 
lish purely  secular  schools,  from  which 
all  religion  is  excluded,  as  Mr.  Web- 
ster ably  contended  in  his  argument 
in  the  Girard  will  case;  but  we  do 
not  deny,  we  assert  rather,  its  right  to 
establish  public  schools  under  the  in- 
ternal control  and  management  of 
the  spiritual  society,  and  to  exact 
that  a  certain  amount  of  secular  in- 
struction be  given  along  with  the  re- 


ligious education  that  society  gives. 
This  last  right  it  has  in  consideration 
of  the  secular  funds  for  the  support 
of  the  schools  it  furnishes,  and  as 
a  condition  on  which  it  furnishes 
them. 

Let  the  state  say  distinctly  how 
much  secular  education  in  the  public 
schools  it  exacts,  or  judges  to  be  ne- 
cessary for  its  own  ends,  and  so  far 
as  the  Catholic  Church  has  anything 
to  do  with  the  matter  it  can  have  it. 
The  church  will  not  refuse  to  give  it 
in  the  schools  under  her  control.  She 
will  not  hesitate  to  teach  along  with 
her  religion  any  amount  of  reading, 
writing,  arithmetic,  history,  geogra- 
phy, music,  and  drawing,  or  the  sci- 
ences and  the  fine  arts,  the  state  ex- 
acts and  provides  for;  nor  will  she 
refuse  to  allow  it  to  send,  if  it  choos- 
es, its  own  inspectors  into  her  schools 
to  ascertain  if  she  actually  gives  the 
secular  education  required.  Let  it 
say,  then,  what  amount  of  secular 
education  it  wants  for  all  the  child- 
ren of  the  land,  and  is  willing  to  pay 
for,  and,  so  far  as  Catholics  are  con- 
cerned, it  can  have  it,  and  of  as 
good  quality,  to  say  the  least,  as  it 
can  get  in  purely  secular  schools,  and 
along  with  it  the  religious  education, 
the  most  essential  to  it  as  well  as  to 
the  souls  of  all. 

But  the  difficulty  here,  it  is  as- 
sumed, is  that  the  spiritual  society 
with  us  is  divided  into  various  deno- 
minations, each  with  its  distinctive 
views  of  religion.  That,  no  doubt, 
is  a  damage,  but  can  be  easily  over- 
come by  bearing  in  mind  that  the 
several  divisions  have  equal  rights, 
and  by  making  the  public  schools 
denominational,  as  they  are  in  Prus- 
sia, Austria,  France,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  in  England,  where  denomina- 
tional diversities  obtain  as  well  as 
with  us.  Where  the  community  is 
divided  between  different  religious 
denominations,  all  standing  on  a 


12 


Unification  and  Education. 


footing  of   perfect    equality    before 
civil  society,  this  is  the  only  equitable 
system  of  public  schools  that  is  prac- 
ticable.    If  the  state  does  not  adopt 
it,  it  must— i,  let  the  whole  business 
of  education   alone,   and   make   no 
public  provision  for  it;  2,  establish 
purely  secular,  that  is,  godless  schools, 
from  which  all  religion  is  excluded, 
to  which  no  religious  people  can  be 
expected  to  consent,  and  which  would 
ruin  both  public  and  private  virtue, 
and  defeat  the  very  purpose  of  all 
education ;  or,  3,  it  must  practically, 
if  not   theoretically,  recognize  some 
one  of  the  several  denominations  as 
the  state  religion,  and  remit  the  edu- 
cation of  childhood   and    youth  to 
its  management  and   control,  as   is 
virtually  the  case  with  our  present 
public  schools,  but  which  would  be 
manifestly  unjust  to  all  the  others— 
to  non-  evangelicals,  if  evangelicalism  is 
made  the   state  religion,  or  to  the 
Evangelicals,    if   a    non-evangelical 
denomination  be  established  as  the 
religion  of  the  state.      The  only  way 
to  be  just  to  all  is,  as  everybody  can 
see,  to  recognize  in  practice  as  well 
as  in  profession  the  equal  rights  of 
all  denominations  in  the  civil  order — 
make  the  public  schools  denomina- 
tional, and  give  to  each  denomina- 
tion that  asks  it  for  the  sake  of  con- 
science its  fair  and  honest  proportion, 
to  be  as  to  their  internal  economy, 
education,  and   discipline  under   its 
sole  control  and  management. 

Mr.  Wilson  proposes  for  our  admi- 
ration and  imitation  the  Prussian  sys- 
tem of  public  schools,  and  though 
we  do  not  know  that  it  is  superior  to 
the  Austrian  or  even  the  French  sys- 
tem, yet  we  think  highly  of  it.  But, 
what  the  Evangelical  senator  does 
not  tell  us,  the  Prussian  system  is 
strictly  the  denominational  system, 
and  each  denomination  is  free  and 
expected  to  educate  in  its  own  schools 
its  own  children,  under  the  direction 


of  its  pastors  and  teachers,  in  its  own 
religion.     The   Prussian   system   re- 
cognizes the  fact  that  different  com- 
munions do  exist  among  the  Prussian 
people,  and   does  not  aim   to   sup- 
press them  or  at  unification  by  state 
authority.     It  meets  the  fact  as  it  is, 
without  seeking  to  alter  it.     Give  us 
the  Prussian  system  of  denomination- 
al schools,  and  we  shall  be  satisfied, 
even  if  education  is  made  compulsory. 
We,  of  course,  protest  against  any  law 
compelling  us  to  send  our  children  to 
schools  in  which  our  religion  cannot 
be  freely  taught,  in  which  no  religion 
is  taught,  or  in  which  is  taught  in  any 
shape  or  degree  a  religion  which  we 
hold  to  be  false  or  perilous  to  souls. 
Such  a  law  would  violate  the  rights 
of  parents  and  the  freedom  of  con- 
science ;    but    with    denominational 
schools  compulsory  education  would 
violate  no  one's  conscience  and   no 
parental    right.     Parents    ought,   if 
able,  to  have  their  children  educated, 
and  if  they  will  not  send  their  chil- 
dren to  schools  provided  for  them  by 
the  public,  and  in  which  their  religion 
is  respected,  and  made  the  basis  of 
the  education  given,  we  can  see  no 
valid  reason  why  the  law  should  not 
compel    them.     The    state   has   the 
right,  perhaps  the  duty,  in  aid  of  the 
spiritual  society  and  for  its  own  safe^ 
ty  and  the  public  good,  to  compel 
parents   to    educate    their    children 
when  public  schools  of  their  own  re- 
ligion, under  the  charge  of  their  own 
pastors,  are  provided  for  them  at  the 
public  expense.  Let  the  public  schools 
be  denominational,  give  us  our  pro- 
portion of  them,  so  that  no  violence 
will  be  done  to  parental  rights  or  to 
the  Catholic  conscience,  and  we  shall 
be   quite  willing  to  have   education 
made  compulsory,  and  even  if  such 
schools  are   made   national,  though 
we  should  object  as  American  citizens 
to  them,  we  should  as  Catholics  ac- 
cept them.     We  hold  state  authority 


Unification  and  Education. 


is  the  only  constitutional  authority  un- 
der our  system  to  establish  schools  and 
provide  for  them  at  the  public  ex- 
pense ;  but  we  could  manage  to  get 
along  with  national  denominational 
schools  as  well  as  others  could.  We 
could  educate  in  our  share  of  the 
public  schools  our  own  children  in  our 
own  way,  and  that  is  all  we  ask,  We 
do  not  ask  to  educate  the  children 
of  others,  unless  with  the  consent  or 
at  the  request  of  parents  and  guar- 
dians. 

The  Prussian  system  of  denomina- 
tional schools  could  be  introduced 
and  established  in  all  the  states  with- 
out the  least  difficulty,  if  it  were  not 
for  Evangelicals,  their  Unitarian  off- 
shoots, and  their  humanitarian  allies. 
These  are  religious  and  philanthropic 
busybodies,  who  fancy  they  are  the  At- 
las who  upholds  the  world,  and  that 
they  are  deputed  to  take  charge  of 
everybody's  affairs,  and  put  them  to 
rights.  But  they  forget  that  their  neigh- 
bors have  rights  as  well  as  themselves, 
and  perhaps  intentions  as  honest  and 
enlightened,  and  as  much  real  wis- 
dom and  practical  sagacity.  The 
only  obstacle  to  the  introduction  and 
establishment  of  a  just  and  equitable 
system  of  public  schools  comes  from 
the  intolerant  zeal  of  these  Evangeli- 
cals, who  seek  to  make  the  public 
schools  an  instrument  for  securing  the 
national,  social,  and  religious  unifica- 
tion they  are  resolved  on  effecting,  and 
for  carrying  out  their  purpose  of  sup- 
pressing the  church  and  extirpat- 
ing Catholicity  from  American  soil. 
They  want  to  use  them  in  training  our 
childrea  up  in  the  way  of  Evan- 
gelicalism, and  moulding  the  whole 
American  population  into  one  homo- 
geneous people,  modelled,  as  we  have 
said,  after  the  New  England  Evan- 
gelical type.  Here  is  the  difficulty, 
and  the  whole  difficulty.  The  de- 
nominational system  would  defeat 
their  darling  hope,  their  pet  project, 


and  require  them  to  live  and  let  live. 
They  talk  much  about  freedom  of 
conscience  and  religious  liberty  and 
equal  rights;  but  the  only  equal 
rights  they  understand  are  all  on  their 
side,  and  they  cherish  such  a  tender 
regard  for  religious  liberty,  have  so 
profound  a  respect  for  it,  that  they 
insist,  like  our  Puritan  forefathers,  on 
keeping  it  all  to  themselves,  and  not 
to  surfer  it  to  be  profaned  or  abused 
by  being  extended  to  others. 

Prussia,  though  a  Protestant  coun- 
try, does  not  dream  of  making  the 
public  schools  a  machine  either  for 
proselytism  or  unification.  She  is 
contented  to  recognize  Catholics  as 
an  integral  part  of  her  population, 
and  to  leave  them  to  profess  and 
practise  their  own  religion  according 
to  the  law  of  their  church.  Our 
Evangelicals  would  do  well  to  imi- 
tate her  example.  We  Catholics  are 
here,  and  here  we  intend  to  remain. 
We  have  as  much  right  to  be  here  as 
Evangelicals  have.  We  are  too  many 
to  be  massacred  or  exiled,  and  too 
important  and  influential  a  portion 
of  the  American  people  to  be  of 
no  account  in  the  settlement  of 
public  affairs.  We  have  votes,  and 
they  will  count  on  whichever  side 
we  cast  them  ;  and  we  cannot  reason- 
ably be  expected  to  cast  them  on  the 
side  of  any  party  that  is  seeking  to 
use  its  power  as  a  political  party  to 
suppress  our  church  and  our  religion, 
or  even  to  destroy  our  federative 
system  of  government,  and  to  leave 
all  minorities  at  the  mercy  of^the  ir- 
responsible majority  for  the  time, 
with  no  other  limit  to  its  power  than  it 
sees  proper  to  impose  on  itself;  for 
we  love  liberty,  and  our  church  teach- 
es us  to  be  loyal  to  the  constitution 
of  our  country. 

The  wisest  course,  since  there  are 
different  religious  denominations  in 
the  country,  is  to  accept  the  situation, 
to  recognize  the  fact,  acquiesce  in  it, 


The  Cross. 


and  make  the  best  of  it.  Any  attempt 
to  unmake,  by  the  direct  or  indirect 
authority  of  the  state,  Catholics  of 
their  faith  or  any  denomination  of  its 
belief,  is  sure  to  fail.  Each  denomi- 
nation is  free  to  use  Scripture  and 
reason,  logic  and  tradition,  all  mo- 
ral and  intellectual  weapons,  against 
its  rivals,  and  with  that  it  should  be 
contented.  Whatever  may  be  the 
rightful  claims  of  the  church  in  the 
theological  order,  she  is  contented 
with  the  civil  protection  of  her 
equal  rights  in  the  political  order. 
She  asks — with  the  wealth,  the  fashion, 
the  public  opinion,  the  press,  nine- 
tenths  of  the  population  of  the 
country,  and  the  seductions  of  the 
world  against  her — only  "  an  open 


field  and  fair  play."  If  she  does  not 
complain,  her  enemies  ought  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  advantages  they 
have. 

We  have  entered  our  protest 
against  a  party  programme  which 
threatens  alike  the  genius  of  the 
American  government  and  the  free- 
dom of  religion,  for  so  much  was  ob- 
viously our  duty,  both  as  Catholics  and 
citizens.  We  are  aware  of  the  odds 
against  us,  but  we  have  confidence 
in  our  countrymen  that,  though  they 
may  be  momentarily  deceived  or 
misled,  they  will,  when  the  real  char- 
acter of  the  programme  we  have  ex- 
posed is  once  laid  open  to  them,  re- 
ject it  with  scorn  and  indignation, 
and  hasten  to  do  us  justice. 


THE   CROSS. 

IN  weary  hours  to  lonely  heights 
When  thou  hast  travelled  sore, 

A  sorrowing  man  hath  borne  his  cross 
And  gone  thy  way  before. 

Thine  eyes  cannot  escape  the  sign 

On  every  hand  that  is 
Of  him  who  bore  the  general  woe, 

Nor  knew  a  common  bliss. 

But  men,  remembering  his  face, 
Dreamed  of  him  while  they  slept, 

And  the  mother  by  the  cradle  side 
Thought  of  his  eye,  and  wept. 

Now  haunts  the  world  his  ghost  whose  fate 

Made  all  men's  fates  his  own ; 
So  for  the  wrongs  of  modest  hearts 

A  myriad  hearts  atone. 

Oh  !  deeply  shall  thy  spirit  toil 

To  reach  the  height  he  trod, 
And  humbly  strive  thy  soul  to  know 

Its  servant  was  its  God. 

Only  earth's  martyr  is  her  lord ; 

Such  is  the  gain  of  loss : 
And,  looking  in  all  hearts,  I  see 

The  signal  of  the  cross. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


THE    HOUSE   OF  YORKE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

GENEALOGIES. 

UNDER  a  thickly-branched  tree  in 
the  northern  part  of  one  of  the  south- 
ern counties  of  Maine  is  a  certain 
gray  rock,  matted  over  with  dim 
green  lichens  that  are  spotted  with 
dead  gold.  From  under  this  rock 
springs  a  sparkling  little  stream.  It 
is  no  storied  fountain,  rich  with  le- 
gends of  splendor,  poetry,  and  crime, 
but  a  dear,  bright  little  Yankee  brook, 
with  the  world  all  before  it.  That 
world  it  immediately  proceeds  to  in- 
vestigate. It  creeps  through  thready 
grasses  and  russet  pine-needles ;  it 
turns  aside,  with  great  respect,  for  a 
stone  no  larger  than  a  rabbit;  and 
when  a  glistening  pitchy  cone  drops 
into  it,  the  infant  river  labors  under 
tohe  burden.  When  the  thirsty  fawn 
conies  there  to  drink,  nearly  the 
whole  rivulet  flows  down  its  throat, 
and  the  cone  is  stranded  high  and 
dry;  what  there  is  left  flows  south- 
ward. A  sunbeam  pierces  the  scent- 
ed gloom,  creeps  down  a  tree-trunk, 
steals  over  a  knoll  of  green-and- 
brown  tree-moss,  which  then  looks 
like  a  tiny  forest  on  fire,  over  yellow 
violets,  which  dissolve  in  its  light, 
over  a  bank  of  rich  dark  mould  vein- 
ed with  the  golden  powder  of  decay- 
ed pine-trees,  moist  and  soft,  and 
full  of  glistening  white  roots,  where 
the  flowers  push  down  their  pearly 
feet.  Over  the  bank,  into  the  wa- 
ter, goes  the  sunbeam,  and  the  two 
frolic  together,  and  the  stream  dives 
under  the  gnarled  roots,  so  that  its  play- 
mate would  believe  it  lost  but  for 
that  gurgle  of  laughter  down  in  the 
cool,  fresh  dark.  Then  it  leaps  up, 


and  spreads  itself  out  in  a  mirror, 
and  the  elder-tree,  leaning  over  to 
look  at  the  reflection  of  its  fan-like 
leaves  and  clusters  of  white  flowers, 
gets  very  erroneous  ideas  concerning 
its  own  personal  appearance ;  for  the 
palpitating  rings  that  chase  each 
other  over  the  surface  of  the  water 
make  the  brown  stems  crinkle,  the 
leaves  come  to  pieces  and  unite 
again,  and  the  many  flowers  in  each 
round  cluster  melt  all  together,  then 
twinkle  out  individually,  only  to  melt 
again  into  that  bloomy  full  moon. 
Over  this  shimmer  of  flowers  and 
water  big  bees  fly,  buzzing  terribly, 
dragon-flies  dart,  or  hang,  purple- 
mailed,  glittering  creatures,  with  gau- 
zy wings,  and  comical  insects  dance 
there,  throwing  spots  of  sunshine  in- 
stead of  shadow  down  to  the  leafy 
bed.  Then  the  brook  flows  awhile 
in  a  green  tranquil  shadow,  till,  reach- 
ing the  interlaced  roots  of  two  im- 
mense trees  that  hold  a  bank  between 
them,  it  makes  a  sudden,  foamy 
plunge  the  height  of  a  stag's  front. 
She  is  a  bride  then,  you  may  say — 
she  is  Undine,  looking  through  that 
white  veil,  and  thinking  new  thoughts. 

Now  the  bear  comes  down  to 
drink  and  look  at  his  ugly  face  in 
the  deepening  wave,  foxes  switch 
their  long  tails  about  the  banks,  deer 
come,  as  light-footed  as  shadows, 
drink,  and  fling  up  their  short  tails, 
with  a  flit  of  white,  and  trot  away 
with  a  little  sniff,  and  their  heads 
thrown  back,  hearing  the  howl  or 
the  long  stride  of  the  wolf  in  pursuit. 
Rabbits  come  there,  and  squirrels  leap 
and  nibble  in  the  branches  above. 
Besides,  there  are  shoals  of  pretty, 
slim  fishes. 

So  through  the  mellow  gloom  and 


i6 


The  Plouse  of  Yorke. 


sunny  sparkle  of  the  old  forest,  the 
clear  brook  wanders,  growing  wiser, 
and  talking  to  itself  about  many 
things. 

Presently  the  wild  creatures  with- 
draw, sunburnt  children  wade  across 
from  bank  to  bank,  grassy  clearings 
abound,  there  are  farm-houses,  and 
cows  with  tinkling  bells;  and  then 
comes  a  bridge,  and  boats  dance  upon 
the  water,  and  the  stream  is  a  river  ! 
Alas  for  the  Indian  name  it  brought 
up  out  of  the  earth  with  it,  and  lisp- 
ed and  gurgled  and  laughed  to  itself 
all  the  way  down — the  name  spiked 
with  /&'s  and  choky-looking  g/i's, 
rough  to  the  eye,  but  sweet  in  the 
mouth,  like  a  hazel-nut  in  the  burr. 
The  white  settlers  have  changed  all 
that. 

Now,  indeed,  the  young  river  puts 
on  state,  and  lets  people  see  that  it 
is  not  to  be   waded  through ;    and 
when  they   build   a   dam   across,  it 
flows   grandly   over,   in    a    smooth, 
wine-colored  curve.  Times  are  chang- 
ed, indeed,  since  the  little  gray  birds 
with  speckled  breasts  looked  with  ad- 
miration at  its  first  cascade,  since  the 
bear,  setting   down  his   great    paw, 
clumsily  splashed  the  whole  stream 
up  over  his  shaggy  leg.     There  are 
farms  to  keep  up  appearances  before, 
mill-wheels  to  turn,  and  ships  to  bear 
up.     Pine-cones,   indeed!      Besides, 
a  new  and  strange   experience   has 
come  to  it,  and  its  bosom  pulses  daily 
with  the  swelling  of  the  tides.     And 
here  one  village   street,  with   white 
houses,  follows  its  course  a  mile  or 
so,   and  another    street   with   white 
houses  comes  down  to  its  bank  from 
the  west,  crosses  over,  and  goes  up 
eastward.     This  town,  with  its  two 
principal  streets  forming  a  cross  near 
the  mouth  of  the  river,  a  white  cross 
at  the  end  of  a  silver  chain — shall 
we   call   it   Seaton?      It  is  a  good 
enough  name.     And  the  river  shall 
be  Seaton  River,  and  the  bay  into 


which  it  flows  shall  be  Seaton  Bay. 
But  the  ocean  that  makes  the  bay, 
and  drinks  the  river,  shall  be  Atlantic 
still. 

We  have  spoken ! 
We  follow  the  road  that  follows 
the  stream  on  its  eastern  bank,  cross 
West  Street,  get  into  a  poor,  dwin- 
dling neighborhood,  leave  the  houses 
nearly  all  behind,  go  over  two  small, 
ill-conditioned  hills,  and  find  at  our 
right  a  ship-yard  with  wharves,  at 
our  left  a  dingy  little  cottage,  shaped 
like  a  travelling-trunk,  and  not  much 
larger  than  some.  It  stands  with  its 
side  toward  the  dusty  road,  a  large, 
low  chimney  rises  from  the  roof,  there 
is  a  door  with  a  window  at  each  side 
of  it.  One  can  see  at  a  glance  from 
the  outside  how  this  house  is  divided. 
It  has  but  two  rooms  below,  with  a 
tiny  square  entry  between,  and  a  low 
attic  above.  Each  room  has  three 
windows,  one  on  each  of  the  three 
outer  walls. 

The  kitchen  looked  toward  the  vil- 
lage through  its  north  window.     Op- 
posite that  was  a  large  fireplace  with 
an    ill-tempered,   crackling    fire    of 
spruce-wood,    throwing    out    sparks 
and  splinters.     It  was  April  weather, 
and  not    very   warm    yet.     In    the 
chimney-corner  sat  Mr.  Rowan,  sul- 
kily smoking  his  pipe,  his  eyes  fixed 
on    the    chimney-back.      He  was  a 
large,  slouching  man,  with  an  intelli- 
gent face  brutalized  by  intemperance. 
Drunkard  was  written  all  over  him, 
in  the  scorched  black  hair,  not  yet 
turning  gray,  in  the  dry  lips,  bloated 
features,  and  inflamed  eyes.     He  sat 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  waiting  impatient- 
ly while  his  wife  put  a  patch  in  his 
one  coat.     Mrs.  Rowan,  a  poor,  fad- 
ed, little  frightened  woman,  whom  her 
female  acquaintances  called  "  slack," 
sat  near  the  south  window,  wrinkling 
her  brows  anxiously  over   the   said 
patch,  which  was  smaller  than  the 
hole  it  was  destined  to  fill.     The  af- 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


ternoon  sunshine  spread  a  golden 
carpet  close  to  her  feet.  In  the  light 
of  it  one  could  see  the  splinters  in 
the  much-scoured  floor,  and  a  few 
fraggles  in  the  hem  of  Mrs.  Rowan's 
calico  gown. 

At  the  eastern  window  sat  Edith 
Yorke,  eleven  years  of  age,  with  a 
larcre  book  on  her  knees.  Over  this 

O 

book,  some  illustrated  work  on  natu- 
ral history,  she  had  been  bending  for 
an  hour,  her  loose  mop  of  tawny 
hair  falling  each  side  of  the  page. 
So  cloistered,  her  profile  was  invisi- 
ble; but,  standing  in  front  of  her, 
one  could  see  an  oval  face  with  regu- 
lar features  full  of  calm  earnestness. 
Bright,  arched  lips,  and  a  spirited 
curve  in  the  nostrils,  saved  this  face 
from  the  cold  look  which  regular 
features  often  give.  The  large,  droop- 
ing eyelids  promised  large  eyes,  the 
forehead  was  wide  and  not  high,  the 
brows  long,  slightly  arched,  and  pale- 
brown  in  color,  and  the  whole  face, 
neck,  hands,  and  wrists  were  tanned 
to  a  light  quadroon  tint.  But  where 
the  coarse  sleeve'had  slipped  up  was 
visible  an  arm  of  dazzling  whiteness. 
Outside  the  window,  and  but  two 
rods  distant,  hung  a  crumbling  clay 
bank,  higher  than  the  house,  with  a 
group  of  frightened  alder-bushes  look- 
ing over  the  top,  and  holding  on 
with  all  their  roots.  Some  day,  in 
spite  of  their  grip — the  sooner,  per- 
haps, because  of  its  stress — the  last 
frail  hold  was  to  be  loosed,  and  the 
bushes  were  to  come  sliding  down 
the  bank,  faster  and  faster,  to  pitch 
headlong  into  the  mire  at  the  bottom, 
with  a  weak  crackling  of  all  their 
poor  doomed  branches. 

Presently  the  child  looked  up,  with 
lights  coming  and  going  in  her  agate- 
colored  eyes.  "  How  wonderful  frogs 
are!"  she  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

There  was  no  reply. 

She  glanced  at  her  two  compan- 
ions, scarcely  conscious  of  them,  her 

VOL.    XIII. — 2 


mind  full  of  something  else.  "  But 
everything  is  wonderful,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,"  she  pursued 
dreamily. 

Mr.  Rowan  took  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  turned  his  forbidding  face, 
and  glowered  at  the  girl.  •"  You're 
a  wonderful  fool !"  he  growled  ;  then 
resumed  his  pipe,  feeling  better,  ap- 
parently, for  that  expression  of  opin- 
ion. His  wife  glanced  up,  furtive 
and  frightened,  but  said  nothing. 

Edith  looked  at  the  man  unmoved, 
saw  him  an  instant,  then,  still  look- 
ing, saw  him  not.  After  a  while  she 
became  aware,  roused  herself,  and 
bent  again  over  the  book.  Then 
there  was  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  snapping  of  the  fire,  the  snip  of 
Mrs.  Rowan's  scissors,  and  the  -lame, 
one-sided  ticking  of  an  old-fashioned 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

After  a  while,  as  the  child  read,  a 
new  thought  struck  up.  "  That's 
just  like  !  Don't  you  think  " — ad- 
dressing the  company  —  "  Major 
Cleaveland  said  yesterday  that  I  had 
Hghtning-bugs  in  my  eyes !" 

Without  removing  his  pipe,  Mr. 
Rowan  darted  an  angry  look  at  his 
wife,  whose  face  became  still  more 
frightened.  "  Dear  me !"  she  said 
feebly,  "that  child  is  an  idjut!" 

This  time  the  long,  fading  gaze 
dwelt  on  the  woman  before  it  went 
back  to  the  book  again.  But  the 
child  was  too  closely  ensphered  in 
her  own  life  to  be  much,  if  at  all, 
hurt.  Besides,  she  was  none  of 
theirs,  nor  of  their  kind.  Her  soul 
was  no  dying  spark  struggling  through 
ashes,  but  a  fire,  "  alive,  and  alive 
like  to  be,"  as  children  say  when 
they  wave  the  fire-brand,  winding 
live  ribbons  in  the  air;  and  no  drop 
of  their  blood  flowed  in  her  veins. 

The  clock  limped  over  ten  minutes 
more,  and  the  patch  was  got  into  its 
place,  after  a  fashion,  botched  some- 
what, with  the  knots  on  the  outside. 


18 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


Mr.  Rowan  took  the  coat,  grumbled 
at  it,  put  it  on,  and  went  out,  glanc- 
ing back  at  the  child  as  he  opened 
the  door.  She  was  looking  after  him 
with  an  expression  which  he  inter- 
preted to  mean  aversion  and  con- 
tempt. Perhaps  he  mistook.  May 
be  she  was  wondering  at  him,  what 
sort  of  strange  being  he  was.  Edith 
Yorke  was  very  curious  regarding 
the  world  she  had  got  into.  It  seem- 
ed to  her  a  queer  place,  and  that 
she  had  at  present  not  much  concern 
in  it. 

Her  husband  out  of  the  way,  Mrs. 
Rowan  took  her  knitting-work,  and 
stood  a  moment  at  the  north  win- 
dow, gazing  up  toward  the  town, 
with  a  far-away  look  of  blunted  ex- 
pectancy, as  if  she  had  got  in  the 
habit  of  looking  for  help  which  never 
came.  Then  she  drew  a  long  sigh, 
that  also  a  habit,  and,  resuming  her 
chair,  began  to  knit  and  to  rock  her- 
self, letting  her  mind,  what  there  was 
left  of  it,  swing  to  and  fro,  unmean- 
ingly and  miserably,  to  the  sound  of 
the  clock  as  it  ticked.  "  O  dear  ! 
O  dear!" — that  was  what  the  tick- 
ing always  said  to  this  poor  soul.  As 
she  sat,  the  afternoon  sun,  sinking 
lower,  crept  about  her  feet,  climbed 
to  her  lap,  got  hol^l  of  her  knitting, 
and  ran  in  little  bright  flashes  along 
the  needles,  and  snapped  off  in 
sparks  at  the  ends,  so  that  she  seem- 
ed to  be  knitting  sunshine. 

This  woman  was  what  remained 
at  forty  of  a  pretty,  flaxen-haired  girl 
of  eighteen,  who  had  captivated  hand- 
some Dick  Rowan,  for  he  had  been 
handsome.  A  faded  rag  of  a  wo- 
man she  was,  without  hope  or  spirit, 
all  the  color  and  life  washed  out  of 
her  in  a  bitter  rain  of  tears.  The 
pink  cheeks  had  faded,  and  only  the 
ghost  remained  of  that  dimple  that 
had  once  seemed  to  give  meaning 
to  her  smiles.  The  curly  hair  was 
dry  and  thin,  and  had  an  air  of  chro- 


nic untidiness.  The  blue-gray  eyes 
were  dim  and  heavy,  the  teeth  were 
nearly  all  gone.  The  pretty,  chirp- 
ing ways  that  had  been  captivating 
when  youth  covered  their  silliness — 
oh !  where  had  they  gone  ?  She  was 
a  weak,  broken-hearted,  shiftless  little 
woman,  and  her  husband  hated  her. 
He  felt  wronged  and  cheated  by  her. 
He  was  more  disappointed  than  Ix- 
ion,  for  in  this  cloud  there  had  never 
even  been  a  goddess.  If  she  had 
sometimes  turned  upon  him,  when  he 
acted  like  a  brute,  and  scorned  him 
for  it,  he  would  have  liked  her  bet- 
ter; but  she  shrank,  and  cowered, 
and  trembled,  made  him  feel  himself 
ten  times  the  brute  she  dared  not 
call  him,  yet  gave  him  nothing  to 
resent.  "  Gentle,  is  she  ?"  he  cried 
out  once  in  a  rage.  "  She  is  not !  She 
is  weak  and  slavish.  A  person  cannot 
be  gentle  who  cannot  be  something 
else." 

So  the  poor  woman  suffered,  and 
got  neither  pity  nor  credit  from  the 
one  who  caused  her  suffering.  It 
was  hard ;  and  yet,  she  was  nobler  in 
her  misery  than  she  would  have  been 
in  happiness.  For  sorrow  gave  her 
now  and  then  a  touch  of  dignity  ; 
and  when,  stung  with  a  sudden  per- 
ception of  her  own  nothingness,  she 
flung  her  desperate  hands  upward, 
and  called  upon  God  to  deliver  her, 
a  certain  tragical  power  and  beauty 
seemed  to  wrap  her  round.  Mrs. 
Rowan  happy  would  have  been  a 
trivial  woman,  meaning  no  great 
harm,  because  meaning  no  great  any- 
thing ;  but  the  fiery  furnace  of  pain 
had  scorched  her  up,  and  what  re- 
mained was  pure. 

When  the  two  were  alone,  Edith 
dropped  her  book,  and  looked  across 
the  room  at  her  companion.  Mrs. 
Rowan,  busy  with  her  own  sad 
thoughts,  took  no  notice  of  her,  and 
presently  the  child  glanced  past  her, 
and  out  the  window.  The  view  was 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


not  bad.  First  came  the  dusty  road, 
then  the  ship-yard,  then  the  river 
sparkling,  but  rather  the  worse  for 
sawdust  and  lath-edgings  that  came 
down  from  the  lumber-mills  above 
the  village.  But  here  all  that  was 
sordid  came  to  an  end.  The  mean- 
ness and  misery  on  the  hitherward 
bank  were  like  witches,  who  cannot 
cross  running  water.  From  the  op- 
posite bank  rose  a  long,  grassy  hill, 
unmarred  by  road  or  fence.  In  sum- 
mer-time you  could  see  from  far  away 
the  pinkness  of  the  wild-roses  that 
had  seen  fit  to  bind  with  a  blooming 
cestus  the  dented  waist  of  this  hill. 
Behind  them  was  a  green  spray  of  lo- 
cust and  laburnum  trees,  then  dense 
round  tops  of  maples,  and  elms  in 
graceful  groups,  half-hiding  the  roofs 
and  gables  of  Major  Cleaveland's 
house — the  great  house  of  the  village, 
as  its  owner  was  the  great  man.  Be- 
hind that  was  a  narrow  rim  of  pines 
and  spruces,  making  the  profile  of  an 
enchanted  city  against  the  horizon, 
and  above  that  a  vast  hollow  of  un- 
obstructed sky.  In  that  space  the 
sunsets  used  to  build  their  jasper 
walls,  and  calm  airs  stretch  long  lines 
of  vapor  across,  till  the  whole  west  was 
a  stringed  instrument  whereon  a  full 
symphony  of  colors  played  good- 
night to  the  sun.  There  the  west 
wind  blew  up  bubbles  of  wry  cloud, 
and  the  new  moon  put  forth  her 
gleaming  sickle  to  gather  in  the  sheaf 
of  days,  a  never -failing  harvest, 
through  storm  and  sunshine,  hoar- 
frost and  dew.  There  the  pearly  piles 
of  cumuli  used  to  slumber  on  summer 
afternoons,  lightnings  growing  in  their 
bosoms  to  flash  forth  at  evening ;  and 
there,  when  a  long  storm  ended  with 
the  day,  rose  the  solid  arch  of  ceru- 
lean blue.  When  it  had  reached  a 
certain  height,  Edith  Yorke  would 
run  into  the  south  room,  and  look 
out  to  see  the  rainbow  suspend  its 
miraculous  arch  over  the  retreating 


storm.  This  little  girl,  to  whom 
everything  was  so  wonderful  when 
she  came  to  think  of  it,  was  a  dear 
lover  of  beauty. 

"  O  dear !  O  dear !"  ticked  the 
clock  ;  and  the  barred  sunshine  turn- 
ed slowly  on  the  floor,  as  if  the  ugly 
little  house  were  the  hub  of  a  huge, 
leisurely  wheel  of  gold. 

Edith  dropped  her  book,  and  went 
to  Mrs.  Rowan's  side,  taking  a  stool 
with  her,  and  sitting  down  in  the 
midst  of  the  sunshine. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shall  forget  my  sto- 
ry, Mrs.  Jane,  unless  I  say  it  over 
again,"  she  said.  "  And,  you  know, 
mamma  told  me  never  to  forget." 

Mrs.  Rowan  roused  herself,  glad 
of  anything  which  could  take  her 
mind  from  her  own  troubles.  "  Well, 
tell  it  all  over  to  me  now,"  she  said. 
"  I  haven't  heard  it  this  long  time." 

"  Will  you  be  sure  to  correct  rne  if 
I  am  wrong  ?"  the  child  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"  Yes,  I  will.  But  don't  begin  till 
I  have  taken  up  the  heel  of  this  stock- 
ing." 

The  stitches  were  counted  and 
evened,  half  of  them  taken  off  on  to  a 
thread,  and  the  other  half,  with  the 
seam-stitch  in  the  middle,  knit  back- 
ward once.  Then  Edith  began  to 
repeat  the  story  confided  to  her  by 
her  dead  mother. 

"  My  grandpapa  and  grandmamma 
were  Polish  exiles.  They  had  to 
leave  Poland  when  Aunt  Marie  was 
only  a  year  old,  and  before  mamma 
was  born.  They  couldn't  take  their 
property  with  them,  but  only  jewels, 
and  plate,  and  pictures.  They  went 
to  Brussels,  and  there  my  mamma  was 
born,  and  the  queen  was  her  god- 
mother, and  sent  the  christening- robe. 
Mamma  kept  the  robe  till  she  grew 
up  ;  but  when  she  was  in  America,  and 
was  poor,  and  wanted  to  go  to  a  par- 
ty, she  cut  it  up  to  make  the  waist 
and  sleeves  of  a  dress.  Poverty  is 


20 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


no  disgrace,  mamma  said,  but  it  is  a 
great  inconvenience.  By  -  and  -  by, 
they  left  Brussels,  and  went  to  Eng- 
land. Grandpapa  wanted  some  way 
to  get  money  to  live  on,  for  they  had 
sold  nearly  all  their  pictures  and 
things.  They  stayed  in  England  not 
very  long.  Countess  Poniatowski  call- 
ed on  grandmamma,  and  she  had  on  a 
black  velvet  bonnet  with  red  roses  in 
it ;  so  I  suppose  it  was  winter.  Then 
one  day  grandpapa  took  mamma  out 
to  walk  in  a  park ;  so  I  suppose  that 
was  summer.  There  were  some  gen- 
tlemen in  the  park  that  they  talked 
to,  and  one  of  them,  a  gentleman  with 
a  hook  nose,  who  was  sitting  down 
on  a  bench,  took  mamma  on  his  knees, 
and  started  to  kiss  her.  But  mamma 
slapped  his  face.  She  said  he  had  no 
right  to  kiss  people  who  didn't  want 
him  to,  not  even  if  he  were  a  king. 
His  name  was  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton. Then  they  all  came  to  Ame- 
rica, and  people  here  were  very  polite 
to  them,  because  they  were  Polish 
exiles,  and 'of  noble  birth.  But  they 
couldn't  eat  nor  drink  nor  wear 
politeness,  mamma  said,  and  so 
they  grew  poorer  and  poorer  every 
day,  and  didn't  know  what  they 
would  do.  Once  they  travelled  with 
Henry  Clay  two  weeks,  and  had 
quite  a  nice  time,  and  they  went  to 
Ashland  and  stayed  all  night.  When 
they  went  away  the  next  day,  Mr. 
Clay  gave  mamma  and  Aunt  Marie  the 
little  mugs  they  had  had  to  drink  out  of. 
But  they  didn't  care  much  about  'em, 
and  they  broke  'em  pretty  soon.  Mam- 
ma said  she  didn't  know  then  that  Mr. 
Clay  was  a  great  man.  She  thought 
that  just  a  mister  couldn't  be  great. 
She  had  always  seen  lords  and  counts, 
and  grandpapa  was  a  colonel  in  the 
army — Colonel  Luborniorski  his  name 
was.  But  she  said  that  in  this  coun- 
try a  man  might  be  great,  even  if  he 
wasn't  anything  but  a  mister,  and 
that  my  papa  was  as  great  as  a 


prince.  Well,  then  they  came  to 
Boston,  and  Aunt  Marie  died,  and 
they  buried  her,  and  mamma  was  al- 
most nine  years  old.  People  used  to 
pet  and  notice  her,  and  everybody 
talked  about  her  hair.  It  was  thick 
and  black,  and  it  curled  down  to  her 
waist.  One  day  Doctor  Somebody, 
I  can  never  recollect  his  name,  took 
her  out  walking  on  the  Common, 
and  they  went  into  Mr.  John  Quincy 
Adams's  house.  And  Mr.  Adams 
took  one  of  mamma's  curls,  and  held 
it  out,  and  said  it  was  long  enough 
and  large  enough  to  hang  the  Czar 
with.  And  she  said  that  they  might 
have  it  all  if  they'd  hang  him  with 
it.  And  then  poor  grandpapa  had 
to  go  to  Washington,  and  teach  danc- 
ing and  fencing,  because  that  was  all 
he  could  do.  And  pretty  soon  grand- 
mamma broke  her  heart  and  died. 
And  then  after  a  little  while  grand- 
papa died.  And,  after  that,  mamma 
had  to  go  out  sewing  to  support 
herself,  and  she  went  to  Boston,  and 
sewed  in  Mr.  Yorke's  family.  And 
Mr.  Yorke's  youngest  brother  fell  in 
love  with  her,  and  she  fell  in  love 
with  him,  and  they  married  each 
other  in  spite  of  everybody.  So  the 
family  were  awfully  angry.  My  papa 
had  been  engaged  ever  since  he  was 
a  little  boy  to  Miss  Alice  Mills,  and 
they  had  put  off  getting  married  be- 
cause she  was  rich,  and  he  hadn't 
anything,  and  was  looking  round  to 
see  how  he  should  get  a  fortune. 
And  the  Millses  all  turned  against  him, 
and  the  Yorkes  all  turned  against 
him,  and  he  and  mamma  went  off,  and 
wandered  about,  and  came  down  to 
Maine ;  and  papa  died.  Then  mam- 
ma had  to  sew  again  to  support  her- 
self, and  we  were  awfully  poor.  I 
remember  that  we  lived  in  the  same 
house  with  you ;  but  it  was  a  better 
house  than  this,  and  wa^  up  in 
the  village.  Then  mamma's  heart 
broke,  and  she  died  too.  But  I  don't 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


21 


mean  to  break  my  heart,  Mrs.  Jane. 
It's  a  poor  thing  to  do." 

"  Yes  !"  sighed  the  listener ;  "  it's 
a  poor  thing  to  do." 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  child,  "  then 
you  kept  me.  It  was  four  years  ago 
when  my  mamma  died,  but  I  remem- 
ber it  all.  She  made  me  promise 
not  to  forget  who  my  mother  was, 
and  promise,  with  both  my  hands 
held  up,  that  I  would  be  a  Catholic, 
if  I  had  to  die  for  it.  So  I  held  up 
both  my  hands,  and  promised,  and 
she  looked  at  me,  and  then  shut  her 
eyes.  It  that  all  right  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear !"  Mrs.  Rowan  had 
dropped  her  knitting  as  the  story 
went  on,  and  was  gazing  dreamily 
out  the  window,  recalling  to  mind 
her  brief  acquaintance  with  the  fair 
young  exile. 

"  Dick  and  I  grew  to  be  great 
friends,"  Edith  continued  rather  tim- 
idly. "  He  used  to  take  care  of  me, 
and  fight  for  me.  Poor  Dick  !  He 
was  mad  nearly  all  the  time,  because 
his  father  drank  rum,  and  because 
people  twitted  him,  and  looked  down 
upon  him." 

Mrs.  Rowan  took  up  her  work 
again,  and  knit  tears  in  with  the 
yarn. 

"  And  Dick  gave  his  father  an  aw- 
ful talking-to,  one  day,"  Edith  went 
on,  still  more  timidly.  "  That  was 
two  years  ago.  He  stood  up  and 
poured  out  words.  His  eyes  were 
so  flashing  that  they  dazzled,  and  his 
cheeks  were  red,  and  he  clinched  his 
hands.  He  looked  most  splendid. 
When  I  go  back  to  Poland,  he  shall 
be  a  general  in  the  army.  He  will 
look  just  as  he  did  then,  if  the  Czar 
should  come  near  us.  Well,  after 
that  day  he  went  off  to  sea,  and  he 
has  not  been  back  since." 

Tears  were  running  down  the  mo- 
ther's cheeks  as  she  thought  of  her 
son,  the  only  child  left  her  of  three. 

Edith    leaned    and    clasped   both 


her  hands  around  Mrs.  Rowan's  arm, 
and  laid  her  cheek  to  them.  "  But 
he  is  coming  back  rich,  he  said  he 
would;  and  what  Dick  said  he'd  do 
he  always  did.  He  is  going  to  take 
us  away  from  here,  and  get  a  pretty 
house,  and  come  and  live  with  us." 

A  hysterical,  half-laughing  sob 
broke  through  the  listener's  quiet 
weeping.  "  He  always  did  keep  his 
word,  Edith !"  she  cried.  "  Dick  was 
a  gallant  lad.  And  I  trust  that  the 
Lord  will  bring  him  back  to  me." 

"  Oh  !  he'll  come  back,"  said  Edith 
confidently,  and  with  a  slight  air  of 
haughtiness.  "  He'll  come  back  him- 
self." 

All  the  Christianity  the  child  had 
seen  had  been  such  as  to  make  the 
name  of  the  Lord  excite  in  her  heart  a 
feeling  of  antagonism.  It  is  hard  to  be- 
lieve that  God  means  love  when  man 
means  hate ;  and  this  child  and  her 
protectors  had  seen  but  little  of  the 
sunny  side  of  humanity.  Christians 
held  aloof  from  the  drunkard  and 
his  family,  or  approached  them  only 
to  exhort  or  denounce.  That  they 
had  any  kinship  with  that  miserable 
man,  that  in  his  circumstances  they 
might  have  been  what  he  was,  never 
seemed  to  occur  to  them  as  possible. 
Dick  fought  with  the  boys  who  mock- 
ed his  father,  therefore  he  was  a  bad 
boy.  Mrs.  Rowan  flamed  up,  and 
defended  her  husband,  when  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Martin  denounced  him,  therefore 
she  was  almost  as  bad  as  he.  So 
shallow  are  most  judgments,  arraign- 
ing effects  without  weighing  causes. 

Nor  did  Edith  fare  better  at  their 
hands.  She  was  to  them  a  sort  of 
vagabond.  Who  believed  the  story 
of  her  mother's  romantic  misfortunes  ? 
She  was  some  foreign  adventuress, 
most  likely.  Mr.  Charles  Yorke,  whom 
they  respected,  had  married  a  native 
of  Seaton,  and  had  two  or  three 
times  honored  that  town  with  a  short 
visit.  They  knew  that  he  had  cast 


22 


The  House  o/   Yorke. 


off  his  own  brother  for  marrying  this 
child's  mother.  Therefore  she  had 
no  claim  on  their  respect. 

Moreover,  some  of  the  ladies  for 
whom  young  Mrs.  Yorke  had  done 
sewing  had  not  the  pleasantest  of  re- 
collections connected  with  her.  A 
poor  person  has  no  right  to  be  proud 
and  high-spirited,  and  the  widowed 
exile  was  a  very  fiery  woman.  She 
would  not  sit  at  table  with  their  ser- 
vants, she  would  not  be  delighted 
when  they  patronized  her,  and  she 
would  not  be  grateful  for  the  scanty 
wages  they  gave  her.  She  had  even 
dared  to  break  out  upon  Mrs.  Cleave- 
land  when  that  lady  had  sweetly  re- 
quested her  to  enter  her  house  by 
the  side  door,  when  she  came  to  sew. 
"  In  Poland  a  person  like  you  would 
scarcely  have  been  allowed  to  tie 
my  mother's  shoes  !"  she  cried.  The 
lady  answered  suavely,  "  But  we  are 
not  in  Poland,  madam ;"  but  she 
never  forgave  the  insolence — still 
less  because  her  husband  laughed  at 
it,  and  rather  liked  Mrs.  Yorke's 
spirit. 

These  were  the  ladies  whom  Edith 
had  heard  talk  of  religion ;  so  she 
lifted  her  head,  dropped  her  eyelids, 
and  said  defiantly,  "  Dick  will  come 
home  himself!" 

"  Not  unless  the  Lord  lets  him 
come,"  said  the  mother.  "  Oh  !  no 
good  will  come  to  us  except  by  him. 
'  Unless  the  Lord  build  the  house,  they 
labor  in  vain  that  build  it :  unless  the 
Lord  keep  the  city,  he  ivatcheth  in  vain 
that  keepeth  it:  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  much  to 
thank  him  for,"  remarked  the  child 
quietly. 

"  I  will  thank  him  !"  the  woman 
cried  out  in  a  passion.  "  I  will  trust 
him  !  He  is  all  the  hope  I  have  !" 

"  Well,  well,  you  may  !"  Edith  said 
soothingly.  "  Don't  let's  talk  about 
it  any  more.  Give  me  the  scissors, 
and  I'll  cut  the  fraggles  off  the  hem 


of  your  gown.  Suppose  Dick  should 
come  home  all  of  a  sudden,  and  find 
us  looking  so  !  I  hope  he  will  let 
us  know,  don't  you  ?  so  that  we  can 
put  our  best  clothes  on." 

The  best  clothes  in  question  were  a 
black  bombazine  gown  and  shawl, 
and  an  old-fashioned  crape  bonnet 
and  veil,  all  sewed  up  and  hidden 
away  under  Edith's  bed  in  the  little 
dark  attic,  lest  Mr.  Rowan,  in  one 
of  his  drunken  frenzies,  should  de- 
stroy them.  These  articles  were  the 
mourning  which  Mrs.  Rowan  had 
vorn  seven  years  before,  when  her 
last  daughter  died.  With  them  was 
another  bag,  belonging  to  Edith, 
equally  precious  to  its  owner,  but 
from  other  reasons.  There  was  a 
scarlet  merino  cape,  lined  with  silk 
of  the  same  color,  both  a  little  faded, 
and  a  faded  crape  scarf  that  had 
once  been  gorgeous  with  red  and 
gold.  In  the  innermost  fold  of  this 
scarf,  wrapped  in  tissue-paper,  and 
tucked  inside  an  old  kid  glove  of  re- 
markable smallness,  were  two  locks 
of  hair — one  a  short,  thick  wave  of 
yellow-brown,  the  other  a  long,  ser- 
pentine tress  of  ebony  blackness. 

While  they  talked,  the  door  of  the 
room  opened,  and  Mr.  Rowan  look- 
ed in.  "  Aren't  we  going  to  have  any 
supper  to-night  ?"  he  demanded. 

Edith  fixed  a  look  on  him  that 
made  him  shrink  out,  and  bang  the 
door  behind  him.  His  wife  started 
up,  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  went 
about  her  work. 

"  Let  me  help  you,  Mrs.  Jane," 
the  child  said. 

"  No,  dear.  There  isn't  much  to 
do,  and  I'd  rather  do  it."  Mrs. 
Rowan's  voice  had  a  sepulchral  sound, 
her  head  being  deep  in  the  fireplace, 
where  she  was  putting  one  hook  into 
another  on  the  crane,  to  let  the  tea- 
kettle down.  She  emerged  with  a 
smooch  of  soot  on  her  hair  and  fore- 
head, and  began  flying  round  bring- 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


ing  a  table  into  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  putting  up  the  leaves,  spreading 
the  cloth,  taking  down  the  dishes, 
all  with  trembling  haste.  "  If  you 
want  to  knit  a  few  times  across  the 
heel  of  that  stocking,  you  may.  But 
be  careful  not  to  knit  too  tightly,  as 
you  almost  always  do.  You  can  be- 
gin to  narrow  when  it's  two  of  your 
forefingers  long." 

Edith  took  the  knitting,  and  went 
to  her  favorite  chair  in  the  back  win- 
dow. The  room  had  grown  smoky 
in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Rowan's  pil- 
ing of  soft  wood  on  to  the  fire,  and 
hurrying  about  past  the  fireplace,  so 
she  pushed  up  the  window,  and  fas- 
tened it  with  a  wooden  button  fixed 
there  for  the  purpose.  Then  she  be- 
gan to  knit  and  think,  and,  forgetting 
Mrs.  Rowan's  directions,  pulled  the 
yarn  so  tightly  over  her  fingers  that 
she  worked  a  hard,  stiff  strip  across 
the  heel,  into  which  the  looser  knit- 
ting puckered.  The  child  was  too 
much  absorbed  to  be  aware  of  her 
mistake,  and  it  did  not  matter;  for 
that  stocking  was  never  to  be  fin- 
ished. 

While  she  dreamed  there,  a  deeper 
shadow  than  that  of  the  clay  bank 
fell  over  her.  She  looked  up  with  a 
start,  and  saw  Mr.  Rowan  standing 
outside  the  window.  He  had  placed 
himself  so  as  to  avoid  being  seen  by 
any  one  in  the  room,  aiid  was  just 
turning  his  eyes  away  from  her  when 
she  caught  sight  of  him. 

"  Lean  out  here !"  he  said.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

She  leaned  out  and  waited. 

"  What  makes  you  stare  at  me  the 
way  you  sometimes  do  ?"  he  asked 
angrily,  but  in  a  low  voice,  that  his 
wife  might  not  hear.  "  Why  don't 
you  say  right  out  what  you  think  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  do  think," 
replied  Edith,  dropping  her  eyes. 

"  You  think  that  I  am  a  wretch !" 
he  exclaimed.  "  You  think  I  am  a 


drunkard !     You  think   I  abuse  my 
wife!" 

She  neither  answered  nor  looked  up. 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  went 
on  fiercely.  "  If  there  is  anything  I 
hate,  it  is  to  have  people  look  at  me 
that  way,  and  say  nothing.  If  you 
scold  a  man,  it  looks  as  if  you  thought 
there  was  something  in  him  that 
could  tell  black  from  white ;  and  if 
you  are  impudent,  you  put  yourself 
a  little  in  the  wrong,  and  that  helps 
him.  He  isn't  so  much  ashamed  of 
himself.  But  when  you  just  look, 
and  say  nothing,  you  shut  him  out. 
It  is  as  much  as  to  tell  him  that 
words  would  be  thrown  away  on 
him." 

"  But,"  Edith  objected,  much  at  a 
loss,  "  if  I  answered  you  back,  or 
said  what  I  thought,  there  would  be 
a  quarrel  right  off." 

"  Did  I  fight  when  Dick  gave  me 
such  a  hauling-over  before  he  went 
away  ?"  the  man  questioned  in  a 
rough  tone  that  did  not  hide  how 
his  voice  broke,  and.  his  blood-shot 
eyes  filled  up  with  tears.  "  Didn't  I 
hang  my  head,  and  take  it  like  a 
dog?  He  said  I  had  acted  like  a 
brute,  but  he  didn't  say  I  was  one. 
and  he  didn't  say  but  I  could  be  a 
man  yet,  if  I  should  try.  Wasn't  I 
sober  for  three  months  after  he  went 
away  ?  Yes ;  and  I  would  have  kept 
sober  right  on  if  I  had  had  some  one 
to  thorn  and  threaten  me.  But  she 
gave  up,  and  did  nothing  but  whim- 
per, and  it  maddened  me.  When  I 
ordered  her  to  mix  my  rum  for  me, 
she  did  it.  I  should  have  liked  her 
better  if  she  had  thrown  it,  tumbler 
and  all,  into  my  face." 

"  You'd  better  not  find  fault  with 
her,"  said  Edith.  "  She's  a  great 
deal  better  than  you  are." 

The  child  had  a  gentle,  sincere 
way  of  saying  audacious  things  some- 
times that  made  one  wonder  if  she 
knew  how  audacious  they  were. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


The  man  stared  at  her  a  moment ; 
then,  looking  away,  answered  with- 
out any  appearance  of  anger,  "  I  sup- 
pose she  is ;  but  I  don't  think  much 
of  that  kind  of  goodness  when  there's 
a  hard  job  to  be  done.  You  can't 
lift  rocks  with  straws.  I'm  sorry  for 
her;  but,  for  all  that,  she  aggravates 
me,  poor  thing !" 

He  leaned  back  against  the  house, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
stared  at  the  clay  bank  before  him. 
Edith  looked  at  him,  but  said  noth- 
ing. Presently  he  turned  so  suddenly 
that  she  started.  "Girl,"  he  said, 
"  never  do  you  ridicule  a  man  who  has 
been  drinking,  no  matter  what  he 
does!  You  may  hate  him,  or  be 
afraid  of  him,  but  never  laugh  at 
him  !  You  might  as  well  look  down 
into  hell  and  laugh  !  Do  you  know 
what  it  is  to  be  in  the  power  of  rum  ? 
It  is  to  have. serpents  twining  round 
you,  and  binding  you  hand  and  foot. 
I've  gone  through  the  streets  up  there 
with  devils  on  my  back,  pushing  me 
down;  wild  beasts  tearing  my  vitals; 
reptiles  crawling  round  n\e;  the  earth 
rising  up  and  quaking  under  my  feet, 
and  a  horror  in  my  soul  that  no  words 
can  describe,  and  the  men  and  women 
and  children  have  laughed  at  me. 
Perhaps  they  were  such  shallow  fools 
that  they  didn't  know ;  but  I  tell  you, 
and  you  know  now.  Don't  you  ever 
dare  to  laugh  at  a  drunkard  !" 

"  I  never  will !"  Edith  cried  out, 
in  an  agony  of  terror  and  pity.  "  O 
you  poor  man !  I  didn't  know  it  was 
so  awful.  O  you  poor  man !" 

Mr.  Rowan  had  stopped,  gasping 
for  breath,  and,  with  his  patched 
sleeve,  wiped  off  the  perspiration  that 
was  streaming  down  his  face.  Edith 
tore  off  her  little  calico  apron  with 
such  haste  as  to  break  the  strings. 
"  Here,  take  this !"  she  said,  reaching 
it  out  to  him. 

He  took  it  with  a  shaking  hand, 
and  wiped  his  face  again ;  wiped  his 


eyes  again  and  again,  breathing 
heavily. 

"  Couldn't  you  be  saved  ?"  she 
asked,  in  a  whisper.  "  Isn't  there 
any  way  for  you  to  get  out  of  it  ?" 

"  No !"  he  said,  and  gave  her  back 
her  apron.  "  No  ;  and  I  wish  that  1 
were  dead  I" 

"Don't  say  that!"  the  child  en- 
treated. "It  is  wicked;  and  per- 
haps you  will  die  if  you  say  it." 

The  drunkard  raised  his  trembling 
hands,  and  looked  upward.  "  I  wish 
to  God  that  I  were  dead !"  he  re- 
peated. 

Edith  shrank  back  into  the  room. 
Sfre  was  too  much  terrified  to  listen 
to  any  more.  But  after  a  moment  he 
called  her  name,  and  she  leaned  out 
again.  His  face  was  calmer,  and  his 
voice  more  quiet.  "  Don't  tell  her 
what  I  have  been  talking  about,"  he 
said,  nodding  toward  the  room.  "  I 
would  sooner  tear  my  tongue  out  by 
the  roots  than  say  anything  to  her." 

"  I  won't  tell,"  Edith  promised. 

"  Supper 's  ready,"  Mrs.  Rowan 
announced,  coming  towards  the  win- 
dow. She  had  heard  her  husband's 
voice  in  conversation  with  Edith,  and 
wondered  greatly  what  was  going 
on. 

Mr.  Rowan  turned  away,  with  a 
look  of  irritation,  at  sound  of  her 
timid  voice,  walked  round  the  house, 
and  came  sulkily  in  to  his  supper. 

Their  meals  had  always  been  com- 
fortless and  silent;  but  now  Edith 
tried  to  talk,  at  first  with  Mrs.  Row- 
an; but  when  she  saw  that  the 
woman's  tremulous  replies,  as  if  she 
did  not  dare  to  speak  in  her  hus- 
band's presence,  were  bringing  an 
uglier  frown  to  this  face,  and  that  he 
was  changing  from  sullen  to  savage, 
she  addressed  her  remarks  and  ques- 
tions to  him.  Mr.  Rowan  was  a 
surveyor,  and  a  good  one,  when  he 
was  sober,  and  he  was  a  man  of  some 
general  information  and  reading. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


When  he  could  be  got  to  talk,  one 
was  surprised  to  find  in  him  the  ruins 
of  a  gentleman.  Now  his  answers 
were  surly  enough,  but  they  were  in- 
telligent, and  the  child,  no  longer 
looking  at  him  from  the  outside, 
questioned  him  fearlessly,  and  kept 
up  a  sort  of  conversation  till  they  rose 
from  table. 

It  was  Mr.  Rowan's  custom  to  go 
out  immediately  after  supper,  and  not 
come  home  till  late  in  the  evening, 
when  he  would  stagger  in,  Sometimes 
stupid,  sometimes  furious  with  liquor. 
But  to-night  he  lingered  about  when 
he  had  left  the  table,  lighted  his  pipe, 
kicked  the  fire,  wound  up  the  clock, 
and  cursed  it  for  stopping,  and  finally, 
as  if  ashamed  of  the  proposal  even 
while  making  it,  said  to  Edith, 
"  Come,  get  the  checker-board,  and 
see  if  you  can  beat  me." 

She  was  quick-witted  enough,  or 
sensitive  enough,  not  to  show  any 
surprise,  but  quietly  brought  out  the 
board,  and  arranged  the  chairs  and 
stand.  It  was  a  square  of  board, 
rough  at  the  edges,  planed  on  one 
side,  and  marked  off  in  checks  with 
red  chalk.  The  men  were  bits  of' 
tanned  leather,  one  side  white,  the 
other  side  black.  She  placed  them, 
smiled,  and  said,  "  Now,  I'm  ready !" 

Mrs.  Rowan's  cheeks  began  to  red- 
den up  with  excitement  as  she  went 
about  clearing  the  table,  and  washing 
the  dishes,  but  she  said  nothing.  She 
had  even  tact  enough  to  go  away 
into  the  bedroom,  when  her  work 
was  done,  and  leave  the  two  to  play 
out  their  game  umvatched.  There  she 
sat  in  the  falling  dusk,her  hands  clasped 
on  her  knees,  listening  to  every  sound, 
expecting  every  moment  to  hear  her 
husband  go  out.  The  three  curtains 
in  the  room  were  rolled  up  to  the 
very  tops  of  the  windows,  and,  in  their 
places,  three  pictures  seemed  to  hang 
on  the  smoky  walls,  and  illumine  the 
place.  One  was  a  high  clay  bank, 


its  raw  front  ruddy  with  evening 
light,  its  top  crowned  with  a  bush 
burning  like  that  of  Horeb.  The 
second  was  a  hill  covered  with  spruce- 
trees,  nothing  else,  from  the  little 
cone,  not  a  foot  high,  to  the  towering 
spire  that  pierced  the  sky.  Some 
faint  rose-reflections  yet  warmed  their 
sombre  shadows,  and  each  sharp  top 
was  silvered  with  the  coming  moon- 
light. The  third  window  showed  a 
deserted  ship-yard,  with  the  skeleton 
of  a  bark  standing  on  the  stocks.'  The 
shining  river  beyond  seemed  to  flow 
through  its  ribs,  and  all  about  it  the 
ground  was  covered  with  bright  yel- 
low chips  and  shavings.  Above  it,  in 
the  tender  green  of  the  south-western 
sky,  a  cloud-bark  freighted  with  crim- 
son light  sailed  off  southward,  losing 
its  treasure  as  it  went.  These  strong, 
rich  lights,  meeting  and  crossing  in 
the  room,  showed  clearly  the  woman's 
nervous  face  full  of  suspense,  the  very 
attitude,  too,  showing  suspense,  as 
she  only  half-sat  on  the  side  of  the 
bed,  ready  to  start  up  at  a  sound. 
After  a  while  she  got  up  softly,  and 
went  to  the  -fireplace  to  listen. 
All  was  still  in  the  other  room, 
but  she  heard  distinctly  the  crackling 
of  the  fire.  What  had  come  over 
him  ?  What  did  it  mean  ? 

Presently  there  was  a  slight  move- 
ment, and  Edith's  voice  spoke  out 
brightly  :  "  Oh  !  I've  got  another 
king.  Now  I  have  a  chance  !" 

The  listener  trembled  with  doubt 
and  fear.  Her  husband  was  actually 
sitting  at  home,  and  playing  checkers 
with  Edith,  instead  of  going  out  to 
get  drunk  !  He  could  not  mean  to 
go,  or  he  would  have  gone  at  once. 
She  longed  to  go  and  assure  herself, 
to  sit  down  in  the  room  with  him, 
but  could  scarcely  find  courage  to  do 
so.  She  held  her  breath  as  she  went 
toward  the  door,  and  her  hand  falter- 
ed on  the  latch.  But  at  last  she  sum- 
moned resolution,  and  went  out. 


26 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


The  lamp  was  lighted,  the  checker- 
board placed  on  the  table  beside  it, 
and  the  two  were  talking  over  the 
slackening  game.  Edith  had  a  good 
head  for  a  child  of  her  age,  but  her 
opponent  was  an  excellent  player, 
and  she  could  not  interest  him  long. 
She  was  trying  every  lure  to  keep 
him,  though,  and  made  a  new  tack 
as  Mrs.  Rowan  came  in,  relating  an 
experience  of  her  own,  instead  of 
questioning  him  concerning  his.  "  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  I  saw  last 
night  in  my  chamber,"  she  said. 

Edith's  chamber  was  the  little  dark 
attic,  which  was  reached  by  a  steep 
stairway  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace. 

"  I  was  in  bed,  wide  awake,  and  it 
was  pitch  dark.     You  know  you  put 
the  cover  over  the  skylight  when  it 
rained,  the  other  day,  and  it  has  not 
been   taken   off.      Well,   instead   of 
shutting  my  eyes,  I  kept  them  wide 
open,  and  looked  straight  into  the 
dark.     I've  heard  that  you  can  see 
spirits  so,  and  so  I  thought  I  might  see 
my  mamma.     Pretty  soon  there  was 
a  great  hole  in  the  dark,  like  a  whirl- 
pool, and  after  a  minute  there  was  a 
little  light  down  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
I  kept  on  looking,  just  as  if  I  were 
looking  down  into  a  deep  well,  and 
then   there   came   colors  in   clouds, 
sailing  about,  just  like  clouds  in  the 
sky.      Some  were  red,  others  pink, 
others  blue,  and  all  colors.     Some- 
times there  would  be  a  pattern  of 
colors,  just  like  figures  in  a  carpet, 
only  they  were  blocks,  not  flowers. 
I  didn't  dream  it.    I  saw  it  as  plainly 
as  I  see  the  fire  this  minute.     What 
do  you  suppose  it  was,  Mr.  Rowan  ?" 
He  had  listened  with  interest,  and 
did  not  appear  to  find  anything  sur- 
prising in  the  recital. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  op- 
tics," he  answered ;  "  but  I  suppose 
there  is  a  scientific  reason  for  this, 
whether  it  is  known  or  not.  I've  seen 
those  colors — that  is,  I  did  when  I 


was  a  child;  and  De  Quincey,  in  his 
Opium  Confessions,  tells  the  same 
story.  I  don't  believe  that  grown 
people  are  likely  to  see  them,  for  the 
reason  that  they  shut  their  eyes,  and 
their  minds  are  more  occupied.  You 
have  to  stare  a  good  while  into  the 
dark,  and  wait  what  comes,  and  not 
think  much  of  anything." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith.  "  But  what  do 
you  guess  it  is  ?" 

Mr.  Rowan  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  with"  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  head,  and  considered  the  matter 
a  moment,  some  finer  intelligence 
than  often  showed  there  kindling  be- 
hind his  bloated  face. 

"  I  should  guess  it  might  be  this," 
he  said.  "  Though  the  place  appears 
at  first  to  be  dark,  there  are  really 
some  particles  of  light  there.  And 
since  there  are  too  few  of  them  to 
keep  up  a  connection  in  their  perfect 
state,  they  divide  into  their  colors, 
and  make  the  clouds  you  saw.  I  don't- 
know  why  particles  of  light  should 
not  separate,  when  they  have  a  great 
deal  to  do,  and  not  much  to  do  it 
with.  Air  does." 

"  But  what  made  them  move  ? " 
Edith  asked.  "  They  were  never 
still." 

"  Perhaps  they  were  alive." 
She  stared,  with  scintillating  eyes. 
Mr.  Rowan  gave  a  short,  silent 
laugh.  He  knew  that  the  child  was 
only  questioning  in  order  to  keep  him. 
"  No  reason  why  not,"  he  said.  "  Ac- 
cording to  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  and 
some  other  folks,  I  believe,  heat  isn't 
caloric,  but  repulsive  motion.  It  isn't 
matter,  but  it  moves,  goes  where  no- 
thing else  can,  passes  through  stone 
and  iron,  and  can't  be  stopped,  and 
can't  be  seen.  Now,  a  something 
that  is  not  matter,  and  yet  is  powerful 
enough  to  overcome  matter,  must  be 
spirit.  Heat  is  the  soul  of  light ;  and 
if  heat  is  spirit,  light  is  alive.  Voila 
tout!  ' 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


27 


He  had  forgotten  himself  a  mo- 
ment in  the  pleasure  of  puzzling  his 
questioner;  but  catching  his  wife 
looking  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
astonishment,  he  came  back  to  the 
present.  The  smile  died  out  of  his 
face,  and  the  frown  came  back. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  play  soli- 
taire ?"  Edith  struck  in  desperately. 

He  made  a  slight  motion  of  dis- 
sent, but  it  was  not  decided;  so  she 
brought  out  the  pack  of  soiled  cards, 
and  laid  them  before  him.  There 
was  a  moment  of  hesitation,  during 
which  the  heart  of  the  wife  throbbed 
tumultuously,  and  the  nerves  of  the 
child  tingled  with  an  excitement  that 
seemed  to  snap  in  sparks  from  her 
eyes.  Then  he  took  the  cards, 
shuffled  them,  and  began  to  play. 
Mrs.  Rowan  opened  a  book,  and, 
holding  it  upside  down,  so  as  to  hide 
her  face,  cried  quietly  behind  the 
page.  Her  husband  saw  that  she 
was  crying,  cast  a  savage  glance  at 
her,  and  seemed  about  to  fling  the 
cards  down ;  but  Edith  made  some 
remark  on  the  game,  leaned  toward 
him,  and  laid  her  head  lightly  on 
his  arm.  It  was  the  first  time  in  all* 
their  acquaintance  that  she  had  vol- 
untarily touched  him.  At  the  same 
time  she  reached  her  foot,  and  push- 
ed Mrs.  Rowan's  under  the  table. 
Mrs.  Rowan  dropped  her  book,  turn- 
ed her  face  away  quickly,  and  said, 
with  an  effort  of  self-control  rare  for 
her :  "  Why,  it's  nine  o'clock  !  I'll 
go  to  bed,  I  think ;  I'm  tired." 

Nobody  answering,  or  objecting, 
she  went  away,  and  left  her  husband 
still  over  his  cards. 

"Isn't  it  about  your  bedtime?" 
he  said  presently  to  Edith. 

She  got  up  slowly,  unwilling  to 
go,  yet  not  daring  to  stay.  Oh  !  if 
she  were  but  wise  enough  to  know 
the  best  thing  that  could  be  said — 
something  which  would  strengthen 
his  resolution,  and  keep  him  in.  It 


was  not  yet  too  late  for  him  to  go  out  ; 
for,  when  every  safe  and  pitiful  door 
is  closed,  and  slumber  seals  all  mer- 
ciful eyes,  the  beacon  of  the  grog- 
shop shines  on  through  the  night, 
and  tells  that  the  way  to  perdition 
still  is  open,  and  the  eyes  of  the  rum- 
seller  yet  on  the  watch. 

"  How  glad  I  shall  be  when  Dick 
comes  home  !"  she  said.  "  Then  I 
hope  we  can  all  go  away  from  here, 
and  wipe  out,  and  begin  over." 

She  could  not  have  said  better, 
but,  if  she  had  known,  she  could  have 
done  better.  What  he  needed  was 
not  an  appeal  to  his  sentiments,  but 
physical  help.  Words  make  but  little 
impression  on  a  man  while  the  tor- 
ments of  a  burning,  infernal  thirst  are 
gnawing  at  his  vitals.  The  drun- 
kard's body,  already  singed  by  the 
near  flames  of  the  bottomless  pit, 
needed  attending  to  at  once ;  his  soul 
was  crushed  and  helpless  under  the 
ruins  of  it.  If  an  older,  wiser  head 
and  hand  had  been  there,  started  up 
the  failing  fire,  and  made  some  strong, 
bitter  draught  for  him  to  drink,  it 
might  have  doile  good.  But  the  child 
did  not  know,  and  the  sole  help  she 
could  give  was  an  appeal  to  his 
heart. 

It  is  as  true  of  the  finest  and  lofti- 
est natures,  as  of  the  perverted,  that 
they  cannot  always  conquer  the  evil 
one  by  spiritual  means  alone.  Only 
spirits  can  do  that.  And  often  the 
tempter  must  laugh  to  see  the  physi- 
cal needs,  which  were  made  to  play 
about  our  feet  like  children,  unnotic- 
ed when  the  soul  speaks,  starved  till 
they  become  demons  whose  clamor- 
ous voices  drown  the  spirit's  fainting 
cries. 

But  this  man's  demon  was  indul- 
gence, and  not  denial.  He  was  not 
hovering  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  he  was 
at  the  bottom,  and  striving  to  rise, 
and  he  could  not  endure  that  any 
eye  should  look  upon  his  struggles. 


28 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


«  D —  you  !  will  you  go  to  bed  ?" 
he  cried  out  fiercely. 

Edith  started  back,  and,  without 
another  word,  climbed  the  narrow 
stair  to  her  attic.  Before  closing  the 
trap-door,  she  looked  down  once, 
and  saw  Mr.  Rowan  tearing  and  twis- 
ting the  cards  he  had  been  playing 

with. 

He  stayed  there  the  whole  night, 
fighting  desperately  with  such  wea- 
pons as  he  had — a  will  broken  at  the 
hilt,  the  memory  of  his  son,  and  the 
thought  of  that  dear  little  girl's  tender 
but  ineffectual  pity.  As  for  God,  he 
no  longer  named  him,  save  in  impre- 
cation. The  faith  of  his  orphaned 
childhood  had  gone  long  ago.  The 
glare  of  the  world  had  scorched  it  up 
before  it  had  fairly  taken  root.  That 
there  might  be  help  and  comfort  in 
the  church  of  his  fathers  never  enter- 


ed his  mind.  "  Drink  !  drink  !"  that 
was  his  sole  thought.  "  If  I  only 
had  some  opium  !"  he  muttered,  "  or 
a  cup  of  strong  black  coffee  !  I  won- 
der if  I  could  get  either  of  'em  any- 
where?" 

The  day  was  faintly  dawning  when 
he  staggered  to  the  window,  tore 
down  the  paper  curtain,  and  looked 
out  for  some  sign  of  life.  At  the  wharf 
opposite  lay  a  vessel  that  had  come  up 
the  evening  before,  and  he  knew  by 
he  smoke  that  the  cook  was  getting 
breakfast  there. 

"  I'll  go  over  and  see  if  I  can  get 
some  coffee  or  opium,"  he  muttered, 
and  pulled  his  hat  on  as  he  went  out 
the  door. 

"  I'll  ask  for  nothing  but  coffee  or 
opium,"  he  protested  to  himself,  as 
he  shut  the  door  softly  after  him. 

Alas!  alas! 


CHAPTER    II. 


WIPING   OUT,     AND     BEGINNING   ANEW. 


THE  next  morning  was  a  gloomy 
one  for  the  two  who  had  nursed  that 
trembling  hope  overnight,  but  they 
did  not  say  much  about  it.  Mrs. 
Rowan's  face  showed  the  lassitude  of 
long  endurance.  Edith's  disappoint- 
ment was  poignant.  She  was  no 
longer  a  looker-on  merely,  but  an 
actor.  The  man  had  confided  in  her, 
had  tacitly  asked  her  sympathy,  and 
his  fail  tire  gave  her  a  pang.  She 
cast  about  in  her  thoughts  what  she 
should  do,  having  a  mind  to  put  her 
own  young  shoulder  to  the  wheel. 
Should  she  go  in  search  of  him,  and 
give  him  one  of  those  scoldings  which 
he  had  acknowledged  his  need  of? 
Should  she  lead  him  home,  and  pro- 
tect him  from  abuse  ? 

"  Hadn't  I  better  go  up  to  the 
post-office  ?"  she  asked,  after  break- 
fast. "  I  haven't  been  there  this 


good  while,  and  there  might  be  a  let- 
ter from  Dick." 

Mrs.  Rowan  hesitated  :  "  Well, 
yes."  She  disliked  being  left  alone, 
and  she  had  no  expectation  of  a  let- 
ter. But  it  seemed  like  slighting  her 
son  to  make  any  other  reply  to  such 
a  request.  Besides,  the  village  boys 
might  be  hooting  her  husband 
through  the  streets,  and,  if  they  were, 
she  would  like  to  know  it.  So  Edith 
prepared  herself,  and  went  out. 

The  ship-yard  was  full  of  business 
at  this  hour,  and  two  men  were  at 
work  close  to  the  road,  shaving  a 
piece  of  timber.  Edith  looked  at 
them,  and  hesitated.  "  I've  a  good 
mind  to,"  she  thought.  She  had 
never  gone  into  the  ship-yard  when 
the  men  were  there,  and  had  never 
asked  any  one  a  question  concern- 
ing Mr.  Rowan.  But  now  all  was 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


29 


changed,  and  she  felt  responsible. 
"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Rowan  any- 
where, this  morning  ?  "  she  asked, 
going  up  to  the  man  nearest  her. 

He  drew  the  shave  slowly  to  him, 
slipped  off  a  long  curl  of  amber- 
colored  wood  from  the  blade,  then 
looked  up  to  see  who  spoke.  "  Mr. 
Rowan ! "  he  repeated,  as  if  he  had 
never  heard  the  name  before.  "  Oh  ! 
Dick,  you  mean.  No,  I  haven't  seen 
him,  this  morning.  He  may  be  lying 
round  behind  the  timbers  some- 
where." 

The  child's  eyes  sparkled.  Child 
though  she  was,  she  knew  that  the 
drunkard  was  more  worthy  of  the 
title  of  gentleman  than  this  man  was, 
for  he  was  rude  and  harsh  only  when 
he  suffered. 

"  Little  girl,"  the  other  called  out 
as  she  turned  away,  "  your  father  is 
over  there  on  board  of  the  Annie 
Laurie.  I  saw  him  lying  there  half 
an  hour  ago,  and  I  guess  he  hasn't 
stirred  since." 

"  He  isn't  my  father  !"  she  flashed 
out. 

The  two  burst  into  a  rude  laugh, 
which  effectually  checked  the  thanks 
she  would  have  given  for  their  infor- 
mation. She  turned  hastily  away, 
and  went  up  the  road  to  the  village. 

Mrs.  Rowan  finished  her  work, 
and  sat  down  in  the  west  window  to 
watch.  She  was  too  anxious  and  dis- 
couraged to  knit,  even,  and  so  did 
not  discover  the  tight  little  strip  of 
work  around  the  stocking-heel.  It 
was  employment  enough  to  look  out 
for  Edith ;  not  that  she  expected  a 
letter,  but  because  she  wanted  com- 
pany. She  was  conscious  of  some 
strength  in  the  child,  on  which  she 
leaned  at  times.  As  for  Dick,  she 
had  little  hope  of  good  news  from 
him,  if  any.  She  had  no  part  in 
Edith's  rose-colored  expectations. 
Dick  in  peril  from  storm,  foe,  or  sin  ; 
Dick  dying  untended  in  foreign  lands; 


Dick  sinking  down  in  cold,  salt  seas 
— these. were  the  mother's  fancies. 

After  half  an  hour,  a  small  figure 
appeared  over  the  hills  between  the 
house  and  the  village.  Mrs.  Rowan 
watched  it  absently,  and  with  a  slight 
sense  of  relief.  But  soon  she  noticed 
that  the 'child  was  running.  It  was 
not  like  Edith  to  run.  She  was 
noticeably  quiet,  and  even  dignified 
in  her  manners.  Could  she  have 
seen  or  heard  anything  of  Mr.  Rowan 
at  the  village  ?  The  heart  of  the 
wife  began  to  flutter  feebly.  Was  he 
lying  in  the  street  ?  or  engaged  in  a 
drunken  quarrel  ?  She  leaned  back 
in  her  chair,  feeling  sick,  and  tried  to 
gather  strength  for  whatever  might 
come  to  her. 

Edith  was  near  the  house,  now 
running  a  few  steps,  then  walking,  to 
gather  breath,  and  she  held  her  arm 
above  her  head,  and  swung  it,  and  in 
her  hand  was  a  letter  ! 

Away  went  all  thought  of  her  hus- 
band. In  two  minutes  Mrs.  Rowan 
had  the  letter  in  her  hand,  had  torn 
it  open,  and  she  and  Edith  were  both 
bending  over  it,  and  reading  it  to- 
gether. It  had  been  lying  in  the 
post-office  a  week.  It  came  from 
New  York,  and  in  a  week  from  the 
date  of  it  Dick  would  be  at  home  ! 
He  was  on  board  the  ship  Halcyon, 
Captain  Gary,  and  they  were  to  come 
down  to  Seaton,  and  load  with  lumber 
as  soon  as  their  East  Indian  freight 
should  be  disposed  of.  He  had  met 
Captain  Gary  in  Calcutta,  Dick 
wrote,  and,  having  done  him  a  ser- 
vice there,  had  been  taken  on  board 
his  ship,  and  now  was  second  mate. 
Next  voyage  he  would  sail  as  first 
mate.  The  captain  was  his  friend, 
would  do  anything  for  him,  and  own- 
ed half  the  ship,  Major  Cleaveland 
owning  the  other  half;  so  Dick's  for- 
tune was  made.  But,  he  added, 
they  must  get  out  of  that  town.  He 
had  a  month  to  spare,  and  should 


30 

take  them  all  away.     Let  them  be 
ready  to  start  on  short  notice. 

Having  read  this  joyful  letter 
through  once,  they  began  at  the 
first  word  and  read  it  all  through 
again,  dwelling  here  and  there  with 
exclamations  of  delight,  stopped  every 
minute  by  a  large  tear  that- splashed 
down  from  Mrs.  Rowan's  eyes,  or  a 
yellow  avalanche  of  Edith's  trouble- 
some hair  tumbling  down  as  she  bent 
eagerly  over  the  letter.  How  many 
times  they  read  that  letter  would  be 
hard  to  say ;  still  harder  to  say  how 
many  times  they  might  have  read  it, 
had  there  been  no  interruption. 

A  crowd  of  men  were  approaching 
their  door — close  upon  them,  and 
darkening  ihe  light  before  they  look- 
ed up.  "  Had  Dick  come,  and  were 
the  neighbors  welcoming  him  ?"  was 
the  first  thought. 

In  her  haste,  Edith  had  left  the 
outer  door  ajar,  and  now  heavy  feet 
came  tramping  in  without  any  leave 
being  asked;  the  inner  door  was 
pushed  open,  and — not  Dick,  but 
Dick's  father  was  brought  in  and 
laid  on  the  floor.  This  was  not  the 
first  time  he  had  been  brought  home, 
but  never  before  had  he  come  with 
such  a  retinue  and  in  such  silence, 
and  never  before  had  these  men  taken 
oft"  their  hats  to  Mrs.  Rowan. 

"  We've  sent  for  the  doctor,  ma'am." 
one  of  them  said ;  "  but  I  guess  it's 
no  use  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  ordered  him  off, 
if  I  hadn't  thought  he  was  steady 
enough  to  go,"  said  another,  who 
looked  very  pale.  "  The  captain 
was  expected  on  board  every  minute, 
and  it  would  be  as  much  as  my  life 
is  worth  if  he  found  a  man  drunk 
there." 

"  He  slipped  on  a  plank,  and  fell," 
some  one  explained. 

Their  talk  was,  to  the  bewildered 
woman,  like  sounds  heard  in  a  dream. 
So  were  Edith's  passionate  words  as 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


she  ordered  the  men  away.  The  one 
who  had  refused  the  dead  man  any 
better  title  than  "Dick"  was  just 
coming  in  at  the  door,  staring  right 
and  left,  not  too  pitiful  even  then  to 
be  curious.regarding  the  place  he  was 
in.  "  Go  out !"  she  said,  pushing  the 
door  in  his  face. 

Some  way.  still  in  a  dream,  they 
were  got  rid  of,  all  but  two.  Then 
the  doctor  came,  and  looked,  and 
nodded  his  decision— "All  over!" 

A  dream !  a  dream  ! 
*  The  bedroom  was  set  in  order, 
the  silent  sleeper  laid  out  there,  every 
stranger  sent  out  of  the  house  and 
locked  out,  and  then  Mrs.  Rowan 
woke  up.  It  was  a  terrible  awaken- 
ing. 

Madame  Swetchine  comments  upon 
the  fact  that  the  thought  of  death  is 
more  terrible  in  an  arid  existence  than 
in  the  extremes  of  joy  and  sorrow.  It 
is  true  not  only  of  those  who  die,  but 
of  the  survivors.  We  go  out  more 
willingly  on  a  difficult  journey  when 
we  have  been  warmed  and  fed;  we 
send  our  loved  ones  out  with  less 
pain  when  they  have  been  thus  forti- 
fied. It  is  the  same,  in  a  greater  de- 
gree, when  the  journey  is  that  one 
from  which  the  traveller  never  returns. 
It  adds  a  terrible  pang  to  bereave- 
ment when  we  think  that  our  lost 
one  has  never  been  happy ;  how  much 
more  terrible  if  he  has  never  been 
honored ! 

Of  her  husband's  future  Mrs. 
Rowan  refused  to  think  or  to  hear, 
though  she  must  have  trembled 
in  the  shadow  of  it.  It  might  be  that 
which  made  her  so  wild.  She  would 
allow  no  one  to  come  near  or  speak 
to  her  save  Edith.  Those  who  came 
with  offers  of  help  and  sympathy  she 
ordered  away.  "  Go !"  she  cried.  "  I 
want  nothing  of  you!  I  and  mine 
have  been  a  byword  to  you  for  years. 
Your  help  comes  too  late !" 

She  locked  them  out  and  pulled 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


the  curtains  close,  and,  though  people 
continued  to  come  to  the  door  through 
the  whole  day,  no  one  gained  admit- 
tance or  saw  a  sign  of  life  about  the 
house.  Inside  sat  the  widow  and  the 
child,  scarcely  aware  of  the  passage 
of  time.  They  only  knew  that  it  was 
still  day  by  the  rays  of  sunlight  that 
came  in  through  holes  in  the  paper 
curtains,  and  pointed  across  the  rooms 
like  long  fingers.  When  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door,  they  started,  lifted 
their  faces,  and  listened  nervously  till 
the  knocking  ceased,  as  if  afraid  that 
some  one  might  force  an  entrance. 
One  would  have  fancied,  from  their 
expression,  that  savages  or  wild  beasts 
were  seeking  to  enter.  They  never 
once  looked  out,  nor  knew  who  came. 

Still  less  were  they  aware  of  Major 
Cleaveland  standing  in  his  cupola, 
spy-glass  in  hand,  looking  down  the 
bay  to  see  if  that  cloud  of  canvas 
coming  up  over  the  horizon  was  the 
good  ship  Halcyon  coming  home  after 
her  first  voyage.  Down-stairs  he 
came  again,  three  stairs  at  a  jump,  as 
joyful  as  a  boy,  in  spite  of  his  forty 
years,  gave  directions  for  the  best 
dinner  that  the  town  would  afford, 
ordered  his  carriage,  and  drove  off 
down  the  river-road. 

The  Halcyon  was  the  largest  vessel 
that  had  ever  been  built  at  Seaton, 
and  as  its  launching  had  been  an 
event  in  the  town,  so  its  first  arrival 
was  an  incident  to  take  note  of. 
When  Major  Cleaveland  drove  down 
to  the  wharf  where  Mr.  Rowan  had 
that  morning  lost  his  life,  more  than 
a  hundred  persons  were  assembled 
there  waiting  for  the  ship,  and  others 
were  coming.  He  stepped  over  to 
the  Rowans'  door,  and  knocked 
twice,  once  with  his  knuckles,  and 
again  with  his  whip-handle,  but  re- 
ceived no  answer.  "  I  would  force 
the  door,  but  that  Dick  is  coming," 
he  said.  "  It.  is  a  shame  to  let  the 
poor  soul  shut  herself  up  alone." 


Soon,  while  the  crowd  watched, 
around  the  near  curve  of  the  river, 
where  a  wooded  point  pushed  out, 
appeared  the  tip,  then  the  whole  of 
a  bowsprit  garlanded  with  green 
wreaths,  then  the  leaning  lady  in  her 
gilded  robes,  with  a  bird  just  escaping 
from  her  hand,  then  the  ship  rode 
gracefully  into  sight  on  the  incoming 
tide. 

A  ringing  shout  welcomed  her,  and 
a  shout  from  all  hands  on  board  an- 
swered back. 

Foremost  of  the  little  group  on  the 
deck  stood  a  man  of  gigantic  stature. 
His  hair  was  coarse,  and  black,  he 
wore  an  enormous  black  beard,  and 
his  face,  though  scarcely  middle-ag- 
ed, was  rough  and  scarred  by  the 
weather.  Everybody  knew  Captain 
Gary,  a  sailor  worthy  of  the  old  days 
of  the  Vikings,  broad-shouldered,  as 
strong  as  a  lion,  with  a  laugh  that 
made  the  glasses  ring  when  he  sat  at 
table.  He  was  a  plain,  simple  man, 
but  grand  in  his  simplicity.  By  his 
side  stood  a  youth  of  twenty,  who 
looked  slight  in  comparison,  though 
he  was  really  manly  and  well  grown. 
He  had  sea-blue  eyes,  quick,  long- 
lashed,  and  as  bright  as  diamonds; 
his  face  was  finely  moulded,  ruddy, 
and  spirited;  his  hair,  that  glistened 
in  the  sunlight,  was  chestnut-brown. 
A  gallant  lad  he  was,  the  very  ideal 
sailor-boy.  But  his  expression  was 
defiant,  rather  than  placid,  and  he 
did  not  join  in  the  hurrahs.  The  wel- 
coming applause  was  not  for  him,  he 
well  knew.  They  were  no  friends  of 
his  who  crowded  the  wharf.  He  had 
some  bitter  recollections  of  slight  or 
injury  connected  with  nearly  every 
one  of  them.  But  he  was  no  longer 
in  their  power,  and  that  gave  him 
freedom  and  ease  in  meeting  them. 
The  time  had  gone  by  when  he  could 
look  upon  these  country  folks  as  final 
judges  in  any  matter  whatever,  or  as 
of  any  great  consequence  to  him. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


He  had  seen  the  world,  had  won 
friends,  had  proved  that  he  could  do 
something,  that  he  was  somebody. 
He  was  not  ashamed  of  himself  by 
any  means,  was  young  Dick  Rowan. 
Still,  it  was  no  pleasure  to  him  to  see 
them,  for  it  brought  back  the  memory 
of  sufferings  which  had  not  yet  lost 
their  sting. 

All  this  shouting  and  rejoicing  was 
as  the  idle  wind  to  the  mourners 
across  the  way.  Their  fears  of  in- 
trusion set  at  rest,  since  no  one  had 
attempted  to  force  an  entrance  to  the 
house,  they  no  longer  took  notice 
even  of  the  knocking  at  the  door. 
Both  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  stupor, 
induced  by  the  exhaustion  of  long 
weeping,  the  silence  and  semi-dark- 
ness of  their  rooms,  and  the  removal 
of  what  had  been  the  daily  torment- 
ing fear  of  their  lives.  There  was  no 
longer  any  need  to  tremble  when  a 
step  approached,  lest  some  one  should 
come  in  frenzied  with  drink,  and  ter- 
rify them  with  his  ravings  and  'vio- 
lence. Mrs.  Rowan  sat  by  her  hus- 
band's side,  leaning  back  in  her 
chair,  with  closed  eyes  and  clasped 
hands,  only  half-alive.  Edith  lay  on 
the  kitchen-floor,  where  she  had 
thrown  herself  in  a  passion  of  weep- 
ing, her  arms  above  her  head,  her 
face  hidden,  and  her  long  hair  veil- 
ing her.  The  weeping  was  over,  and 
she  lay  silent  and  motionless.  Neither 
that  shouting  over  on  the  wharf,  nor 
Major  Cleaveland's  loud  knocking 
with  his  whip-handle,  had  made  the 
slightest  impression  on  her. 

But  at  sunset  came  one  who  would 
not  be  denied.  He  tried  the  lock, 
and,  finding  it  fastened,  knocked 
gently.  There  was  no  answer.  He 
knocked  loudly,  and  still  there  was 
no  reply.  Then  he  set  his  knee 
against  the  rickety  panel,  took  the 
knob  in  a  strong  grasp,  and  wrench- 
ed the  door  open.  Stepping  quickly 
into  the  little  entry,  he  looked  to  right 


and  left,  saw  the  girl  lying,  face  down, 
on  the  floor,  and  the  woman  sitting 
beside  her  dead,  both  as  still  as  the 
dead. 

Something  like  a  dream  came  into 
the  half-swoon,  half-sleep  in  which 
Edith  Yorke  lay.  She  heard  a  slight 
cry,  then  a  stifled  sob,  and  words 
hurriedly  spoken  in  a  low  voice. 
Then  there  was  a  step  that  paused 
near  her.  She  put  her  hair  back  with 
one  hand,  and  turned  her  face  list- 
lessly. The  curtain  had  been  raised 
to  let  in  the  light,  and  there  stood 
a  young  man  looking  down  at  her. 
His  face  was  pale  with  the  sudden 
shock  of  grief  and  distress,  but  a  faint 
indication  of  a  smile  shone  through 
as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

Her  first  glance  was  a  blank  one, 
her  second  flashed  with  delight.  She 
sprang  up  as  if  electrified.  "  O 
Dick  !  O  Dick  !  How  glad  I  am  !" 

The  world  moved  rightly  at  last ! 
Order  was  coming  out  of  chaos ;  for 
Dick  had  come  home  ! 

He  shook  hands  with  her  rather 
awkwardly,  somewhat  embarrassed 
by  the  warmth  of  her  welcome. 
"  We're  to  go  right  off,"  he  said. 
"  Captain  Gary  will  help  us." 

"Yes,  Dick!"  she  replied,  and 
asked  no  questions.  He  knew  what 
was  right.  With  him  had  come  all 
help,  and  strength,  and  hope. 

The  next  morning,  long  before 
dawn,  they  started.  A  boat  was  rea- 
dy at  the  wharf,  and  Captain  Gary 
and  Dick  carried  out  the  dead  in  a 
rude  coffin  that  had  been  privately 
made  on  board  the  Halcyon.  «  They 
shall  not  stare  at  our  poor  funeral, 
captain,"  Dick  had  said  ;  "  and  I  will 
not  ask  them  for  a  coffin  or  a  grave." 

"All  right!"  his  friend  had  an- 
swered heartily.  "  I'm  your  man. 
Whatever  you  want  to  do,  I'll  help 
you  about." 

So  the  watch  on  the  Halcyon  was 
conveniently  deaf  and  blind,  the  boat 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


33 


was  ready  in  the  dark  of  morning, 
the  coffin  carried  out  to  it,  and  Mrs. 
Rowan  and  Edith  helped  in  after. 
When  they  were  in  their  places,  and 
the  captain  seated,  oars  in  hand, 
Dick  went  back  to  the  house,  and 
stayed  there  a  little  while.  No 
questions  were  asked  of  him  when 
he  came  away,  bringing  nothing  with 
him,  and  he  offered  no  explanation, 
only  took  the  oars,  and  silently  guid- 
ed their  boat  out  into  the  channel. 
The  banks  on  either  side  were  a  solid 
blackness,  and  the  sky  was  opaque 
and  low,  so  that  their  forms  were 
scarcely  visible  to  each  other  as  they 
sat  there,  Mrs.  Rowan  in  the  bows 
near  her  son,  Edith  beside  Captain 
Gary,  who  loomed  above  her  like  a 
mountain  of  help. 

Presently,  as  they  floated  around 
the  point  that  stood  between  the  vil- 
lage and  the  bay,  a  faint  blush  of 
light  Avarmed  the  darkness  through, 
and  grew  till  the  low-hung  clouds 
sucked  it  up  like  a  sponge  and  show- 
ed a  crimson  drapery  over  their  heads. 
It  was  too  early  for  morning  light, 
too  fierce,  and,  moreover,  it  came 
from  the  wrong  direction.  The  east 
was  before  them ;  this  sanguinary 
aurora  followed  in  their  wake.  It 
shone  angrily  through  the  strip  of 
woods,  and  sent  a  long,  swift  beam 
quivering  over  die  water.  This  fiery 
messenger  shot  like  an  arrow  into 
the  boat,  and  reddened  Mrs.  Rowan's 
hands,  clasped  on  the  edge  of  the 
coffin.  By  the  light  of  it,  Dick 
saw  all  their  faces  turned  toward 
him. 

"  The  house  wras  mine  !"  he  said 
defiantly. 

The  captain  nodded  approval,  and 
Edith  leaned  forward  to  whisper, 
"  Yes,  Dick !"  But  Mrs.  Rowan 
said  not  a  word,  only  sat  looking 
steadily  backward,  the  light  in  her 
face. 

•"  I'm  glad  of  it !"  sighed  Edith  to 

VOL.    XIII. 3 


herself.  She  had  been  thinking  since 
they  left  the  house  how  people  would 
come  and  wander  through  it,  and 
peer  at  everything,  and  know  just 
how  wretchedly  they  had  lived.  Now 
they  could  not,  for  it  would  all  be 
burnt  up.  She  sat  and  fancied  the 
fire  catching  here  and  there  in  their 
poor  little  rooms,  how  the  clock  would 
tick  till  the  last  minute,  even  when 
its  face  was  scorched  and  its  glass 
shivered,  and  then  fall  with  a  sudden 
crash ;  how  the  flames  would  catch  at 
the  bed  on  which  the  dead  man  had 
lain,  the  mean  paper  curtains,  the 
chair  she  had  sat  in,  Mrs.  Rowan's 
little  rocking-chair,  at  the  table  wrhere 
they  had  sat  through  so  many  dreary 
meals.  The  checker-board  would 
go,  and  the  cards  with  which  Mr. 
Rowan  had  played  the  night  before, 
and  the  knitting-work  with  the  puck- 
ered heel,  and  her  apron  that  the 
drunkard  had  wiped  his  ghastly  face 
with..  The  shelves  in  the  little  closet 
would  heat,  and  blacken,  and  redden, 
and  flame,  and  down  would  come 
their  miserable  store  of  dishes,  rat- 
tling into  the  yawning  cellar.  Fire 
would  gnaw  at  the  ceiling,  bite  its 
way  into  the  attic,  burn  up  her  books, 
creep  to  the  bed  where  she  had  lain 
and  seen  rainbow  colors  in  the 
dark,  spread  a  sheet  of  flame  over 
the  whole,  rise,  and  burst  through 
the  roof.  She  saw  it  all.  She  even 
fancied  that  each  long-used  article 
of  their  scanty  plenishing,  worn  away 
by  human  touch,  constantly  in  the 
sight  of  human  eyes,  would  perish  with 
some  human  feeling,  and  send  out  a 
sharp  cry  after  them.  The  crackling 
of  flames  was  to  her  the  cries  of 
burning  wood.  But  she  was  glad  of 
it,  for  they  were  going  to  wipe  out 
and  begin  anew.  There  seemed  to 
her  something  very  grand  and  ex- 
ceedingly proper  in  it  all. 

When  their  boat  glided  from  the 
river  into  the  bay,  others  besides  them- 


34 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


selves  became  aware  of  the  confla- 
gration, and  the  village  bells  rang 
out  a  tardy  alarm.  Dick  laughed 
.bitterly  at  the  sound,  but  said  no- 
thing. 

"  They  were  sorry  for  you,  Dick," 
the  captain  said.  "  I  heard  a  good 
many  speak  of  it.  They  would  have 
been  glad  to  do  your  family  any  kind- 
ness. I  don't  blame  you  for  coming 
off;  but  you  mustn't  think  there  was 
no  kind  feeling  for  you  among  the 
folks  there." 

"  Kindness  may  come  too  late,  cap- 
tain," the  young  man  answered.  "  I 
would  have  thanked  them  for  it  years 
ago,  when  I  had  nowhere  to  turn  to, 
and  hadn't  a  friend  in  the  world ;  now 
I  don't  thank  them,  and  I  don't  want 
their  kindness.  Even  if  I  would  take 
it  at  last,  neither  they  nor  you  have 
any  right  to  expect  that  I  will  run 
to  take  the  hand  that  has  struck 
me  so  many  blows  the  first  time  it  is 
held  out.  I  don't  trust  'em.  I  want 
proofs  of  good- will  when  I've  had 
proofs  of  ill-will." 

"  Dick  is  right,  captain,"  his  mo- 
ther interposed  in  a  weary  tone. 
"  You  can't  judge  of  such  things  if 
you  haven't  felt  them.  It's  easier  to 
•hurt  a  sore  heart  than  a  sound  one." 

Within  an  hour  they  reached  one 
of  those  desolate  little  sandy  islands 
with  which  the  bay  was  studded ;  and 
•now  the  faint  spring  dawn  was  break- 
ing, and  the  heavy  masses  of  cloud  lift- 
ing and  contracting,  pale  reaches  of 
sky  visible  between.  By  the  cold  glim- 
mer they  scooped  out  a  grave,  and 
placed  the  coffin  in  it.  The  water 
washed  the  shore,  and  a  chilly,  sigh- 
ing wind  came  up  from  the  east. 

As  the  first  shovelful  of  earth  fell 
on  the  coffin,  Mrs.  Rowan  caught 
back  the  captain's  arm.  "  Don't  cov- 
er him  out  of  sight  without  some 
word  spoken  over  him  !"  she  implor- 
ed. "  He  was  once  young,  and  am- 
bitious, and  kind,  like  you.  He  would 


have  been  a  man  if  he  hadn't  had 
bad  luck,  and  then  got  into  bad  com- 
pany. He  was  more  wretched  than 
we  were.  O  sir!  don't  cover  him 
out  of  sight  as  if  he  were  a  dog." 

The  sailor  looked  both  pained  and 
embarrassed.  "  I'm  not  much  used 
to  praying,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a 
Methodist,  but  I'm  not  a  church- 
member.  If  there  was  a  Bible  here,  I 
would  read  a  chapter;  but — there 
isn't." 

Dick  walked  off  a  little  way,  turn- 
ed his  back,  and  stood  looking  at  the 
water.  Mrs.  Rowan,  kneeling  on  the 
sand-heap  beside  the  grave,  wept 
loudly.  "  His  father  was  a  Catho- 
lic," she  cried.  "  I  don't  think  much 
of  Catholics;  but,  if  poor  Dick  had 
stood  by  his  religion,  he  could  have 
had  a  priest  to  say  some  word  over 
him.  I  wouldn't  have  minded  hav- 
ing a  priest  here.  He'd  be  better  than 
nobody." 

Captain  Gary  was  a  strict  Metho- 
dist, and  he  felt  that  it  would  never 
answer  to  have  the  absence  of  a  Ca- 
tholic priest  regretted.  Something 
must  be  done.  "I  could  sing  a 
hymn,  ma'am,"  he  said  hesitatingly; 
and,  as  no  one  objected,  he  straigh- 
tened himself,  dropped  his  spade, 
and  sang,  to  the  tune  of  the  "  Dead 
March  in  Saul," 

"  Unveil  thy  bosom,  faithful  tomb, 

Take  this  new  treasure  to  thy  trust, 
And  give  these  sacred  relics  room 
To  slumber  in  the  silent  dust," 

singing  the  hymn  through. 

In  a  confined  place  the  sailor's 
voice  would  have  been  too  powerful, 
and,  perhaps,  would  have  sounded 
rough  ;  but  in  open  air,  with  no  wall 
nearer  than  the  distant  hills,  no  ceil- 
ing but  the  sky,  and  with  the  com- 
plex low  harmony  of  the  ocean  bear- 
ing it  up  and  running  through  all  its 
pauses,  it  was  magnificent.  He  sang 
slowly  and  solemnly,  his  arms  folded, 


Sauntering. 


35 


his  face  devoutly  raised,  and  the 
clouds  seemed  to  part  before  his 
voice. 

When  the  hymn  was  ended,  he 
remained  a  moment  without  motion 
or  change  of  face,  then  stooped  for 
his  shovel,  and  began  to  fill  in  the 
grave. 

While  listening  to  him,  Edith  Yorke 
had  stood  in  a  solemn  trance,  look- 
ing far  off  seaward  ;  but  at  sound  of 
the  dropping  gravel,  her  quiet  broke 
up,  like  ice  in  spring.  She  threw 
her  arm,  and  her  loose  hair  with  it, 
up  over  her  head,  and  sobbed  behind 


that  veil.  But  her  tears  were  not  for 
Mr.  Rowan.  Her  soul  had  taken  a 
wider  range,  and,  without  herself  be- 
ing aware  of  it,  she  was  mourning  for 
all  the  dead  that  ever  had  died  or 
ever  should  die. 

The  first  sunbeam  that  glanced 
across  the  water  showed  a  feather  of 
smoke  from  a  steamer  that  came  up 
through  the  Narrows  into  the  bay, 
and  the  row-boat,  a  lessening  speck, 
making  for  the  wharf.  Twice  a 
week,  passengers  and  freight  were 
taken  and  left  at  this  wharf,  three 
miles  below  the  town. 


TO    BE   CONTINUED. 


SAUNTERING. 


Saunterer  (from  Sain.'e  Terre),  a  pilgrim  to  holy  lands  or  places." — THOKEAU. 


"  THEY  who  never  go  to  the  Holy 
Land  in  their  walks  are  indeed  mere 
idlers  and  vagabonds ;  but  they  who 
do  go  there  are  saunterers  in  the  good 
sense,  such  as  I  mean,"  says  Thoreau. 
I  found  the  Holy  Land  in  Paris,  the 
city  of  fashion  and  gaiety,  and  where 
le  supreme  bonhenr  is  said  to  be  amuse- 
ment. Every  church  is  a  station  of 
the  divine  Passion,  and  to  every  votary 
therein  could  I  say: 

"  I  behold  in  thee 

An  image  of  him  who  died  on  the  tree. 
Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns." 

Before  these  churches,  consecrated 
to  some  sweet  mystery  of  the  Gospel 
or  bearing  the  hallowed  names  of 
those  who  had  put  on  the  sacred 
stole  of  Christ's  sufferings,  I  always 
stopped.  I  was  like  Duke  Richard, 
in  the  Roman  du  Ran: 

"  Whene'er  an  open  church  he  found, 
He  entered  in  with  fervent  means 
To  offer  up  his  orisons: 
And  if  the  doors  were  closed  each  one, 
He  knelt  upon  the  threshold  stone." 


And  one  might  well  kneel  upon  the 
threshold  stone  of  these  ancient 
churches,  feeding  mind  and  sou) 
with  sacred  legends  of  the  past  em- 
bodying holy  truths  which  are  de- 
picted on  the  outer  walls,  as  at  the 
north  door  of  Notre  Dame  de  Paris, 
the  arch  of  which  contains  in  many 
compartments-  representations  of  a 
diabolic  pact  and  of  a  deliverance 
effected  by  our  potent  Lady,  which  is 
related  in  a  metrical  romance  com- 
posed by  Ruteboef,  in  the  time  of 
St.  Louis.  Saladin,  a  magician,  wears 
a  cap  of  pyramidal  form.  And  what 
a  mine  of  legendary  and  biblical  lore 
all  over  these  venerable  walls  !  Ser- 
mons in  stones  come  down  to  us 
from  the  stonen  saints  in  their  niches 
and  the  bas-reliefs  which  speak  louder 
than  human  tongues.  The  first  stone 
of  this  edifice  was  laid  by  Charle- 
magne, and  the  last  by  Philip  Augus- 
tus. How  much  this  fact  alone  tells ! 
And  there  is  the  Porte  Rouge,  an 


Sauntering. 


exquisite  specimen  of  the  Gothic 
style  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the 
expiatory  monument  of  Jean-sans- 
Peur  after  the  assassination  of  the 
Duke  of  Orleans.  In  the  arch  are 
the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Burgundy, 
in  the  attitude  of  supplication,  one 
on  each  side  of  our  Saviour  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  It  is  an  eternal 
Libera  me  de  sanguiiiibus,  Dcus. 

And  then  the  Portail  du  Milieu, 
with  the  last  judgment  in  the  ogive, 
the  angels  sounding  the  last  trump, 
the  dead  issuing  forth  from  their 
graves,  the  separation  of  the  righte- 
ous from  the  wicked,  the  great  Judge 
•with  the  emblems  of  the  crucifixion, 
the  Virgin  and  the  loved  apostle 
John,  and,  finally,  a  glimpse  of  the 
joys  of  heaven  and  the  horrors  of 
hell.  Yes,  one  could  linger  here  for 
days  before  this  Biblia  pat/permit, 
were  there  no  more  powerful  attrac- 
tions within.  And  this  is  not  the 
only  church  the  very  exterior  of 
which  is  full  of  instruction. 

In  the  porch  of  St.  Germain  de 
1'Auxerrois  is  the  statue  of  a  maiden 
holding  in  one  hand  a  breviary  and 
in  the  other  a  lighted  taper.  By  her 
is  a  demon  with  a  pair  of  bellows, 
vainly  trying  to  blow  out  the  light — 
symbol  of  faith  and  prayer.  This  is 
the  statue  of  one  who  deserves  to  be 
ranked  in  history  with  Joan  of  Arc 
on  account  of  her  heroism,  for  twice 
she  saved  Paris  by  her  courage  and 
her  prayers.  Would  that  she  might 
once  more  have  intervened  to  save 
the  capital  of  fair  France  from  the  in- 
vader !  St.  Genevieve  is  placed  thus 
at  the  entrance  of  the  church  of  St. 
Germain  to  remind  us  of  his  connec- 
tion with  her  history. 

When  St.  Germain,  Bishop  of  Aux- 
erre,  and  St.  Lupus,  the  learned 
Bishop  of  Troyes  and  the  intimate 
friend  of  Sidonius  Apollinaris,  were 
on  their  way  to  Britain  to  combat  the 
heresy  of  Pelagianism,  they  passed 


through  the  village  now  called  Nan- 
terre,  about  two  leagues  from  Paris. 
All  the  inhabitants  of  the  place 
poured  forth  to  meet  them  and  ob- 
tain their  benediction.  St.  Germain 
noticed  in  the  crowd  a  little  girl  with 
a  face  as  radiant  as  an_  angel's.  His 
prophetic  instinct  told  him  she  was 
destined  to  be  a  chosen  vessel  of 
God's  grace,  and,  when  she  expressed 
a  wish  to  be  the  spouse  of  Christ,  he 
led  her  with  him  to  the  church,  hold- 
ing his  apostolic  hands  upon  her  head 
during  the  chanting  of  the  vesper  ser- 
vice. He  afterward  suspended  a 
bronze  medal,  on  which  was  a  cross, 
from  her  neck,  in  remembrance  of 
her  consecration  to  God,  bidding  her 
henceforth  give  up  all  ornaments  of 
silver  and  gold.  "  Let  them  who 
live  for  this  world  have  these,"  said 
he.  "  Do  thou,  who  art  become  the 
spouse  of  Christ,  desire  only  spiritual 
adorning."  Dr.  Newman  says  it  was 
a  custom,  even  among  the  early 
Christians,  to  wear  on  the  neck  some 
token  of  the  mysteries  of  their  reli- 
gion. Long  after,  in  memory  of  this 
event,  the  Canons  of  St.  Genevieve, 
at  Paris,  distributed  upon  her  festival 
a  pain  benit  on  which  was  an  impres- 
sion of  this  coin. 

Eighteen  years  after,  St.  Germain 
again  passed  through  Nanterre,  once 
more  on  his  way  to  Britain.  He 
had  not  forgotten  Genevieve.  At 
the  age  of  fifteen,  she  had  received 
the  virgin's  veil  from  the  hands  of 
the  Bishop  of  Paris.  Her  parents 
dying,  she  went  to  Paris  to  reside 
with  her  godmother.  Here  she 
suffered  that  persecution  so  often  the 
lot  of  those  who  live  godly  lives. 
Those  who  outstrip  their  fellows  even 
on  the  path  of  piety  are  objects  of 
envy,  and  they  who  leave  the  beaten 
track  of  everyday  religion  are  de- 
rided. St.  Genevieve  was  visited  at 
Paris  by  the  holy  Bishop  of  Auxerre, 
who  saluted  her  with  respect  as  a 


Sauntering. 


37 


temple  in  which  the  divine  Presence 
was  manifest.  Her  life  was  one  of 
prayer  and  penance.  She  used  to 
water  her  couch  with  her  tears,  and 
when  the  adversary  of  our  souls  ex- 
tinguished the  taper  that  lighted  her 
vigils  she  rekindled  it  with  her  pray- 
ers. When  Attila,  king  of  the  Huns, 
threatened  Paris,  she  besought  the 
inhabitants  not  to  leave  their  homes, 
declaring  that  Heaven  would  inter- 
vene to  save  them.  The  barbarians, 
in  effect,  were  dispersed  by  a  storm, 
and  betook  themselves  toward  Or- 
leans. In  the  church  of  St.  Germain 
there  is  a  chapel  dedicated  to  St. 
Genevieve.  with  a  painting  represent- 
ing her  haranguing  the  inhabitants  of 
Paris. 

When  Childeric  besieged  Paris, 
and  sickness  and  famine  were  carry- 
ing off  the  inhabitants,  St.  Gene- 
vieve laid  aside  her  religious  dress, 
took  command  of  the  boats  that  went 
up  the  Seine  for  succor,  and  brought 
back  a  supply  of  provisions.  And 
when  the  city  had  to  surrender,  the 
conquerer  treated  her  with  marked 
respect,  and  Clovis  loved  to  grant 
her  petitions.  The  remains  of  pagan- 
ism were  rooted  out  of  Paris  through 
her  influence  over  him  and  Clotilda, 
and  the  first  church  built  on  the  spot 
that  now  bears  her  name,  but  then 
dedicated  under  the  invocation  of  Sts. 
Peter  and  Paul.  In  that  church  was 
the  shepherdess  of  Nanterre  buried 
beside  Clovis  and  Clotilda.  St.  Eloi 
wrought  a  magnificent  shrine  for  her 
remains,  but  it  was  destroyed  at  the 
Revolution,  and  the  contents  publicly 
burned.  A  portion  of  her  relics  is 
now  enshrined  at  the  Pantheon.  I 
found  lights  burning  there,  and  flow- 
ers and  wreaths,  and  votive  offerings, 
and  the  sweet-smelling  incense  of 
prayer  rising  from  a  group  of  people 
praying  around.  But  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  Pantheon  is  miserably 
depressing,  as  Faber  says.  How 


much  more  I  delighted  in  the  inter- 
esting church  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont, 
where  is  the  curious  old  tomb  of  St. 
Genevieve  !  There  too  were  lights 
and  ex-votos,  and  an  old  woman  sat 
near  the  tomb  to  dispense  tapers  to 
those  who  wished  to  leave  a  little 
gleam  of  love  and  prayer  behind 
them.  Once  what  lights  and  jewels 
blazed  around  such  shrines,  and  what 
crowds  of  devout  pilgrims!  Now, 
a  few  dim  tapers,  a  few  prayerful 
hearts,  light  up  the  place. 


•  Now  it  is  much  if  here  and  there 
One  dreamer,  by  thy  genial  glare. 
Trace  the  dim  Past,  and  slowly  climb 
The  steep  of  Faith's  triumphant  prime." 


Now  the  world  seems  to  begrudge 
the  temple  of  the  Most  High  the  sil- 
ver and  the  gold  that  belong  to  him. 
And  jewels  are  not  to  be  thought  of. 
Such  wealth  must  be  kept  in  circula- 
tion, that  is,  on  Prince  Esterhazy's 
coat,  I  suppose,  and  by  ladies  of 
fashion.  The  world  nowadays  is 
like  Julian  the  Apostate,  who  was  dis- 
pleased at  the  magnificence  of  the 
chalices  used  in  the  Christian 
churches.  For  me,  I  love  these 
offerings  from  time  to  eternity,  as 
Madame  de  Stae'l  says.  Let  all  that 
is  most  precious  be  poured  out  at  the 
feet  of  the  Saviour,  and  let  no  one 
murmur  if  such  offerings  are  crystal- 
lized. I  took  pleasure  in  looking  at 
some  splendid  vessels  of  the  sanc- 
tuary at  Notre  Dame,  and  thought : 


"  Never  was  gold  or  silver  graced  thus 

Before. 
To  bring  this  body  and  this  blood  to  us 

Is  more 

Than  to  crown  kings. 
Or  be  made  rings 
For  star-like  diamonds  to  glitter  in. 

When  the  great  King  offers  to  come  to  me 

As  food. 
Shall  I  suppose  his  carriages  can  be 

Too  good  ? 
No  !  Ktars  to  gold 
Turned  never  could 
Be  rich  enough  to  be  employed  so. 


Sauntering. 


If  I  might  wish,  then,  I  would  have  this  bread, 

This  wine, 
Vess«lled  in  what  the  sun  might  blush  to  shed 

His  shine 

When  he  should  see- 
But  till  that  be, 
I'll  rest  contented  with  it  as  it  is." 


In  my  saunterings  I  frequently 
lingered  before  the  tower  of  St. 
Jacques  de  la  Boucherie,  the  highest 
in  Paris,  and  the  most  perfect  speci- 
men of  Gothic  architecture.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  church  was  demolish- 
ed at  the  Revolution.  The  tower  was 
saved  by  the  artifice  of  an  architect, 
who  besought  the  crowd  to  imitate  the 
enlightened  English  revolutionists, 
who  destroyed  their  churches,  but 
preserved  the  towers  to  be  converted 
into  shot-houses !  In  this  church 
crowds  used  to  assemble  to  hear  Bour- 
daloue  thunder,  as  Madame  de  Se- 
vigne  expresses  it.  I  fancy  I  can 
hear  that  uncompromising  preacher 
ringing  out  like  a  trump  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Great  Monarch,  "  Thou 
art  the  man !"  This  exclamation  should 
have  appealed  to  the  heart  of  the 
people,  and  saved  the  church  he  lov- 
ed from  profanation. 

This  church  was  built  by  the  alms 
of  pious  people.  Nicholas  Flamel 
built  the  portal  in  1388,  which  he  cov- 
ered with  devout  images  and  devices, 
which  were  regarded,  even  by  the 
antiquaries  of  the  last  century,  as 
symbols  of  alchemy.  This  Flamel 
was  a  benefactor  to  many  churches 
and  hospitals  of  Paris,  which  he  took 
pleasure  in  adorning  with  carvings 
in  which  he  made  all  things  tributa- 
ry, as  it  were,  to  the  worship  of  God. 
At  first  a  simple  scrivener,  he  became 
painter,  architect,  chemist,  philoso- 
pher, and  poet.  He  certainly  had  the 
fancy  of  a  poet,  and  wrote  in  durable 
materials.  He  left  by  his  will  nine- 
teen chalices  of  silver  gilt  to  as  many 
churches. 

These  churches  and  religious  hous- 
es are  all  connected  with  the  history 


of  the  city.  Paris  owed  its  extension 
on  the  north  side  of  the  Seine  to  the 
school  in  the  Abbey  of  St.  Germain 
de  1'Auxerrois,  which  was  famous  at 
an  early  age.  There  were  four  great 
abbeys  around  Paris  in  the  time  of 
the  third  dynasty — St.  Lawrence,  St. 
Genevieve,  St.  Germain  de  1'Auxer- 
rois,  and  St.  Germain  des  Pres.  These 
were  surrounded  by  their  dependen- 
cies, forming  villages  which  gradually 
extended  till  they  united  to  enclose 
the  city,  then  chiefly  confined  to  the 
island.  The  poor  loved  to  live  near 
these  abbeys.  St.  Germain  des 
Pres,  besides  providing  for  the  poor 
in  general,  used  privately  to  support 
several  destitute  families  who  were 
ashamed  of  their  poverty.  The  old 
abbots  of  this  monastery  were  both 
lords  spiritual  and  temporal  in  the 
suburbs  on  that  side  of  the  city. 
This  abbey  was  a  monument  of  repen- 
tance. Digby  says  when  it  was  rebuilt 
in  the  year  1000  the  great  tower 
and  the  portals  were  left  as  before. 
The  statues  of  eight  kings  stood  at 
the  entrance,  four  on  the  right  hand 
and  four  on  the  left.  One  of  them 
held  a  scroll  on  which  was  written  the 
tragical  name  of  Clodomir.  And 
another,  with  no  beatific  circle  around 
his  head,  held  an  open  tablet  on 
which  were  the  first  and  last  letters 
of  the  name  Clotaire.  These  were 
the  statues  of  the  murderer  and  his 
victim. 

The  square  tower  of  the  monaste- 
ry, built  in  the  time  of  Charlemagne, 
contributed  greatly  to  the  defence 
of  the  house  against  the  Normans. 
A  stout  old  monk,  Abbon,  conducted 
the  defence,  and  proved  himself  on 
this  occasion  a  valiant  defender  of 
the  walls  of  Zion.  Perhaps  it  was 
his  skilful  hand  that  wrote  an  Home- 
ric poem  on  the  siege  of  Paris  by 
the  Normans  in  the  year  885.  If 
not  by  him,  it  was  by  a  monk  of  a 
similar  name. 


Sauntering. 


39 


The  Pre  aux  Clercs,  now  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  took  its  name  from 
being  a  place  of  recreation  for  the 
students  of  this  abbey.  One  of  the 
scholars,  Sylvester  de  Sacy,  so  learn- 
ed in  the  Semitic  languages,  ascribed 
the  bent  of  his  mind  to  the  aid  and  en- 
couragement given  him  by  one  of 
the  monks  who  took  his  constitutional 
in  the  abbey  gardens  at  the  same 
time  as  the  boy,  then  only  twelve 
years  old. 

The  library  belonging  to  this  abbey 
was  celebrated  in  the  middle  ages, 
and  there  were  monks  of  literary 
eminence  in  the  house.  Dacherius 
was  the  librarian  when  he  composed 
his  Spidlegiuni.  Usuard  compiled  a 
martyrology.  They  had  a  printing 
press  set  up  immediately  after  the 
invention  of  printing,  which  gives  one 
a  favorable  idea  of  their  mental  acti- 
vity. Most  of  these  old  monastic 
libraries  were  accessible  to  all ;  that 
of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Victor  was  open 
to  the  public  three  days  in  the  week; 
and  there  were  public  libraries  at- 
tached to  some  of  the  parish  churches. 
In  the  time  of  Charles  V.,  rightly 
named  the  Wise,  he  ordered  the 
Royal  Library  of  Paris  to  be  illumin- 
ated with  thirty  portable  lamps,  and 
that  a  silver  one  should  be  suspended 
in  the  centre  for  the  benefit  of  those 
students  who  prolonged  their  re- 
searches into  the  night.  The  numer- 
ous collections  of  books  in  Paris 
made  that  city  very  attractive  to 
certain  minds  even  in  the  middle 
ages.  Richard  de  Bury,  Bishop  of 
Durham,  in  England,  who  establish- 
ed the  first  public  library  in  that 
country,  used  to  resort  to  Paris  for 
fresh  supplies.  "  O  blessed  God  of 
gods  in  Sion !"  he  exclaims,  "  what  a 
flood  of  pleasure  rejoices  our  heart 
whenever  we  are  at  liberty  to  visit 
Paris,  that  paradise  of  the  world, 
where  the  days  always  seem  too 
short  and  too  few  through  the  im- 


mensity of  our  love !  There  are 
libraries  more  redolent  of  delight  than 
all  the  shops  of  aromatics ;  there  are 
the  flowering  meadows  of  all  volumes 
that  can  be  found  anywhere.  There, 
indeed,  untying  our  purse-strings,  and 
opening  our  treasures,  we  disperse 
money  with  a  joyful  heart  (evidently 
the  truth,  for  he  paid  the  Abbot  of 
St.  Albans  fifty  pounds  weight  of 
silver  for  thirty  or  forty  volumes),  and 
ransom  with  dirt  books  that  are  be- 
yond all  price.  But  lo  !  how  good 
and  pleasant  a  thing  it  is  to  gather 
together  in  one  place  the  arms  of 
clerical  warfare,  that  there  may  be 
a  supply  of  them  for  us  to  use  in  the 
wars  against  heretics,  should  they 
ever  rise  up  against  us !" 

What  would  this  book-loving  pre- 
late have  done  had  he  foreseen  that 
the  church  would  one  day  be  accused 
of  being  a  foe  to  progress  and  to  the 
diffusion  of  knowledge  !  This  bishop, 
who  lived  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
was  the  Chancellor  and  High  Trea- 
surer of  England,  and  celebrated  for 
his  love  and  enouragement  of  litera- 
ture. He  had  libraries  in  all  his 
palaces,  and  the  apartment  he  com- 
monly occupied  was  so  crammed 
with  books  that  he  was  almost  in- 
accessible. He  was  said  to  breathe 
books,  so  fond  was  he  of  being  among 
them.  None  but  a  genuine  lover  of 
books  would  give  such  amusing  di- 
rections for  their  preservation.  "  Not 
only  do  we  serve  God,"  says  he,  "  by 
preparing  new  books,  but  also  by  pre- 
serving and  treating  with  great  care 
those  we  have  already.  Truly,  after 
the  vestments  and  vessels  dedicated 
to  our  Lord's  body,  sacred  books  de- 
serve to  be  treated  with  most  rever- 
ence by  clerks.  In  opening  and 
shutting  books,  they  should  avoid  all 
abruptness,  not  too  hastily  loosing  the 
clasps,  nor  failing  to  shut  them  when 
they  have  finished  reading,  for  it  is 
far  more  important  to  preserve  a  book 


40 


Sauntering. 


than  a  shoe."  He  then  goes  on  to 
speak  of  soiling  books ;  of  marking 
passages  with  the  finger-nails,  "  like 
those  of  a  giant;"  of  swelling  the 
junctures  of  the  binding  with  straws 
or  flowers ;  and  of  eating  over  them, 
leaving  the  fragments  in  the  book,  as 
if  the  reader  had  no  bag  for  alms. 
Waxing  warm  over  the  idea,  he 
wishes  such  persons  might  have  to 
sit  over  leather  with  a  shoemaker ! 
And  then  there  are  impudent  youths, 
who  presume  to  fill  up  the  broad 
margins  with  their  unchastened  pens, 
noting  down  whatever  frivolous  thing 
occurs  to  their  imagination!  And 
"  there  are  some  thieves,  too,  who 
cut  out  leaves  or  letters,  which  kind 
of  sacrilege  ought  to  be  prohibited 
under  the  penalty  of  anathema."  The 
bishop  had  evidently  had  some  sad 
experience  with  his  cherished  tomes. 
His  testimony  respecting  the  appre- 
ciation of  books  by  the  monks  of  his 
time  is  valuable.  Remember  the  age, 
reader — that  period  of  deepest  dark- 
ness just  before  the  dawn!  "The 
monks  who  are  so  venerable,"  says 
he  in  his  PhiloMblion,  "  are  accus- 
tomed to  be  solicitous  in  regard  to 
books,  and  to  be  delighted  in  their 
company,  as  with  all  riches,  and 
thence  it  is  that  we  find  in  most 
monasteries  such  splendid  treasures 
of  erudition,  giving  a  delectable  light 
to  the  path  of  laics.  Oh  !  that  devout 
labor  of  their  hands  in  writing  books ; 
how  preferable  to  all  georgic  care  ! 
All  things  else  fail  with  time.  Saturn 
ceases  not  to  devour  his  offspring,  for 
oblivion  covereth  the  glory  of  the 
world.  But  God  hath  provided  a 
remedy  for  us  in  books,  without  which 
all  that  was  ever  great  would  have 
been  without  memory.  Without 
shame  we  may  lay  bare  to  books  the 
poverty  of  human  ignorance.  They 
are  the  masters  who  instruct  us  with- 
out rods,  without  anger,  and  without 
money.  (The  bishop  had  evidently 


forgotten  those  fifty  pounds  of  silver, 
and  many  more  besides  !)  O  books  ! 
alone  liberal  and  making  liberal,  who 
give  to  all,  and  seek  to  emancipate 
all  who  serve  you.  You  are  the 
tree  of  life  and  the  river  of  Paradise, 
with  which  the  human  intelligence  is 
irrigated  and  made  fruitful." 

But  I  did  not  always  linger  at  the 
doors  of  churches,  studying  the  walls 
and  pondering  on  their  history.  The 
true  Catholic  knows  that  these  mag- 
nificent churches  are  only  vast  shrines 
enclosing  the  great  Object  of  his  ado- 
ration and  love.  M.  Olier,  when 
travelling,  never  saw  the  spire  of  a 
church  in  the  distance  without  call- 
ing upon  all  with  him  to  repeat  the 
Tantum  Ergo.  He  used  to  say : 
"When  I  see  a  place  where  my 
Master  reposes,  I  have  a  feeling  of 
unutterable  joy."  This  feeling  comes 
over  every  cue  at  the  first  glimpse 
of  that  undying  lamp  before  the  ta- 
bernacle, "that  small  flame  which 
rises  and  falls  like  a  dying  pulse, 
flickering  up  and  down,  emblema- 
tic of  our  lives,  which  even  now  thus 
wastes  and  wanes." 

The  very  first  act  on  stepping  into 
a  church  completely  changes  the 
current  of  one's  thoughts.  The  holy 
water,  the  sign  of  the  cross,  dispel 
the  remembrance  of  material  things 
and  recall  devout  thoughts  of  the 
Passion.  » 

"  Whene'er  across  this  sinful  flesh  of  mine 

I  draw  the  holy  sign, 

All  pood  thoughts  stir  within  me,  and  collect 
Their  slumbering  strength  divine." 

The  btnitiers  at  St.  Sulpice  are  two 
immense  shells,  given  to  Francis  the 
First  by  the  Republic  of  Venice ;  but 
for  all  that,  the  eau  benite  seemed 
just  as  holy,  and  I  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross  just  as  devoutly. 

For  devotion,  I  prefer  the  largest 
churches,  because  the  seclusion  is 
more  perfect,  as  at  Notre  Dame. 
Behind  some  pillar  or  in  the  depths 


Sauntering. 


of  some  dim  chapel,  one  can  find 
perfect  solitude  where  he  can  be 
alone  with  God.  Alone  with  God ! 
that  in  itself  is  prayer.  The  world- 
weary  soul  finds  it  good  simply  to  sit 
or  kneel  with  clasped  hands  in  the 
divine  Presence. 

"  My  spirit  I  love  to  compose, 
In  humble  trust  my  eyelids  close 

With  reverential  resignation, 
No  wish  conceived,  no  thought  expressed, 

Only  a  sense  of  supplication."  . 

Joubert  says  the  best  prayers  are 
those  that  have  nothing  distinct,  and 
which  thus  partake  of  simple  adora- 
tion; and  Hawthorne  asks  :  "Could 
I  bring  my  heart  in  unison  with  those 
praying  in  yonder  church  with  a  fer- 
vor of  supplication  but  no  distinct 
request,  would  not  that  be  the  safest 
kind  of  prayer?"  Surely  every  de- 
vout soul  feels  that  "  prayer  is  not 
necessarily  petition,"  and  what  is  tech- 
nically known  as  the  prayer  of  con- 
templation is  the  very  inspiration  of 
such  churches.  In  this  temple  of 
silence,  man  seems  to  be  brought 
back  to  his  primeval  relations  with 
his  Creator. 

What  mute  eloquence  in  these 
walls !  What  an  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion in  the  calmness !  Earthly  voices 
die  away  on  the  threshold,  and  peace, 
dovelike,  broods  over  the  very  en- 
trance. A  daily  visit  to  such  a  tem- 
ple gives  life  a  certain  elevation.  The 
very  poor  who  come  here  to  pray 
must  acquire  a  certain  dignity  of 
character.  How  many  generations 
have  worshipped  beneath  these  ar- 
ches! The  saints  have  passed  over 
the  very  pavement  I  tread.  I  recall 
St.  Louis,  who,  out  of  respect  to  our 
Lord,  had  laid  off  his  shoes  and  di- 
vested himself  of  his  royal  robes, 
bearing  solemnly  into  this  church 
the  holy  Crown  of  Thorns.  And  great 
sinners,  too,  are  in  this  long  proces- 
sion of  the  past.  There  is  Count 
Raymond  of  Toulouse,  barefoot,  and 


clad  only  in  the  white  tunic  of  a  peni- 
tent, coming  to  receive  absolution 
from  the  papal  legate  before  the 
grand  altar. 

When  one  recalls  the  popes,  car- 
dinals, and  other  dignitaries  of  the 
church,  the  kings  and  queens  and 
knights  of  the  olden  time  who  have 
been  here,  one  almost  shrinks  from 
entering  such  a  throng  of  the  mighty 
ones  of  the  earth.  It  seems  as  if  he 
were  elbowing  the  Great  Monarch  or 
the  gallant  Henry  of  Navarre. 

On  the  galleries  around  the  nave 
were  formerly  suspended  the  flags 
and  standards  taken  in  war,  and  it 
was  in  allusion  to  this  custom  that 
the  Prince  of  Conti,  after  the  victories 
of  Fleurus,  Steinkerque,  and  La  Mar- 
saille,  made  an  opening  in  the  crowd 
around  the  door  of  the  church  for  the 
Marechal  de  Luxembourg,  whom  he 
held  by  the  hand,  by  crying:  "  Place, 
place,  messieurs,  au  tapissier  de  Notre 
Dame !" — "  Room,  room,  gentlemen, 
for  the  upholsterer  of  Notre  Dame  !" 

It  is  charming  to  see  the  birds 
flying  about  in  the  arches  of  this 
church,  as  if  'nature  had  taken  its 
venerable  walls  to  her  bosom.  It 
made  me  think  of  the  old  hermits  of 
the  middle  ages,  living  with  the  sea- 
birds  in  their  ocean  caves.  Like  St. 
Francis,  the  canons  of  Notre  Dame 
say  the  divine  office  with  their  "  little 
sisters,  the  birds ;"  and  the  bird  is  the 
symbol  of  the  soul  rising  heavenward 
on  the  wings  of  prayer.  We,  like  the 
birds,  build  our  nests  here  for  a  few 
days.  Blessed  are  we  if  they  are 
built  within  the  influences  of  the  sanc- 
tuary which  temper  the  storms  and 
severities  of  life.  It  is  only  in  the 
clefts  of  the  rocks  that  wall  in  the 
mystic  garden  of  the  church  that 
there  is  safety  for  the  dovelike  soul. 

In  the  transept  is  the  altar  of  Our 
Lady,  starry  with  lamps.  Above  her 
statue  is  one  of  her  titles',  appealing 
to  every  heart — Consolatrix  afflicto- 


Sauntering. 


rum  !  To  this  church  M.  Olier  came, 
in  all  his  troubles,  to  the  altar  of 
Mary.  There  is  also  a  fine  statue 
of  her  over  the  grand  altar,  formerly 
at  the  Carmes.  No  church  is  com- 
plete without  an  altar  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Wherever  there  is  a  cross, 
Mary  must  be  at  its  foot,  as  at  Cal- 
vary, directing  our  eyes,  our  thoughts, 
our  hearts,  to  him  who  hangs  there- 
on. 

"  O  that  silent,  ceaseless  mourning! 
O  those  dim  eyes!  never  turning 
From  that  wondrous,  suffering  Son ! 

"  Virgin  holiest,  virgin  purest. 
Of  that  anguish  thou  endurest 
Make  me  bear  with  thee  my  part." 

In  traversing  Paris,  one  passes 
many  private  residences  of  interest 
which  have  a  certain  consecration — 
the  consecration  of  wit  and  genius. 
I  cannot  say  I  ever  went  so  far  as 
Horace  Walpole,  who  never  passed 
the  Hotel  de  Carnavalet,  the  resi- 
dence of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  with- 
out saying  his  Ave  before  it,  much  as 
I  admire  her  esprit,  and  though  she 
was  the  granddaughter  of  St.  Jane 
de  Chantal,  the  foundress  of  the  Nuns 
of  the  Visitation.  Walpole  thought 
the  house  had  a  foreign-looking 
air,  and  said  it  looked  like  an  ex- 
voto  raised  in  her  honor  by  some  of 
her  foreign  votaries.  It  was  once  an 
elegant  residence,  with  its  sculptured 
gateway  and  Ionic  pilasters,  and  its 
court  adorned  with  statues.  In  the 
day  of  the  spiritiidle  letter-writer,  it 
was  the  resort  of  the  learned  and  the 
refined ;  now,  O  tempora !  it  is  a 
boarding-school,  and  the  salon  of 
Madame  de  Sevigne  (the  temple  of 
"  Notre  Dame  de  Livry,"  to  quote 
Walpole  again,  if  it  be  not  profanity) 
is  converted  into  a  dormitory.  Truly, 
as  Bishop  de  Bury  says,  "  all  things 
pass  away  with  time,"  but  the  wit 
and  genius  she  embodied  in  her 
charming  letters  are  eternal. 

'In  one  of  the  upper  stories  of  a 


house  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore  lived 
Joubert,  the  Coleridge  of  France. 
His  keeping-room  was  flooded  with 
the  light  he  loved,  and  from  it,  as  he 
said,  he  saw  a  great  deal  of  sky  and 
very  little  earth.  There  he  passed 
his  clays  among  the  books  he  had 
collected.  He  rigorously  excluded 
from  his  library  all  the  books  he  dis- 
approved of;  unwilling,  as  he  said,  to 
admit  an  unworthy  friend  to  his  con- 
stant companionship.  To  this  room 
he  attracted  a  brilliant  circle  of  con- 
spicuous authors  and  statesmen  by 
his  conversational  talents,  and  there 
he  wrote  his  immortal  Perishes.  He 
said  he  left  Paris  unwillingly,  because 
then  he  had  to  part  from  his  friends ; 
and  he  left  the  country  unwillingly, 
because  he  had  to  part  from  himself. 
Writing  from  that  sunny  room,  he 
•says :  "  In  many  things,  I  am  like  the 
butterfly  ;  like  him,  I  love  the  light ; 
like  him,  I  there  consume  my  life  ; 
like  him,  I  need,  in  order  to  spread 
my  wings,  that  there  be  fair  weather 
around  me  in  society,  and  that  my 
mind  feel  itself  surrounded  and  as  if 
penetrated  by  the  mild  temperature  of 
indulgence."  But  he  wrote  graver 
and  more  profound  things  there. 
One  of  his  friends  said  of  him  that 
he  seemed  to  be  a  soul  that  by  acci- 
dent had  met  with  a  body,  and  was 
trying  to  make  the  best  of  it.  And 
he,  ever  indulgent  to  the  faults  of 
others,  said  of  his  friends,  "  When 
they  are  blind  of  one  eye,  I  look  at 
them  in  profile." 

The  Abbaye  aux  Bois  is  interesting 
from  its  association  with  Madame 
Recamier  and  her  circle.  Her  rooms 
were  in  the  third  story  and  paved 
with  tiles,  and  they  overlooked  the 
pleasant  garden  of  the  monastery, 
and,  when  lit  up  with  wit  and  genius, 
they  needed  no  other  attraction. 
Among  her  visitors  there  were  Sir 
Humphry  Davy,  Maria  Edgeworth, 
Humboldt,  Lamartine,  Delphine 


Sauntering. 


43 


Gay,  Chateaubriand,  etc.  They 
must  have  been  like  the  gods,  speak- 
ing from  peak  to  peak  all  around 
Olympus.  Lamartine  read  his  Me- 
ditations there  before  they  were  given 
to  the  public.  Chateaubriand  thus 
speaks  of  the  room  :  "  The  windows 
overlooked  the  garden  of  the  abbey, 
under  the  verdant  shade  of  which  the 
nuns  paced  up  and  down,  and  the 
pupils  played.  The  top  of  an  acacia 
was  on  a  level  with  the  eye,  sharp 
spires  pierced  the  sky,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance rose  the  hills  of  Sevres.  The 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  threw  a  golden 
light  over  the  landscape  and  came  in 
through  the  open  windows.  Some 
birds  were  settling  themselves  for  the 
night  on  the  top  of  the  window- 
blinds.  Here  I  found  silence  and 
solitude,  far  above  the  tumult  and 
turmoil  of  a  great  city." 

To  the  church  of  the  abbey,  a  plain, 
unpretending  structure,  Eugenie  de 
Guerin  went  every  day  to  Mass  during 
her  first  visit  to  Paris.  There,  too, 
were  the  bans  of  her  brother  Mau- 
rice published,  and  there  he  was 
married. 

The  house  of  Madame  Swetchine, 
in  the  Rue  St.  Dominique,  must  be 
regarded  with  veneration.  There 
was  no  austerity  about  the  salon  of 
this  remarkable  woman.  It  was 
adorned  with  pictures,  bronzes,  and 
flowers,  and  in  the  evening  it  was 
illuminated  with  a  profusion  of  lamps 
and  candles,  giving  it  a  festive  air. 
And  then  the  great  lights  of  the 
church,  always  diffusing  their  radi- 
ance and  aroma  in  that  favored  room, 
Lacordaire,  De  Ravignan,  Dupan- 
loup,  De  la  Bouillerie,  etc.  To  have 
found  one's  self  among  them  must 
have  seemed  like  being  among  the 
prophets  on  Mount  Carmel.  They  all 
loved  to  officiate  and  preach  in  her 
beautiful  private  chapel,  which  was 
adorned  with  a  multitude  of  precious 
stones  from  the  Russian  mines, 


gleaming  around  the  ineffable  pres- 
ence of  the  Divinity.  Mary,  too, 
was  there.  On  the  base  of  her  silver 
statue  was  her  monogram  in  dia- 
monds, which  Madame  Swetchine 
had  worn  as  maid  of  honor  to  the 
Empress  Mary  of  Russia. 

These  circles,  and  many  others  I 
could  recall,  are  now  broken  up  for 
ever.  We  have  all  heard  and  read  so 
much  of  those  who  composed  them 
that  they  seem  like  personal  friends. 
We  linger  around  the  places  to  which 
they  imparted  a  certain  sacredness, 
and  follow  them  in  thought  to  the 
world  of  mystery  and  eternal  reunion, 
thanking  God  that  the  great  gulf 
from  the  finite  to  the  infinite  has 
been  bridged  over  by  the  Incarnation. 

One  morning,  I  went  to  the  church 
of  the  Carmelites.  A  tablet  on  the 
wall  points  out  the  spot  where  the  heart 
of  Monseigneur  Affre  was  deposited 
— the  heart  of  him  who  gave  his  life 
for  his  flock.  Around  it  were  sus- 
pended some  wreaths.  On  one,  of 
immortelles,  was  painted,  in  black  let- 
ters, A  mon  fere,  the  offering  of  one 
of  his  spiritual -children.  Wishing  to 
have  some  objects  of  devotion  bless- 
ed, I  went  into  the  sacristy  (I  re- 
membered Eugenie  de  Guerin  speaks 
of  going  into  that  sacristy),  where  I 
found  one  of  the  monks  prostrate  in 
prayer,  making  his  thanksgiving  af- 
ter Mass.  Enveloped  in  his  habit. 
his  bald  head  covered  by  a  cowl,  he 
looked  like  a  ghost  from  the  dark 
ages.  Not  venturing  to  approach 
the  ghostly  father,  I  made  known 
my  errand  to  a  good-natured-looking 
lay  brother,  who  conveyed  it  to  that 
part  of  the  cowl  where  the  right  ear 
of  the  monk  might  reasonably  be 
supposed  to  be,  which  brought  back 
the  holy  man  to  earth,  causing  me 
some  compunction  of  conscience. 
The  brother  spread  out  my  articles, 
brought  the  ritual  and  the  stole,  and 
the  father,  throwing  back  his  cowl, 


44 


Sauntering. 


murmured  over  them  the  prayers  of 
holy  church,  and  then  disappeared 
into  the  monastery.  Presently  I 
heard  the  voices  of  the  monks  say- 
ing the  office,  which  they  do,  like 
nuns,  in  choir  and  behind  a  curtain- 
ed grate,  so  they  are  not  seen  from 
the  church. 

This  monastery  may  be  compared 
to  the  Roman  amphitheatre  where 
the  early  Christians  were  thrown  to 
the  wild  beasts.  Here  indeed  was 
fought  the  good  fight,  and  the  vic- 
tors rose  to  heaven  with  palms  in 
their  hands.  I  know  of  nothing 
more  sublime  and  thrilling  in  the 
annals  of  the  church  than  the  mas- 
sacre of  about  two  hundred  priests 
that  took  place  here  on  the  second 
of  September,  1792.  I  cannot  re- 
frain from  giving  a  condensed  ac- 
count of  it  by  one  of  the  writers  of 
the  day :  "  For  some  weeks  there 
had  been  assembled  and  heaped  to- 
gether two  hundred  priests,  who  had 
refused  to  take  the  schismatic  oath, 
or  had  nobly  recanted  it.  During 
the  first  day  of  their  incarceration, 
these  loyal  priests  had  been  inhu- 
manly imprisoned  in  the  church. 
The  guards  in  their  midst  watched 
to  prevent  their  having  the  consola- 
tion of  even  speaking  to  each  other. 
Their  only  nourishment  was  bread 
and  water.  The  stone  floor  was  their 
bed.  It  was  only  later  that  a  few 
were  permitted  to  have  straw  beds.  % 
These  priests,  whom  martyrdom  was 
to  render  immortal,  had  at  their  head 
three  prelates  whose  virtues  recall 
the  primitive  days  of  the  church. 
Their  chief  was  the  Archbishop  of 
Aries,  Monseigneur  du  Lau.  He  had 
been  deputed  to  the  states-general; 
his  piety  equalled  his  knowledge; 
and  his  humility  even  surpassed  his 
merit.  The  day  after  the  memorable 
roth  of  August  he  had  been  sent  to 
the  Carmelite  monastery  (then  con- 
verted into  a  prison)  with  sixty- two 


other  priests.  Notwithstanding  his 
age  (he  was  over  eighty)  and  his  in- 
firmities, he  refused  all  indulgences 
that  were  not  also  extended  to  his 
brother-captives.  For  several  days 
a  wooden  arm-chair  was  his  bed  as 
well  as  his  pontifical  throne.  Thence 
his  persuasive  words  instilled  into 
those  around  him  the  sentiments  of 
ineffable  charity  that  filled  his  own 
heart,  and  when  his  exhausted  voice 
could  no  longer  make  itself  heard, 
his  very  appearance  expressed  a  sub- 
lime resignation. 

"  Two  other  bishops,  brothers,  bear- 
ing the  name  of  De  la  Rochefou- 
cauld, one  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais, 
and  the  other  of  Saintes,  also  en- 
couraged their  companions  in  misfor- 
tune by  their  words  and  by  their  ex- 
ample. The  Bishop  of  Saintes  had 
not  been  arrested,  but,  wishing  to  join 
his  brother,  he  made  himself  a  pri- 
soner. There  were  members  of 
every  rank  in  the  ecclesiastical  hie- 
rarchy :  M.  Hebert,  the  confessor 
of  the  king  who  wrote  to  him 
at  the  beginning  of  August,  '  I  ex- 
pect nothing  more  from  man,  bring 
me  therefore  the  consolations  of  hea- 
ven ;'  the  general  of  the  Benedic- 
tines, the  Abbe  de  Lubusac,  several 
of  the  cures  of  Paris,  Mr.  Gros,  call- 
ed the  modern  Vincent  of  Paul,  and 
priests  brought  from  various  places, 
holy  victims  whom  the  God  of  Cal- 
vary had  chosen  to  associate  with  his 
sufferings,  and  judged  worthy  of  the 
most  glorious  of  all  deaths — that  of 
martyrdom. 

"  For  more  than  two  clays,  the 
wretches  who  hovered  around  their 
enclosure  had  filled  the  air  with  cries 
of  blood,  and  predicting  that  the  sa- 
crifice was  about  to  take  place.  One 
said  to  the  Archbishop  of  Aries  : '  My 
lord,  on  the  morrow  your  grace  is  to 
be  killed.'  These  derisive  insults  re- 
called to  the  holy  captives  the  judg- 
ment-hall of  their  divine  Master, 


Sauntering. 


45 


and  like  him  they  bore  them  in  si- 
lence, forgiving  and  praying  for  their 
enemies. 

"  On  the  second  of  September  they 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  their  last 
hour  had  arrived.  The  hurried  move- 
ments of  the  troops,  the  cries  in  the 
neighboring  streets,  and  the  alarm- 
guns  they  heard  made  them  some- 
what aware  of  the  sinister  events  that 
were  passing  without.  At  the  dawn 
of  day  they  had  gathered  together 
in  the  church.  They  made  their 
confessions  to  each  other,  they  bless- 
ed one  another,  and  partook  of  the 
Holy  Eucharist.  They  were  singing 
the  Benediction  together  at  about 
five  in  the  evening  when  the  omin- 
ous cries  came  nearer.  Then  two 
holy  hymns  succeeded  the  prayers 
for  the  dying.  All  at  once  the  jailers 
entered,  and  began  calling  the  roll, 
which  already  had  been  done  three 
times  that  day.  The  prisoners  were 
then  ordered  into  the  garden,  which 
they  found  occupied  by  guards  arm- 
ed with  pikes  and  wearing  the  bonnet 
rouge.  The  murderers  filled  the 
courts,  the  halls,  and  the  church, 
making  the  venerable  arches  re-echo 
to  the  noise  of  their  weapons  and 
their  blasphemies.  The  priests,  one 
hundred  and  eighty-five  in  number, 
were  divided  into  two  groups.  About 
thirty,  among  whom  were  the  bi- 
shops, rushed  toward  a  little  oratory 
at  the  extremity  of  the  garden,  where 
they  threw  themselves  upon  their 
knees,  recommending  themselves  to 
God.  They  embraced  each  other  for 
the  last  time,  and  began  saying  the 
vespers  for  the  dead,  when  sudden- 
ly the  gates  were  flung  open,  and  the 
assassins  rushed  in  from  various  direc- 
tions. 

"The  sight  of  these  holy  priests 
upon  their  knees  arrested  their  fury 
for  an  instant.  The  first  who  fell 
under  their  blows  was  Father  Gerault, 
who  was  reciting  his  breviary  regard- 


less of  their  cries.  That  breviary, 
pierced  with  a  ball  and  stained  with 
blood,  was  discovered  on  the  spot  at 
the  restoration  of  the  Carmelites,  and 
it  is  preserved  as  a  precious  relic. 
Then  the  Archbishop  of  Aries  was 
demanded.  While  they  were  seek- 
ing him  through  the  alleys,  he  was 
exhorting  his  companions  to  offer  to 
God  the  sacrifice  of  their  lives. 
Hearing  his  name  called,  he  knelt 
down,  and  asked  the  most  aged  of 
the  priests  to  give  him  absolution; 
then,  rising,  he  advanced  to  meet  the 
assassins.  With  his  arms  crossed 
upon  his  breast  and  his  eyes  raised 
toward  heaven,  he  uttered  in  a  calm 
voice  the  same  words  his  divine  Mas- 
ter addressed  to  his  enemies  :  "  I  am 
he  whom  you  seek."  The  first  stroke 
of  the  sword  was  upon  his  forehead, 
but  the  venerable  man  remained 
standing ;  a  second  made  the  blood 
flow  in  torrents,  but  still  he  did  not 
fall ;  the  fifth  laid  him  on  the  ground, 
when  a  pike  was  driven  through  his 
heart.  Then  he  was  trampled  under 
the  feet  of  the  assassins,  who  ex- 
claimed, '  Vive  la  nation  !' 

"  The  general  massacre  then  ensued. 
While  the  unfortunate  priests,  with 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  were 
flying  at  random  through  the  garden, 
some  screening  themselves  behind 
the  hedges  and  others  climbing  the 
trees,  the  murderers  fired  at  them, 
and,  when  one  of  them  fell,  they 
would  rush  upon  his  body,  prolong 
his  agony,  and  exult  over  his  suffer- 
ings. About  forty  perished  in  this 
manner.  Some  of  the  younger 
priests  succeeded  in  scaling  the  walls 
and  hiding  themselves;  but,  remem- 
bering they  were  flying  from  martyr- 
dom and  that  their  escape  might  ex- 
cite greater  fury  against  their  com- 
panions, they  retraced  their  steps 
and  received  their  reward!  The 
Bishop  of  Beauvais  and  kis  brother 
were  in  the  garden  oratory  with  thir- 


46 


Sauntering, 


ty  priests.  A  grating  separated 
them  from  the  murderers,  who  fired 
upon  them,  killing  the  greater  num- 
ber. The  Bishop  of  Beauvais  was 
not  touched,  but  his  brother  had  a 
leg  broken  by  a  ball. 

"  For  an  instant  this  horrid  butchery 
was  suspended.  One  of  the  leaders 
ordered  all  the  priests  into  the  church, 
whither  they  were  driven — even  the 
wounded  and  dying — at  the  sword's 
point.  There  they  gathered  around 
the  altar,  offering  anew  to  their  Savi- 
our the  sacrifice  of  their  lives,  whilst 
their  executioners,  calling  them  out 
two  by  two,  finished  their  butchery 
more  promptly  and  completely.  To 
each  one  life  was  offered  on  condition 
of  taking  the  revolutionary  oath.  They 
all  refused,  and  not  one  escaped. 
Whilst  these  assassins  added  blas- 
phemous shouts  to  their  murderous 
strokes,  whilst  they  demolished  the 
crosses  and  the  tabernacles,  the  holy 
phalanx  of  priests,  which  death  was 
every  moment  lessening,  kept  pray- 
ing for  their  murderers  and  their 
country.  The  two  bishops  were 
among  the  last  executed.  When 
it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  Bishop 
of  Beauvais,  he  left  the  altar  upon 
which  he  had  been  leaning,  and  calm- 
ly advanced  to  meet  his  death.  His 
brother,  whose  wound  prevented  his 
walking,  asked  for  assistance,  and 
was  carried  out  to  his  execution.  It 
was  eight  in  the  evening  when  the 
last  execution  took  place.  Over  four 
hundred  priests  were  massacred  in 
different  parts  of  Paris  at  this  period, 
besides  many  isolated  murders." 

The  constancy  of  these  martyrs 
has  made  many  do  more  than  ex- 
claim with  Horace  Walpole :  "  Al- 
most thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a 
Catholic!"  He  says,  in  a  letter 
dated  October  14,  1792:  "For  the 
French  priests,  I  own  I  honor  them. 
They  preferred  beggary  to  perjury, 
and  have  died  or  fled  to  preserve  the 


integrity  of  their  consciences.  It  cer- 
tainly was  not  the  French  clergy  but 
the  philosophers  that  have  trained  up 
their  countrymen  to  be  the  most 
bloody  men  upon  earth." 

I  n  1 854,  this  monastery,  where  flow- 
ed the  blood  of  martyrs  and  which  had 
echoed  with  their  dying  groans,  re- 
sounded with  the  strains  of  O  Salu- 
taris  Hostia  !  on  the  festival  of  Cor- 
pus Christi,  and  priests  bore  the  di- 
vine Host  through  the  alleys  of  the 
garden  where,  sixty  years  before,  had 
rushed  those  who  were  swift  to  shed 
blood.  An  altar  had  been  erected 
under  the  yew-tree  where  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Aries  fell.  Children  scat- 
tered flowers  over  the  place  once 
covered  with  blood.  Well  might  the 
pale-lipped  clergy  tearfully  chant  in 
such  a  spot : 

"  TUB  VVHITE-SOBED  ARMY  OF  MARTYRS  PRAISE 
THEE!" 

Every  age  has  its  martyrs.  They 
are  the  glory  of  the  church,  and  their 
blood  is  its  seed.  The  church  must 
ever  suffer  with  its  divine  spouse. 
Sometimes  its  head — the  Vicar  of 
Christ — is  crowned  with  thorns ; 
sometime^  its  heart  bleeds  from  a 
thrust  in  the  very  house  of  its 
friends;  and,  again,  its  feet  and 
hands  are  nailed  in  the  extremities 
of  the  earth. 

And  every  follower -of  Christ  cruci- 
fied has  his  martyrdom — a  martyr- 
dom of  the  soul,  if  not  of  the  body. 
The  sacred  stigmata  are  imprinted 
on  every  soul,  that  embraces  the 
cross,  and  no  one  can  look  upon  him 
who  hangs  thereon,  with  the  eyes  of 
faith,  without  catching  something  of 
his  resemblance.  Suffering  is  now, 
as  when  he  was  on  earth,  the  glorious 
penalty  of  those  who  approach  the 
nearest  to  his  Divine  Person. 

"  Three  saints  of  old  their  lips  upon  the  Incarnate 
Saviour  laid, 

And  each  with  death  or  agony  for  the  high  rap- 
ture paid. 


Sor  Juana  Incs  dc  la  Cruz. 


47 


His   mother's  holy  kisses  of  the  coming  sword       With  homage  of  a  broken  heart  his  pierced  and 


gave  sign, 


lifeless  feet. 


And  Simeon's  hymn  full  closely  did  with  his  last      The  crown  of  thorns,  the  Heavy  cross,  the  nails 


breath  entwine 


and  bleeding  brows, 


And  Magdalen's  first  tearful  touch  prepared  her      The  pale  and  dying  lips,  are  the  portion  of  the 


but  to  greet 


spouse." 


SOR    JUANA     INKS     DE     LA    CRUZ. 


So  little  is  known  of  Spanish 
American  literature  that  any  fresh 
report  from  its  pages  seems  to  have 
the  nature  of  a  revelation.  '  Our 
acquaintance  with  Heredia,  Placido, 
Milanes,  Mendive,  Carpio,  Pesado, 
Galvan,  Calderon,  is  slight  or  naught ; 
yet  these  poets  are  most  interesting 
on  account  of  the  countries,  peoples, 
and  causes  for  which  they  speak  elo- 
quently, even  if  we  deny  that  they 
add  greatly  to  the  genuine  substance 
of  our  literary  possession.  Less 
question,  however,  can  be  entertained 
of  the  importance  of  some  older 
names  whose  fame  made  for  itself  a 
refuge  in  the  Spanish  churches  and 
cloisters  of  the  New  World  long  be- 
fore revolutionists  took  to  shooting 
the  Muses  on  the  wing.  In  the 
seventeenth  century  lived  and  wrought 
Cabrera,  Siguenza,  and  Sor  or  Sister 
Juana  Ines.  They  belonged  to  a 
country  which  claimed  for  awhile  as 
its  scholars,  though  not  as  its  natives, 
Doctor  Valbuena,  author  of  the  very 
well-known  epical  fantasy  called  The 
Bernardo,  and  Mateo  Alaman,  who 
wrote  the  famous  story  of  Guzman  de 
Alfarache,  Juan  Ruiz  de  Alarcon, 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  dramatic 
poets  of  a  great  dramatic  age,  was  a 
native  of  that  same  country,  Mexico. 
Siguenza,  as  mathematician,  historian, 
antiquary,  and  poet,  has  been  well  es- 
teemed by  Humboldt  and  the  scho- 
lars of  his  own  race.  It  is  much  to 


say  that  the  land  which  produced  an 
artist  as  great  as  Cabrera  also  gave 
birth  to  a  scholar  and  poet  as  re- 
nowned in  her  day  and  as  apprecia- 
ble in  ours  as  Sor  Juana  Ines  de  la 
Cruz.  Among  all  these  celebrities, 
who  would  have  been  eminent  in 
any  time  among  any  people,  this 
Mexican  nun  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury holds  a  place  of  her  own. 
Looking  back  upon  the  past  with  all 
our  modern  light,  we  cannot  but  re- 
gard her  as  one  of  the  most  admira- 
ble characters  of  the  New  World. 

Sor  Juana  Ines  de  la  Cruz  was 
born  at  San  Miguel  de  Nepantla, 
twelve  leagues  from  the  city  of 
Mexico,  in  the  year  1651,  and  died 
at  the  age  of  forty -four.  When  but 
three  years  old,  she  was  able  to  read, 
write,  and  "  cipher,"  and  at  eight 
she  wrote  a  prologue  for  the  feast  of 
the  Holy  Sacrament.  Once  she  cut 
her  hair,  and  would  not  allow  it  to 
grow  till  she  had  acquired  the  learn- 
ing she  proposed  to  herself,  seeing 
no  reason  why  a  head  should  be 
covered  with  hair  that  was  denuded 
of  knowledge,  its  best  ornament. 
After  twenty  lessons,  it  was  said,  she 
knew  Latin,  and  so  great  was  her  de- 
sire to  learn  that  she  importuned  her 
parents  to  send  her  to  the  University 
of  Mexico  in  boy's  clothes.  When 
seventeen  years  of  age,  and  a  cherish- 
ed inmate  of  the  Viceroy  Mancera's 
family,  she  amazed  a  large  company 


48 


Sor  J uana  Incs  dc  la  Cruz. 


of  the  professors  and  scholars  of  the 
capital  by  tests  of  her  various  erudi- 
tion and  abilities.  Notwithstanding 
her  beauty  and  fortune,  her  rank  and 
accomplishments,  and  the  life  of  a 
gallant  and  brilliant  court,  she  deter- 
mined at  that  early  age  to  retire  to  a 
cloister,  and  in  a  few  years  became 
known  as  Sor  Juana  of  San  Geronimo, 
a  convent  of  the  city  of  Mexico. 
After  this  appeared  her  poems,  The 
Crisis  and  The  Dream,  in  the  latter 
of  which  she  writes  much  of  mytho- 
logy, physics,  medicine,  and  history, 
according  to  the  scholastic  manner  of 
her  time.  With  these  and  her  subse- 
quent poetic  writings,  such  as  her 
sonnets,  loas,  romances,  and  autos, 
she  had  rare  fame,  and  won  from 
some  of  her  admirers  the  enthusiastic 
titles  of  "  The  Phoenix  of  Mexico," 
"  Tenth  Muse,"  and  "  Poetess  of  Amer- 
ica." The  writer  has  an  old  volume 
before  him  bearing  literally  this  title- 
page  :  "  Fama,  y  Obras  Posthumas 
del  Fenix  de  Mexico,  y  Dezima  Musa, 
Poetisa  de  la  America,  Sor  Juana 
Ines  de  la  Cruz,  Religiosa  Professa 
en  el  Convento  de  San  Geronimo,  de 
la  Imperial  Ciudad  de  Mexico.  Re- 
cogidas  y  dadas  a  luz  por  el  Doc- 
tor Don  Juan  Ignacio  de  Castorena 
y  Ursua,  Capellan  de  Honor  de  su 
Magestad,  y  Prebendado  de  la  Santa 
Iglesia  Metropolitana  de  Mexico.  En 
Barcelona  :  Por  Rafael  Figuero. 
Afio  de  MDCCI.  Con  todas  las 
licencias  necessarias."  Thus  it  ap- 
pears we  owe  to  the  Prebendary  Cas- 
torena the  edition  of  the  posthumous 
works  of  Sor  Juana  given  to  the  light 
in  1701,  six  years  after  her  death. 

But,  whether  as  the  sister  or  the 
mother  of  a  convent,  Juana  Ines  de 
la  Cruz  was  more  than  a  mistress  of 
vain  learning  or  unprofitable  science. 
Her  daily  assiduous  exercise  was 
charity,  which  at  last  so  controlled 
her  life  and  thoughts  that  she  gave 
all  her  musical  and  mathematical  in- 


struments, all  the  rich  presents  which 
her  talents  had  attracted  from  illus- 
trious people,  and  all  her  books,  ex- 
cepting those  she  left  to  her  sisters, 
to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor. 
Though  she  had  evidently  prized 
science  as  the  handmaid  of  religion, 
the  time  came  when  her  verses  upon 
the  vanity  of  learning  reflected  a 
mind  more  and  more  withdrawn  from 
the  affairs  of  this  world  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  next.  When  an 
epidemic  visited  the  Convent  of  San 
Geronimo,  and  but  two  out  of  every 
ten  invalids  were  saved,  the  good, 
brave  soul  of  Madre  Juana  shone 
transcendently.  Spite  of  warnings 
and  petitions,  and  though  all  the  city 
prayed  for  her  life,  Madre  Juana 
perished  at  her  vigil  of  charity — the 
good  angel  as  well  as  muse  of 
Mexico. 

Of  the  enthusiasm  created  by  her 
genius,  we  have  abundant  and  curi- 
ous proofs.  Don  Alonzo  Muxica, 
"perpetual  Recorder  of  the  City  of  Sa- 
lamanca," wrote  a  sonnet  upon  her 
having  learned  to  read  at  the  age  of 
three,  when  "  what  for  all  is  but  the 
break  of  morn  in  her  was  as  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day."  Excelentissimo  Sir 
Felix  Fernandez  de  Cordova  Cor- 
dona  y  Aragon,  Duke  of  Seffa,  of 
Vnena  and  Soma,  Count  of  Cabra, 
Palomas,  and  Olivitas,  and  Grand 
Admiral  and  Captain- General  of  Na- 
ples, speaks  of  her  in  a  lofty  poetic 
encomium  as  for  the  third  time  ap- 
plauded by  two  admiring  worlds  of 
readers,  and  praises  her  persuasive 
voice  as  that  of  a  sweet  siren  of 
thought.  Don  Garcia  Ribadeneyra, 
with  the  grandiose  wit  of  his  day,  says 
in  a  decima  that  this  extraordinary 
woman  surpassed  the  sun,  for  her 
glorious  genius  rose  where  the  sun 
set,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  West ;  and 
Don  Pedro  Alfonso  Moreno  argues 
piously  that  St.  John  the  Baptist's 
three  crowns  of  Virgin,  Martyr,  and 


Sor  Juana  Incs  de  la  Cruz. 


49 


Doctor  were  in  measure  those  of 
Madre  Juana.  who  was  from  early- 
years  chaste,  poor  in  spirit,  and  obe- 
dient, according  to  the  vow  of  reli- 
gious women.  Don  Luis  Verdejo 
declares  that  she  transferred  the  ly- 
ceums  of  the  Muses  to  Mexico,  and 
that  the  light  of  her  genius  is  poured 
upon  two  worlds.  Padre  Cabrera, 
chaplain  of  the  Most  Excellent  Duke 
of  Arcos,  asserts  that  the  Eternal 
Knowledge  enlightened  Juana  in  all 
learning.  "  Only  her  fame  can  de- 
fine her,"  writes  one  of  her  own  sex; 
and  when  the  Poetess  of  the  Cloister 
wrote  with  her  own  blood  a  protesta- 
tion of  faith,  it  was  said  of  this  "  Swan 
of  erudite  plume  "  that  she  wrote  like 
the  martyr  to  whose  ink  of  blood  the 
earth  was  as  paper.  Her  gift  of 
books  to  be  sold  in  order  to  relieve 
the  poor  inspired  Senora  Catalina  de 
Fernandez  de  Cordova,  nun  in  the 
Convent  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  Alcara, 
to  say  thus  thoughtfully  : 


"  Without  her  books  did  Juana  grow  more  wise, 
As  for  their  loss  she  studied  deep  content. 
Know.  then,  that  in  this  human  school  of  oursv 
He  only  is  wise  who  knows  to  love  his  God." 


At  thought  of  her  death,  Don 
Luis  Mufioz  Venegas,  of  Granada, 
wonders  that  the  sun  shines,  that 
ships  sail,  that  earth  is  fair,  that  all 
things  do  not  grieve  her  loss,  whose 
happy  soul  in  its  beatitudes  enjoys 
the  riches  of  which  death  has  robbed 
the  world— sweetness,  purity,  felicity. 
Fray  Juan  de  Rueda,  professor  of 
theology  in  the  college  of  San  Pablo ; 
Licentiate  Villalobos  of  San  Ildefon- 
so,  and  Senor  Guerra,  fellow  of  the 
same  college;  Advocate  Pimienta,  of 
the  Royal  Audience,  and  Bachelor 
fOlivas,  a  presbyter;  Syndic  Torres, 
Catedratico  or  Professor  Aviles,  Cava- 
lier Ulloa,  have  all  something  to  say 
in  Spanish  or  Latin  on  the  death  of 
our  poetess.  Doctor  Aviles  imagines 
the  death  of  Sor  Juana  to  be  like  that 

VOL.    XIII. — 4 


of  the  rose,  which,  having  acquired  in 
a  brief  age  all  its  perfection,  needed 
not  to  live  longer.  Don  Diego  Mar- 
tinez suggests  beautifully  that  the  pro- 
fit which  other  excellent  minds  will 
derive  from  the  posthumous  writings 
of  the  poetess  will  be  like  the  clear- 
ness which  the  stars  gain  by  the  death 
of  the  sun.  Mingled  with  these  hon- 
est tributes  of  admiration  is  much  ex- 
travagance of  comparison ;  but  they 
prove  at  least  that  Sor  Juana  was  re- 
garded by  the  learned  of  her  day  as 
a  woman  of  astonishing  powers. 

Amid  all  her  studies  and  labors, 
we  read  that  Sister  Juana  was  con- 
stant in  her  religious  devotions,  and 
faithful  to  the  least  rules  of  her  order. 
But  her  conscientious  spirit,  moved 
by  a  letter  of  Bishop  Fernandez  of 
Puebla,  determined  her  at  length  to 
renounce  the  exercise  of  her  talents 
for  the  strictest  and  purest  ascetism. 
Hence,  one  of  her  Mexican  critics  is 
led  to  say  that  we  have  only  the 
echoes  of  her  songs,  only  the  shades 
of  her  images,  inasmuch  as  her  sex 
and  state,  and  the  reigning  scholas- 
ticism, were  net  convenient  for  the 
true  expression  of  her  thoughts.  The 
noble,  ascetic  literature  of  Spain,  re- 
specting which  it  is  with  reason  boast- 
ed that  the  world  contains  nothing 
of  the  kind  more  valuable,  discredits 
in  good  part  this  supposition.  More- 
over, the  recognition  of  Sor  Juana's 
work  and  genius  was,  as  we  have  seen, 
not  inconsiderable.  The  world  is  still 
in  its  infancy  as  regards  religious  ide- 
ality, and,  spite  of  the  highest  evi- 
dences, often  refuses  to  believe  that 
thoughts  fed  from  the  divin  source 
can  fulfil  the  true  poem  of  1L .,  be  it 
written  or  acted.  What  the  thoughts 
of  Sor  Juana  were  like  in  her  ordi- 
nary religious  life  we  understand  part- 
ly from  a  number  of  daily  exercises 
and  meditations  which  have  come 
do\vn  to  us.  Here  are  specimens  of 
these  compositions : 


Sor  Juana  Ines  de  la  Cruz. 


On  this  day,  at  seeing  the  light  come 
forth,  bless  its   Author  who  made  it  so 
beautiful  a  creation,  and  praise  him  with 
a  submissive  heart ;  not  only  because  he 
created  it  for  our  good,  but  because  he 
made  it  a  vassal  to  his  mother  and  our 
mediatrix.    Go  to  Mass  with  all  possible 
devotion,  and  those  who  can,  let  them  fast 
and  give  thanks  to  God.    Thou  shalt  sing 
the  canticle  Benedicite  omnia  opera  Domini 
Pomino  and  the  verse  Benedicite  lux.     Un- 
deistand  that  not  only  the  just  ought  to 
praise  God,  who  are  themselves  as  light, 
but   the    sinners  who   are   as   darkness. 
Consider  yourselves  such,  every  one  of 
you,  and  mourn  for  having  added  to  the 
original  'transgression,    darkness    upon 
darkness,   sins  upon   sins.      Resolve   to 
correct  thyself;  and  that  Mary's  purest 
light  may  reach  you,  recite  a   Salve,  and 
nine   times   the   Magnificat,   face   to  the 
ground,  and  fly  from  all  sin  this  day,  even 
the  shadow  thereof.     Abstain  from  all  im- 
patience, murmurings,  repinings,  and  suf- 
fer with  meekness  those  evils  which  are  a 
repugnance  to  our  nature.     If  it  be  a  day 
of  discipline  of  the  community,  that   is 
enough,  but  if  not,  it  shall  be  especially 
made    so.      Those    who    do    not    know 
how    to    read    Latin    shall    recite    nine 
Salves  mouth   to  the  ground,  and   shall 
fast    if  they   are   able,   and    if  not,  they 
shall  make  an   act  of  contrition,  so  that 
the  Lord  may  give  them  light  for  his  time- 
ly service,  even  as  he  gave  them  material 
light  by  which  to  live. 

MEDITATION. 

If  we  look  at  the  properties  of  the  fir- 
mament, what  more  assimilates  to  the 
miraculous  constancy  of  Mary,  whom 
neither  those  steeped  in  original  sin  could 
make  fall,  nor  the  combats  of  temptation 
make  stumble  !  But  still,  amid  the  tor- 
rents and  tempests  of  human  miseries, 
between  the  troubles  of  her  life,  and  the 
painful  passion  and  death  of  her  most 
holy  Son  and  our  most  beloved  Saviour; 
amid  the  waves  of  incredulity  in  the 
doubts  of  his  disciples  ;  among  the  hid- 
den rocks  of  the  perfidy  of  Judas,  and  the 
uncertainty  of  so  many  timid  souls — ever 
was  her  constancy  preserved.  Not  only 
was  she  firm,  but  beautiful  as  the  firma- 
ment, which  (according  to  the  mathema- 
ticians) hath  this  other  excellence,  that 
it  is  bordered  by  innumerable  stars,  but 
has  only  seven  planets  which  are  fixed 
and  never  move.  Thus,  holiest  Mary 


was  not  only  most  pure  in  her  concep- 
tion, transparent  and  translucent,  but  af- 
terwards the  Lord  adorned  her  with  in- 
numerable virtues  which  she  acquired, 
even  as  tho  stars  which  border  that  most 
beautiful  firmament;  and  she  not  only 
had  them  all,  but  had  them  fixed,  all  im- 
movable, all  in  order  and  admirable 
concert :  but  if  in  the  other  children  of 
Adam  we  see  some  virtues,  they  are  er- 
rant— to-day  we  have  them,  to-morrow 
they  are  gone — to-day  is  light,  to  morrow 
darkness.  We  will  rejoice  in  her  pre- 
rogative, and  say  unto  her  : 

OFFERING. 

Honored  Lady,  and  crown  of  our  hu- 
man being,  divine  firmament  where  the 
stars  of  virtue  are  fixed,  give  their  benign 
influence  to  us,  thy  devoted  ones,  that  by 
thy  favor  we  may  cure  ourselves  and  ac- 
quire them  ;  and  that  light  which  thou 
dost  partake  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness, 
communicate  it  to  our  souls,  and  fix  in 
them  thy  virtues,  the  love  of  thy  precious 
Son,  and  thy  sweetest  and  tenderest  de- 
votion, and  of  thy  happy  husband,  our 
patron  and  advocate,  St.  Joseph. 

These  compositions  doubtless  give 
iis  a  better  idea  of  the  interior  thought 
of  Mexican  monasticism  than  some 
yellow-covered  speculations.  In  that 
life  grew  the  finest  genius,  the  great- 
est woman,  perhaps  the  most  re- 
markable character  in  all  respects 
that  Mexico  ever  produced.  Con- 
sidering the  time  and  place  in  which 
she  wrote,  the  New  World  has  scarce- 
ly produced  her  superior  among  wo- 
men of  genius.  Up  to  the  nineteenth 
century  America  had,  doubtless,  no 
literary  product  comparable  to  the 
poems  of  Sor  Juana  Ines.  What  Ca- 
brera, was  to  the  art,  Sor  Juana  seems 
to  have  been  to  the  literature  of  her 
country;  and  both  these  workers  of 
genius  gave  their  powers  to  the  ser- 
vice of  religion.  It  is  here  worthy 
of  remark  that  not  only  were  the 
greatest  painter  and  poet  of  Mexico 
studious  servants  of  the  church,  but 
that  its  most  celebrated  scientist  was 
the  Jesuit  Siguenza  y  Gongora,  au- 
thor of  a  funeral  eulogy  of  Sor  Juana 


Sor  Juana  Ines  de  la  Cruz. 


Ines,  whom  he  knew  and  appreciat- 
ed, for  he,  too,  was  a  poet.  Without 
social  helps,  without  emulation,  such 
as  is  ordinarily  understood,  such 
proofs  of  her  high  intelligence  as  we 
possess  have  come  to  light.  Per- 
plexed as  it  was  with  the  mannered 
erudition  of  the  schools,  her  poetry 
nevertheless  reveals  noble  sensibility 
and  thought  in  superior  forms.  Thus 
she  sings  in  her  verses  entitled  "  Sen- 
timents of  Absence :" 

"  Hear  me  with  eyes, 
Now  that  so  distant  are  thine  ears  ; 
Of  absence  my  laments ; 
In  echoes  from  my  pen  the  groans ; 
And  as  can  reach  thee  not  my  voice  so  rude, 
Hear  thou  me  deaf,  since  dumbly  I  complain." 

This  is  like  a  voice  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age;  but  what  woman  even 
of  that  day  has  left  us  so  rare  a  re- 
cord of  poetry  and  piety  combined 
as  the  nun  of  San  Geronimo,  she 
who  lived  in  1670  in  far-off,  outlan- 
dish Mexico  ?  What  chapter  of  lite- 
rature would  seem  too  good  to  en- 
tertain this  Tenth  Muse,  to  whom  we 
owe  such  sonnets  as  these : 

TO  A  PAINTER  OF  OUR  LADY,  OF  MOST 

EXCELLENT  PENCIL. 
If  pencil,  although  grand  in  human  wise. 
Could  make  a  picture  thus  most  beautiful, 
Where  even  clearest  vision  not  refines 
Thy  light,  O  admirable — yet  in  vain : 
How  did  the  author  of  thy  sovereign  soul 
Proportion  space  to  his  creation  fair  ! 
What  grace  he  painted,  and  what  loveliness  ! 
The  scope  more  ample,  greater  was  the  hand. 
Was  found  within  the  sphere  of  purest  light 
The  pencil,  schooled  within  the  morning-star, 
When  thou  wert  dawned,  Aurora  most  divine  ? 
Yea,  thus  indeed  it  was;  but  verily 
The  sky  has  not  paid  back  thy  cost  to  him 
Who  spent  in  thee  more  light  than  it  has  now. 

THE   LOVERS. 

Feliciano  loves  me,  and  I  hate  him : 
Lizardo  hates  me,  and  I  do  adore  him; 


For  him  who  does  not  want  me,  do  I  cry, 
And  him  who  yearns  for  me,  I  not  desire. 
To  him  who  me  disdains,  my  soul  I  offer, 
And  him  who  is  my  victim,  1  disdain. 
Him  I  despise  who  would  enrich  my  honor, 
And  him  who  doth  contemn  me,  I'd  enrich. 
If  with  offence  the  first  I  have  displeased, 
The  other  doth  displease  by  me  offended— 
And  thus  I  come  to  suffer  every  way ; 
For  both  are  but  as  torments  to  my  feelings — 
This  one  with  asking  that  which  1  have  not, 
And  that  in  not  having  what  I'd  ask. 

THE  ROSE. 

Celia  beheld  a  rose  that  in  the  walk 
Flourished  in  pride  of  springtime  loveliness, 
And  whose  bright  hues  of  carmine  or  of  red 
Bathed  joyfully  its  delicate  countenance — 
And  said:  Enjoy  without  the  fear  of  fate 
The  fleeting  course  of  thy  luxuriant  age, 
Since  will  not  death  be  able  on  the  morrow. 
To  take  from  thee  what  thou  to-day  enjoyest; 
And  though  he  come  within  a  little  while, 
Still  grieve  thou  not  to  die  so  young  and  fair: 
Hear  what  experience  may  counsel  thee — 
That  fortunate  'tis  to  die  being  beautiful, 
And  not  to  see  the  woe  of  being  old. 

THE  DECEPTION. 
This  that  thou  seest,  a  deception  painted, 
Wrhich  of  art's  excellence  makes  display, 
With  curious  counterfeit  of  coloring, 
Is  an  insidious  cheating  of  the  sense. 
This,  wherewithin  has  flattery  pretended 
To  excuse  the  grim  deformity  of  age, 
And  vanquishing  the  rigor  hard  of  time 
To  triumph  o'er  oblivion  and  decay ; 
Is  but  the  shallow  artifice  of  care, 
Is  as  a  fragile  flower  within  the  wind  ; 
It  is  a  useless  guard  'gainst  destiny  ; 
It  is  a  foolish  and  an  erring  toil ; 
'Tis  labor  imbecile,  and,  rightly  scanned. 
Is  death,  is  dust,  is  Shadow,  and  is  naught. 

These  rude  translations  give  but  a 
poor  idea  of  the  poet's  expression, 
but  they  allow  the  height  and  quality 
of  her  intellect  to  be  understood.  In 
one  of  her  most  thoughtful  poems, 
the  Romance  on  the  Vanity  of  Science, 
she  argues  against  self-seeking  know- 
ledge, and  the  perils  to  which  genius 
exposes  itself  by  too  much  seeking 
its  own  devices.  This  poem  is  so  re- 
presentative and  remarkable  that  we 
must  give  it  entire  quotation  : 


ROMANCE. 


Finjamos  que  soy  feliz, 
Triste  pensamiento  un  rato  ; 
Quizd  podreis  persuadirme, 
Aunque  y'o  s£  lo  contrario. 

Que,  pues  solo  en  la  aprension 
Dicen  que  estriban  los  dafios ; 
Si  os  imaginais  dichoso. 
No  sereis  tan  desdichado. 


Feign  we  that  I  am  happy, 
Sad  thought,  a  little  while, 

For,  though  'twere  but  dissembling, 
Would  thou  couldst  me  beguile ! 

Yet  since  but  in  our  terrors 
They  say  our  miseries  grow, 

If  joy  we  can  imagine, 
The  less  will  seem  our  woe. 


Sirvame  el  entendimiento 
Alguna  vez  de  descanso  ; 
Y  no  siempre  estd  el  ingenio 
Con  el  provecho  encontrado. 

Todo  el  mundo  es  opiniones, 
De  paraceres  tan  varies, 
Oue  lo  que  el  uno,  que  es  negro, 
El  otro  prueba  que  es  bianco. 

A  unos  sirve  de  atractivo 
Lo  que  otro  concibe  enfado; 
Y  lo  que  este  por  alivio 
Aquel  tiene  por  trabajo. 

El  que  esta  triste,  censura 
Al  alegre  de  liviano  ; 
Y  el  que  esta  alegre,  se  burla, 
De  ver  al  triste  penando. 

Los  dos  filosofos  griegos 
Bien  esta  verdad  probaron, 
Hues,  lo  que  en  el  uno  risa, 
Causaba,  en  el  otro  llanto. 

Celebre  su  oposicion 
Ha  sido,  por  siglos  tantos. 
Sin  que  cual  acerto,  est^ 
Hasta  agora  averiguado. 

Antes  en  sus  dos  banderas 
El  mundo  todo  alistado, 
Conforme  el  humor  le  dicta, 
Sigue  cada  cual  su  bando. 

Uno  dice,  que  de  risa 
Solo  es  digno  el  mundo  vario  ; 
Y  otro,  que  sus  infortunios 
Son  solo  para  llorarlos. 

Para  todo  se  halla  prueba 
Y  razon  en  que  fundarlo  ; 
Y  no  hay  raron  para  nada, 
De  haber  razon  para  tanto. 

Todos  son  iguales  jueces 
Y  siendo  iguales,  y  varios. 
No  hay  quien  pueda  decidir 
Ciial  es  lo  mas  acertado. 

<  Pues  sino  hay  quien  lo  sentencie, 
Por  qud  pensais  vos,  errado, 
O,ue  os  cometi6  Dios  a  vos 
La  decision  de  los  casos? 

i  O  por  que,  contra  vos  mismo, 
Severamente  inhumano, 
Entre  lo  amargo,  y  lo  dulce 
Quereis  elegir  lo  amargo? 

4  Si  es  mio  mi  entendimiento, 
Por  qud  siempre  he  de  encontrarlo 
Tan  torpe  para  el  alivio, 
Tan  agudo  para  el  dano? 

El  discurso  es  un  acero 
Que  sirve  por  ambos  cabos ; 
De  dar  muerte  por  la  punta, 
Por  el  porno  de  resguardo. 

i  Si  vos  sabiendo  el  peligro 

Buereis  por  la  punta  usarlo, 
ue  culpa  tiene  el  acero 
Del  mal  uso  de  la  mano  ? 


Must  our  intelligences 

Some  time  of  quiet  find  ; 
Not  always  may  our  genius 

With  profit  rule  the  mind. 

The  world's  full  of  opinions, 
And  these  so  different  quite, 

That  what  to  one  black  seemeth 
Another  proves  is  white. 

To  some  appears  attractive 

What  many  deem  a  bore ; 
And  that  which  thee  delighted 

Thy  fellow  labors  o'er. 

He  who  is  sad  condemneth 
The  gay  one's  gleeful  tones; 

He  who  is  merry  jesteth 
Whene'er  the  sad  one  groans. 

By  two  old  Greek  wiseacres 
This  truth  well  proved  appears ; 

Since  what  in  one  caused  laughter, 
The  other  moved  to  tears. 

Renownei  has  been  this  contest 

For  ages,  without  fruit, 
And  what  one  age  asserted 

Till  now  is  in  dispute. 

Into  two  lists  divided 
The  world's  opinions  stand. 

And  as  his  humor  leads  him 
Follows  each  one  his  band. 

One  says  the  world  is  worthy 

Only  of  merriment ; 
Another,  its  distresses 

Call  for  our  loud  lament. 

For  all  opinions  various 

Some  proof  or  reason's  brought, 
And  for  so  much  there's  reason 

That  reason  is  for  naught. 

All,  all  are  equal  judges, 
And  all  of  different  view, 

And  none  can  make  decision 
Of  what  is  best  or  true. 

Then  since  can  none  determine, 
Think'st  thou,  whose  reason  strays, 

To  thee  hath  God  committed 
The  judgment  of  the  case  ? 

O  why,  to  thyself  cruel, 
Dost  thou  thy  peace  reject? 

Between  the  sweet  and  bitter, 
The  bitter  dost  elect? 

• 
If  'tis  mine  my  understanding, 

Why  always  must  it  be 
So  dull  and  slow  to  pleasure, 

So  keen  for  injury  ? 

A  sharp  blade  is  our  learning 
Which  serves  us  at  both  ends: 

Death  by  the  point  it  giveth, 
By  the  handle,  it  defends. 

And  if,  aware  of  peril, 
Its  point  thou  wilt  demand, 

How  canst  thou  blame  the  weapon 
For  the  folly  of  thy  hand  ? 


Sor  Juana  Incs  de  la  Cru.z. 


53 


No  es  saber,  saber  hacer 
Discursos  sutiles,  vanos, 
Que  el  saber  consiste  solo 
En  elegir  lo  mas  sano. 

Especular  las  desdichas, 
Y  examinar  los  presagios. 
Solo  sirve  de  que  el  mal 
Crezca  con  anticiparlo. 

En  los  trabajos  futuros 
La  atencion  sutilizando, 
Mas  formidable  que  el  riesgo 
Suele  fingir  el  amago. 

;  Que  feliz  es  la  ignorancia 
Del  que  indoctamcnte  sabio, 
Halla  de  lo  que  podece 
En  lo  que  ignora  sagrado  ! 

No  siempre  suben  seguros 
Vuelos  del  ingenio  osados, 
Que  bu  can  trono  en  ( 1  fuego, 
Y  hallan  sepulcro  en  el  llanto. 

Tambien  es  vicio  el  saber 
Que  si  no  se  va  atajando, 
Cuanto  menos  se  conoce 
Es  mas  nocivo  el  estrago. 

Y  si  vuelo  no  le  abaten 
En  sutilezas  cebado, 
Por  cuidar  de  lo  cuiioso 
Olvida  lo   necesario. 

Si  culta  mano  no  impide 
Crecer  al  arbol  copado, 
Quitan  la  sustancia  al  fruto 
La  locura  de  los  ramos. 

i  Si  andar  a  nave  ligera, 
No  estorba  lastre  pesado ; 
Sirve  el  vuelo  de  que  sea 
El  precipicio  mas  alto? 

En  amenidad  inutil, 
Que  importa  al  florido  campo, 
Si  no  halla  fruto  el  otono 
Que  ostente  floras  el  mayo. 

<  De  que  le  sirve  al  ingenia 
El  producir  muchos  partos, 
Si  a  It  multitud  le  sigue 
El  malogro  de  abortarlo  ? 

Ya  esta  desdicha,  por  fuerza 
Ha  de  seguirle  el  fracaso 
De  quedar  el  que  produce. 
Si  no  muerto,  lasiimado. 

El  ingenio  cs  como  el  fuego, 
Que  con  la  materia  ingrato, 
Tanto  la  consume  mas, 
Cuanto  el  se  ostenta  mas  claro. 

Es  de  su  proprio  sefior 
Tan  rebelado  vasallo, 
Que  convierte  en  sus  ofensas 
Las  armas  de  su  resguardo. 

Este  pesimo  ejercicio, 
Este  duro  afan  pesado, 
A  los  hijos  de  los  hombres 
Di6  Dios  para  ejercitarlos. 


Not  is  true  wisdom  knowing 
Most  subtle  speech  and  vain  ; 

Best  knowledge  is  in  choosing 
That  which  is  safe  and  sane. 

To  speculate  disaster, 

To  seek  for  presages. 
Serves  to  increase  affliction, 

Anticipates  distress. 

In  the  troubles  of  the  future 

The  anxious  mind  is  lost. 
And  more  than  any  danger 

Doth  danger's  menace  cost. 

Of  him  the  unschooled  wise  man 
How  happy  is  the  chance ! 

He  finds  from  suffering  refuge 
In  simple  ignorance. 

AW  always  safe  at  fire 

The  •wings  that  genius  bears^ 

Which  seek  a.  t krone  in  fire. 
And  find  a  grave  in  teart. 

And  vicious  is  the  knowledge 

That  seeking  swift  its  end 
Is  all  the  more  unwary 

Of  the  woe  that  doth  impend. 

And  if  its  flight  it  stops  not 
In  pampered,  strange  deceits. 

Then  for  the  curious  searching 
The  needful  it  defeats. 

If  culture's  hand  not  prunelh 

The  leafag  •  of  the  tree, 
Takes  from  the  fruit's  sustainmenl 

The  rank,  wild  greenery. 

If  all  its  ballast  heavy 
Yon  light  ship  not  prevents. 

Will  it  help  the  flight  of  pinions 
Krom  nature's  battlements? 

In  verdant  beauty  useless. 

What  profits  the  fair  field 
If  the  blooming  growths  of  springtime 

No  autumn  fruitage  yield  ? 

And  of  what  use  is  genius 
With  ad  its  work  of  might, 

If  are  its  toils  rewarded 
By  failure  and  despite  ? 

And  perforce  to  this  misfortune 
Must  tha'  despair  succeed, 

Which,  if  its  arrow  kills  not. 
Must  make  the  bosom  bleed. 

Like  to  a  fire  doth  genius 
In  thankless  matter  grow; 

The  more  that  it  consumeth, 
It  boasts  the  brighter  glow. 

It  is  of  its  own  master 

So  rebellious  a  slave. 
That  to  offence  it  turneth 

The  weapons  that  should  sav  . 

Tuch  exercise  distressful, 

Such  hard  anxiety, 
To  all  the  sad  world's  chi'dren 

God  gave  their  souls  to  try. 


54 


Sor  Juana  Incs  de  la  Cruz. 


i  Que  loca  ambicion  nos  lleva 
De  nosotros  olvidados, 
Si  cs  para  vivir  tan  poco, 
De  que  sirve  saber  tanto  ? 

Oh !  si  como  hay  de  saber, 
Hubiera  algun  seminario, 
O  escuela,  donde  a  ignorar 
Se  ensenara  los  trabajos ! 

;  Que  felizmente  viviera, 
El  que  flotaraente  cauto  ; 
Burlara  las  amenazas 
Del  influjo  de  los  astros ! 

Aprendamos  a  ignorar 
Pensamientos,  pues  hallamos, 
Que  cuanto  anado  al  discurso, 
Tanto  le  usurpo  a  los  afios. 


What  mad  ambition  takes  us 

From  self-forgetful  state, 
If  'tis  to  live  so  little 

We  make  our  knowledge  great  ? 

Oh !  if  we  must  have  knowledge, 
I  would  there  were  some  school 

Wherein  to  teach  not  knowing 
Life's  woes,  should  be  the  rule. 

Happy  shall  be  his  living 
Whose  life  no  rashness  mars  ; 

He  shall  laugh  at  all  the  threatenings 
Of  the  magic  of  the  stars ! 

Learn  we  the  wise  unknowing. 

Since  it  so  well  appears 
That  what  to  learning's  added 

Is  taken  from  our  years. 


We  may  dispute,  in  some  respects, 
the  drift  of  Sister  Juana's  philosophy; 
but  we  cannot  question  the  poetic 
wisdom  of  many  of  her  reflections. 
How  true  it  is  that  in  a  multitude  of 
reasons  one  finds  no  reason  at  all; 
that  the  rank  overgrowth  of  knowl- 
edge does  not  bear  the  best  fruit; 
that  genius,  allied  with  base  sub- 
stance, grows  brighter,  by  a  kind  of 
self-consuming ;  that  wisdom  can 
sometimes  find  refuge  in  ignorance ! 
No  one,  be  his  fame  what  it  may, 
has  stated  a  grand  and  touching 
truth  with  better  force  than  appears 
in  Sor  Juana's  grave  misgiving  with 
regard  to  the  genius  "  which  seeks  a 
throne  in  fire,  and  finds  a  sepulchre 
in  tears."  Is  not  this  the  history,  at 
once  sublime  and  pathetic,  of  so 
many  failures  of  the  restless  intellect  ? 
Sor  Juana  knew  how  to  preach  from 
such  a  text,  for  she  was  a  rare  schol- 
ar, and  mistress  of  verse,  and  religious 
woman.  The  variety  of  her  literary 
employments  was  considerable,  in 
comparison  with  the  bulk  of  Mexican 
verse  and  prose,  notwithstanding  the 
old-fashioned  manners  of  her  clois- 
tered muse.  She  wrote,  in  addition 
to  sonnets  and  romances,  the  dra- 
matic religious  pieces  called  loas 
and  autos,  among  which  we  find 
dialogues  and  acts  entitled  "The 
Sceptre  of  St.  Joseph,"  "  San  Her- 


mengildo,"  and  "The  Divine  Nar- 
ciso."  Her  poetic  moods  were  not, 
it  appears,  limited  to  hymns  and  to 
blank- verse;  indeed,  she  had  the 
qualities  of  a  ripe  poet  —  humor, 
fancy,  imagination,  able  thought, 
and,  if  anything  else  should  be  added, 
doubtless  the  reader  will  find  it  in 
the  ideality  of  a  sonnet  so  superb  as 
the  one  in  praise  of  Our  Lady.  Of 
her  religious  tenderness  we  have  a 
fine  example  in  the  following  lines 
from  "  El  Divino  Narciso,"  which 
have  been  compared  by  a  Mexican 
critic  to  the  best  mystical  songs  of 
St.  John  of  the  Cross  and  other 
Spanish  ascetics.  They  convey  the 
appeal  which  the  Shepherd  of  Souls 
makes  to  a  soul  which  has  strayed 
from  the  flock : 

0  my  lost  lamb, 

Thy  master  all  forgetting, 

Whither  dost  erring  go  ? 

Behold  how  now  divided 

From  me,  thou  partest  from  thy  life  ! 

In  my  tender  kindness, 

Thou  seest  how  always  loving 

1  guard  thee  watchfully, 
I  free  thee  of  all  danger, 

And  that  I  give  my  life  for  thee. 

Behold  how  that  my  beauty 

Is  of  all  things  beloved, 

And  is  of  all  things  sought, 

And  by  all  creatures  praised. 

Still  dost  th&u  choose  from  me  to  go  astray. 

I  go  to  seek  thee  yet, 

Although  thou  art  as  lost ; 

But  for  thee  now  my  lite 

I  cannot  still  lay  down 

That  once  I  wished  to  lose  to  find  my  sheep. 


Sor   ^uana  Ines  de  la  Cruz. 


55 


Do  worthier  than  thou 

Ask  these  my  benefits, 

The  rivers  flowing  fair, 

The  pastures  and  green  glades 

Wherein  my  loving-kindness  feedeth  thee. 

Within  a  barren  field, 

In  desert  land  afar, 

I  found  thee,  ere  the  wolf 

Had  all  thy  life  despoiled, 

And  prized  thee  as  the  apple  of  mine  eye. 

I  led  thee  to  the  verdure 
Of  my  most  peaceful  ways, 
Where  thou  hast  fed  at  will 
Upon  the  honey  sweet 
And  oil  that  flowed  to  thee  from  out  the 
rock. 

With  generous  crops  of  grain, 
With  marrowy  substances, 
I  have  sustained  thy  life. 
Made  thee  most  savory  food. 
And  given  to  thee  the  juice  of  fragrant 
grapes. 

Thou  seekest  other  fields 
With  them  that  did  not  know 
Thy  fathers,  honored  not 
Thy  elders,  and  in  this 
Thou    dost    excite    my   own    displeasure 
grave. 

And  for  that  thou  hast  sinned 
I  11  hide  from  thee  my  face, 
Before  whose  light  the  sun 
Its  feeble  glory  pales  ; 

From  thee,    ingrate,   perverse,   and  most 
unfaithful  one. 

Shall  my  displeasure's  scourge 

Thy  verdant  fields  destroy, 

The  herb  that  gives  thee  food  ; 

And  shall  my  tires  lay  waste, 

Even  from  the  top  of  highest  mountains  old. 

My  lightning  arrows  shall 

Be  drawn,  and  hunger  sharp 

Shall  cut  the  threads  of  life, 

And  evil  birds  of  prey 

And  fiercest  beasts  shall  lie  in  wait  for  thee. 

Shall  grovelling  serpents  show 
The  venom  of  their  rage, 
By  different  ways  of  death 
My  rigors  shall  be  wrought; 
Without  thee   by  the  sword,  within  thee 
by  thy  fears. 

Behold  I  am  thy  Sovereign, 

And  there  is  none  more  strong; 

That  I  am  life  and  death, 

That  I  can  slay  and  save, 

And  nothing  can  escape  from  out  my  hand. 

Our  last  quotation  from  Sister 
Juana's  poems  will  be  one  of  those 
tributes  which,  in  verse  or  prose,  she 
so  often  paid  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
Ij^is  a  song  taken  from  her  villanci- 
cos,  or  rhymes  for  festivals.  The 
literary  manners  of  her  time  seem  to 
have  obscured  the  native  excellence 
of  her  thought,  but  the  buoyant  style 


of  the  following  lines  meets  with 
little  objection  from  her  modern  Mex- 
ican critic : 

To  her  who  in  triumph,  the  beautiful  queen, 
Descends  from  the  airs  of  the  region  serene  ; 
To  her  who  illumines  its  vaguest  confine 
With  auroras  of  gold,  and  of  pearl  and  carmine  ; 
To  her  whom  a  myriad  of  voices  confessed 
The  lady  of  angels,  the  queen  of  the  blest: 
Whose  tresses  celestial  are  lightly  outborne 
And  goldenly  float  in  the  glory  of  morn, 
And  waving  and  rising  would  seek  to  o'erwhelm 
Like  the  gulfs  of  the  Tibar  an  ivory  realm  : 
From  whose  graces  the  sunlight  may  learn  how 

to  shine, 
And  the  stars   of  the  night  take  a  brilliance 

divine, 

We  sing  thee  rejoicing  while  praises  ascend, 
O  sinless,  O  stainless !  live,  live  without  end. 

The  scarcity  of  the  poems  of  Sor 
Juana  Ines  de  la  Cruz,  even  in  her 
native  land,  is  cause  for  wonder,  but 
not  if  we  first  remark  that  still  greater 
marvel — the  long-continued  discom- 
posure of  Mexican  society.  It  is  one 
hundred  and  seventy  years  since  the 
parchment-bound  book,  from  which 
we  have  drawn  a  number  of  facts  in 
the  life  of  the  Ibetisa,  was  published. 
Our  impression  of  the  rarity  and  age 
of  her  printed  works,  as  derived  from 
acquaintance  with  educated  Mexi- 
cans in  their  own  country,  tempts  us 
to  doubt  whether  they  have  been 
issued  in  any  complete  shape  during 
the  present  century.  For  a  good 
portion  of  the  extracts  we  have  pre- 
sented we  are  indebted  to  an  intelli- 
gent and  scholarly  review  prepared 
in  Mexico,  two  years  ago,  by  Don 
Francisco  Prinentel,  the  author  of  a 
number  of  books  on  the  races  and 
languages  of  Mexico.  Outside  of 
the  monastic  or  rich  private  libraries 
of  that  country,  it  is  doubtless  a  task 
of  much  difficulty  to  find  the  poems 
of  Sor  Juana.  For  this  reason  we 
•  are  disposed  to  excuse  the  able  Ameri- 
can historian  of  Spanish  literature  for 
omitting  everything  in  relation  to  her 
except  the  mere  mention  of  her  name 
as  a  lyrical  writer.  It  is  hoped,  how- 
ever, that  this  notice  of  her  life  and 
works,  probably  the  first  which  has 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


appeared  in  the  United  States,  will 
supply  the  omission  of  what  should 
be  a  chief  fact  in  any  American  notice 
of  Spanish  literature.  The  claim 


which  we  make  for  Sor  Juana  Ines 
cle  la  Cruz,  as  regards  the  literature 
of  the  New  World,  is  not  short  of  the 
very  highest. 


DION   AND   THE   SIBYLS. 


A   CLASSIC,    CHRISTIAN   NOVEL. 

BY     MILES     GERALD     KEON,    COLONIAL     SECRETARY,     BERMUDA,     AUTHOR     OF 
"  HARDING    THE    MONEY-SPINNER,"    ETC. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

AT  the  golden  gate  of  the  Tem- 
ple courtyard,  a  Roman  legionary 
soldier  (detailed  as  body-servant  to 
the  General  Paulus)  met  him.  The 
soldier  was  leading  a  small,  wiry  Tau- 
ric  (or  really  Tartar)  horse.  Paulus, 
twisting  a  lock  of  the  animal's  mane 
in  his  left  hand,  and  taking  up  with 
the  little  finger  thereof  the  loop  of 
the  bridle,  sprang  into  the  ephippia. 
The  soldier  smiled,  as  the  still  hand- 
some and  youthful-looking  legatus 
settled  himself  on  the  back  of  his 
steed. 

"  Why  are  you  smiling,  my  man  ?" 
quoth  Paulus  good-humoredly. 

"  It  was  like  the  spring  I  saw  you 
take  years  ago  at  Formiae,  when  I 
was  a  boy,  upon  the  back  of  the 
horse  Sejanus,  which  no  man,  my 
general,  ever  rode  save  you,"  replied 
the  soldier. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Paulus,  smiling  sadly ; 
"  were  you  there  ?  I  fear  I  am  not 
so  agile  now.  We  are  all  passing 
away." 

"Just  as  agile  still,  my  general," 
returned  the  legionary,  in  a  cordial 
tone ;  "  but  about  twice  as  strong." 

"Away!   begone!"    cried  Paulus, 


laughing ;  "  I  am  growing  old."  And 
shaking  the  reins,  he  waved  a  salute 
to  Longinus,  turned  his  pony  round, 
and  rode  away  again  into  the  valley 
westward,  while  the  centurion  enter- 
ed the  city  by  the  golden  gate,  and 
repaired  under  the  Avails  of  the  Tem- 
ple to  Fort  Antonio,  where  he  was 
detailed  as  officer  of  Pilate's  guard 
that  nigjit. 

Paulus,  meanwhile,  rode  slowly  on 
his  way,  between  the  Kedron  Brook 
and  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  till  he 
came  to  the  Pool  of  Siloam.  There, 
he  turned  south,  galloped  to  a  fort 
which  was  near,  turned  back  again 
to  his  right,  or  northward,  followed 
the  valley  of  Hinnom  at  a  walking 
pace,  looking  up  at  the  white  and 
dazzling  buildings  on  Mount  Zion. 

As  he  slowly  passed  them,  he  spe- 
culated which  could  have  been  Da- 
vid's palace.  He  saw  Herod's  plain- 
ly enough.  On  his  right  he  noticed 
the  aqueduct  from  Solomon's  Pool, 
.  and  followed  its  course  as  far  as  the 
Tower  of  Hippicus  northward.  There 
he  entered  the  city  by  the  Gate  tf 
Gennath,  and  followed  the  valley  of 
the  Cheesemongers  (or  Tyropceon 
hollow)  until  he  came  to  Ophal. 

In  the  middle  of  a  very  narrow 


Dion  and  tJic  Sibyls. 


57 


street  in  this  low  and  crowded  quar- 
ter, where  the  Romans  afterward  un- 
der Titus  were  repulsed,  he  met  a  file 
of  people,  some  mounted,  some  on 
foot,  led  by  a  richly-dressed,  haugh- 
ty-looking, burly  man,  riding  a 
mule. 

So  narrow  was  the  street  that  eith- 
er Paulus  would  have  had  to  go  back 
as  far  as  the  Tower  of  Marianne,  or 
the  richly-dressed  and  haughty-look- 
ing man  about  one-quarter  of  the 
distance,  to  the  bridge  between  the 
street  of  the  Cheesemongers  and  the 
court  of  the  Gentiles.  Paulus,  al- 
ways full  of  courtesy,  amenity,  and 
sweetness,  was  in  the  very  act  of 
turning  his  small  Tauric  horse,  when 
the  burly  man  in  rich  dress,  who  led 
the  opposing  file,  called  out,  "  Back ! 
low  people !  Back,  and  let  Caia- 
phas  go  by !" 

"  And  who  is  Caiaphas  ?"  demand- 
ed Paulus,  instantly  facing  round 
again  and  barring  the  way. 

"  The  high-priest  of  Jerusalem," 
was  the  answer,  thundered  forth  in 
rude  and  minatory  tones. 

"  I  respect,"  said  Paulus,  "  and 
even  revere  that  holy  appellation ; 
but  he  who  uses  it  at  this  moment, 
for  some  present  purpose,  has  flung 
against  me,  who  am  a  Roman  gene- 
ral, the  mandate  of  Back,  low  people. 
Where  are  the  low  people  ?  I  do 
not  believe  that  I  am  a  low  per- 
.  son.  Where,  then,  are  the  low  peo- 
ple ?" 

"  Come  on,"  cried  the  imperious 
voice  of  Caiaphas. 

He  himself,  being  the  file  leader, 
began  then  to  move  forward,  till  he 
came  immediately  in  front  of  the  tra- 
veller who  had  so  courteously  spoken 
to  him. 

"If  you  want,"  said  Paulus,  "  to 
pass  me  at  once,  I  must  get  into  the 
ditch,  or  throw  you  into  it;  which  do 
you  prefer  ?" 

"  I  prefer,"  quoth  Caiaphas,  "  that 


you  should  throw  me  into  the  ditch, 
if  you  either  dare  or  can." 

"  Sir,"  says  Paulus,  "  I  am  sorry 
for  the  sentiment  you  express,  or  at 
least  imply.  But  I  will  stand  up 
against  your  challenge  of  throwing 
you  into  the  ditch,  because  I  both 
could  do  it,  and  dare  do  it,  as  a  Ro- 
man soldier,  only  that  there  is  ONE 
among  you  who  has  come  to  settle 
all  our  disputes,  and  who  has  a  di- 
vine right  to  do  so.  For  his  sake  I 
would  rather  be  thrown  into  that 
drain  by  you — soldier,  officer,  general, 
and  Roman  as  I  am— than  throw  you 
into  it." 

"  Let  me  pass,"  cried  Caiaphas, 
purple  with  rage. 

Paulus,  whose  behavior  at  Lake 
Benacus  against  the  Germans,  and 
previously  at  Formiae,  and  afterward 
in  the  terrible  Calpurnian  House  on 
the  Viminal  Hill,  the  reader  remem- 
bers, made  no  answer,  but,  riding 
back  to  the  Tower  of  Marianne, 
allowed  the  high-priest  and  his  fol- 
lowers there  to  pass  him ;  which  they 
did  with  every-  token  of  scorn  and 
act  of  contumely  that  the  brief  and 
sudden  circumstances  allowed.  Caia- 
phas thus  passed  on  to  his  country- 
house  at  the  south-west-by-south  of 
Jerusalem,  where  he  usually  spent  the 
night. 

Paulus  then  put  his  pony  into  a 
gallop,  and  soon  reached  the  bridge 
across  the  Tyropseon  into  the  court- 
yard of  the  Temple,  commonly  called 
the  courtyard  of  the  Gentiles.  Such 
was  the  nervous  excitement  caused  by 
his  recent  act  of  purely  voluntary,  gra- 
tuitous,and  deliberate  self-humiliation , 
that  he  laughed  aloud  as  he  rode 
through  the  Temple  yard,  coasting 
the  western  "  cloisters,"  and  so  reach- 
ing Fort  Antonio. 

There  his  servant,  the  Roman  le- 
gionary, who  had  before  met  him  at 
the  golden  gate,  and  whose  name 
was  Marcus,  was  awaiting  him. 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THAT  night  the  palace  of  Herod 
the  tetrarch  resounded  with  music, 
and  all  the  persons  of  rank  or  dis- 
tinction in  Jerusalem  were  among  the 
guests.  The  entertainment  would 
have  been  remembered  for  years  on 
account  of  its  brilliancy  ;  it  was  des- 
tined to  be  remembered  for  all  ages, 
even  till  the  day  of  doom,  on  ac- 
count of  its  catastrophe,  chronicled 
in  the  books  of  God,  and  graven  in 
the  horror  of  men. 

Paulus,  unusually  grave,  because 
experiencing  unwonted  sensations, 
and  anxious  calmly  to  analyze  them, 
was  assailed  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  by  a  feeling  of  nervous  irritability, 
which  originated  (though  he  knew  it 
not)  in  his  having  suppressed  the  na- 
tural desire  to  chastise  the  insolence 
of  Caiaphas  that  morning.  He  sat 
abstracted  and  silent,  not  far  from 
the  semi-royal  chair  of  Herod  the 
tetrarch.  His  magnificent  dress,  well- 
earned  military  fame,  and  manly  and 
grave  beauty  (never  seen  to  greater 
advantage  than  at  that  period  of 
life,  though  the  gloss  of  youth  was 
past)  had  drawn  toward  him  during 
the  evening  an  unusual  amount  of 
attention,  of  which  he  was  uncon- 
scious, and  to  which  he  would  have 
been  indifferent. 

The  "  beauty  of  the  evening,"  as 
she  was  called  (for  in  those  days 
they  used  terms  like  those  which  we 
moderns  use,  to  express  our  infatua- 
tion for  the  gleams  of  prettiness 
which  are  quenched  almost  as  soon 
as  they  are  seen),  had  repeatedly  en- 
deavored to  attract  his  attention. 
She  was  royal ;  she  was  an  unrivalled 
dancer.  Herod,  who  began  to  feel 
dull,  begged  her  to  favor  the  compa- 
ny with  a  dance,  sola.  Thereupon 
the  daughter  of  Herodias  looked  at 
Paulus,  to  whom  her  previous  bland- 
ishments had  been  addressed  in  vain 


(he  was  well  known  to  be  unmarried), 
and  heaved  a  fiery  sigh.  The  mere 
noise  of  it  ought  to  have  awakened 
his  notice,  and  yet  failed  to  accom- 
plish even  that  small  result.  Had  it 
succeeded,  he  was  exactly  the  person 
to  have  regarded  this  woman  with  a 
feeling  akin  to  that  which,  some  two- 
and-twenty  years  before,  she  herself 
(or  was  it  Herodias  ?  they  age  fast  in 
the  East)  had  waked  in  the  bosom 
of  his  sister  under  the  veranda  in 
the  bower  of  Crispus's  inn,  leading 
out  of  the  fine  old  Latian  garden 
near  the  banks  of  the  Liris. 

She  proceeded  to  execute  her  bal- 
let, her  pas  seul,  her  dance  of  im- 
mortal shame  and  fatal  infamy.  Cries 
of  delight  arose.  The  creature  grew 
frantic.  The  court  of  Herod  fell  into 
two  parties.  One  party  proclaim- 
ed the  performance  a  perfection  of 
elegance  and  spirit.  The  other  par- 
•  ty  said  not  a  word,  but  glances  of 
painful  feeling  passed  among  them. 
The  clamorous  eulogists  formed  the 
large  majority.  In  the  silent  minori- 
ty was  numbered  Paulus,  who  never 
in  his  life  had  felt  such  grave  disgust 
or  such  settled  indignation.  He 
thought  of  his  pure  and  innocent  Es- 
ther —  alas,  not  his !  He  thought 
that,  had  it  been  his  sister  Agatha 
who  thus  outraged  every  rudimenta- 
ry principle  of  the  tacit  social  com- 
pact, he  could  almost  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  relieve  the  earth  of  her. 

Thus  pondering,  his  glance  fell 
upon  Herod  the  tetrarch.  The  te- 
trarch seemed  to  have  become  deli- 
rious. He  was  laughing,  and  crying, 
and  slobbering,  and  clapping  his 
hands,  and  rolling  his  head,  and 
rocking  his  body  on  the  great  state 
cushion  under  the  canopy,  where  he 
"sat  at  table."  While  Paulus  was 
contemplating  him  in  wonder  and 
shame,  the  wretched  dancer  came  to 
an  end  of  her  bounds.  Indecency, 
scientifically  accidental,  had  been 


Dion  and  the  'Sibyls. 


59 


the  one  simple  principle  of  the  exhi- 
bition. Herod  called  the  practised 
female  before  him,  and,  in  the  hear- 
ing of  several,  bade  her  demand  from 
him  any  reward  she  pleased,  and  de- 
clared upon  oath  that  he  would  grant 
her  demand.  Paulus  heard  the  an- 
swer. After  consulting  apart  with 
her  mother,  she  reapproached  the  te- 
trarch,  and,  with  a  flushed  face,  said 
that  she  desired  the  head  of  a  prison- 
er upon  a  dish. 

"  What  prisoner  ?" 

"  John,"  said  she. 

Paulus  gazed  at  the  miserable  te- 
trarch,  "  the  quarter  of  a  king,"  not 
from  the  height  of  his  rank  as  a  Ro- 
man general,  but  from  the  still  great- 
er height  which  God  had  given  him 
as  one  of  the  first,  one  of  the  earliest 
of  European  gentlemen.  He  knew 
not  then  who  John  was.  But  that 
any  fellow-creature  in  prison,  not 
otherwise  to  be  put  to  death,  should 
have  his  head  hewn  off  and  placed 
upon  a  dish,  because  a  woman  had 
tossed  her  limbs  to  and  fro  in  a  style 
which  pleased  a  tetrarch  while  it 
disgraced  human  society,  appeared 
to  Paulus  to  be  less  than  reasonable. 
What  he  had  said,  the  tetrarch  had 
said  upon  oath. 

A  little  confusion,  a  slight  mur- 
muring and  whispering  ensued,  but 
the  courtly  music  soon  recommenced. 
Paulus  could  not  afterward  tell  how 
long  it  was  before  the  most  awful 
scene  he  had  ever  witnessed  occurred. 

A  menial  entered,  bearing,  on  a 
large  dish;  a  freshly-severed  human 
head,  bleeding  at  the  neck. 

"  It  was  not  a  jest,  then,"  said  Pau- 
lus, in  a  low  voice  to  his  next  neigh- 
bor, a  very  old  man,  whose  face  he 
remembered,  but  whose  name  he  had 
all  the  evening  been  trying  in  vain 
to  recall — "  it  was  not  a  base  jest,  dic- 
tated by  the  hideous  taste  of  worse 
than  barbarians!" 

"Truly,"   replied   the   aged   man, 


"  these  Jews  are  worse  than  any  bar- 
barians I  ever  saw,  and  I  have  seen 
most  of  them." 

Paulus  recognized  at  these  words 
the  geographer  Strabo,  formerly  his 
companion  at  the  court  of  Augustus. 

At  a  sign  from  Herod,  the  menial 
carrying  the  dish  now  approached 
the  daughter  of  Herodias,  and  pres- 
ented to  her  the  bleeding  and  sacred 
head.  She,  in  turn,  took  the  dish 
and  offered  it  to  Herodias,  who  her- 
self bore  it  out  of  the  room  with  a 
kind  of  snorting  laugh. 

Paulus  rose  slowly  and  deliberate- 
ly from  his  place  near  the  tetrarch, 
at  whom  he  steadily  looked. 

"  This,  then,"  said  he,  "  is  the  en- 
tertainment to  which  you  have  invit- 
ed a  Roman  legatus.  You  are  vexed, 
people  say,  that  Pilate,  the  Roman 
governor  of  this  city,  could  not  hon 
or  your  birthday  by  his  presence  in 
your  palace.  Pilate's  local  authority 
is  of  course  greater  than  mine,  for  I 
have  none  at  all;  but  his  real,  per- 
manent rank,  and  your  own  real, 
permanent  importance,  are  contempti- 
ble by  the  side  of  those  which  a  Ro- 
man soldier  of  such  a  family  as  the 
y£milian  has  gained  on  the  field  of 
battle ;  and  it  was  a  high  honor  to 
yourself  to  succeed  in  bringing  me 
hither.  And  now,  while  disgracing 
your  own  house,  you  have  insulted 
your  guests.  What  is  the  name 
of  the  man  you  have  murdered  be- 
cause a  woman  dances  like  a  goat  ? 
What  is  his  name  ?" 

The  tetrarch,  astonished  and  over- 
awed, replied  with  a  bewildered  look : 

"  What  authority  to  rebuke  me,  be- 
cause I  took  my  brother's  wife,  had 
John  ?" 

"  John  who  ?"  asked  Paulus,  who 
from  the  outset  had  been  struck  by 
the  name. 

"  He  who  was  styled  John  the  Bap- 
tist," said  the  tetrarch. 

The  words  of  another  John  rang 


60 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


in  Paulus's  memory ;  and  he  exclaim- 
ed: 

"  What !  John  the  Baptist  ?  John 
the  Baptist,  yea,  and  more  than  a 
prophet — John  the  Angel  of  God! 
Is  this  he  whom  you  have  slain  ?" 

"  What  had  he  to  say  to  my  mar- 
riage ?"  answered  Herod,  through 
whose  purple  face  a  livid  under-col- 
or was  penetrating  to  the  surface. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Paulus,  "  the 
holy  books  of  your  own  nation  for- 
bade such  a  marriage,  and  John  could 
not  hear  of  it  without  rebuking  you. 
I,  although  a  Gentile,  honor  those 
books.  Out  upon  you,  impious  as- 
sassin !  I  ask  not,  where  was  your 
mercy,  or  where  your  justice;  but 
where  has  been  your  sense  of  com- 
mon decency,  this  evening  ?  I  shall 
never  cease  to  lament  that  I  once 
stood  under  your  roof.  My  presence 
was  meant  as  an  honor  to  you ;  but  it 
has  proved  a  disgrace  to  myself." 

Taking  his  scarlet  cloak,  he  flung 
it  over  his  shoulders,  and  left  the 
hall  amid  profound  silence — a  silence 
which  continued  after  he  had  quitted 
the  courtyard,  and  begun  to  descend 
from  Mount  Zion  to  the  labyrinth  of 
streets  branching  downward  to  the 
Tyropseon  Valley.  In  one  of  these, 
under  a  bright  moonlight,  he  met 
again  that  same  beautiful  youth  whom 
he  had  seen  in  the  morning  when  he 
was  descending  the  Mount  of  Olives. 

"  Stay  !"  cried  Paulus,  suddenly 
stopping  in  his  own  rapid  walk.  "  Said 
you  not,  this  morning,  that  he  who 
w^s  called  'John  the  Baptist"  was 
more  than  a  prophet?  Herod  has 
this  moment  slain  him,  to  please  a 
vile  woman.  The  tyrant  has  sent 
the  holy  prophet  out  of  life." 

"  Nay ;  into  life,"  replied  the  other 
John  ;  "  but,  brave  and  noble  Roman 
— for  I  see  you  are  both — the  Mas- 
ter, who  knows  all  things,  and  rejoices 
that  John  has  begun  to  live,  grieves 
as  well." 


"  Why  grieves  ?"  inquired  Paulus, 
musing. 

"  Because,"  replied  the  other  John. 
"  the  Master  is  verily  man,  no  less 
than  He  is  Who  is." 

"'  What,  then,  is  he  ?"  asked  Pau- 
lus, with  a  look  of  awe. 

"  He  is  the  Christ,  whom  John 
the  Prophet,  now  a  witness  unto 
death,  had  announced." 

Hereupon  the  two  went  their  se- 
veral ways,  Paulus  muttering  :  "  The 
second  name  in  the  acrostic." 

But,  really,  he  had  ceased  to  care 
for  minor  coincidences  in  a  huge 
mass  of  convergent  proofs  all  gaining 
possession  of  his  soul,  and  taking 
alike  his  will  and  his  understanding 
captive — captive  to  the  irresistible 
truth  and  the  equally  irresistible  beau- 
ty of  the  message  which  had  come. 
The  immortality  of  which  he  was  an 
heir,  the  reader  has  seen  him  long 
since  believing;  and  long  since  also 
rejecting  both  the  pantheism  of  the 
philosophers  and  the  polytheism  of 
the  vulgar.  And  here  was  a  great 
new  doctrine  authoritatively  estab 
lishing  all  that  the  genius  of  Diony- 
sius  had  guessed,  and  infinitely  more ; 
truths  awful  and  mysterious,  which 
offered  immediate  peace  to  that  stu- 
pendous universe  that  is  within  a 
man,  while  assuring  him  of  power, 
joy,  and  honor  to  begin  some  day, 
and  nevermore  to  end. 

He  had  not  been  in  Jerusalem  long 
before  he  learnt  much  of  the  new 
teaching.  He  had  secured  for  his 
mother,  close  to  the  Fortress  Anto- 
nio, where  he  himself  lodged,  a  small 
house  belonging  to  a  widow  who, 
since  her  husband's  death,  had  fallen 
into  comparative  poverty.  The  La- 
dy Aglais,  attended  still  by  her  old 
freedwoman,  Melena,  was  allowed 
the  best  and  coolest  part  of  this 
house  entirely  to  herself,  with  a  stair- 
case of  their  own  leading  to  the  flat 
roof.  There  they  passed  much  of 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


61 


their  evenings  after  the  sun  had  set, 
looking  at  the  thickly-built  opposite 
hills,  the  mansions  on  Zion,  or  down  in- 
to the  Tyropaeon  from  which  the  hum 
of  a  great  multitude  came,  mellowed  by 
the  distance,  and  disposing  the  mind 
to  contemplation.  Many  Avonderful 
things,  from  time  to  time,  they  heard 
of  him  who  was  now  teaching — 
things  some  of  which,  nay,  the  great- 
er part  of  which,  as  one  of  the  sa- 
cred writers  expressly  declares,  never 
were  recorded,  and  the  whole  of 
which  could  not  be  contained  in  the 
libraries  of  the  world.  It  may  well, 
then,  be  imagined  in  what  a  situation 
Paulus  and  his  mother  were — having 
no  interest  in  disbelieving,  no  chair 
of  Moses  to  abdicate,  no  doctorial 
authority  or  pharisaic  prestige  incit- 
ing them  to  impugn  the  known  truth 
— in  what  a  situation  they  were,  for 
accepting  or  declining  what  was  then 
offered. 

After  twenty  years  of  separation,  a 
trace  of  Esther  had  been  recovered 
by  Paulus.  One  evening,  his  mother 
was  on  the  flat  roof  of  her  residence 
awaiting  his  customary  visit,  when 
her  son  appeared  and  alarmed  her 
by  his  pallor.  He  had  seen  Esther 
on  foot  in  a  group  of  women  at  the 
Gate  of  Gennath,  going  forth  into 
the  country,  as  he  was  entering  the 
city  on  horseback.  Aglais  smiled 
sadly,  saying :  "  Alas  !  dear  son, 
is  that  all  ?  I  long  since  knew  that 
she  still  lived ;  but  I  would  not  dis- 
turb your  mind  by  the  useless  intelli- 
gence." 

"  Scarcely  altered,"  murmured  Pau- 
lus abstractedly,  "  while  I  am  quite 
old.  Yes,  she  must  now  be  past  thir- 
ty; yes,  near  thirty-five." 

"  As  to  that,"  said  the  mother, 
"  you  are  thirty-eight,  and  scarcely 
seem  twenty-nine.  Old  Rebecca,  the 
mistress  of  this  house,  who  lives  still 
in  the  ground-story,  as  you  are  aware, 
has  told  me  much  about  Esther." 


"  She  is  married,  I  suppose,"  said 
Paulus,  with  a  look  of  anxiety. 

"  No,"  replied  Aglais.  "  She  has 
had  innumerable  offers  (spite  of  her 
comparative  poverty),  and  has  declin- 
ed them  all." 

"  But  what  boots  it  ?"  exclaimed 
Paulus. 

"  Old  Josiah  Maccabeus  is  dead," 
said  Aglais.  And  here  mother  and  son 
dropped  the  subject  by  mutual  consent 

The  dreadful  days,  closed  by  the 
most  awful  day  the  world  has  known 
— closed  by  the  ever-memorable  and 
tremendous  Friday — came  and  went. 
On  the  Saturday,  Paulus  met  Longi- 
nus,  who  said  he  had  been  on  Mount 
Calvary  that  afternoon,  and  that  he, 
Longinus,  was  now  and  ever  hence- 
forth a  disciple  of  him  who  had 
been  crucified.  The  Sunday  came, 
and  brought  with  it  a  prodigious  ru- 
mor, which,  instead  of  dying  out, 
found  additional  believers  every  day. 
The  disciples,  most  of  whom  had 
shown  themselves  as  timid  as  they 
were  known  to  be  ignorant,  now 
seemed  transformed  into  new  charac- 
ters, who  loudly  affirmed  that  their 
Master  had  risen  from  the  dead  by 
his  own  power;  and  they  were  rea- 
dy to  face  every  torment  and  all  ter- 
rors calmly  in  the  maintenance  of 
this  fact,  which  they  predicted  would 
be  received  and  acknowledged  by 
the  whole  world.  And,  indeed,  it 
was  no  longer  a  rumor,  but  a  truth, 
attested  by  the  only  witnesses  who 
could  by  possibility  know  anything 
about  it,  either  for  or  against;  and 
whose  earthly  interests  it  would  have 
been  to  deny  it,  even  while  they  knew 
it  to  be  true — witnesses  who,  if  they 
knew  it  to  be  false — and  they  cer- 
tainly knew  whether  it  were  true  or 
false  (this  much  was  granted,  and  u 
still  granted,  by  all  their  opponents) 
— could  have  had  no  motive,  eithei 
earthly  or  unearthly,  for  feigning  that 
they  believed  it. 


62 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


So  pregnant  is  this  simple  reason- 
ing, that  a  man  might  ponder  it  and 
study  it  for  a  whole  month,  and  yet 
find  fresh  strength  and  an  ever-in- 
creasing weight  in  the  considerations 
which  it  suggests;  not  even  find  a 
flaw  if  he  made  the  one  month 
twelve.  Paulus's  mind  was  deter- 
mined, and  so  was  his  mother's. 
The  son  sought  that  same  beautiful 
youth  whom  he  had  seen  twice  be- 
fore; told  him  the  new  desire,  the 
new  belief,  which  had  made  his 
mother's  and  his  own  heart  glad; 
and  by  him  they  were  baptized  as 
Christians,  disciples  of  him  that  had 
been  crucified — by  that  fair  youth,  I 
say,  who  was  to  be  known  for  ever 
among  men  as  <;  Saint  John  the 
Evangelist." 

"After  all,  mother,"  said  Paulus, 
when  they  were  returning  together 
to  her  dwelling,  "it  is  not  so  very 
mysterious ;  I  mean  that  difficulty 
about  the  lowliness  of  our  divine 
Teacher's  chosen  place  among  men. 
Because,  see  you,  if  the  builder  of 
those  glorious  stars  and  that  sublime 
firmament  was  to  come  at  all 
amongst  us,  he  would  be  certain 
to  take  the  lowest  and  smallest  lot, 
lest  we  should  deem  there  was  any 
difference  as  before  him.  We  are  all 
low  and  small  together — the  earth 
itself,  I  am  told,  being  but  a  sort  of 
Bethlehem  among  the  stars;  but, 
anyhow,  we  are  but  mites  and  em- 
mets on  a  blade  of  grass  in  his  sight, 
and  had  he  taken  a  great  relative 
place  amidst  us,  it  might  countenance 
the  lie  and  the  delusion  of  our  silly 
pride.  That  part  of  it  is  to  me  not 
so  mysterious,  although  I  don't  won- 
der at  the  Jewish  notion  that  their 
Messiah  was  to  have  been  a  great 
conquering  prince — that  is  probably 
what  the  Antichrist  will  be.  It 
would  suit  the  blindness  of  vanity 
better." 

As  he  spoke  the  words,  they  heard 


a  quick  footstep  behind,  and  were 
overtaken  by  Longinus,  who,  saying 
he  had  just  heard  of  their  reception, 
greeted  them  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  rapturous  affection. 

"  Now,"  pursued  he,  walking  by 
their  side,  "  good  for  evil  to  Master 
Paulus's  family.  Forgive  the  appa- 
rent intrusion,  dear  general,  if  I  men- 
tion that  I  happen  to  know  the  story 
of  your  youthful  love,  as  all  the  world 
have  witnessed  your  fidelity  to  an  un- 
availing attachment.  But  learn  from 
poor  Longinus  that  Esther  Macca- 
beus is  now  a  disciple;  and  the 
Christian  maiden  can  wed,  under  a 
still  holier  law,  the  brave  Gentile 
whom  the  Jewess  was  bound  to  re- 
fuse." 

With  this  he  turned  into  an  alley 
under  the  court  of  the  Gentile?,  and 
disappeared. 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

ONE  still  and  sultry  evening,  the 
decline  of  a  brooding  day  in  spring, 
two  persons  were  sitting  on  the  flat 
roof  of  a  house  in  Jerusalem.  They 
were  the  Athenian  Lady  Aglais  and 
her  son,  the  comparatively  youthful 
Roman  General  Paulus — he  who  has 
so  largely  figured,  even  from  his  gal- 
lant boyhood,  in  the  events  and  affairs 
we  have  been  recording. 

It  was  the  3oth  of  March,  and  a 
Wednesday — the  first  of  all  Easter- 
Wednesdays — the  first  in  that  new 
and  perpetual  calendar  by  which, 
throughout  the  fairest  regions  of 
earth,  among  all  enlightened  nations 
and  civilized  races,  till  the  crash  of 
doom,  time  was  for  evermore  to  be 
measured. 

A  servant,  carrying  a  skin-cask 
slung  over  his  shoulders,  was  water- 
ing the  flowers,  faint  with  thirst; 
and  these,  arranged  in  fanciful  vases, 
which  made  an  artificial  garden  of 
the  housetop,  shook  their  drooping 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


heads  under  the  fresh  and  grateful 
sho\ver,  and  seemed  to  answer  it 
with  smiles  of  a  thousand  blooms 
and  rays.  As  the  man  stole  softly 
to  and  fro  about  the  roof,  now  ap- 
proaching the  lady  and  her  son,  now 
receding,  he  seemed,  in  spite  of  the 
foreign  language  in  which  they  spoke, 
and  in  spite  of  the  low  and  hushed 
tone  they  observed,  to  follow,  with  in- 
tense and  breathless  though  stealthy 
excitement,  the  tenor  of  their  conver- 
sation; while  his  figure,  in  the  last 
evening  rays,  cast  a  long,  shifting 
shadow  that  streaked  with  black  the 
yellow  flood  to  its  farthest  limit, 
climbed  the  parapet,  broke  upon 
its  grail-work  of  balusters,  and  then 
was  beheaded,  for  it  flung  off  its 
head  out  of  sight  into  empty  space, 
leaving  the  calm  bright  air  unblotted 
above  the  stone  guard-wall. 

An  occurrence  took  place  of  which 
(that  Wednesday  evening)  Paulus  and 
his  mother  were  witnesses — an  occur- 
rence in  dumb  show,  the  significance 
of  which  they  were  destined,  only 
after  several  years,  to  learn ;  yet  the 
incident  was  so  singular,  so  strange, 
so  impressive — it  was  such  a  picture 
in  such  a  quarter — that  when,  long 
subsequently,  the  explanation  came, 
they  seemed  to  be  still  actually  assist- 
ing in  person  at  the  scene  which, 
while  they  beheld  it,  they  had  no 
means  of  understanding.  We  are 
going,  in  one  moment,  to  relate  that 
occurrence;  and  we  must  here  re- 
quest the  reader  to  grant  us  his  full 
belief  and  his  confidence  when  we 
remark  that,  in  comparison  of  his 
amusement,  his  profit,  and  that  men- 
tal gallery  of  pictures  to  be  his  hence- 
forth (which  we  try  to  give  to  all  who 
honor  these  pages  with  a  perusal),  we 
feel  the  sincerest  contempt  for  any 
mere  display  of  scholarship  or  learn- 
ing. For  this  reason,  and  this  rea- 
son alone,  and  certainly  from  no 
scantiness,  and  still  less  from  any 


lack  of  authorities,  we  shall  almost 
disencumber  our  narrative  of  refer- 
ences to  the  ancient  writers  and  re- 
condite documents  (such  as  the  As- 
tronomic Formula  of  Philip  Aridceus) 
which  establish  as  positive  historical 
facts  the  more  striking  of  the  occur- 
rences still  to  be  mentioned.  In  one 
instance  the  intelligent  reader  will 
discern  that  the  most  sacred  of  all 
evidence  supports  what  we  have  to 
record.  But  if  we  were  to  show  with 
what  nicety  of  precision  much  pro- 
fane, yet  respectable  and  even  vene- 
rable, testimony  accords  with  the 
passage  here  meant  in  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,  and  how  abundantly 
such  testimony  corroborates  and  sup- 
plements the  inspired-  account,  this 
book  would  cease  to  be  what  it  aims 
at  being,  and  would  become  a  his- 
torical treatise  of  the  German  criti- 
cism school.* 

Satisfied,  therefore,  with  the  foot- 
notes below  (at  which  the  reader  will 
oblige  us  by  just  glancing,  and  which 
are  appended,  in  perfect  good  faith 
and  simple  honesty,  as  implying  no 
more  than  we  could  make  good),  we 
will  avoid  boring  those  who  have  a 
right  to,  and  who  expect,  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  straightforward  story  at  our 
hands,  t 

*  If  any  one  should  feel  astonished  at  our  in- 
sisting not  only  upon  the  exact  day,  but  the  very 
hour,  when  certain  things  occurred,  let  him  or 
her  remember  that  the  calculation  of  eclipses, 
passing  backward  from  one  to  another  (as  though 
ascending  the  steps  of  a  staircase),  reaches  and 
fixes  the  date— yes,  the  precise  minute  of  day — 
when  incidents  took  place  between  which  and  us 
the  broad  haze  of  twice  a  thousand  years  is  inter- 
posed. 

t  For  the  rest,  in  support  of  the  matters  we 
have  too  briefly  to  recount,  we  could  burden 
these  pages  with  voluminous,  and  some  of  them 
most  interesting  and  beautiful,  extracts  from  both 
heathen  and  Christian  works  of  classic  fame  and 
standard  authority ;  with  passages  of  direct  and 
indirect  evidence  from  Josephus,  Phlegon,  Plu- 
tarch, Saint  Dionysius  (our  own  true  hero,  the 
Areopagite  of  Greece,  the  St.  Denis  of  France) 
[ad  Apollophanem.  epis.  xi.,  and  ad  Polycarpum 
Antistidem,v\\.~\\  Tertullian  (Cant.  Jud.,  c.  8); 
St.  Augustine  (Civ.  Dei,  lib.  14) ;  St.  Chrysostom 
(Horn,  de  Joanne  Buaptista)  ;  the  Bollandists,  Ba- 
ronius,  Eusebius,  Tillemont,  Huet,  and  a  host  of 
others.  .  .  But  our  statements  will  not  need  such 


64 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


Paul  us  and  his  mother  were  con- 
versing, as  has  been  described,  in 
Greek,  while  the  serving-man,  despite 
his  ignorance  of  that  language,  had 
the  air  of  half-following  the  drift  of 
what  they  said,  and  of  catching  the 
main  purport  of  it  with  wonder  and 
awe.  There  was,  indeed,  at  that 
moment,  only  one  topic  in  all  Jeru- 
salem. He  who,  less  than  a  week 
ago,  had  been  crucified,  and  with  the 
time  of  whose  coming  (as  much  as 
with  all  the  particulars  of  his  life, 
teaching,  works,  and  death)  •  the  old 
prophecies  were  found  more  and 
more  startlingly,  circumstantially, 
unmistakably,  the  more  they  were 
studied,  questioned,  and  canvassed, 
to  agree,  point  by  point,  down  to 
what  would  seem  even  trivial  de- 
tails (indicated  as  if  merely  to  em- 
phasize the  incommunicable  identity 
of  the  Messiah) — he  had  himself 
stated,  distinctly  and  publicly,  that, 
by  his  own  power,  he  would  rise  from 
the  dead  in  three  days;  that,  in  three 
days  after,  he  should  be  "  lifted  up  " 
and  be  made  "  a  spectacle  for  men 
and  angels ;"  in  three  days  after  they 
should  have  destroyed  it,  he  would 
rebuild  the  holy  temple  of  his  body. 
And  now  these  rumors — these  mi- 
nute, these  positive  accounts — had 
he,  then,  really  reappeared,  accord- 
ing to  his  word  and  promise  ? 
Was  it  possible  ?  Was  it  the 
fact? 

Many  had,  on  the  previous  Friday 
night,  stated  that,  of  a  verity,  they 
had  seen  their  deceased  parents  and 
relatives.  Again,  on  the  Saturday, 
many  declared,  amid  awe-stricken 
groups  of  listeners,  that  the  unknown 
land  had  sent  them  its  visitants,  in 
various  places,  under  various  aspects, 
to  startle  the  guilty  city ;  which,  after 


detailed  "  stabilitation,"  because  the  facts,  being 
notorious  among  scholars,  will  be  impugned  by 
no  really  educated  man  or  thoroughly  competent 
critic. 


killing  the  King's  messenger-servants, 
had  just  killed  the  King's  Son,  who 
had  come,  as  had  been  a  thousand 
times  announced,  in  the  very  fulness, 
the  exact  maturity  of  days,  to  deliver 
the  final  embassy  to  men. 

On  that  Wednesday  evening,  there 
was,  in  truth,  but  one  theme  of  con- 
versation, one  subject  of  thought,  all 
through  Jerusalem,  and  already  far 
beyond  Jerusalem ;  among  poor  and 
rich,  high  and  low,  natives  and  stran- 
gers, the  robbers  of  the  Syrian  hills 
and  Arabian  deserts,  the  dwellers  in 
the  city,  the  travellers  on  the  roads 
and  at  the  inns,  among  Sadducees, 
Pharisees,  Romans,  Greeks,  Egyp- 
tians, and  barbarians. 

No  wonder,  then,  if  the  humble 
serving-man,  as  he  watered  the  flow- 
ers, penetrated  the  drift  of  the  mo- 
ther's and  the  son's  discussion.  For 
him  and  such  as  he  was  the  message. 
The  poor  Syrian  had  once,  for  a 
while,  rendered  occasional  out-door 
service  to  the  family  of  Lazarus ;  and 
he  had  known  Lazarus  in  three  states 
— had  known  him  living,  dead,  again 
alive.  After  days  of  death  in  that 
fierce  climate,  where  inanimate  flesh 
putrefies  fast,  he  had  beheld  Lazarus, 
at  the  call  of  one  upon  whose  linea- 
ments he  gazed,  at  the  time,  with  un- 
conscious adoration,  come  forth,  not 
merely  from  death,  but  from  incipi- 
ent decomposition,  back  into  balmy 
life — back  to  the  "  vita  serena." 

Now,  was  he  who,  in  that  instance, 
had  allowed  it  to  be  perceived  and 
felt  that  he  was  really  the  Lord  of 
life,  whom  death  and  rottenness  were 
manifestly  unable  to  disobey — was  he 
himself,  as  his  disciples  declared  he 
was,  living  again  among  them,  since 
the  morning  of  the  last  Sunday  (the 
fcria  flrima),  according  to  his  own 
public  prediction  and  distinct  pro- 
mise ?  Was  he  not  ?  Was  he  ? 

Aglais  and  Paulus  had  heard  more 
than  one  circumstantial  account  of 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


this,  his  reappearance,  according  to 
that,  his  promise.  By  this  one  and 
by  the  other  he  had  been  met.  They 
had  gazed  upon  him,  spoken  to  him, 
heard  him  in  reply,  touched  him,  in 
such  a  place,  on  that  bridge,  that  road, 
in  such  a  garden.  He  had  walked  con- 
versing with  them,  had  sat  with  them 
at  meat,  had  broken  bread  with  them, 
as  was  his  wont,  had  then  vanished. 

Where  was  his  body,  over  which 
the  Pharisees  had  set  their  guard  of 
soldiers?  Not  in  the  grave.  No; 
but  where  ?  Had  the  Pharisees  ac- 
counted for  it  ?  Could  they  tell  what 
had  become  of  it  ?  Could  the  sol- 
diers ?  The  disciples  could,  and  they 
did. 

"  Mother,"  said  Paulus,  "  do  you 
know  what  those  soldiers  say  ?  One 
of  them  once  served  in  a  legion 
which  I  commanded.  Do  you  know 
what  they  say  ?" 

"  You  mean,"  replied  Aglais, 
"about  their  inability  to  hinder 
the  abstraction.  What?" 

"  That  an  act  to  which  they  are 
the  only  witnesses  could  not  be 
stopped  by  them,  because  of  it  they 
were  not  witnesses,  being  buried  in 
sleep." 

"  Consistent,"  said  the  Greek  lady. 
"  Yes ;  but  a  much  weightier  fact  is 
that  expectation  of  the  disciples,  to 
prevent  the  realization  of  which  the 
Pharisees  set  their  guard." 

"  What  expectation  ?  And  why 
weightier  ?  What  can  be  weightier  ?" 
asked  the  general. 

"That  their  Master  would  keep 
his  word,  and  fulfil  his  prediction  of 
rising  from  the  tomb  on  the  third 
day.  If  they  saw  him  again  alive 
within  the  promised  time,  they  and 
the  people  would  worship  him  as 
God;  but,  if  the  Pharisees  could 
show  the  body  on  the  third  day,  or 
could  even  account  for  it,  that  belief 
would  die." 

"  Clearly,"  answered  Paulus,  "  the 
VOL.  xin. — 5 


disciples  expected  to  see  him  again 
on  and  after  the  third  day,  waiting 
for  his  word  to  be  fulfilled." 

"  Now,  Paulus,"  pursued  Aglais, 
"suppose  this  expectation  of  theirs 
not  fulfilled ;  suppose  that  not  one  of 
those  waiting  for  his  word  was  con- 
scious of  any  reason  for  believing  it 
to  have  been  realized — " 

Paulus  interrupted  his  mother. 

"  There  is  only  one  possible  way  in 
which  they  could  be  induced  to  be- 
lieve it  realized — namely,  that  he 
should  be  seen  again  alive." 

"  Quite  so,"  she  resumed.  "  But 
suppose  that  he  has  not  been  seen ; 
suppose  that  not  one  of  those  who 
expected  to  see  him  again  has  thus 
seen  him.  How  would  they  then 
feel  on  this  Wednesday  morning  ?" 

"  They  would  feel  that  the  expec- 
tation which  he  had  solemnly  and 
publicly  authorized  them  to  depend 
upon  was  idle  and  vain ;  they  would 
not  and  could  not  by  any  possibility 
feel  that  they  had,  in  this  great  par- 
ticular, reason  to  consider  his  word 
to  have  been  kept.  They  would  be 
discouraged  to  the  very  last  degree. 
They  would,  of  course,  hide  them- 
selves. I  would  do  so  myself,  and  I 
believe  I  am  no  coward.  In  short, 
they  would  feel  no  reason  to  hope  in 
his  protection,  or  to  expect  that  his 
other  and  still  mightier  promises  con- 
cerning their  own  future  eternal  life 
would  by  him  be  realized.  They 
would  not  incur  any  inconvenience, 
or  brave  any  danger,  or  take  any 
trouble,  or  risk  any  loss — " 

It  was  Aglais's  turn  to  interrupt. 

"  Now,  is  this  their  attitude  ?"  she 
inquired. 

"  The  reverse,  the  opposite,  the 
contradictory  of  their  attitude." 

The  lady  continued  in  a  low  tone  : 
"If,  expecting,  upon  his  own  assur- 
ance, that  some  among  them  should 
see  him,"  she  asked,  "  not  one  of 
them  had  seen  him,  would  they,  at 


66 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


this  moment,  have  any  motive  for 
bringing  upon  themselves  the  tor- 
tures, insults,  shame,  and  death  which 
he  underwent,  and  all  this  in  order  to 
induce  others  to  believe  apparitions 
and  a  resurrection  which  in  their 
own  hearts  they  did  not  themselves 
believe,  and  for  believing  which  they 
were,  moreover,  conscious  that  they 
possessed  no  ground,  no  reason,  no 
pretext  ?" 

A  sweet,  ringing,  vibrant  voice  at 
their  side  here  said  : 

"And  in  order  by  deliberate  cir- 
cumstantial lying,  of  an  awful  and 
blasphemous  kind,  to  please  the  God 
of  truth;  and  to  compensate  them- 
selves by  his  protection  above,  in  a 
future  life,  for  the  present  and  imme- 
diate destruction  which  they  are  incur- 
ring among  the  Pharisees  and  the 
men  of  power  here  below  !" 

Looking  round,  they  beheld  Esther 
of  the  Maccabees. 

Never  had  she  seemed  to  Paulus 
so  beautiful ;  but  there  was  a  marked 
change;  for,  however  intellectual  had 
always  been  the  translucent  purity  of 
that  oval  brow,  through  which,  as 
through  a  lamp  of  alabaster,  shone 
the  vivid  mind  within,  there  was  now 
the  mysterious  effluence  of  "  that 
Essence  increate"  who  had  come  to 
abide  in,  and  had  strangely  transfi- 
gured the  appearance  of,  the  faithful- 
souled  Hebrew  maiden.  And  when 
Paulus,  after  she  had  embraced  his 
mother,  abstractedly  took  her  hand, 
his  heart  was  lifted  upward  with  a 
species  of  wonder ;  and.  without  ad- 
verting to  it,  he  was  asking  himself 
to  what  marvellous  kingdom  she  had 
become  heiress,  in  what  supernal 
court  of  everlasting  joy  and  unas- 
sailable prerogatives  was  this  beauti- 
ful creature  destined  to  live,  loving 
and  beloved,  adorning  almost  the 
glories  which  she  reflected,  dispensed, 
and  multiplied,  as  if  from  some  holy, 
mysterious,  and  spiritual  mirror. 


"  O  dear  Lady  Aglais !  and  O 
legatus!"  she  said,  with  a  gesture 
amazing  in  its  expressiveness  and  pa- 
thetic fervor  (she  had  brought  the 
finger-tips  of  both  hands  together 
under  the  chin,  and  then  lowered 
them  with  the  palms  outward  toward 
her  hearers,  and  so  she  stood  in  an 
attitude  of  the  utmost  grace  and  dig- 
nity combined,  like  one  appealing  to 
the  candor  and  good  faith  of  others) — 
"  O  dear  friends !  I  was  just  now 
passing  through  my  own  garden  on 
my  way  hither,  when,  under  the  fig- 
tree  (where  he  used  to  sit  poring 
over  the  holy  books  of  our  people), 
I  beheld  my  dead  father,  but  stand- 
ing, and  not  in  his  old  accustomed 
wicker-chair ;  and  he  gazed  upon  me 
with  large,  earnest  eyes ;  and  as  he 
stood,  his  head  almost  touched  the 
leaves  of  that  hollow,  embowering  fig- 
tree  ;  and  he  was  pale,  so  extremely 
pale  as  he  was  never  during  life ; 
and  he  called  me :  '  Esther,'  he 
said,  and  his  voice  sounded  far 
away.  Ah  !  my  God,  from  what  a 
huge  distance  it  seemed  to  come ! 
And  lo !  lady,  and  thbu,  legatus,  he 
said  these  words  to  me :  '  I  have 
been  in  the  vast,  dim  house,  and  have 
seen  our  Father  Abraham ;  and  I 
have  seen  our  great  Lawgiver,  and 
all  our  prophets,  excepting  only  two, 
Elias  and  Enoch ;  and  I  asked,  Where 
were  they  ?  And  in  all  the  dim,  vast 
house  none  answered  me,  but  the 
forefinger  was  pressed  to  the  silent 
lips  of  those  who  there  waited.  And, 
suddenly,  there  was  the  noise  of  in- 
numerable armies  coming  swiftly  from 
afar — but  your  ears  are  mortal  and 
your  eyes  veiled,  and  were  I  even  per- 
mitted to  tell  you  that  which  shook,  be- 
yond this  little  world,  the  large  world 
and  its  eternal  thrones,  your  mind  would 
not  at  present  understand  my  words. 
Enough,  Esther,  that  I  have  been 
allowed  to  renew  to  you,  in  my  own 
behalf,  and  that  of  others  among  our 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


people  who  have  been  called  before 
you  to  the  vast,  dim,  silent  city,  the 
exhortation  which  our  ancestor  Judas 
Maccabeus  sent  with  offerings  to  the 
high-priest ;  namely,  that  you  will 
pray  for  our  spirits.  Our  innumera- 
ble company  has  just  been  thinned  ; 
the  glorious  Judas  Maccabeus,  our 
ancestor,  and  that  holy  mother  of 
the  Maccabees,  and  almost  all  who 
were  waiting  with  me  in  the  dim, 
vast  kingdom  of  expectation,  have 
gone  for  ever ;  and  I,  and  a  few, 
have  been  commanded  to  expect  yet 
a  little  time;  until  the  incense  of 
holy  prayer  shall  have  furthe^  gone 
up  in  the  presence  of  the  Great  White 
Throne.' " 

Esther  paused,  her  eyes  dilated, 
and  stood  a  moment  with  the  hands 
again  brought  together;  and  so  per- 
fect a  figure  of  truthfulness,  and  such 
an  impersonation  of  sincerity,  she 
looked,  that  the  Jewish  servant,  who 
understood  not  a  word  of  the  tongue 
in  which  she  addressed  the  Greek 
lady  and  her  son,  gazed  at  her ;  his 
work  suspended,  his  cask  held  high 
in  air,  with  all  the  marks  of  one  who 
heard  and  accepted  some  sacred  and 
unquestionable  revelation. 

•'  Go  on,  dear  child,"  said  Aglais. 
"  What  passed  further  ?" 

"  I  asked  the  pale  image  what 
this  meant,  that  he  should  term  the 
condition  in  which  he  is  waiting  and 
has  yet  to  wait  a  little  time — that 
vast,  dim  condition — 'a  house,'  'a 
city,'  and '  a  kingdom.'  '  The  dwellers,' 
he  replied,  'are  watched  in  that 
kingdom  by  silent  protectors,  mighty 
and  beautiful,  whose  faces,  full  of  a 
severe,  sad  love,  are  the  torches  and 
the  only  light  those  dwellers  ever 
see;  and  the  vast,  dim  city  has  a 
sunless  and  a  starless  sky  for  its  roof, 
under  which  they  wait ;  and  that  sky 
is  the  ceiling  which  echoes  the  sighs 
of  their  pain ;  and  thus  to  them  it 
has  been  a  kingdom,  and  a  city,  and 


a  house ;  and,  until  the  ninth  hour 
of  last  Friday,  they  were  numerous 
as  the  nations  of  men !'  '  And  at  the 
ninth  hour  of  that  day,  I  asked,  '  O 
my  father!  what  occurred  when  so 
many  departed,  and  you  and  a  small 
number  were  left  still  to  wait  ?'  And 
he  gazed  at  me  for  an  instant  with  a 
wan  and  wistful  look ;  then,  lo !  I 
saw  nothing  where  he  had  been 
standing  under  the  fig-tree. 

"  But  it  was  at  the  ninth  hour  of 
the  last  Friday  the  Master  had  expir- 
ed by  the  side  of  the  penitent  who 
was  that  very  day  to  be  with  him  in 
paradise  !"  cried  Aglais. 

At  Esther's  arrival,  Paulus  and  Ag- 
lais had  both  risen  from  a  kind  of 
semicircular  wicker  settle  which  oc- 
cupied one  of  the  corners  of  the 
roof;  and  they  now,  all  three,  when 
Esther  had  finished  her  strange,  brief 
narrative,  leaned  silent  and  musing 
against  the  parapet ;  where,  under 
the  shade  of  a  clustering  rhododen- 
dron, they  had  a  view  westward 
(drawn,  as  people  are  who  ponder, 
toward  whatever  object  is  most  lu- 
minous) of  the  towers  and  palaces 
and  pinnacles  of  the  Holy  City,  then 
reddening  in  the  sunset.  One  word 
respecting  the  spot  where  the  little 
group  was  thus  collected,  and  (among 
modern,  and  especially  western,  na- 
tions) concerning  its  peculiar  scenic 
effects. 

The  roof  was  an  irregular  parallel- 
ogram, protected  on  all  sides  by  a 
low,  thick  parapet,  at  two  opposite 
corners  of  which,  in  the  diagonals, 
were  two  doors  of  masonry,  bolted 
with  massive  round  bars  of  iron,  or 
left  open ;  thus  excluding  or  admitting 
communication  with  the  contiguous 
houses.  The  writer,  many  years  ago, 
saw  such  parapet  doors  on  the  house- 
tops of  modern  Algiers :  nor  was  the 
arrangement  unknown  in  the  more 
famous  Eastern  cities  of  antiquity, 
where  the  roofs  glowed  with  plants 


68 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


in  vases.  When,  on  some  public 
occasion,  the  passages  were  opened, 
the  richer  inhabitants,  far  above  the 
noise,  dust,  squalor,  sultriness,  and 
comparative  darkness  of  the  narrow 
and  noisome  streets,  could  stroll  and 
lounge  for  miles,  in  mid-air,  among 
flowers ;  could  cross  even  flying  and 
embowered  bridges  (of  which  a  pri- 
vileged number  possessed  the  keys, 
like  those  who  have  keys  to  the 
gardens  of  our  squares) ;  and  so 
Dives,  unseen  of  Lazarus,  but  seeing 
far  down  all  things  little  and  supine, 
could  wander  through  parterres  of 
bloom,  and  perfumed  alleys,  and 
shrubberies  of  enchantment,  with  ef- 
fects of  sunlight  sprinkled,  so  to 
speak,  with  coolness  and  with 
shadows,  soothed  out  of  the  noon- 
day fierceness  into  tints  various  and 
tender;  unsoiled  of  the  stains  and 
pains  that  stained  and  pained  the 
poor  sordid  world  below;  until  the 
hearts  of  those  who  thus  promenaded 
amid  circumstances  of  such  delicious 
refinement  and  luxury,  bearing  and 
hearing  news,  and  exchanging  civil- 
ities, were  "  lifted  up,"  and  became 
even  like  to  the  heart  of  Nabucho- 
donosor  the  king.  Sometimes  the 
pecten-beaten  dulcimer,  or  the  fin- 
gered lyre  of  six  strings,  made  long- 
forgotten  airs  of  music  beguile  the 
declining  day,  and  linger  for  hours 
longer,  ravishing  the  night  under  the 
stars  of  the  Syrian  sky.  Such  the 
scene. 

But  none  of  the  roof-doors  were 
open  that  Wednesday  evening. 
Something  ailed  the  Holy  City. 
Out  of  the  hushed  heavens,  mysteries 
and  a  stern  doom  were  brooding 
over  Jerusalem.  Already  the  fer- 
menting germ  of  those  dreadful  fac- 
tions which  were  to  tear  to  pieces, 
with  intestine  rage,  the  whole  Jewish 
body,  while  the  city  was  writhing  in 
the  vain  death-struggle  against  Titus, 
a  few  years  later,  had  begun  to  make  it- 


self sensible  to  the  observant.  A  fierce 
hatred  of  the  Romans  and  an  insane 
eagerness  to  re-establish  the  old  Jewish 
independence  had  taken  possession 
of  certain  youthful  fanatics;  and  "  pos- 
sessed "  indeed  they  seemed.  On  the 
one  side,  the  Roman  officers  of  the 
garrison,  from  Pilate  down,  had  re- 
ceived anonymous  warnings,  in  the 
wildest  style,  requiring  them  to  with- 
draw from  Jerusalem  within  a  given 
time,  or  they  should  be  all  executed 
in  the  streets,  as  opportunity  might 
occur;  on  the  other,  the  prefect  of 
Syria  had  been  earnestly  requested 
by  Pilate  to  strengthen  the  garrison; 
while  in  the.  city  itself  the  soldiers 
were  strictly  admonished  to  keep  to 
their  quarters,  to  avoid  late  hours, 
and  to  hold  no  intercourse  when  off 
duty  with  the  inhabitants.  Leaves 
of  absence  were  stopped.  A  few 
legionaries  had  been  already  mur- 
dered in  the  neighborhood  of  wine- 
shops, in  the  small  winding  alleys, 
and  in  places  of  evil  repute,  and  no 
efforts  succeeded  in  identifying  the 
perpetrators. 

But  these  were  only  the  feeble  and 
evanescent  symptoms,  destined  to 
disappear  and  reappear,  of  a  political 
and  social  phase  which  was  not  to 
become  the  predominant  situation 
until  another  situation  should  have 
exhausted  its  first  fury.  This,  the 
first,  was  to  be  the  war  of  the  Syna- 
gogue against  the  disciples  of  the 
Messiah,  whom  those  disciples  went 
about  declaring  to  have  risen  from 
the  tomb,  according  to  his  distinct 
promise;  whom  they  went  about  de- 
claring to  have  been  already  seen, 
and  heard,  and  touched  by  them- 
selves, again  and  again. 

No  wonder,  then,  if  Aglais  and 
Paulus  and  Esther  had  discussed  in 
hushed  tones  and  in  Greek  the 
wonders  and  various  portents  attend- 
ant upon  the  supreme  and  central 
fact — that  Resurrection  of  the  Mas- 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


69 


ter  which  absorbed  their  whole 
hearts  and  minds,  leaving  no  room 
for  any  other  interest  therein  at  this 
tremendous  epoch — the  grand  turn- 
ing-point of  human  destinies  and  of 
our  whole  planet's  history. 

From  the  parapet  against  which 
they  were  leaning,  they  now  gazed  in 
silence  upon  the  splendid  scenes 
below  and  opposite.  Across  a  maze 
of  narrow  streets  they  saw  the  man- 
sions, the  pinnacles,  the  towers,  and 
that  great  supernal "  Temple  of  God," 
all  so  soon  to  perish  violently,  in  a 
general,  a  complete,  and  an  irrever- 
sible destruction.  They  saw  the 
play  of  light  and  shadow  upon  one 
long  tree-lined  side  of  Herod's  proud 
palace ;  they  saw  the  ripple  of  quiv- 
ering leaves  reflected  upon  the  white 
colonnades  (and  their  tessellated, 
shady  floors)  of  Pilate's  fatal  house; 
and,  while  revolving  thoughts  and 
questions  of  unspeakable  importance 
and  solemnity,  they  all  three  sudden- 
ly beheld  an  acted  picture,  a  passing 
scene,  voiceless  to  them,  yet  impres- 
sive, which  blent  itself  into  their 
recollection  of  other  scenes,  never  to 
be  effaced  from  the  memory  of  man- 
kind, which,  not  a  week  before,  had 
been  under  those  very  colonnades 
enacted. 

A  woman  in  the  attire  of  a  Roman 
matron  came  quickly  forth  upon  the 
first-story  balcony  in  the  house  of 
Pontius  Pilate,  and,  leaning  over  the 
rail,  waved  her  hand  with  an  imper- 
ative gesture  to  some  one  below. 

She  was  followed  into  the  balcony 
more  slowly  by  a  man  wearing  the 
grand  costume  of  an  ancient  Roman 
military  governor,  who  held  in  his 
hand  a  sealed  and  folded  letter,  tied 
with  the  usual  silk  string.  The  man 
was  evidently  Pilate  himself.  He 
looked  long  and  gloomily  at  the  let- 
ter, and  seemed  to  be  plunged  in 
thought.  He  even  let  what  he  car- 
ried fall  at  his  feet,  and  did  not  ap- 


pear to  be  aware  of  this  for  some 
moments.  It  was  the  woman  who 
picked  up  the  letter,  and  gave  it  back 
into  his  hand.  Then  Pilate  leaned 
over  the  balustrade,  in  his  turn,  and 
spoke  to  a  man  below  in  military 
costume,  who  was  mounted  on  a 
powerful  horse,  and  seemed  to  be 
equipped  for  travel.  The  soldier 
saluted,  looking  up,  when  he  was  ad- 
dressed, and  saluted  again  when  his 
superior  had  ceased  speaking;  where- 
upon Pilate  dropped  the  letter  (a 
large  and  heavy  dispatch),  which 
the  soldier  caught  and  secured  under 
his  belt,  inside  the  tunic,  or  "  sagum," 
immediately  afterward  riding  away 
at  a  canter.  Our  three  friends  saw 
Pilate,  his  head  bent  and  his  eyes  on 
the  ground,  slowly  and  ponderingly 
re-enter  the  house  by  a  screen-door, 
the  same  through  which  he  had  come 
out  upon  the  balcony  ;  but  the  lady, 
clasping  her  hands  a  little  in  front  of 
her  forehead,  gazed  into  the  heavens 
with  a  face  ashy  pale,  and  with  eyes 
from  which  tears  were  streaming. 

It  is  a  well-known  and  for  centu- 
ries universally  received  tradition, 
besides  being  a  fact  recorded  by  one 
most  respectable  and  trustworthy 
author  (who,  besides,  was  not  a  Chris- 
tian, but  a  Jew) — a  fact  without 
which  the  allusions  to  it  in  various 
ancient  authorities,  together  with 
Phlegon  the  Chronologer's  subse- 
quent recital  of  Tiberius's  extraordin- 
ary conduct,  would  be  unintelligible 
and  unaccountable — that  Pontius 
Pilate,  harassed  by  the  unappeasable 
reproaches  of  his  wife,  and  stung  by 
something  within  his  own  bosom 
which  allowed  him  peace  no  more, 
until  (sleepless,  and  unable  again, 
unable  for  ever,  to  sleep)  he  be- 
queathed, some  years  afterward,  by 
an  awful  death,  whether  intentional 
or  not,  his  name  to  a  great  Alpine 
hill,  a  hill  not  thenceforth  named,  or 
to  be  named,  while  time  and  moun- 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


tains  last,  Dy  any  name  but "  Pilate's  " 
among  distant  and  then  barbarous 
nations— it  is  well  known,  I  say,  that 
Pilate  sent  to  Tiberius  Caesar  a  long 
and  minute  relation  concerning  the 
life,  the  death,  and  the  disappearance 
from  the  tomb  of  him  whom  he  had 
scourged,  and  whom  the  Jews  had 
crucified,  together  with  a  notice  of 
the  supernatural  wonders  wrought  by 
him;  his  previous  notorious  an- 
nouncement of  his  own  intended 
resurrection ;  the  directly  consequent 
and  equally  notorious  precautions 
taken  to  hinder  it;  the  disappear- 
ance, in  spite  of  this,  of  the  body; 
the  testimony  of  the  soldiers  that 
they  were  witnesses  to  the  abstrac- 
tion, which  they  were  unable  to  stop, 
because  they  alleged  that  they  were 
not  witnesses  of  it  (being  buried  in 
sleep);  that,  in  fact,  thair  testimony 
proved  nothing  save  the  body's  dis- 
appearance from  the  massively-sealed 
tomb  (which  would  have  stood  a 
small  siege) ;  the  failure  of  the  Syna- 
gogue to  account  for  the  body  ;  the 
account  of  it  by  the  disciples;  and, 
finally,  the  admissions  of  the  Phari- 
sees that  all  their  prophets  had  become 
unexplainable  if  this  was  not  their 
Messiah,  yet  that  such  a  conclusion 
was  to  them  impossible,  because  he 
was  to  have  been  their  king,  and  a 
conquering  king,  and  to  have  found- 
ed an  empire  extending  through  all 
nations  and  tongues ;  their  stem  and 
ever-growing  disaffection  to  the  Ro- 
man rule;  the  universal  amazement, 
excitement,  and  anxiety  arising  from 
the  circumstance  that,  while  neither 
the  Synagogue  nor  the  soldiers  could 
throw  any  light  upon  what  had  be- 
come of  the  body,  the  disciples  of 
him  who  had  predicted  his  own  re- 
surrection explained  the  event  openly 
and  fearlessly  by  stating  that  they 
had  again  and  again  met  him  since 
the  previous  feria  prima ;  that  they 
cared  for  no  protection  except  his 


alone ;  that  the  dead  was  once  more 
among  them— living,  and  henceforth 
immortal — their  Master  and  God; 
the  ultimate  Judge  of  this  world,  and 
the  foretold  Founder  of  an  everlast- 
ing kingdom  !  Pilate  added  several 
strange  and  astounding  particulars. 

This,  in  a  general  way,  is  known ; 
and  it  is  likewise  known  that  Tiberius 
Caesar  was  so  deeply  impressed  by 
the  dispatch  of  the  Jerusalem  gover- 
nor, arriving  in  his  hands  about  the 
same  moment,  as  we  shall  find  in  the 
next  chapter,  when  a  strange  inci- 
dent (narrated  by  Plutarch)  took 
place,  that  he  suddenly  convened  the 
senate  in  a  formal  indiction,  and  pro- 
posed to  them  to  raise  a  temple  to 
Christ,  and  to  rank  him  solemnly 
among  the  gods  of  the  empire  !  But 
not  such  nor  of  such  acknowledg- 
ments was  to  be  the  kingdom  of  the 
"jealous"  and  the  only  God. 

Aglais,  Paulus,  and  Esther  had 
assisted  at  a  memorable  pantomime. 
They  had  beheld  the  mounted  sol- 
dier who  rode  with  a  memorable 
letter  to  the  sea-coast ;  they  had  seen 
the  vain  effort  of  him  who  had  offered 
the  eople  a  choice  between  Barab- 
bas  and  "  the  desired  of  nations,"  to 
call  the  great  of  the  earth  into  his 
perplexities,  to  quiet  his  awakened 
conscience,  to  turn  aside  from  the 
dread  warnings  whispered  to  his  soul, 
to  lull — by  futile  means — an  all  too 
late  remorse. 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

IN  our  last  chapter,  Paulus  and 
his  Athenian  mother  had  obtained, 
through  Esther's  recital  of  her  wak- 
ing dream  or  vision,  one  little  glimpse 
at  that  prison,  that  place  of  detention, 
which  she  had  termed  (as  she  herself 
had  heard  it  termed)  "  the  dim,  vast 
house,"  "the  vast,  dim  city,"  and  the 
"  dim,  vast  kingdom." 

The  vague  notion  she  could  give 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


of  that  scene  of  immurement  cannot 
be  expected  to  prove  interesting  to  so 
large  a  number,  as  Mr.  Pickwick  has 
cause  to  feel  an  interest  in  his 
glimpses  of  the  "  Fleet  Prison,"  once 
famous  in  London.  But  such  inter- 
est as  the  former  house  of  deten- 
tion commands  is  of  a  different 
kind,  and  those  who  may  experience 
it  are  a  different  class.  Plato  (as  a 
great  critic  observes)  has  been  trans- 
lated from  age  to  age  into  some  do- 
zen great  modern  languages,  in  order 
that  he  might  be  read  by  about  a 
score  of  persons  in  each  generation. 
But  that  score  are  the  little  fountains 
of  the  large  rivers  that  bear  to  the 
sea  the  business  of  the  world.  Few 
are  directly  taught  by  Kant,  Sir  'Wil- 
liam Hamilton,  John  Stuart  Mill, 
Cousin,  or  Balmez  ;  but  the  millions 
are  taught  and  think  through  those 
whom  they  have  taught  to  think. 
Between  the  good  and  evil  origina- 
tors or  conservators  of  ideas,  and 
the  huge  masses  who  do  all  their 
mental  processes  at  third  hand,  stand 
the  interpreters;  and  these  listen 
with  bent  heads,  while  they  hold 
trumpets  which  are  heard  at  the 
extremities  of  the  earth. 

Paulus  lingered  in  Jerusalem. 
Weeks  flew  by.  Spring  passed  into 
summer;  summer  was  passing  into 
autumn;  and  still,  from  time  to  time, 
as,  in  the  evenings,  mother  and  son 
sat  among  the  flowers  on  the  flat 
roof,  Esther  would  join  them. 

One  night,  she  had  hardly  appear- 
ed, when  Longinus  the  centurion  fol- 
lowed her,  bearing  a  letter  for  Paulus, 
which,  he  said,  had  just  arrived  at 
Fort  Antonio,  by  the  hands  of  an 
orderly,  from  the  governor.  The 
letter  was  from  Dionysius  of  Athens, 
now  run  des  quarante,  a  member  of 
that  great  Areopagus  of  which  the 
French  Academy  is  partly  a  modern 
image;  and  it  was  written  immedi- 
ately after  his  return  from  a  tour  in 


Egypt,  and  a  cruise  through  the 
/Egean  Sea,  among  the  famous  and 
beautiful  Greek  Islands,  to  resume 
his  duties  as  a  teacher  of  philosophy 
and  a  professor  of  the  higher  litera- 
ture at  Athens. 

Paulus,  after  a  word  with  his 
mother  and  Esther,  desired  Longi- 
nus to  favor  them  with  his  company. 
Sherbets  and  other  refreshments  were 
brought.  They  all  sat  down  on  the 
semicircular  wicker  settle  at  the 
corner  of  the  roof,  under  the  bower- 
like  branches  of  the  large  rhododen- 
ron;  a  small  lamp  was  held  for 
Paulus  by  the  Jewish  serving-man, 
and  Paulus  read  the  letter  aloud  to 
that  sympathetic  group.  Extracts 
we  will  give,  in  the  substance,  con- 
cerning two  occurrences.  The  first, 
as  the  reader  sees,  the  listening  cir- 
cle learned  from  Dionysius;  but  we 
have  it  in  reality  from  Plutarch,  upon 
whose  narrative  Eusebius  and  many 
other  weighty  authorities  and  grave 
historians  have  commented. 

The  captain  and  owner  (for  he 
was  both)  of  the  vessel  in  which 
Dion  sailed  back  from  Egypt  to 
Athens  was  an  Egyptian  of  the 
name  of  Thramnus  (some  call  him 
Thamus).  He  said  that  a  very 
weird  thing  had  happened  to  him 
in  his  immediately  previous  trip, 
which  had  been  from  Greece  to  Italy. 
Dion  was  at  the  time  at  Heliopolis, 
in  Egypt,  with  his  friend,  the  cele- 
brated philosopher  Apollophanes, 
who,  though  (like  Dion  himself) 
only  between  twenty  and  thirty,  had 
already  (in  this  also  resembling 
Dion)  obtained  an  almost  world-wide 
fame  for  eloquence,  astronomical  sci- 
ence, and  general  learning.  When 
Thramnus  had  neared  the  Echinades 
Islands,  the  wind  fell,  a  sudden  calm 
came,  and  they  had  to  drop  anchor 
near  Paxos.  The  night  was  sultry  ; 
every  one  was  on  deck.  Suddenly, 
from  the  lonely  shore,  a  loud,  strange 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


voice  hailed  the  captain:  "Thram- 
nus !"  it  cried.  None  answered. 
Again,  louder  than  human,  came  the 
cry,  "Thramnus!"  Still  none  an- 
swered. For  the  third  time,  "  Thram- 
nus !"  was  thundered  from  the  lonely 
coast.  Then  Thramnus  himself 
called  out:  "Who  hails?  What  is 
it?"  Shrill  and  far  louder  than  before 
was  the  voice  in  reply  :  "  When  you 
reach  the  Lagoon  of  Palus,  announce 
then  that  the  Great  Pan  is  dead." 

Thereupon,  everything  became  si- 
lent, save  the  sluggish  wash  of  the 
waves  under  the  vessel's  side.  A  sort 
of  council  was  at  once  held  on  board ; 
and  first  they  toolc  a  note  of  the 
exact  date  and  the  hour.  They 
found  that  it  was  exactly  the  ninth 
hour  of  the  sixth  jeria,  or  day,  in 
the  month  of  March,  in  the  fourth 
year  (according  with  Phlegon's  cor- 
rected and  checked  astronomical 
chronology)  of  the  two  hundred  and 
second  Olympiad:  in  other  words, 
this,  being  translated  into  modern 
reckoning,  means,  six  in  the  after- 
noon of  Friday,  the  25th  of  March, 
in  the  thirty-third  year  of  our  Lord. 

Dion  breaks  off  in  his  letter  here  to 
remark :  "  You  will  learn  presently 
what  happened  to  me  and  to  Apollo- 
phanes,  and  to  the  whole  renowned 
city  of  Heliopolis,  at  the  same  hour 
exactly  of  that  same  day  ;  and  it  is 
the  coincidence  between  the  two 
occurrences  which  has  fixed  them  so 
deeply  in  my  mind." 

Well;  he  proceeds  to  say  that 
Thramnus,  having  asked  his  passen- 
gers, who  happened  to  be  unusually 
numerous,  whether  they  considered 
he  ought  to  obey  this  mysterious  man- 
date, and  having  suggested  himself 
that,  if,  on  their  reaching  Palus,  or 
Pelodes,  the  wind  held  fair,  they 
should  not  lose  time  by  stopping,  but 
if  the  wind  were  there  to  fail,  and 
they  were  forced  to  halt  at  that  place, 
then  it  might  be  no  harm  to  pay  at- 


tention to  the  injunction,  and  see 
what  came  of  it,  they  were  all  unani- 
mously of  his  opinion.  Thereupon, 
as  though  by  some  design,  in  the 
midst  ot  a  calm  the  breeze  sprang  up 
freshly  again,  and  they  proceeded  on 
their  way.  When  they  came  to  the 
indicated  spot,  all  were  again  on  deck, 
unable  to  forget  the  strange  incident 
at  Paxos;  and,  on  a  sudden,  the 
wind  fell,  and  they  were  becalmed. 

Thramnus,  accordingly,  after  a 
pause,  leaned  over  the  ship's  side, 
and,  as  loudly  as  he  could,  shouted 
that  the  great  Pan  was  dead.  No 
sooner  had  the  words  been  pro- 
nounced than  all  round  the  vessel 
were  heard  a  world  of  sighs  issuing 
from  the  deep  and  in  the  air,  with 
groans,  and  meanings,  and  long, 
wild,  bitter  waitings  innumerable, 
as  though  from  vast  unseen  multi- 
tudes and  a  host  of  creatures  plung- 
ed in  dismay  and  despair.  Those  on 
board  were  stricken  with  amazement 
and  terror.  When  they  arrived  in 
Rome,  arid  were  recounting  the  ad- 
ventures of  their  voyage,  this  wild 
story  sent  its  rumor  far  and  near,  and 
made  such  an  impression  that  it 
reached  the  ears  of  Tiberius  Csesar, 
who  was  then  in  the  capital.  He 
sent  for  Thramnus  and  several  of  the 
passengers,  as  Plutarch  records  for 
us,  particularly  one,  Epitherses,  who 
afterward,  at  Athens,  with  his  son 
^Emilianus,  and  the  traveller  Philip, 
used  often  to  tell  the  story  till  his 
death.  Tiberius,  after  ascertaining 
the  facts,  summoned  all  the  learned 
men  who  chanced  then  to  be  in  Rome, 
and  requested  their  opinion. 

Their  opinion,  which  is  extant,  mat- 
ters little.  The  holy  fathers  who 
have  investigated  this  occurrence  are 
divided  in  their  views.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  Plutarch  relates  an- 
other truly  wonderful  fact  universal  in 
its  range,  as  being  notoriously  simul- 
taneous with  the  singular  local  adven- 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls 


73 


ture  above  described — the  sudden 
silence  of  Delphi,  and  all  the  other 
famous  pagan  oracles,  from  the  8th 
day  before  the  Kalends  of  April,  in  the 
202d  Olympiad,  at  six  P.M.  At  that 
hour,  on  that  day  (March  25,  Fri- 
day, Anno  Domini  33),  those  oracles 
were  stricken  dumb,  and  nevermore 
returned  answers  to  their  votaries. 
Coupling  these  phenomena  together, 
in  presence  of  a  thousand  other  por- 
tents, the  holy  fathers  think,  one 
party  of  them,  that  the  enemy  of 
man  and  of  God,  and  that  enemy's 
legions,  were  grieving  and  wailing, 
at  the  hour  which  Plutarch  specifies 
(the  time  of  evening,  and  on  the  very 
day,  when  our  Lord  died),  at  the 
redemption  just  then  consummated ; 
others,  that  the  Almighty  permitted 
nature  "  to  sigh  through  all  her 
works,"  in  sympathy  with  the  vo- 
luntary sufferings  of  her  expiring 
Lord. 

"  Now,  hearken,"  proceeded  Dion 
in  his  letter,  "  to  how  I  was  occupied, 
hundreds  of  miles  away,  in  Helio- 
polis,  at  the  time,  the  very  hour  of  the 
very  day,  when  so  wild  and  weird  a 
response  came  from  the  powers  of  the 
air  and  the  recesses  of  the  deep  to 
those  who  shouted  forth,  amid  a  calm 
on  the  silent  breast  of  the  ^Egean 
Sea,  that  the  great  Pan  ('  the  great 
All,'  '  the  universal  Lord,'  as  you, 
my  friends,  are  aware  it  means  in 
Greek)  had  died  ! 

"  I  had  gone  out,  shortly  before  the 
sixth  hour  on  this  sixth  day,  to  take  a 
stroll  in  the  tree-shaded  suburbs  of 
Heliopolis,  with  my  friend  Apollo- 
phanes.  Suddenly,  the  sun,  in  a  hor- 
rible manner,  withdrew  its  light  so 
effectually  that  we  saw  the  stars.  It 
was  the  time  of  the  Hebrew  Pasch^ 
and  the  season  of  the  month  when  the 
moon  is  at  the  full,  and  the  period  of 
an  eclipse,  or  of  the  moon's  apparent 
conjunction  with  the  sun,  was  well 
known  not  to  be  then;  independ- 


ently of  which,  two  unexampled  and 
unnatural  portents,  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  occurred : 
first,  the  moon  entered  the  sun's  disc 
from  the  east ;  secondly,  when  she 
had  covered  the  disc  and  touched 
the  opposite  diameter,  instead  of  pass- 
ing onward,  she  receded,  and  resumed 
her  former  position  in  the  sky.  All 
the  astronomers  will  tell  you  that 
these  two  facts,  and  also  the  time  of 
the  eclipse  itself,  are  equally  in  posi- 
tive deviation  from  the  otherwise 
everlasting  laws  of  the  sidereal  or 
planetary  movements.  I  felt  that 
either  this  universal  frame  was  perish- 
ing or  the  Lord  and  Pilot  of  nature 
was  himself  suffering ;  and  I  turned 
to  Apollophanes,  and,  '  O  light  of 
philosophy,  glass  of  science ! '  I 
said,  '  explain  to  me  what  this 
means.' 

"  Before  answering  me,  he  required 
that  we  should  together  apply  the 
astronomical  rule,  or  formula,  of 
Philip  Aridaeus;  after  doing  which 
with  the  utmost  care,  he  said :  '  These 
changes  are  supernatural ;  there  is 
some  stupendous  revolution  or  ca- 
tastrophe occurring  in  divine  affairs, 
affecting  the  whole  of  the  Supreme 
Being's  creation.' 

"  You  may  be  sure,  my  friends,  that 
we  both  took  a  careful  note  of  the 
hour,  the  day,  the  week,  month,  year ; 
and  I  intend  to  inquire  everywhere 
whether  in  other  lands  any  similar 
phenomena  have  appeared ;  and  what 
overwhelming,  unexampled  event  can 
have  taken  place  on  this  little  planet 
of  ours  to  bring  the  heavens  them- 
selves into  confusion,  and  coerce  all 
the  powers  of  nature  into  so  awful  a 
manifestation  of  sympathy  or  of  hor- 
ror." 

He  ended  by  conveying  to  Aglais 
and  Paulus  the  loving  remembrance 
of  the  Lady  Damarais. 
*  Aglais   and   her   son   and   Esther 
were    soellbound    with    amazement 


74 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


when  this  letter  had  been  read ;  and 
Paulus  exclaimed : 

"  What  will  Dion  say  when  he 
hears  that  we  also  saw  this  very  dark- 
ness at  the  same  moment ;  that  the  veil 
of  the  Temple  here  has  been  rent  in 
twain;  and  that  he  who  expired 
amid  these  and  so  many  other  por- 
tents, Esther,  and  in  the  full  culmi- 
nation of  the  prophecies,  is  again  liv- 
ing, speaking,  acting,  the  Conqueror 
of  death,  as  he  was  the  Lord  of  life  ?" 

"  Let  us  go  to  Athens ;  let  us  bring 
our  friends,  the  Lady  Damarais  and 
our  dear  Dion,  to  learn  and  under- 
stand what  we  have  ourselves  been 
mercifully  taught." 

So  spoke  Agiais,  offering  at  the 
same  time  to  Esther  a  mother's  pro- 
tection and  love  along  the  journey. 
Paulus  was  silent,  but  gazed  plead- 
ingly at  Esther. 

It  was  agreed.  But  in  the  politi- 
cal dangers  of  that  reign,  Paulus,  ow- 
ing to  his  fame  itself,  had  to  take  so 
many  precautions  that  much  time 
was  unavoidably  lost. 

Meanwhile,  he  had  again  asked 
the  Jewish  maiden  to  become  his 
wife.  Need  we  say  that  this  time 
his  suit  was  successful  ?  Paulus  and 
Esther  were  married. 

Christianity  in  the  interim  grew 
from  month  to  month  and  from 
year  to  year,  and  our  wanderers  had 
but  just  arrived  at  last  in  Athens  in 
time  to  hear,  near  the  statue  of  "  the 
unknown  God,"  while  Damarais,  the 
friend  of  Aglais,  and  Dion,  the  friend 
of  them  all,  stood  near,  a  majestic 
stranger,  a  Roman  citizen,  him  who 
had  sat  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel,  the 
glorious  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  who 
had  been  "  faithful  to  the  heavenly 
Vision,"  though  he  had  not  seen  the 
Resurrection,  explain  to  the  Athe- 
nians "  him  whom  they  had  igno- 
rantly  worshipped."  And  when  the 
sublime  messenger  of  glad  tidings  re- 
lated the  circumstances  of  the  Pas- 


sion, the  scenes  which  had  been 
enacted  in  Pilate's  house  (so  well  re- 
membered by  them),  the  next  day's 
dread  event,  and  when  he  touched 
upon  the  preternatural  accompani- 
ments of  that  final  catastrophe,  and 
described  the  darkness  which  had 
overspread  the  earth  from  the  sixth 
hour  of  that  day,  Dionysius,  turning 
pale,  drew  out  the  tablets  which  he 
carried  habitually,  examined  the 
date  of  which,  at  Heliopolis,  he  and 
Apollophanes  had  jointly  made  note, 
and  showed  symptoms  of  an  emotion 
such  as  he  had  never  before  experi- 
enced. 

He  and  Damarais,  as  is  well 
known,  were  among  the  converts  of 
Saint  Paul  on  that  great  occasion. 
How  our*  other  characters  felt  we 
need  not  describe. 

Yielding  to  the  entreaties  of  their 
beloved  Dionysius,  they  actually 
loitered  in  Greece  for  a  few  years, 
during  which  Christianity  had  out- 
stripped them  and  penetrated  to 
Rome,  where  it  was  soon  welcom- 
ed with  fire  and  sword,  and  where 
"  the  blood  of  martyrs  became  the 
seed  of  Christians."  Esther  shud- 
dered as  she  heard  names  dear  to 
her  in  the  murmured  accounts  of 
dreadful  torments. 

Resuming  their  westward  course, 
how  Paulus  rejoiced  that  he  had  in 
time  sold  everything  in  Italy,  and 
was  armed  with  opulence  in  the 
midst  of  new  and  strange  trials! 
They  gave  Italy  a  wide  offing, 
and  passing  round  by  the  south  of 
Germany,  with  an  armed  escort 
which  Thellus  (who  had  also  be- 
come a  Christian,  and  had,  while 
they  were  in  Greece,  sent  for  Pru- 
dentia)  commanded,  they  never  ceas- 
ed their  travels  till  they  reached  the 
banks  of  the  Seine ;  and  there,  un- 
discernible  to  the  vision  of  Roman 
tyranny  in  the  distance,  they  obtain- 
ed, by  means  of  the  treasures  they 


Dion  and  the  Sibyls. 


had  brought,  hundreds  of  stout 
Gaulish  hands  to  do  their  bidding, 
and  soon  founded  a  peaceful  home 
amid  a  happy  colony.  Hence  they 
sent  letters  to  Agatha  and  Paterculus. 
Two  arrivals  from  the  realms  of 
civilization  waked  into  excitement 
the  peaceful  tenor  of  their  days. 
Paulus  himself,  hearing  of  the  death 
of  Paterculus,  ventured  quickly  back 
to  Italy,  in  the  horrible,  short  reign 
of  Caligula,  and  fetched  his  sister 
Agatha,  now  a  widow,  to  live  with 
them.  Later  still,  they  were  sur- 
prised to  behold  arrive  among  them 
one  whom  they  had  often  mourned 
as  lost  to  them  for  ever.  It  was 
Dionysius.  He  came  to  found 
Christianity  in  Gaul,  and  settled, 
amidst  the  friends  of  his  youth,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Seine.  Often  they 
reverted,  with  a  clear  light,  to  the 
favorite  themes  of  their  boyhood ; 
and  often  the  principal  personages 
who  throughout  this  story  have,  we 
hope,  interested  the  reader,  gathered 
around  that  same  Dionysius  (who  is, 
indeed,  the  St.  Denis  of  France), 
and  listened,  near  the  place  where 
Notre  Dame  now  towers,  to  the  first 
Bishop  of  Paris,  correcting  the  theo- 
ries which  he  had  propounded  to  the 
Areopagus  of  Athens  as  the  last  of 
the  great  Greek  philosophers.* 


*  The  Roman  Breviary  thus  speaks  of  St.  Dio- 
nysius : 

"  Dionysius  of  Athens,  one  of  the  judges  of 
the  Areopagus,  was  versed  in  every  kind  of 
learning.  It  is  said  that,  while  yet  in  the  errors 
of  paganism,  having  noticed  on  the  day  on  which 
Christ  the  Lord  was  crucified  that  the  sun  was 
eclipsed  out  of  the  regular  course,  he  exclaimed : 


One  other  arrival  greeted,  indeed, 
the  expatriated  but  happy  settlement. 
Longinus  found  his  way  among  them ; 
and  as  the  proud  ideas  of  a  social 
system  upon  which  they  had  turned 
their  back  no  longer  tyrannized  over 
Aglais  or  Paulus,  the  brave  man, 
biding  his  time  and  watching  oppor- 
tunities, found  no  insurmountable 
obstacles  in  obtaining  a  fair  reward 
for  twenty  years  and  more  of  patient 
and  unalterable  love.  He  and  Aga- 
tha were  married. 


'  Either  the  God  of  nature  is  suffering,  or  the 
universe  is  on  the  point  of  dissolution.'  When 
afterward  the  Apostle  Paul  came  to  Athens,  and, 
being  led  to  the  Areopagus,  explained  the  doc- 
trine which  he  preached,  teaching  that  Chiist 
the  Lord  had  risen,  and  that  the  dead  would  all 
return  to  life,  Dionysius  believed  wilh  many  oth- 
ers. He  was  then  baptized  by  the  apostle  and 
placed  over  the  church  in  Athens.  He  afterward 
came  to  Rome,  whence  he  was  sent  to  Gaul  by 
Pope  Clement  to  preach  the  Gospel.  Rusticus, 
a  priest,  and  Eleutherius,  a  deacon,  followed  him 
to  Paris.  Here  he  was  scourged,  together  with 
his  companions,  by  the  Prefect  l'"escennius,  be- 
cause he  had  converted  many  to  Christianity  ; 
and,  as  he  continued  with  the  greatest  constancy 
to  preach  the  faith,  he  was  afterward  stretch- 
ed upon  a  gridiron  over  a  fire,  and  tortured  in 
many  other  ways  ;  as  were  likewise  his  compan- 
ions. After  bearing  all  these  sufferings  courage- 
ously and  gladly,  on-  the  ninth  of  October,  Dio- 
nysius, now  more  than  a  hundred  years  of  age, 
together  with  the  others,  was  beheaded.  There 
is  a  tradition  that  he  took  up  his  head  after  it 
had  been  cut  off,  and  walked  with  it  in  his  hands 
a  distance  of  two  Roman  miles.  He  wrote  admi- 
rable and  most  beautiful  books  on  the  divine 
names,  on  the  heavenly  and  ecclesiastical  hier- 
archy, on  mystical  theology  ;  and  a  number  of 
others." 

The  Abb£  Darras  has  published  a  work  on  the 
question  of  the  identity  of  Dionysius  of  Athens 
with  Dionysius,  first  Bishop  of  Paris,  sustaining, 
with  great  strength  and  cogency  of  argument, 
the  affirmative  side.  The  authenticity  of  the 
works  which  pass  under  his  name,  although  de- 
nied by  nearly  all  modern  critics,  has  been  de- 
fended by  Mgr.  Darboy,  Archbishop  of  Paris. 

-ED.  c.  w. 


THE    END. 


Europe's  Future. 


EUROPE'S    FUTURE. 


FROM   THE  GERMAN. 


To  be  able  to  form  a  correct  judg- 
ment regarding  the  future  of  Europe, 
there  are  several  points  and  theories 
which  must  be  previously  considered. 
First  on  the  list  comes — 


THE    RACE   THEORY. 

"THE  key  to  the  success  of  the 
Prussian   arms   in   the  contest  with 
France  is  found   in   the   decadence 
of  the  Latin  and  the  virility  of  the 
German  race.     The   Latin   peoples 
are   corrupt;    their   star   is  waning; 
their  moral  vigor  is  gone;  while  the 
German  nations  are  still  young  and 
fresh.      German     culture,     German 
ideas,   German   muscle  and  energy, 
are  taking  the  place  of  the  decrepit 
French    civilization.      The   German 
victories   are   but  the   outward    ex- 
pression  of   this   historical   process. 
We  are  on  the  threshold  of  a  new 
epoch  in  the  history  of  civilization 
— of  a  new  period  which  we   can 
appropriately  call  the  German  era." 
Such  is  the  theory  which  now  pos- 
sesses the  German  mind,  and  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  newspapers,  pamphlets, 
on  the  railroads,  and  in  the  inns  all 
through  Germany,  with  great  national 
self-complacency.     Even  many  Scla- 
vonians  and  Italians  adopt  this  view. 
The  conquest  of  the  Latin  by  the 
Germanic  races ;  the  downfall  of  the 
former;  the  world-wide  sovereignty 
of  the  latter — these  are  high-sound- 
ing phrases  which  have  a  dramatic 
effect  and  are  popular  in  Germany. 


But  do  they  express  a  truth?  Are 
they  philosophically  and  historically 
correct  in  view  of  the  actual  condi- 
tion of  political  and  social  life  ?  In 
the  first  place,  what  and  where  are 
the  Latin  races  about  which  we  have 
been  hearing  so  much  during  the  past 
ten  years  ?  The  southern  inhabitants 
of  the  Italian  peninsula  can  lay  no 
claim  to  Latin  origin ;  for  it  is  well 
known  that  they  were  anciently 
Greek  colonies,  which  have  since 
intermarried  with  Romans,  Span- 
iards, and  Normans.  The  Lom- 
bards of  the  north  of  Italy  are 
mostly  of  Celtic  and  not  of  Latin 
origin,  since  they  inhabit  the  ancient 
Gallia  Cisalpina.  The  old  Iberians 
of  Spain  were  not  Latins;  and  they 
are  now  mixed  with  Gothic,  Moorish, 
Celtic,  and  Basque  blood.  As  for 
France,  its  very  name  imports  that 
the  Latins  gave  a  very  small  contin- 
gent towards  forming  a  nation  which 
is  certainly  of  Celtic  and  German 
origin,  and  many  of  whose  provinces 
are  purely  of  German  race,  as  Alsace 
and  Lorraine.  Where,  then,  shall 
we  find  the  Latin  races  ? 

There  are  none  properly  so-called. 
Looking  at  the  origin  of  languages, 
we  may,  indeed,  speak  of  Latin,  or, 
rather,  of  Roman  nations.  In  this 
regard,  we  may  class  the  Italians, 
Spaniards,  Portuguese,  and  French 
together,  on  account  of  the  Roman 
element  prevailing  in  their  tongues, 
in  opposition  to  the  Sclavonic-Ger- 
man, the  Celtic-Anglo-Saxon-Dan- 
ish-Norman forming  the  world-wide 
English,  the  Scandinavian,  and  the 
pure  Sclavonic  families.  Does  this 


Europe  s  Future. 


77 


theory  mean  that  nations  of  the  same 
tongue  should  all  be  politically  and 
socially  united,  flourish  for  a  period, 
and  then  perish  together?  Under- 
stood in  this  way,  the  race  theory 
would  have  few  defenders.  It  may 
be  true  that  nations,  like  indivi- 
duals, must  live  a  definite  period 
— rise,  flourish,  and  decay.  It  is 
true,  historically,  that  every  nation 
has  an  era  of  prosperity  and  an  era 
of  decadence.  But  when  we  come 
to  the  question  of  universal  sove- 
reignty, we  may  ask,  When  did  the 
Roman  nations  ever  exercise  it? 
Each  of  them  has  had  its  golden 
age  of  literature,  art,  science,  and  ma- 
terial prosperity;  but  none  of  them 
has  had,  for  any  length  of  time,  the 
sovereignty  of  Europe.  Not  Italy, 
for  instance,  unless  we  go  back  to  the 
days  of  old  Rome,  and  then  we  have 
not  an  Italian  but  a  specifically  Ro- 
man supremacy.  Not  Spain,  for  al- 
though she  exercised  great  power  be- 
yond the  ocean,  and  for  a  time  pos- 
sessed a  preponderating  influence  in 
Europe,  from  the  reign  of  Charles  V. 
to  the  first  successor  of  Philip  II., 
yet  who  could  call  the  accidental 
union  of  so  many  crowns  on  the  head 
of  a  Hapsburg  prince  a  universal 
sovereignty  for  Spain  ?  Lastly, 
France  had  her  age  of  glory  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  whose 
influence,  or  that  of  the  Napoleonic 
era,  cannot  be  denied.  Yet  what 
gaps  separate  the  reign  of  the  great 
King  from  that  of  the  great  Em- 
peror! Great  as  was  France  under 
Louis  XIV.  and  Bonaparte,  she  fell 
to  the  second  rank  of  nations  during 
the  Restoration  and  under  the  July 
dynasty.  As  leader  in  the  Revolu- 
tionary movement,  she  has  always 
controlled  Europe,  even  in  her  peri- 
ods of  political  weakness,  from  the 
days  of  the  encyclopaedists  to  the 
present  time.  Even  Germany  ac- 
knowledges the  sway  of  French  lite- 


rature, politeness,  and  taste.  Victo- 
rious Berlin  copies  the  fashions  and 
manners  of  conquered  France,"  as 
ancient  Rome,  after  conquering 
Athens,  became  the  slave  of  Athen- 
ian civilization. 

Germany,  too,  must  have  already 
passed  the  period  of  her  maturity,  ac- 
cording to  the  race  theory ;  for,  un- 
der the  Saxon  Othos,  under  the  Ho- 
henstaufens,  and  Charles  V.,  until  the 
Thirty  Years'  War  broke  the  strength 
of  the  empire,  she  was  superior  even 
to  France.  Does  not  German  ge- 
nius in  its  peculiar  walks  rule  the 
world  now  ?  German  science,  Ger- 
man music  ?  Does  not  England,  usu- 
ally considered  as  belonging  to  the 
German  race,  rule  the  commerce  of 
the  world  ?  And  was  not  her  political 
influence  on  the  Continent  until  re- 
cently all-powerful  ? 

No !  political  sovereignty  can  be 
explained  by  no  race  theory.  From 
the  fall  of  the  first  Napoleon  until 
1848,  England  with  the  powers  of 
the  "  Holy  Alliance,"  or  rather  with 
Austria  and  Russia,  held  the  first 
place  in  European  politics.  From 
the  beginning  of  1848  until  the  Cri- 
mean war,  England  and  Russia  were 
in  the  foreground;  after  that  war  it 
was  France  and  England ;  now  it  is 
Prussia.  These  are  but  examples  of 
the  political  fluctuations  which  follow 
each  other  in  continual  change,  and 
are  seldom  of  long  duration. 

And  do  not  the  champions  of  the 
German  race  theory  see  that  there  is 
a  laughing  heir  behind  them  in  the 
Sclavonic  supremacy  ?  Once  admit- 
ting the  race  theory,  we  must  confess 
that  the  Panslavist  argues  well  when 
he  says  :  "  The  Roman  nations  are 
dead ;  the  German  are  on  the  point 
of  dying.  They  once  conquered  the 
world ;  their  present  effort  is  the  last 
flicker  of  the  expiring  light  which 
points  out  the  road  to  us.  After 
them  comes  our  race,  with  fresh  vig- 


Europe's  Future. 


or  on  the  world's  scene.  Europe's 
future  is  Panslavism." 

The  whole  theory  is  radically  false. 
There  are  no  more  primitive  races  to 
take  the  place  of  the  old  ones.  The 
Germans  are  as  old  as  the  Romans  ; 
or,  rather,  the  Romans  were  simply 
Germans  civilized  before  their  breth- 
ren. Russia  alone  is  young  in  Europe, 
but  she  has  nothing  new  to  give  us ; 
and  physical  force,  without  a  new  so- 
cial or  moral  system  accompanying 
it  to  establish  a  conquest,  never  pre- 
vails long.  We  cannot,  therefore, 
judge  of  Europe's  future  by  this  the- 
ory of  races. 

The  power  of  regeneration  must 
be  sought  for  elsewhere. 


ii. 


LIBERALISM. 

ONE  would  have  thought  that  the 
sanguinary  war  of  1870  should  have 
dispelled  the  illusions  of  liberalism 
for  ever.  By  liberalism,  \ve  mean 
that  party  which  believes  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  1789,  whose  ideal  is  to  have 
the  middle  classes,  or  bourgeoisie,  the 
ruling  power,  to  have  society  equally 
divided,  to  have  an  atheistical  state, 
and  to  obtain  eternal  peace  through  un- 
limited material  progress,  which  would 
identify  the  interests  of  nations.  Lib- 
eralism, rationalism,  and  materialism 
are  different  names  for  the  same  sys- 
tem. A  state  without  God,  sover- 
eignty of  capital,  dissolution  of  society 
into  individuals,  united  by  no  other 
bond  than  the  force  of  a  liberal 
parliament  majority  under  the  con- 
trol of  wealth  ;  material  prosperity  of 
the  middle  classes,  founded  on  gain 
and  pleasure,  with  the  removal  of  all 
historical  traditions,  all  ecclesiastical 
precepts — such  is  the  dream  of  this 
"  shopkeepers'  system."  Has  not 
the  present  war  dispelled  the  dream 


of  happiness  arising  from  mere  ma- 
terial prosperity  ?  We  doubt  it. 
Notwithstanding  the  many  hard  les- 
sons which  the  liberal  school  has 
received  since  the  days  of  Mirabeau 
and  the  Girondins,  from  the  lawyers 
of  the  July  dynasty  to  Ollivier,  it 
never  seems  to  grow  wiser.  It  is  su- 
perficial, never  looks  into  the  essence 
of  things.  It  is  in  vain  to  charge  the 
present  misfortunes  of  two  great  na- 
tions on  the  illiberalism  of  Napo- 
leon and  Bismarck,  and  thus  exalt 
the  merits  of  liberalism  ;  for  liberalism 
or  mere  material  prosperity  was  at 
the  bottom  of  all  their  plans.  From 
1789  to  1870,  France,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, was  governed  by  liberalism ; 
and  the  revolutions  begat  the  natu- 
ral consequences  of  this  system  in  an- 
archy and  military  despotism.  France 
during  this  period  has  made  the 
most  wonderful  material  progress 

We  read  lately  in  a  liberal  journal 
that  the  only  remedy  for  the  rejuve- 
nation of  states  was  "  the  inviola- 
bility of  the  individual,  and  respect 
for  the  popular  will."  Always  the 
same  emptiness  of  phraseology  with 
these  impracticable  dabblers  in  philo- 
sophy. What  will  you  do  if  the  infal- 
lible "  popular  will  "  refuses  to  recog- 
nize the  inviolability  of  individuals  ? 
Cannot  these  gentlemen  see  that 
their  system  merely  opens  the  door 
for  socialism  ?  They  take  away  re- 
ligion, and  teach  the  epicurean  the- 
ory of  enjoyment ;  they  destroy  con- 
stitutional forms  of  government,  and 
base  authority  on  the  ever-shifting 
popular  whim.  Socialism  comes  af- 
ter them,  and  says,  "  You  say  there 
is  no  God,  and  I  must  have  pleasure. 
I  have  counted  myself,  and  find  that 
I  am  the  majority;  therefore,  I  make 
a  law  against  capital  and  property. 
You  must  be  satisfied,  for  you  are 
my  teacher, 'and  I  merely  follow  out 
your  principles  to  their  logical  con- 
sequences." 


Europe  s  Future. 


79 


in. 

SOCIALISM. 

A  NEW  era  is  dawning.  Not  a 
mere  political  period,  but  a  complete 
social  change,  for  the  actual  order 
of  things  is  disorder,  a  compound 
of  injustice  and  abuses.  We  must 
have  fraternity  and  equality.  Away 
with  the  nobles;  away  with  the 
wealthy  classes ;  away  with  property ; 
all  things  must  be  in  common.  The 
happiness  of  Europe  will  never  be 
realized  until  socialism  reigns  su- 
preme. Such  is  the  socialistic  theory. 
But  does  not  every  one  see  that  its 
realization  is  impossible,  and  brings 
us  back  to  barbarism  ?  The  right  of 
property  is  essential  to  society.  It  is 
contrary  to  nature  to  expect  that 
mankind  will  give  up  this  right  to 
please  a  whim  of  drones — a  system 
according  to  which  the  lazy  and  in- 
dolent would  have  as  much  right  to 
property  as  the  industrious  and  hard- 
working. If  all  is  to  be  common 
property,  who  will  work,  who  will 
strive  to  acquire,  whose  ambition  will 
be  aroused,  whose  interest  excited 
for  the  attainment  of  something  in 
which  he  will  have  no  right  or  title  ? 
And  in  fact,  both  liberals  and  socialists 
use  words  which  they  do  not  mean ; 
they  are  far  more  despotic  when  they 
get  power  than  those  whom  they  are 
continually  attacking.  At  the  Berne 
Congress  of  1868,  a  socialist  orator 
said :  "  We  cannot  admit  that  each 
man  shall  choose  his  own  faith ;  man 
has  not  the  right  to  choose  error; 
liberty  of  conscience  is  our  weapon, 
but  not  one  of  our  principles !  "  By 
error  he  meant  Christianity.  In  fact, 
ultra-radicalism  is  simply  ultra-des- 
potism. Men  blamed  the  despotism 
of  Napoleon  III.;  but  look  at  the 
despotism  of  Gambetta,  and  remem- 
ber the  despotism  of  Robespierre 
and  the  "  Reign  of  Terror."  De- 


stroy religion,  and  you  have  nothing 
left  but  egotism.  Man  becomes  to 
his  brother-man  either  a  wolf  or  a 
fox. 

Socialism  may  indeed  have  its  day 
in  Europe's  future.  The  logic  of 
liberalism  leads  to  it ;  but  it  will  be  a 
fearful  day  of  disorder  and  revolu- 
tion ;  a  sad  day  for  the  wealthier 
classes;  but  still  only  a  day.  Earth- 
quakes are  possible,  and  sometimes 
they  engulf  cities ;  but  they  pass 
away,  and  quiet  returns.  New  vege- 
tation springs  up  on  the  ruins.  If 
socialism  ever  gains  Europe,  it  will 
vanish  in  virtue  of  the  reductio  ad 
absurdum  ;  therefore  its  mastery  can 
never  be  permanent. 

IV. 

THE    INTERNATIONAL    POLICY    OF    EU- 
ROPEAN   STATES    SINCE    1789. 

SINCE  neither  the  race  theory,  nor 
liberalism,  nor  socialism,  can  enable 
us  to  solve  the  problem  of  Europe's 
future,  let  us  pass  to  other  consider- 
ations, glance  rapidly  over  the  past, 
study  the  present  external  and  inter- 
nal condition  of  the  continent,  in 
order  to  be  able  to  form  a  judgment 
on  the  subject  which  we  are  discuss- 
ing. 

The  French  Revolution  of  1789 
had  its  effects  all  over  Europe.  In 
France  since  that  date,  liberalism, 
anarchy,  and  Byzantinism  have  held 
alternate  sway.  The  Bonaparte  in- 
vasions carried  through  the  rest  of 
Europe  the  liberal  principle  of 
secularization  with  the  Code  Napo- 
leon. The  writings  of  the  philoso- 
phers and  encyclopaedists,  and  Joseph- 
ism,  had  prepared  the  way.  The  re- 
action of  1815  was  based  on  Ma- 
sonic theories  of  philanthropism 
and  religious  indifferentism.  The 
Emperor  Alexander  and  the  Holy 
Alliance  were  infected  with  these 
views.  The  revolutionary  move- 


8o 


Europe's  Future. 


ment  in  Germany,  Italy,  and  Spain 
has  since  been  simply  against  office- 
holders and  the  police.  The  in- 
fluence of  religion  has  been  ig- 
nored. Palmerston  was  the  cory- 
phans  of  the  liberals,  and  during 
his  time  English  diplomacy  played 
into  the  hands  of  all  the  irreligious 
and  revolutionary  elements  in  Europe. 
This  unprincipled  system  was  finally 
represented  by  Napoleon  III.,  in 
whose  diplomacy  the  theory  of"  non- 
intervention," of  "nationalities,"  of 
"  sovereignty  of  the  people,"  were 
put  forward  as  the  types  of  the  per- 
fection of  modern  society.  In  point 
of  fact,  they  are  mere  words  used  as 
a  cloak  to  cover  up  Macchiavellism. 
The  "  balance  of  power "  theory, 
of  purely  material  import,  ruled  in 
1815,  but  it  soon  gave  way  before 
the  influences  of  the  "  liberal "  doc- 
trines of  humanitarianism  and  the 
race  system.  Religious  convictions 
and  Christian  institutions  were  ignor- 
ed in  politics,  and  a  system  of  police 
substituted  in  their  place.  Greece 
received  its  king  in  consequence  of 
this  system  which  has  prevailed  in  the 
external  relations  of  Europe  since 
1830.  In  1848,  the  revolutions  and 
insurrections  in  Europe  were  merely 
premature  appearances  of  the  social- 
istic element  in  liberalism.  Napo- 
leon I II.,  by  his  Macchiavellian  policy, 
which  Guizot  has  happily  termed 
"  moderation  in  evil-doing,"  coerced 
them.  He  gave  all  the  sanction  of 
French  power  to  the  principles  of  the 
liberal  school  which  he  was  supposed 
to  represent.  On  the  principle  of 
"  non-intervention,"  he  prevented  the 
interference  of  Austria  and  Spain  in 
favor  of  the  Holy  See.  He  pro- 
tected the  seizure  of  Naples  and 
Sicily  ;  approved  the  invasion  of  the 
Papal  States,  and  substituted,  in  the 
place  of  dynastic  right  and  popular 
right,  the  colossal  delusion  of  the 
plebiscite.  On  the  nationality  theory, 


he  allowed  Austrian  power  to  be  de- 
stroyed, and  founded,  in  opposition 
to  all  French  interests,  Italian  and 
German  unity. 

Although  very  defective  since  it 
ignored  the  full  claims  of  religion, 
still  there  was  a  fixed  public  law  in 
Europe  from  1815  to  1859.  Respect 
for  the  minor  pOAvers ;  the  sentiment 
of  the  solidarity  of  thrones  against 
the  efforts  of  Carbonarism  and  the  cos- 
mopolitan revolutionary  party;  and 
regard  for  treaties,  characterize  that 
period.  The  traditions  of  the  people 
were  respected;  and  treaties  repress- 
ed avarice  or  ambition;  and  there  was 
real  peace  in  Europe — the  peace  of 
order,  according  to  the  beautiful  ex- 
pression of  St,  Augustine.  It  is  true, 
far-seeing  minds  saw  the  threatening 
cloud  on  the  horizon  of  the  future,  and 
knew  that  the  system  of  1815  did  not 
rest  on  the  right  foundations.  Still, 
even  mere  external  forms  are  a  pro- 
tection. 

But  since  1859  law  or  treaties  no 
longer  seem  to  bind.  There  seems 
to  be  nothing  fixed  in  the  public  law 
of  Europe.  All  is  whim ;  might  in- 
stead of  right,  sentiment  instead  of 
principle.  Powers  can  no  longer 
unite,  for  they  cannot  trust  each  other. 
Instead  of  all  being  united  to  protect 
the  individual  state,  now  all  are  hos- 
tile to  each  other.  Italy  insists  on 
unification  in  spite  of  law  and  right, 
and  to  gain  her  purpose  depends  to- 
day on  Prussia;  yesterday,  it  was  on 
France.  She  hates  Austria,  and  Aus- 
tria acts  as  if  she  did  not  perceive 
the  hatred,  and  will  not  interfere  lest 
she  might  offend  the  liberals.  Vienna 
is  in  dread  of  Berlin  afid  St.  Peters- 
burg; St.  Petersburg  is  in  dread  of 
Berlin.  England  looks  jealously  at 
Russia,  who,  meanwhile,  is  arming  in 
grim  silence,  and  with  occasional 
manifestations  of  her  old  predilec- 
tions. France  counts  now  for  noth- 
ing. Prussia,  which  fifteen  years 


Europe 's  Future. 


81 


ago  was  allowed  merely  by  the  favor 
of  Austria  to  sit  in  the  congress  of 
the  great  powers,  is  now  the  only 
great  military  power  in  Europe.  We 
say  military,  for  it  is  not  the  real,  the 
hidden  power.  As  in  the  Greek  my- 
thology grim,  inexorable  fate  ruled 
above  all  the  gods,  so  the  head  lodge 
of  the  secret  societies  makes  of  the 
Prussian  leaders  its  blind  tools ;  Italy 
obeys  it;  Napoleon  was  its  slave; 
Austria,  its  sacrifice ;  and  now  Prussia 
also  must  bend  the  knee.  Such  is 
Europe  ten  years  after  the  Franco- 
Austrian  war:  the  Europe  of  Met- 
ternich,  Nesselrode,  and  Wellington. 


v. 


THE    INTERNAL  POLICY  OF  THE  EURO- 
PEAN   STATES    SINCE    1789. 

THE  revolution  has  changed  the 
internal  policy  of  states  as  well  as  their 
external  relations.  Forty  years  ago, 
Donoso  Cortes  remarked  that  Eng- 
land was  endeavoring  to  introduce 
its  constitution  into  the  Continent; 
and  that  the  Continent  Avould  try  to 
introduce  its  different  governmental 
systems  into  England.  We  are  now 
witnesses  of  the  truth  of  this  obser- 
vation. Democratic  ideas  are  gain- 
ing ground  in  Great  Britain ;  and 
bureaucracy,  with  its  centralizing 
tendencies,  is  replacing  the  English 
theory  of  self-government.  Military 
conscriptions,  along  with  universal  suf- 
frage, will  come  next.  Owing  to  the 
extension  of  the  franchise,  the  House 
of  Commons  is  losing  its  aristocratic 
character,  and  the  House  of  Lords 
its  influence.  England  will  go  the 
way  of  France. 

We  see  what  the  liberal  system  be- 
gotten of  the  revolution  has  caused 
in  France.  An  enervated,  un- self- 
reliant,  disunited  generation,  with- 
out traditions,  organization,  consis- 
tency, faith,  or  true  patriotism,  is  its 

VOL.  XIII. — 6' 


result.  The  decrees  of  the  Code 
Napoleon  concerning  inheritances 
have  broken  up  families ;  the  de- 
partmental system  has  destroyed 
the  provincial  peculiarities  in  which 
lies  the  people's  strength ;  the  system 
of  common  lodging-houses  for  the 
laboring  classes  has  destroyed  respect 
for  authority,  and  afforded  ready 
material  for  the  purposes  of  despot- 
ism or  secret  societies. 

In  Italy  and  Spain,  we  see  the  same 
spectacle.  The  French,  led  into  Italy 
by  the  first  Napoleon,  brought  thither 
the  principle  of  centralization  and 
a  revolutionary  code.  After  Napo- 
leon's downfall,  the  restored  princes 
allowed  too  much  of  his  system  to 
remain.  This  arose  from  a  want  of 
judgment.  The  ancient  municipali- 
ties were  destroyed,  even  to  some  ex- 
tent in  the  States  of  the  Church; 
Piedmont  receiving  most  of  the  poi- 
son, and  thus  becoming  the  hearth  of 
the  revolution.  Constitutionalism, 
anarchy,  and  military  governments  in 
Spain  prove  the  working  of  revolu- 
tionary doctrines.  The  old  freedom 
of  that  Catholic  country,  the  growth 
of  centuries,  gives  way  before  a  nom- 
inal liberty,  but  a  real  despotism. 

In  Germany,  too,  centralization 
carries  the  day.  This  country  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  composed  of 
several  independent  states,  without 
any  great  central  power,  and  the 
provincial  spirit  consequently  re- 
mained strong.  But  now  two  un- 
German  words,  "  unification "  and 
"  uniformity,"  expressing  un-German 
tendencies,  are  carrying  the  Germans 
into  despotism.  Germany  will  be 
Prussianized,  and  Prussia  German- 
ized, say  the  unificators ;  but  all  will, 
in  the  end,  be  compelled  to  give  way 
before  the  republicans  and  socialists. 
The  high  schools  of  Germany  are  all 
infected  with  the  revolutionary  doc- 
trines and  Masonic  ideas. 

What  shall   we   say  of   Austria? 


82 


Europe's  Future. 


Thanks  to  "  liberalism,"  it  has  dis- 
appeared, and  is  now  a  dualism  in  its 
government  and  tri-parliamentary  in 
its  system. 

The  licentiousness  of  the  press 
helps  to  destroy  everything  stable  in 
governments.  Journals  without  prin- 
ciple, honor,  or  religion,  filled  with 
scandals,  edited  by  adventurers, 
whose  only  object  is  to  make  money 
and  serve  faithfully  their  owners, 
issue  their  thousands  of  copies  daily 
to  corrupt  the  public  mind.  Evil 
spreads  more  rapidly  than  good,  and 
consequently  the  influence  of  the 
religious  press  is  weak  compared  to 
that  of  the  revolutionary  papers,  sub- 
sidized by  the  agents  of  secret  socie- 
ties or  by  the  unprincipled  men  of 
wealth,  who  readily  purchase  the  aid 
of  corrupted  minds  to  help  on  their 
ambition. 

VI. 

THE  POSITION  OF  THE  CHURCH  UNDER 
THE  LIBERAL  SYSTEM. 

GOVERNMENTS  have  therefore  ceas- 
ed to  be  Christian,  and  have  become 
"  liberal,"  that  is,  infidel.  According 
to  liberalism,  religion  is  the  private 
affair  of  each  individual.  Civil  so- 
ciety should  recognize  no  dogma,  no 
worship,  no  God.  We  know  well 
that  this  principle,  from  its  very  intrin- 
sic absurdity,  cannot  be  practically 
carried  out.  For  instance,  God  will 
be  recognized  when  it  is  necessary  to 
swear  fidelity  to  a  constitution,  and 
the  external  forms  of  religion  will  be 
invoked  at  the  opening  of  a  new 
railroad  or  a  session  of  parliament. 
But  in  principle  the  liberal  state 
ignores  all  positive  religious  belief. 
Its  only  dogma  is  that  a  law  passed 
by  a  majority  of  voters  remains  a 
law  until  the  next  majority  abrogates 
it.  This  system  is  called  "separation 
of  church  and  state, "  or  "  a  free 


church  in  a  free  state."  Then  fol- 
low broken  concordats  —  in  France 
and  Bavaria,  broken  by  organic 
articles ;  in  Baden,  Piedmont,  Austria, 
and  Spain,  destroyed  by  the  will  of 
the  prince  and  cabinet  ministers. 
Then  follows  a  usurped  educational 
system,  in  which  the  rights  of  the 
family  and  church  are  disregarded. 
In  all  of  these  states,  more  or  less, 
there  is  a  public  persecution  of  the 
church ;  a  repression  of  her  rights ; 
enthrallment  of  her  ministers;  inva- 
sion of  her  privileges.  God  is  in 
heaven,  consequently  the  church 
should  confine  herself  to  the  sanctu- 
ary; that  is  to  say,  God  does  not 
trouble  himself  about  the  conduct  of 
nations,  politics,  legislation,  or  science. 
These  are  all  neutral  affairs,  over 
which  his  authority  does  not  extend, 
and  therefore  the  church  has  nothing 
to  do  with  public  life.  So  say  the 
liberals.  They  take  from  God  and 
give  it  to  Coesar,  the  modern  civil 
divinity,  all  that  is  his,  except  one 
thing  which  it  is  impossible  for  them 
to  take  from  him,  and  that  is  con- 
science. They  endeavor  to  estrange 
conscience  from  God  more  and  more 
by  education,  by  the  press,  and  by 
public  opinion  manufactured  by  the 
leaders  of  the  secret  societies.  Hence 
all  the  talk  about  "  liberty  of  con- 
science."  For  the  same  end,  they 
talk  of  toleration,  but  they  mane 
simply  indifference,  which  hence  be- 
comes the  shibboleth  of  the  party 
which  the  church  unceasingly  op- 
poses. 

This  is,  in  a  few  words,  the  actual 
condition  of  the  church  in  European 
society.  It  is  an  unnatural  condition. 
Even  Macchiavelli  .says :  "  Princes 
and  republics  which  would  remain 
sound  must,  before  all  things,  guard 
the  ceremonies  of  religion  and  keep 
them  ever  in  honor.  Therefore,  there 
is  no  surer  sign  of  the  decay  of  a 
state  than  when  it  sees  the  worship  of 


Europe's  Future 


the  Most  High  disregarded."  Mac- 
chiavelli  spoke  from  the  lessons  of 
experience  and  as  a  mere  utilitarian. 
Our  modern  utilitarian  politicians 
have  not  his  capacity  or  penetration. 
They  are  mere  superficial  observers 
of  fact,  and  cannot  see  that  the  su/n- 
mitm  utile  is  the  summum  jus.  This 
fault  lies  in  ignoring  the  assistance  of 
the  supernatural  order — in  their  erron- 
eous opinion  that  there  is  no  absolute 
truth.  The  church  is  not  a  hospital 
for  diseased  souls ;  Christianity  is  not 
a  mere  specific  for  individual  mala- 
dies ;  but  as  our  Lord  has  taught  us 
to  pray,  "  Thy  kingdom  come  .  .  . 
on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven,"  so  must 
revealed  truth  pervade  the  earth; 
percolate  through  civil  society,  not 
merely  in  its  individual  members,  but 
in  all  its  natural  relations,  family,  mu- 
nicipal, and  state.  This  is  what  the 
church  has  taught  Europe,  and  only 
by  conforming  with  this  teaching  can 
Europe  stand.  Since  Christianity 
came  into  the  world,  the  Christian 
state  is  the  normal  condition  of  po- 
litical governments,  and  not  an  ideal 
impossible  of  realization.  Undoubt- 
edly, human  weakness  will  always 
cause  many  aberrations  from  the  rule. 
But  the  question  is  not  regarding  this 
point,  but  as  to  the  recognition  of 
the  rule.  The  sin  against  the  Holy 
Ghost  is  the  most  grievous  of  all  sins. 
Our  Lord,  always  so  mild  and  for- 
bearing toward  human  passions,  is 
unflinchingly  stern  against  malicious 
resistance  to  truth,  and  this  has  been 
precisely  the  great  evil  of  our  time 
ever  since  1789.  In  the  early  ages, 
individuals  and  nations  fell  into 
many  errors,  but  they  never  touched 
the  sacred  principles  of  religion.  Lib- 
eralism and  Freemasonry  have  caused 
the  denial  of  truth  itself. 

"  Must  we,  then, fall  back  into  the 
darkness  of  the  middle  ages  ?"  Such 
a  question,  while  it  shows  little  know- 
ledge of  the  middle  ages,  exhibits 


likewise  a  spirit  of  unfairness  in  dis- 
cussion. For  our  purpose,  it  suffices 
to  show  the  latter.  What  would  we 
think  of  a  man  who,  on  being  told 
that  our  faith  should  be  childlike, 
should  say  to  the  priest,  "  Must  I.  then, 
become  a  child  again  ?"  Plainly,  we 
would  say  to  him :  Good  friend,  you 
talk  nonsense;  for  you  know  well 
that  you  cannot  get  again  your  in- 
fant body,  nor  blot  out  the  know- 
ledge and  experience  acquired  in  a 
life  of  thirty  years.  But  was  not  the 
sun  the  same  four  years  ago  as  it  is 
now  ?  Do  not  two  and  two  make 
four  now  as  long  ago  ?  Did  you 
not  eat  and  drink  when  you  were  a 
child  as  you  do  now  ?  Some  things 
are  always  true  in  all  places  and 
times ;  and  therefore  we  do  not  want 
to  bring  you  back  into  the  middle 
ages  merely  because  we  want  to  give 
the  church  that  position  which  God 
has  assigned  to  her. 

"  Then  you  want  to  saddle  a  theo- 
cracy on  the  back  of  the  nineteenth 
century  ?"  Let  us  understand  each 
other.  In  a  certain  sense,  a  theocra- 
cy must  be  the  aim  of  every  rational 
being.  God  has  appointed  two  or- 
ders to  govern  men  :  they  are  church 
and  state,  neither  of  which  must  ab- 
sorb the  other.  Theocracy  is  not  a 
government  of  priests,  as  those  ima- 
gine who  have  before  their  eyes  the 
Hindoo  civil  systems.  Let  us  for  a 
moment  forget  these  catchwords. 
"  middle  ages  "  and  "  theocracy,'1 
and  go  to  the  marrow  of  the  sub» 
ject. 

The  church  is  the  guide  of  con- 
sciences ;  not  the  arbitrary  teacher  ot 
men,  but  the  interpreter  of  revelation 
for  them.  St.  Thomas  likens  the  offici 
of  the  Vicar  of  Christ  to  that  of  the 
flag-ship  of  a  fleet,  which  the  other  ves- 
sels, that  is,  the  secular  governments 
must  follow  on  the  open  sea  in  ordei 
to  reach  the  common  haven  of  safe 
ty.  Each  vessel  has  its  own  sails 


84 


Europe's  Future. 


moves  in  its  own  way,  and  is  ma- 
naged by  its  own  mariners.  The 
church  never  interferes  in  the  appro- 
priate sphere  of  the  secular  power. 
But  she  warns;  she  advises;  she  cor- 
rects all  civil  authority  when  it  devi- 
ates from  the  truth  and  opposes  the 
revealed  order.  Her  authority  over 
the  state  is  not  direct,  but  indirect ; 
she  teaches,  but  she  cannot  coerce; 
she  must  teach,  for  political  and  so- 
cial questions  necessarily  have  rela- 
tions with  dogmatic  and  moral  sub- 
jects. The  church  must  condemn 
wrongs,  no  matter  by  whom  perpe- 
trated, whether  by  states  or  indivi- 
duals. This  is  all  the  theocratic 
power  the  church  claims.  A  Chris- 
tian state  will  respectfully  hear  her 
warning  voice,  and  thus  avoid  the 
danger ;  while  a  pagan  state  shuts  its 
ears,  despises  the  church's  admoni- 
tions, and  plunges  into  the  abyss. 

Modern  paganism  in  civil  govern- 
ments has  brought  Europe  into  her 
present  miserable  condition.  Can 
she  get  out  of  it,  or  is  European  so- 
ciety hopelessly  lost  ? 


VII. 

EUROPE'S  FUTURE. 

THE  Franco-Prussian  war  of  1870 
is  one  of  the  most  important  events 
in  the  history  of  Europe.  The  pros- 
tration of  France  is  no  indication 
that  she  will  never  rise  again,  for  in 
1807  Prussia  was  in  a  worse  condi- 
tion than  France  is  now.  In  1815, 
and  until  the  past  few  years,  Prussia 
was  last  in  the  list  of  the  great  pow- 
ers, though  now  she  is  the  first. 
France,  then,  in  a  few  years  may  rise 
again  to  her  full  power.  There  are 
no  more  fresh,  uncivilized  races  to 
come  into  Europe  to  take  the  place 
of  those  which  are  now  said  to  be 
decaying.  We  have  shown  that  li- 


beralism has  reached  its  acme,  been 
found  wanting,  and  is  dying.  Its  ef- 
forts in  Italy,  Spain,  Germany,  Vien- 
na, and  Pesth  are  but  the  last  con- 
vulsions of  an  expiring  system.  The 
natural  child  of  liberalism — socialism 
— must  also  disappear  before  the  com- 
mon sense  of  mankind.  What  re- 
mains ?  Will  there  be  in  Europe  the 
alternate  anarchy  and  despotism  of 
the  Central  American  republics  with- 
out any  end  ?  Must  we  despair  of 
Europe's  future  ?  No,  a  thousand 
times  no !  We  look  to  the  future 
with  hope  and  consolation. 

Common  sense  and  religion  will 
win  the  day;  Christianity  has  still 
the  regenerating  power  which  she 
showed  in  civilizing  the  barbarians. 
Christianity  has  been  the  principle 
of  national  life  since  the  Redeemer 
established  it  as  a  world  religion. 
The  spiritual  life  must  be  renovated 
by  truth  and  morality.  Christianity  is 
both.  We  Christians  hope,  therefore, 
for  the  conversion  of  the  popular 
mind ;  we  begin  even  now.  to  per- 
ceive signs  of  regeneration,  renova- 
tion, renewed  energy,  and  vigor  in 
mental  convictions  and  civic  virtues. 

God's  punishments  are  proofs  of 
his  mercy.  He  chastises  to  convert. 
The  first  punishment  of  France,  in 
1789,  was  not  enough  to  teach  her 
to  repent.  Louis  XVIII.  came  to 
the  throne  a  free-thinker  instead  of 
a  Christian.  The  prostrate  armies 
of  Metz  and  Sedan  are  the  result  of 
corrupting  and  enervating  infidelity. 
God  chastises  ambition  and  pride  in 
nations  as  well  as  in  individuals.  The 
Republic  has  shown  itself  incapable, 
because  it  possessed  neither  honor, 
principle,  nor  religion.  The  victories 
of  Prussia  are  a  blessing  of  God  for 
France.  The  Prussian  army  is  but 
the  instrument  which  God  has  used 
to  punish  a  culprit  nation — a  revolu- 
tionary, irreligious,  and  frivolous  sys- 
tem of  government.  Victorious  Ger- 


Europe  s  Future. 


many,  too,  will  be  taught  to  reflect 
when  it  sees  the  blood  of  its  thou- 
sands of  slaughtered  sons,  and  the 
miseries  which  the  war  has  entailed 
on  its  once  happy  families.  Wars 
teach  unruly  nations  to  reflect.  Will 
the  present  war  suffice  to  humble 
Europe,  and  cause  her  to  reflect  ? 
We  know  not ;  but  God  will  send 
other  chastisements  if  this  one  avails 
nothing.  Dark  clouds  are  already 
rising  in  the  East,  which  may  soon 
burst  over  Austria  and  Germany. 
The  rod  of  God's  anger  wiU  be  felt 
by  Austria  again,  for  her  lessons  of 
1859  and  1866  have  been  forgotten. 
They  have  only  made  her  throw  her- 
self more  fondly  into  the  arms  of  the 
devil.  In  Italy,  the  secret  societies 
will  yet  avenge  on  the  house  of 
Savoy  the  blood  of  the  defenders  of 
the  Vicar  of  Christ. 

But  the  German  empire  has  been 
re-established  under  a  Prussian  em- 
peror. Yes,  but  this  is  only  an  epi- 
sode in  the  actual  crisis  of  the  world, 
A  Protestant  emperor  of  Germany  is 
entirely  different  from  a  German  em- 
peror. The  old  German  emperors 
represented  the  idea  of  the  Christian 
monarchy ;  the  Protestant  emperor 
in  Berlin  represents  modem  Caesar- 
ism.  His  empire  cannot  last  long, 
for  history  tells  us  that  empires  of 
sudden  and  accidental  growth  lose 
rapidly  the  power  which  they  as 
rapidly  acquired.  But  is  not  Prus- 
sia's triumph  the  triumph  of  Pro- 
testantism in  Europe  ?  Such  a  ques- 
tion is  easily  answered  :  Protestant- 
ism as  a  positive  religion  no  longer 
exists  in  Prussia  or  elsewhere ;  and 
Protestantism  as  a  negation  exists 
everywhere,  perhaps  more  in  some 
Catholic  lands  than  in  Prussia.  On 
the  battle-fields  of  Worth  and  Grave- 
lotte,  the  Catholic  Church  was  not 
represented  by  France,  and  Luther- 
anism  by  Prussia.  Catholic  Bava- 
rians, Westphalians,  and  Rhineland- 


ers  fought  for  Prussia,  and  would  be 
astounded  to  hear  that  they  were  fight- 
ing for  heresy.  Priests  and  Sisters  of 
Charity  accompanied  them  to  battle. 
WTho,  on  the  other  hand,  would  call 
the  Turcos  Catholics  ?  Or  the  French 
officers,  who  never  heard  Mass,  and 
who  curtailed  the  number  of  Catholic 
chaplains  to  the  minimum  ?  Were 
the  French  soldiers,  who  drilled  on 
Sundays  instead  of  going  to  church, 
on  whose  barracks,  in  some  cases, 
was  written,  "  No  admission  for  po- 
licemen, dogs,  or  priests"  —  were 
they  the  Catholic  champions  ?  No ; 
the  Christian  soldier  in  France  first 
appeared,  in  this  war,  with  Charette 
and  Cathelineau  in  the  Loire  army, 
demoralized  and  destroyed,  however, 
by  the  mad-cap  radical,  Gambetta, 
and  his  infidel  associates.  In  fact, 
the  Prussian  army  was  more  Catholic 
than  the  French.  The  latter  must 
be  won  back  to  religion  from  the 
enervating  influences  of  Freemasonry 
and  Voltairianism  before  it  can  re- 
gain its  prestige.  The  only  hope  for 
France  is  in  her  zealous  clergy,  in 
the  vigor  of  the  old  Catholic  pro- 
vinces, and  in  her  humiliations,  which 
ought  to  bring  repentance. 

The  rustling  of  Catholic  renova- 
tion is  heard  all  over  Europe.  The 
rising  generation  will  bring  Italy 
back  to  the  church.  The  spirit  of 
the  Tyrol  and  of  Westphalia  is 
spreading  through  Germany.  The 
Ultramontanes  in  Saxony,  Bohemia, 
Steyermark,  show  the  energy  of  this 
renovation.  The  peasantry  of  Aus- 
tria and  of  a  large  portion  of  Ger- 
many are  still  uncorrupted.  Hun- 
gary is  steadfast  in  the  faith.  The 
seizure  of  Rome  by  the  Sardinian 
robbers  has  roused  the  Catholic  heart 
of  the  world  and  helped  on  the  cause 
of  regeneration.  Where  the  Catholic 
faith  was  supposed  to  be  crushed, 
lo  !  it  has  raised  its  head  defiantly. 
The  deceived  nations  want  peace, 


86 


Bishop   Timon. 


freedom,  order,  and  authority.  These 
blessings  infidelity  and  liberalism 
have  taken  away.  The  people  are 
beginning  to  see  that  the  old  yet 
ever  young  Apostolic  Church  alone 
can  guarantee  them.  They  will  turn 
to  Rome,  where  lives  the  Vicar  of 
Him  who  said,  "  I  am  the  way,  the 
truth,  and  the  life;"  to  Rome  freed 
again  from  the  barbarians ;  to  Rome 
become  Roman  again  when  it  has 
ceased  to  be  Sardinian ;  to  Rome 
will  the  people  look  for  peace  and 
order.  It  is  Rome  that  tells  men 
that  Christ  is  Lord  of  the  world; 
that  he  conquers ;  that  he  governs. 
The  social  dominion  of  Christ  will 
again  be  established.  AVe  shall  see 
again  Christian  states  founded  on 
Christian  principles  and  traditions, 
\\ith  Christian  laws  and  rulers. 


Whether  these  rulers  will  be  kings  or 
presidents  we  know  not;  but  they 
will  in  either  case  consider  themselves 
as  mere  delegates  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
of  his  people,  not  as  Byzantine  des- 
pots or  representatives  of  mob  tyran- 
ny. They  will  understand  that 
statesmanship  does  not  consist  in 
giving  license  to  the  wicked  *  and 
forging  chains  for  the  good.  We 
shall  have  Christian  schools,  Christian 
universities,  Christian  statesmen.  Ye 
liberals  in  name,  well  may  ye 
grow  pale  !  The  future  of  the  world 
belongs  to  the  principles  of  the  Sylla- 
bus, and  this  future  is  not  far  off. 
We  conclude  with  the  words  of  Count 
de  Maistre  :  "  In  the  year  1789,  the 
rights  of  man  were  proclaimed ;  in 
the  year  1889,  man  will  proclaim  the 
rights  of  God !" 


BISHOP   TIMON.f 


WE  hope  the  day  may  come  before 
many  years  when  historians  will  see 
in  the  records  of  the  struggles,  mis- 
fortunes, and  triumphs  of  the  church 
a  theme  for  the  employment  of  bril- 
liant pens  as  tempting  as  they  now 
find  in  the  clash  of  armies  and  the 
intrigues  of  statesmen.  Scholars  have 
devoted  to  our  records  the  patient 
investigation  of  years;  the  general 
history  of  the  church  has  been  sum- 
marized for  popular  reading  in  most 
of  the  principal  modern  languages; 
and  for  the  use  of  theologians  and 
students  there  are  elaborate  and  cost- 
ly collections.  Individual  biographies 

*  "  The  art  of  governing  men  does  not  consist 
in  giving  them  license  to  do  evil."  — Pere  La- 
cordaire. 

t  The  Life  and  Times  of  the  Right  Rev,  John 


of  saints  and  preachers  innumerable 
have  been  written  for  the  edification 
of  the  devout.  Sketches  of  local 
church  history,  more  or  less  com- 
plete, have  occasionally  appeared — 
sketches,  for  instance,  like  The  Catho- 
lic Church  in  the  United  States,  by  De 
Courcy  and  Shea ;  Shea's  History  of 
the  Catholic  Missions  among  the  In- 
dian tribes  of  America,  and  Bishop 
Bayley's  little  volume  on  the  history 
of  the  church  in  New  York.  But  a 
work  of  a  different  kind, 'broader  in 
its  design  than  some  of  these  excel- 
lent and  useful  publications,  more 
limited  in  scope  than  the  dry  and 


Timon^  D.D.,  First  Roman  Catholic  Bishop  of 
Buffalo.  By  Charles  G.  Deuther.  Buffalo :  pub 
lished  by  the  Author. 


Bishop   Tinwn. 


costly  general  histories,  still  awaits 
the  hand  of  a  polished  and  enthusi- 
astic man  of  letters.  Why  should 
not  the  same  eloquence  and  learning 
be  devoted  to  the  religious  history  of 
the  great  countries  of  the  globe  that 
Macaulay,  and  Motley,  and  Froucle 
have  expended  upon  the  political  re- 
volutions of  states  and  the  intricate 
dramas  of  diplomacy  ?  Why  should 
not  some  glowing  pen  do  for  the 
pioneers  of  the  cross  what  Prescott 
did  for  the  pioneers  of  Spanish  con- 
quest in  the  new  hemisphere  ?  Pro- 
perly told,  the  church  history  of  al- 
most any  country  of  the  world,  of  al- 
most any  period  in  Christian  times, 
would  be  a  narrative  not  only  of  re- 
ligious significance,  but  of  thrilling 
interest.  No  men  ever  passed  through 
more  extraordinary  adventures,  con- 
sidered even  from  a  human  point  of 
view,  than  the  missionaries  who  pene- 
trated into  unknown  lands  or  first 
went  among  unbelieving  nations. 
No  contest  between  hostile  kingdoms 
or  rival  dynasties  ever  offered  a  more 
tempting  theme  for  dramatic  narra- 
tive and  glowing  description  than  the 
contest  which  has  raged  for  eighteen 
centuries  and  a  half,  between  the  pow- 
ers of  light  and  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, in  all  the  different  quarters  of  the 
civilized  world.  Think  what  a  bril- 
liant writer  might  make  of  such  a 
subject  as  the  church  history  of  Ger- 
many! Think  what  has  yet  to  be 
done  for  the  churches  of  England  and 
Ireland  and  France,  when  the  com- 
ing historian  rescues  their  chronicles 
from  the  dusty  archives  of  state  and 
the  gloom  of  monastic  libraries,  and 
causes  the  old  stories  to  glow  with  a 
new  light,  such  as  Gibbon  threw 
upon  the  records  of  the  declining 
empire ! 

We  doubt  not  the  literary  alche- 
mist will  come  in  time,  and  melt 
down  the  dull  metals  in  his  crucible, 
and  pour  out  from  it  the  shining  com- 


pound which  shall  possess  a  popular 
value  a  hundredfold  beyond  that  of 
the  untransmuted  materials.  No- 
where, perhaps,  will  the  labor  be 
more  amply  repaid  than  in  America. 
Nowhere  will  the  collection  of  ma- 
terials be  less  arduous  and  the  result 
more  brilliant.  Our  church  history 
begins  just  when  that  of  Europe  is 
most  perplexing,  and  to  an  investiga- 
tor with  time,  patience,  and  a  mode- 
rate revenue  at  his  command,  it  offers 
no  appalling  difficulties.  In  a  great 
part  of  America,  the  introduction  of 
the  Catholic  religion  is  an  event  with- 
in the  memory  of  men  still  living. 
The  pioneers  of  many  of  the  states 
are  still  at  work.  The  first  mission- 
aries of  some  of  the  most  important 
sees  are  but  j  ust  passing  to  their  reward. 
There  are  no  monumental  slanders 
upon  our  history  to  be  removed ;  no 
Protestant  writers  have  seriously  en- 
cumbered the  field  with  misrepresenta- 
tions. Industrious  students  of  our  own 
faith  have  already  prepared  the  way ; 
scattered  chapters  have  been  written 
with  more  or  .less  literary  skill ;  the 
storehouses  of  information  have  been 
discovered  and  partly  explored ;  and 
every  year  the  facilities  for  the  histo- 
rian are  multiplied.  And  certainly  the 
theme  is  rich  in  romantic  interest  and 
variety.  From  the  time  of  the  monks 
and  friars  who  came  over  with  the 
first  discoverers  of  the  country  down 
to  the  present  year  of  our  Lord,  when 
missionaries  are  perilling  their  lives 
among  the  Indians  of  the  great  West, 
and  priests  are  fighting  for  the  faith 
against  the  cultivated  Protestants  of 
the  Atlantic  cities,  the  Catholic  his- 
tory of  the  United  States  has  been  a 
series  of  bold  adventures,  startling 
incidents,  and  contests  of  the  most 
dramatic  character.  In  the  whole 
story  there  is  not  a  really  dull  chap- 
ter. The  Catholic  annals  of  Ame- 
rica abound  also  with  that  variety 
which  the  historian  needs  to  render 


88 


Bishop   Timon. 


his  pages  really  attractive ;  and 
among  the  great  men  who  would 
naturally  be  the  central  figures  of 
such  a  work,  there  is  the  widest  dif- 
ference of  character,  the  most  pictur- 
esque divergence  of  pursuits  and  per- 
sonal peculiarities.  Group  together 
the  most  distinguished  of  the  Chris- 
tian heroes  who  have  illustrated  our 
chronicles,  and  you  have  what  an  ar- 
tist might  call  a  wonderfully  rich  va- 
riety of  coloring.  There  are  the  sim- 
ple-minded, enthusiastic  Spanish  Fran- 
ciscans, following  the  armies  of  Cor- 
tez  and  Pizarro,  and  exploring  the 
strange  realms  of  the  Aztecs  and  the 
Incas.  There  is  the  French  Jesuit, 
building  up  his  Christian  empire 
among  the  Indians  of  the  St.  Law- 
rence and  the  Great  Lakes.  There 
is  the  gentle  Marquette,  floating  in  his 
bark  canoe  down  the  mighty  river 
with  whose  discovery  his  name  will 
ever  be  associated,  and  breathing  his 
last  in  the  midst  of  the  primeval  wil- 
derness. There  are  Jogues  and  Bre- 
bceuf,  suffering  unheard-of  torments 
among  the  Iroquois;  Cheverus,  the 
polished  and  fascinating  cardinal, 
winning  the  affection  of  the  New 
P^ngland  Puritans;  England,  conci- 
liating the  Huguenots  and  Anglicans 
of  the  South.  The  saintly  Brute, 
most  amiable  of  scholars,  most  de- 
vout of  savans,  is  a  quaint  but  beau- 
tiful character  around  whom  cluster 
some  of  our  most  touching  associa- 
tions. Bishop  Dubois,  the  "  Little 
Bonaparte  "  of  the  Mountain ;  Gal- 
litzin,  the  Russian  prince  who  hid  the 
lustre  of  his  rank  among  the  log-ca- 
bins of  the  Alleghanies;  Hughes,  the 
great  fighting  archbishop,  swinging 
his  battle-axe  over  the  heads  of  the 
parsons ;  De  Smet,  the  mild-man- 
nered but  indomitable  missionary  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains — these  are  spe- 
cimens of  our  leaders  whose  place  in 
history  has  yet  to  be  described  by  the 
true  literary  artist.  Several  have  been 


made  the  subject  of  special  biogra- 
phies, but  none  have  yet  appeared  in 
their  true  light  as  the  central  figures 
of  an  American  church  history. 

The  book  which  suggests  these 
remarks  is  a  contribution  of  materials 
for  the  future  historian,  and  as  such 
we  give  it  a  cordial  welcome.  Mr. 
Deuther,  it  is  true,  is  not  a  practised 
writer,  and  is  not  entirely  at  his  ease 
in  the  use  of  our  language.  But  he 
has  shown  great  industry  in  the  col- 
lection of  facts,  and  has  rescued  from 
oblivion  many  interesting  particulars 
of  the  early  career  of  Bishop  Timon 
in  a  part  of  the  United  States  whose 
missionary  history  is  very  imperfect- 
ly known.  Thus  he  has  rendered  an 
important  service  to  Catholic  litera- 
ture, and  earned  full  forgiveness  for 
the  literary  offences  which  impair  the 
value  of  his  book  as  a  biography. 
The  episcopacy  of  the  estimable  man 
whose  life  is  here  told  was  not  an 
especially  eventful  one,  and  except  in 
one  instance  attracted  comparatively 
little  public  notice.  The  most  con- 
spicuous men,  however,  are  not  al- 
Avays  the  most  useful.  Bishop  Ti- 
mon had  a  great  work  to  perform  in 
the  organization  and  settlement  of 
his  new  diocese,  and  he  did  it  none 
the  less  efficiently  because  he  labor- 
ed quietly.  The  best  known  inci- 
dent of  his  official  life — the  lamenta- 
ble contest  with  the  trustees  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Louis  in  Buffalo — is  not 
one  which  Catholics  can  take  any 
satisfaction  in  recalling ;  but  it  had  a 
serious  bearing  upon  the  future  of 
the  American  Church,  and  its  les- 
sons even  now  may  be  reviewed  with 
profit.  Bishop  Kenrick  in  Philadel- 
phia, Bishop  Hughes  in  New  York, 
and  Bishop  Timon  in  Buffalo  have 
between  them  the  honor,  if  not  of 
destroying  a  system  which  had  done 
the  church  incalculable  injury,  at 
least  of  extracting  its  evil  principle. 
Mr.  Deuther  gives  the  history  of  this 


Bishop   Tiinon. 


89 


warfare  at  considerable  length,  and 
with  an  affluence  of  documents  which, 
though  not  very  entertaining  to  read, 
will  be  found  convenient  some  time 
or  another  for  reference.  We  pre- 
sume that  most  people  will  be  inte- 
rested rather  in  the  earlier  chapters 
of  the  biography,  and  to  these  we 
shall  consequently  give  our  princi- 
pal attention. 

John  Timon  was  of  American  birth 
but  Irish  parentage.  His  father, 
James,  emigrated  from,  the  county 
Cavan  in  the  latter  part  of  1796  or 
the  beginning  of  1797,  and  settled 
at  Conewago,*  in  Adams  County, 
Pennsylvania,  where,  in  a  r'ude  log- 
house,  the  subject  of  this  biography 
was  born  on  the  i2th  of  February, 
1797,  the  second  of  a  family  of  ten 
children.  The  father  and  mother 
seem  to  have  been  remarkably  de- 
vout people,  and  from  an  anecdote 
related  by  Mr.  Deuther  we  can  fancy 
that  the  lavish  beneficence  which 
characterized  the  bishop  was  an  he- 
reditary virtue  in  the  family.  Mr. 
James  Timon  called,  one  day,  upon  a 
priest  whom  he  had  known  in  Ire- 
land, and,  taking  it  for  granted  that 
the  reverend  gentleman  must  be  in 
wayt  of  money,  he  slipped  into  his 
hand  at  parting  a  $100  bill,  and  hur- 
ried away.  The  priest,  supposing 
Mr.  Timon  had  made  a  mistake,  ran 
after  him,  and  overtook  him  in  the 
street.  "  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  ge- 
nerous Irishman,  "  it  was  no  mistake. 
I  intended  it  for  you."  "  But,"  said 
the  clergyman,  "  I  assure  you  I  am 
not  in  want ;  I  do  not  need  it." 
"  Never  mind ;  there  are  many  who 
do.  If  you  have  no  use  for  the  mo- 
ney yourself,  give  it  to  the  poor." 
The  Timon  family  removed  to  Bal- 
timore in  1802,  and  there  John  re- 
ceived his  school  education,  such  as 
it  was.  As  soon  as  he  was  old 

*  Mr.  Deuther  incorrectly  calls  this  Conevajjo. 


enough,  he  became  a  clerk  in  a  dry- 
goods  shop  kept  by  his  father ;  and 
Mr.  Deuther  prints  a  very  foolish 
story  to  the  effect  that  he  was  so 
much  liked  by  everybody  that  by  the 
time  he  was  nineteen  "  he  had  be- 
come a  toast  for  all  aged  mothers 
with  marriageable  daughters,"  and 
had  refused  "  many  eligible  and  grand 
offers  of  marriage,"  which  we  take 
the  liberty  of  doubting.  From  Bal- 
timore the  family  removed,  in  1818, 
to  Louisville,  and  thence  in  the  fol- 
lowing spring  to  St.  Louis.  Here  pros- 
perity at  last  rewarded  Mr.  Timon's 
industry,  and  he  accumulated  a  con- 
siderable fortune,  only  to  lose  it,  how- 
ever, in  the  commercial  crisis  of  1823. 
In  the  midst  of  these  pecuniary  mis- 
fortunes, John  Timon  suffered  a  still 
heavier  loss  in  the  death  of  a  young 
lady  to  whom  he  was  engaged  to  be 
married.  Mr.  Deuther's  apology  for 
mentioning  this  incident — which  he 
strangely  characterizes  as  an  "  unde- 
veloped frivolity  "  in  the  life  of  a  bi- 
shop of  the  church — is  entirely  su- 
perfluous; he  would  have  been  a 
faithless  biographer  if  he  had  not 
mentioned  it.  We  may  look  upon  it 
as  a  manifestation  of  the  kindness  of 
divine  Providence,  which  called  the 
young  man  to  a  higher  and  more 
useful  life,  and  designed  first  to  break 
off  his  attachment  to  all  the  things 
of  this  world.  He  heard  and  obey- 
ed the  call,  and,  in  the  month  of 
April,  1823,  became  a  student  of  the 
Lazarists  at  their  preparatory  semi- 
nary of  St.  Mary's  of  the  Barrens,  in 
Perry  County,  Missouri,  about  eighty 
miles  below  St.  Louis. 

The  Lazarists,  or  Priests  of  the  Mis- 
sion, had  been  introduced  into  the 
United  States  only  six  years  before,  and 
their  institutions,  founded,  with  great 
difficulty,  in  the  midst  of  a  poor  and 
scattered  population,  were  still  strug- 
gling with  debt  and  discouragement. 
The  little  establishment  at  the  Barrens 


9o 


Bishop   Tinwn. 


was  for  many  years  in  a  pitiable  con- 
dition of  destitution.  When  Mr.  Ti- 
mon  entered  as  a  candidate  not  only 
for  the  priesthood,  but  for  admission 
to  the  congregation,  it  was  governed 
by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Rosati,  who  be- 
came, a  year  later,  the  first  Bishop  of 
St.  Louis.  The  buildings  consisted 
of  a  few  log-houses.  The  largest  of 
them,  a  one-story  cabin,  contained  in 
one  corner  the  theological  depart- 
ment, in  another  the  schools  of  philo- 
sophy and  general  literature,  in  a 
third  the  tailor's  shop,  and  in  the 
fourth  the  shoemaker's.  The  refec- 
tory was  a  detached  log-house;  and, 
in  very  bad  weather,  the  seminarians 
often  went  to  bed  supperless  rather 
than  make  the  journey  thither  in 
search  of  their  very  scanty  fare.  It 
was  no  uncommon  thing  for  them, 
of  a  winter's  morning,  to  rise  from 
their  mattresses,  spread  upon  the 
floor,  and  find  over  their  blankets  a 
covering  of  snow  which  had  drifted 
through  the  crevices  of  the  logs. 
The  system  upon  which  the  semi- 
nary was  supported  was  the  same 
that  prevails  at  Mount  St.  Mary's. 
For  three  hours  in  the  day  the  stu- 
dents of  divinity  were  expected  to 
teach  in  the  secular  college  connect- 
ed with  the  seminary,  and  for  out-of- 
door  exercise  they  cut  fuel  and  work- 
ed on  the  farm.  Mr.  Timon,  in  spite 
of  these  labors,  made  such  rapid  pro- 
gress in  his  studies  that,  in  1824,  he 
was  ordained  sub-deacon,  and  began 
to  accompany  his  superiors  occasion- 
ally in  their  missionary  excursions. 

They  lived  in  the  midst  of  spiritual 
destitution.  The  French  pioneers  of 
the  Western  country  had  planted  the 
faith  at  St.  Louis  and  some  other  pro- 
minent points,  but  they  had  left  few 
or  no  traces  in  the  vast  tracts  of  ter- 
ritory surrounding  the  earlier  settle- 
ments, and  to  most  of  the  country 
people  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
was  no  bt'iter  than  a  sort  of  aggra- 


vated pagan  imposture.  Protestant 
preachers  used  to  show  themselves  at 
the  very  doors  of  the  churches  and 
challenge  the  priests  to  come  out  and 
be  confuted.  Wherever  the  Lazarists 
travelled,  they  were  looked  at  with 
the  most  intense  curiosity.  Very  few 
of  the  settlers  had  ever  seen  a  priest 
before.  The  Catholics,  scattered  here 
and  there,  had  generally  been  de- 
prived, for  years,  of  Mass  and  the 
sacraments,  and  their  children  were 
growing  up  utterly  ignorant  of  reli- 
gion. Mr.  Timon  was  accustomed 
to  make  a  regular  missionary  circuit 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  around  the 
Barrens  in  company  with  Father 
Odin,  afterward  Archbishop  of  New 
Orleans.  The  duty  of  the  sub-deacon 
was  to  preach,  catechise,  and  instruct. 
Sometimes  they  had  no  other  shelter 
than  the  woods,  and  no  other  food 
than  wild  berries.  At  a  settlement 
called  Apple  Creek,  they  made  a 
chapel  out  of  a  large  pig-pen,  clean- 
ing it  out  with  their  own  hands, 
building  an  altar,  and  so  decorating 
the  poor  little  place  with  fresh  boughs 
that  it  became  the  wonder  of  the 
neighborhood.  In  1824,  Messrs. 
Odin  and  Timon  made  a  long  mis- 
sionary tour  on  horseback.  Mr.  Djti- 
ther  says  they  went  to  "  New  Ma- 
drid, Texas,"  and  thence  as  far  as 
"the  Port  of  Arkansas."  New  Ma- 
drid, of  course,  is  in  Missouri,  and 
the  Port  of  Arkansas  undoubtedly 
means  Arkansas  Post,  in  the  State 
of  Arkansas,  which  could  not  very 
well  be  reached  by  the  way  of  Texas. 
Along  the  route  they  travelled — 
where  they  had  to  swim  rivers,  floun- 
der through  morasses,  and  sleep  in 
the  swamps — no  priest  had  been  seen, 
for  more  than  thirty-five  years.  Their 
zeal,  intelligence,  graceful  and  impas- 
sioned speech,  and  modest  manners, 
seem  to  have  made  a  great  impres- 
sion on  the  settlers.  They  had  the 
satisfaction  of  disarming  much  preju- 


BisJiop   Tii non. 


dice,  receiving  some  converts,  and 
administering  the  sacraments;  and, 
after  an  interesting  visit  to  an  Indian 
tribe  on  the  Arkansas  River,  they  re- 
turned to  the  Barrens.  About  this 
time  (in  1825),  Mr.  Timon  was  pro- 
moted to  the  priesthood  and  appoint- 
ed a  professor  at  the  seminary.  His 
missionary  labors  were  now  greatly 
increased.  Mr.  Deuther  tells  some 
interesting  anecdotes  of  his  tours, 
which  curiously  illustrate  the  state 
of  religion  at  that  time  in  the  West. 
One  day,  Father  Timon  was  sum- 
moned to  Jackson,  Missouri,  to  visit 
a  murderer  under  sentence  of  death. 
With  some  difficulty  he  got  admission 
to  the  jail,  but  a  crowd  of  men,  led 
by  a  Baptist  minister  named  Green, 
who  was  also  editor  of  the  village 
newspaper,  entered  with  him.  The 
prisoner  was  found  lying  on  a  heap 
of  straw  and  chained  to  a  post.  The 
hostile  mob  refused  to  leave  the  priest 
alone  with  him ;  but,  in  spite  of  their 
interference,  Father  Timon  succeeded 
in  touching  the  man's  heart  and  pre- 
paring him  for  the  sacraments.  While 
they  were  repeating  the  Apostles' 
Creed  together,  the  minister  pushed 
forward  and  exclaimed,  "  Do  not 
make  the  poor  man  lose  his  soul 
by  teaching  him  the  commandments 
of  men !"  and  this  interruption  was 
followed  by  a  violent  invective  against 
Romish  corruptions. 

"  Mr.  Green,"  said  the  priest,  "  not 
long  ago,  I  refuted  all  these  charges 
before  a  public  meeting  in  the  court- 
house of  this  village,  and  challenged 
anybody  who  could  answer  me  to 
stand  forth  and  do  so.  You  were 
present,  but  you  made  no  answer. 
Surely  this  is  no  time  for  you  to  inter- 
fere— when  I  am  preparing  a  man 
for  death !" 

Mr.  Green's  only  reply  was  a  chal- 
lenge to  a  public  controversy  next 
day,  which  Father  Timon  immedi- 
ately accepted.  The  minister  then 


insisted  upon  making  a  rancorous 
polemical  prayer,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  said :  "  O  God  of  mercy ! 
save  this  man  from  the  fangs  of  Anti- 
christ, who  now  seeks  to  teach  him 
idolatry  and  the  vain  traditions  of 
men." 

"  Gentlemen,"  exclaimed  the 
priest  to  the  crowd  which  now  filled 
the  dungeon,  "  is  it  right  that,  in  a 
prayer  to  the  God  of  charity  and  truth, 
this  man  should  introduce  a  calumny 
against  the  majority  of  Christians  ?" 

How  far  the  extraordinary  discus- 
sion might  have  gone  it  would  be  hard 
to  guess,  had  not  the  sheriff  turned 
everybody  out  and  locked  the  jail  for 
the  night.  The  next  morning,  the 
debate  took  place  according  to  agree- 
ment, the  district  judge  being  ap- 
pointed moderator.  After  about  three 
or  four  hours'  speaking,  Mr.  Green 
gave  up  the  battle  and  withdrew. 
Father  Timon  kept  on  for  an  hour 
and  a  half  longer,  and  the  result  is 
said  to  have  been  a  great  Catholic 
revival  in  the  community.  The  pri- 
soner, who  had  steadily  refused  to 
accept  the  ministrations  of  any  but  a 
Catholic  clergyman,  was  baptized  im- 
mediately after  the  debate. 

On  another  occasion,  Father  Ti- 
mon carried  on  a  debate  with  a  Pro- 
testant clergyman — apparently  a  Me- 
thodist— in  the  court-house  at  Perry- 
ville.  The  Methodist  was  easily  worst- 
ed, but  there  was  soon  to  be  a  con- 
ference meeting  some  eighteen  miles 
off,  and  there  he  felt  sure  the  priest 
would  meet  his  match. 

"  Do  you  mean  this  as  a  chal- 
lenge ?" 

"  No ;  I  don't  invite  you.  I  only 
say  you  can  go  if  you  choose." 

Father  Timon  refused  to  go  under 
these  circumstances ;  but,  learning  af- 
terward that  a  rumor  was  in  circula- 
tion that  he  had  pledged  himself  to 
be  on  the  ground,  he  changed  his 
mind,  and  reached  the  scene  of  the 


92 


Bishop   Timon, 


meeting — which  was  in  the  open  air — 
just  after  one  of  the  preachers  had  fin- 
ished a  discourse  on  Transubstantia- 
tion  and  the  Real  Presence.  "  There 
is  a  Romish  priest  present,"  this  ora- 
tor had  said, "  and,  if  he  dares  to  come 
forward,  the  error  of  his  ways  will  be 
pointed  out  to  him."  So  Father  Ti- 
nion  mounted  a  stump,  and  announc- 
ed that  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he 
would  begin  a  discourse  on  the  Real 
Presence.  This  was  more  than  the 
ministers  had  bargained  for.  They 
had  been  confident  he  would  not  at- 
tend. They  surrounded  him,  in  con- 
siderable excitement,  and  declared 
that  he  should  not  preach.  Father 
Timon  appealed  to  the  people,  and 
they  decided  that  he  should  be  heard. 
He  borrowed  a  Bible  from  one  of 
his  adversaries,  and  with  the  aid  of 
numerous  texts  explained  and  sup- 
ported the  Catholic  doctrine.  The  dis- 
cussion was  long  and  earnest.  The 
preachers  at  last  were  silenced,  and 
Father  Timon  continued  for  some  time 
to  exhort  the  crowd  and  urge  them 
to  return  to  the  true  church.  Which 
was,  to  say  the  least,  a  curious  termi- 
nation for  a  Methodist  conference 
meeting. 

One  of  the  most  serious  difficulties 
which  the  pioneer  missionaries  had 
to  encounter  was  the  want  of  oppor- 
tunities of  private  converse  with  peo- 
ple whose  hearts  had  been  stirred  by 
the  first  motions  of  divine  grace. 
The  log-dwellings  of  the  settlers  rare- 
ly contained  more  than  one  room, 
and  that  often  held  a  pretty  large 
family.  Many  anecdotes  are  told 
of  confessions  made  among  the  corn- 
stalks in  the  garden,  or  under  the 
shadow  of  the  forest,  or  on  horseback 
in  the  lonely  roads.  On  one  occa- 
sion Father  Timon  had  been  sum- 
moned a  long  distance  to  visit  a  dy- 
ing man.  The  cabin  consisted  of  a 
single  room.  When  all  was  over,  the 
wife  of  the  dead  man  knelt  beside 


the  body  and  made  her  confession, 
the  rest  of  the  family  and  the  neigh- 
bors, meanwhile,  standing  out-doors 
in  the  rain.  Then  the  widow  was 
baptized  into  the  church,  and,  as  the 
storm  was  violent  and  the  hour  past 
midnight,  Father  Timon  slept  on  the 
bed  with  the  corpse,  while  the  rest 
of  the  company  disposed  themselves 
on  the  floor. 

Ten  years  had  been  passed  in  la- 
bors of  this  kind,  when,  in  1835,  let- 
ters arrived  from  Paris,  erecting  the 
American  mission  of  the  Lazarists 
into  a  province,  and  appointing  Fa- 
ther Timon  visitor.  He  accepted 
the  charge  with  great  reluctance  and 
only  after  long  hesitation.  It  was 
indeed  a  heavy  burden.  The  affairs 
of  the  congregation  were  far  from 
prosperous.  The  institution  at  the 
Barrens  was  deeply  in  debt.  The 
revenues  were  uncertain.  The  rela- 
tions between  the  seminary  and  the 
bishop  were  not  entirely  harmonious. 
Several  priests  had  left  the  communi- 
ty, and  were  serving  parishes  without 
the  permission  of  their  superiors.  To 
restore  discipline  would  be  an  invidi- 
ous task  on  many  accounts.  But, 
having  undertaken  the  office,  Father 
Timon  did  not  shrink.  He  saved 
the  college  and  seminary  from  threat- 
ened extinction ;  he  brought  back 
his  truant  brethren  ;  he  revived  the 
spirit  of  zeal  and  self-sacrifice ;  he 
restored  harmony ;  he  greatly  improv- 
ed the  finances.  In  a  short  time,  he 
made  a  visit  to  France,  and  returned 
with  a  small  supply  of  money  and  a 
company  of  priests.  On  Christmas 
Eve,  in  1838,  he  sailed  for  Galves- 
ton,  in  order  to  make  a  report  to  the 
Holy  See  upon  the  condition  of  reli- 
gion in  the  republic  of  Texas.  He 
found  the  country  in  a  sad  state  of 
spiritual  destitution.  The  only  priests 
were  two  Mexicans  at  San  Antonio, 
who  lived  in  open  concubinage. 
There  were  no  churches.  There  were 


Bishop   Timon. 


93 


no  sacraments.  Even  marriage  was 
a  rite  about  which  the  settlers  were 
not  over-particular.  Father  Timon 
did  what  little  he  could,  on  a  hurried 
tour,  to  remedy  these  evils ;  but  a 
year  or  two  later  he  came  back  as 
prefect  apostolic,  accompanied  by 
M.  Odin,  and  now  he  was  able  to 
introduce  great  reforms.  Congrega- 
tions were  collected,  churches  begun 
in  all  the  largest  settlements,  and  the 
scandals  at  San  Antonio  abated.  Firm 
in  correction,  but  gracious  in  manner, 
untiring  in  labors,  insensible  to  fear, 
making  long  journeys  with  a  single 
companion  through  dangerous  In- 
dian countries,  struggling  through 
swamps,  swimming  broad  rivers — the 
prefect  and  his  assistant,  M.  Odin, 
travelled,  footsore,  hungry,  and  in 
rags,  through  this  rude  wilderness, 
and  wherever  they  passed  they  plant- 
ed the  good  seed  and  made  ready 
the  soil  for  the  husbandmen  who 
were  to  come  after  them.  In  the 
principal  towns  and  settlements  they 
were  invariably  received  with  honor. 
The  court-houses  or  other  public 
rooms  were  placed  at  their  disposal 
for  religious  services,  and  the  educat- 
ed Protestant  inhabitants  took  pains 
to  meet  them  socially  and  learn  from 
them  something  about  the  faith.  We 
find  in  the  account  of  these  tours 
no  trace  of  the  acrimonious  polemi- 
cal discussions  which  used  to  enliven 
the  labors  of  the  missionaries  at  the 
Barrens.  There  was  little  or  no  con- 
troversy, and  the  priests  were  invited 
to  explain  religious  truth  rather  over 
the  dinner-table  than  on  the  rostrum. 
At. the  request  of  Mr.  Timon,  M.  Odin 
was  soon  afterward  appointed  vicar 
apostolic  of  Texas,  and  sent  to  con- 
tinue the  work  thus  happily  begun. 

It  was  in  1847  tnat  Mr.  Timon 
was  removed  from  the  Western  field 
and  consecrated  first  Bishop  of  Buf- 
falo. When  he  had  disposed  all  his 
affairs  and  made  ready  for  his  depar- 


ture, his  worldly  goods  consisted  of 
a  small  trunk  about  half-full  of  scan- 
ty clothing.  He  had  to  borrow  mo- 
ney enough  to  pay  his  way  to  New 
York.  But  meanwhile  some  friends, 
having  heard  of  his  poverty,  replen- 
ished his  wardrobe,  and  made  up  a 
purse  of  $400  for  his  immediate 
needs.  He  was  consecrated  in  the 
cathedral  of  New  York  by  Bishops 
Hughes,  Walsh,  and  McCloskey,  on 
the  1 7th  of  October,  and  reached 
Buffalo  five  days  afterward.  It  was 
evening  when  he  arrived.  An  im- 
mense crowd  of  people — it  is  said  as 
many  as  10,000 — were  in  waiting  for 
him  at  the  railway  station.  There 
were  bands  of  music,  banners,  and 
flambeaux,  a  four-horse  carriage  for 
the  bishop,  and  a  long  torchlight 
procession  to  escort  him  home.  It 
is  reported — but  the  biographer  gives 
the  story  with  some  reserve — that,  af- 
ter the  cortege  had  gone  some  dis- 
tance, the  humble  bishop  was  discov- 
ered, valise  in  hand,  trudging  afoot 
through  the  rain  and  mud,  behind 
the  coach  in  which  he  was  supposed 
to  be  riding.  In  after-times  he  must 
have  sadly  compared  the  cordial 
greeting  of  his  flock  on  this  night 
with  the  trials,  the  insults,  the  perse- 
cutions, which  he  had  to  bear  from 
some  of  the  very  same  people  during 
almost  the  whole  of  his  episcopate. 
We  shall  not  enlarge  upon  the  histo- 
ry of  these  sad  years.  The  scandals 
which  arose  from  the  factious  and 
schismatical  spirit  of  the  trustees  of 
the  Church  of  St.  Louis  in  Buffalo 
are  too  recent  to  have  been  forgotten 
by  our  readers.  The  troubles  began 
while  Bishop  Timon  was  still  a  hum- 
ble missionary  in  Missouri.  They 
had  been  quelled  by  the  firmness  of 
Bishop  Hughes,  but  they  broke  out 
again  very  soon  after  the  creation  of 
the  new  diocese,  and  Bishop  Timon 
suffered  from  them  to  the  end  of  his 
life.  Having  no  cathedral  and  no 


94 


BisJiop    Tim  on. 


house,  he  lodged  when  he  first  arriv- 
ed with  the  pastor  of  St.  Louis's,  but 
he  had  been  there  only  a  few  weeks 
when  the  trustees,  in  their  mad  jea- 
lousy of  possible  invasion  of  their 
imaginary  rights,  requested  him  to 
find  a  home  somewhere  else.  This 
brutal  behavior  was  the  beginning 
of  a  long  warfare.  Those  who  may 
care  about  studying  it  will  find  the 
necessary  documents  in  Mr.  Deuth- 
er's  book.  Let  us  rather  devote  the 
short  space  remaining  at  our  dispo- 
sal to  a  description  of  some  of  the 
charming  traits  of  character  of  the 
holy  man  who  crowned  a  life  of  inces- 
sant labor  with  an  old  age  of  suffer- 
ing. From  the  moment  of  his  ele- 
vation to  the  episcopal  dignity,  the 
sacred  simplicity  of  his  disposition 
seems  to  have  daily  increased.  If 
the  anecdote  of  his  behavior  at  the 
torchlight  reception  is  not  true,  it  is 
at  any  rate  consistent  with  his  cha- 
racter. Bishop  Hughes  declared 
that  the  Bishop  of  Buffalo  was  the 
humblest  man  he  had  ever  known. 
Though  he  was  very  neat  and  pre- 
cise in  everything  relating  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  sanctuary,  rags  of  any 
kind  seemed  to  him  "  good  enough 
for  the  old  bishop,"  and  it  was  only 
by  stealth,  so  to  speak,  that  his 
friends  could  keep  his  wardrobe  tole- 
rably well  supplied.  In  his  visits  to 
the  seminary  it  was  his  delight  to 
talk  familiarly  with  the  young  men. 
At  the  orphan  asylum  the  .children 
used  to  ride  on  his  back.  Visiting 
strange  churches,  he  would  kneel  in 
the  confessional  like  any  other  peni- 
tent. In  his  private  and  official  in- 
tercourse with  his  clergy,  it  was  not 
unusual  for  him  to  beg  pardon  with 
the  utmost  humility  for  fancied  acts 
of  injustice.  On  one  occasion  he 
had  slightly  rebuked  a  priest  for  some 
irregularity.  Satisfied  afterward  that 
the  rebuke  had  not  been  deserved, 


he  invited  the  priest  to  dinner,  plac- 
ed him  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
treated  him  with  marked  distinction, 
and  afterward,  taking  him  to  his 
own  room,  in  the  presence  of  anoth- 
er bishop,  threw  himself  upon  his 
knees  and  begged  to  be  forgiven. 
In  the  course  of  a  visitation  to  a  dis- 
turbed parish,  a  member  of  the  con- 
gregation he  was  addressing  public- 
ly spat  in  the  bishop's  face.  He 
took  no  notice  of  the  occurrence,  but 
went  on  with  his  remarks.  "  Never 
shall  I  forget,"  wrote  the  late  distin- 
guished Jesuit,  Father  Smarius,  "  the 
days  of  the  missions  for  the  laity  and 
of  the  retreats  for  the  clergy  which 
I  had  the  pleasure  to  conduct  in  the 
cathedral  of  Buffalo  during  the  three 
or  four  years  previous  to  his  holy  de- 
mise. The  first  to  rise  in  the  morn- 
ing and  to  ring  the  bell  for  medita- 
tion and  for  prayer,  he  would  totter 
from  door  to  door  along  the  corridors 
of  the  episcopal  residence,  with  a 
lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  to  see 
whether  all  had  responded  to  the  call 
of  the  bell  and  betaken  themselves 
to  the  spot  marked  out  for  the  per- 
formance of  that  sacred  and  whole- 
some duty.  .  .  .  And  then,  that 
more  than  fatherly  heart,  that  forgiv- 
ing kindness  to  repentant  sinners, 
even  such  as  had  again  and  again 
deservedly  incurred  his  displeasure 
and  the  penalties  of  ecclesiastical 
censures  or  excommunications.  '  Fa- 
ther,' he  would  say,  '  I  leave  this  case 
in  your  hands.  I  give  you  all  power, 
only  save  his  soul.'  And  then,  that 
simple,  child-like  humility,  which 
seemed  wounded  by  even  tne  perfor- 
mance of  acts  which  the  excellence 
and  dignity  of  the  episcopacy  natu- 
rally force  from  its  subjects  and  infe- 
riors. How  often  have  I  seen  him 
fall  on  his  aged  knees,  face  to  face 
with  one  or  other  of  my  clerical 
brethren,  who  had  fallen  on  theirs  to 


Bishop   Tiinon. 


95 


receive  his  saintly  blessing !"  He 
took  great  pains  to  cultivate  the  vir- 
tue of  humility  in  his  clergy.  A 
proud  priest  he  had  little  hope  for. 
To  those  who  complained  of  the 
hardships  of  the  mission,  he  would 
answer,  "  Why  did  you  become  a 
priest  ?  It  was  to  suffer,  to  be  per- 
secuted, according  to  the  example 
laid  down  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 
In  the  strictness  with  which  he  tried 
to  watch  over  the  spiritual  welfare  of 
his  clergy,  and  changed  their  posi- 
tions when  he  thought  the  good  of 
their  souls  required  it,  his  rule  was 
like  that  of  the  superior  of  a  monas- 
tery rather  than  the  head  of  a  dio- 
cese. He  was  filled  to  a  remaikable 
decree  with  the  spirit  of  prayer.  He 
began  no  labor,  decided  no  question, 
without  long  and  fervent  supplication 
for  the  divine  assistance.  On  occa- 
sions of  festivity  or  ceremony,  He  lov- 
ed to  steal  away  to  the  quiet  of  the 
sanctuary,  and  under  the  shadow  of 
a  column  in  the  cathedral  to  pass 
long  hours  in  meditation.  In  travel- 
ling he  was  often  seen  kneeling  in 
his  seat  in  the  cars.  His  household 
was  always  ordered  like  a  religious 
community.  The  day  began  and 
ended  with  prayer  and  meditation  in 
common.  The  bishop  rose  at  five, 
and  in  the  evening  retired  early  to 
his  room — not  to  sleep,  but  to  pass 
most  of  the  night  in  devotion,  study, 
and  writing.  Up  to  the  very  close 
of  his  life  he  used  to  set  out  in  the 
depth  of  winter  to  visit  distant  par- 
ishes unannounced,  starting  from  the 
house  before  any  one  else  was  awake, 
and  trudging  painfully  through  the 
snow  with  his  bag  in  his  hand.  Religi- 
ous communities,  when  they  assembled 
for  morning  devotions,  were  often  sur- 
prised to  find  the  bishop  on  his 
knees  waiting  for  them.  By  these 
sudden  visits  he  was  sometimes  en- 
abled to  correct  irregularities,  which 


he  never  suffered  to  pass  unrebuked  ; 
but  he  used  to  say  that  in  dealing 
with  others  he  would  rather  be  too 
lax  than  too  severe,  as  he  hoped  to  be 
judged  mercifully  by  Almighty  God. 
Mr.  Deuther,  in  attempting  to  show 
that  the  bishop  had  to  conquer  a  natu- 
rally quick  temper,  has  created  an  im- 
pression, we  fear,  that  this  saintly  man 
was  irascible  if  not  violent  in  his  dis- 
position. It  is  most  earnestly  to  be 
hoped  that  no  one  will  conceive  such 
an  utterly  wrong  idea.  Mr.  Deuther 
himself  corrects  his  own  unguarded 
language,  and  it  is  only  necessary  to 
read  the  book  carefully  to  see  that 
he  does  not  mean  what  at  first  glance 
he  seems  not  to  say,  but  to  imply. 
Nobody  who  knew  Bishop  Tiinon 
will  hesitate  to  call  him  one  of  the 
kindest  and  most  amiable  of  men; 
whatever  faults  he  may  have  had, 
nobody  will  think  of  mentioning  a 
hot  temper  as  one  of  them.  The 
sweetness  of  his  disposition  was  in 
correspondence  with  the  tenderness 
of  his  heart.  The  patience  with 
which  he  bore  the  sorrows  of  his  epis- 
copate was  equalled  by  the  keenness 
with  which  he  felt  them.  Toward 
the  close  of  his  life  several  anony- 
mous communications,  accusing  him 
of  cruelty,  avarice,  injustice,  and 
many  other  faults — of  cruelty,  this 
man  whose  heart  was  as  soft  as  a 
woman's — of  avarice,  this  charitable 
soul,  who  gave  away  everything  he 
had,  and  left  himself  at  times  not 
even  a  change  of  linen — of  injustice, 
this  bishop  who  pardoned  every  one 
but  himself — were  sent  him  in  the 
form  of  printed  circulars.  So  deeply 
was  he  wounded  that  his  biographer 
is  assured  that  the  incident  hastened 
his  death ;  he  never  was  the  same 
man  afterward.  At  the  end  of  the 
next  diocesan  synod  he  knelt  before 
his  priests,  and,  in  a  voice  broken  by 
tears,  asked  pardon  of  every  one  pre- 


96  Gualbertos   Victory. 

sent   whom  he   might  have   in   any  he  himself  was  the  first  to  foresee, 

manner  treated  unjustly.    He  died  on  and  his  last  hours  were  as  beautiful 

the  1 6th  of  April,  1867,  after  a  rapid  and   inspiring  as   his  years  of  holy 

but  gradual  decay  whose  termination  labor. 


GUALBERTO'S   VICTORY. 

A  MOUNTAIN-PASS,  so  narrow  that  a  man 

Riding  that  way  to  Florence,  stooping,  can 

Touch  with  his  hand  the  rocks  on  either  side, 

And  pluck  the  flowers  that  in  the  crannies  hide — 

Here,  on  Good  Friday,  centuries  ago, 

Mounted  and  armed,  John  Gualbert  met  his  foe, 

Mounted  and  armed  as  well,  but  riding  down 

To  the  fair  city  from  the  woodland  brown, 

This  way  and  that  swinging  his  jewell'd  whip, 

A  gay  old  love-song  on  his  careless  lip. 

An  accidental  meeting — yet  the  sun 

Burned  on  their  brows  as  if  it  had  been  one 

Of  deep  design,  so  deadly  was  the  look 

Of  mutual  hate  their  olive  faces  took, 

As  (knightly  courtesy  forgot  in  wrath) 

Neither  would  yield  his  enemy  the  path. 

"Back!"  cried  Gaulberto.     "  Never!"  yelled  his  foe. 

And  on  the  instant,  sword  in  hand,  they  throw 

Them  from  their  saddles,  nothing  loth, 

And  fall  to  fighting  with  a  smothered  oath. 

A  pair  of  shapely,  stalwart  cavaliers, 

Well-matched  in  stature,  weapons,  weight,  and  years, 

Theirs  was  a  long,  fierce  struggle  on  the  grass, 

Thrusting  and  parrying  up  and  down  the  pass, 

Swaying  from  left  to  right,  till  blood-drops  oozed 

Upon  the  rocks,  and  head  and  hands  were  bruised ; 

But  at  its  close,  when  Gualbert  stopped  to  rest, 

His  heel  was  planted  on  his  foeman's  breast ; 

And,  looking  up,  the  fallen  courtier  sees, 

As  in  a  dream,  gray  rocks  and  waving  trees 

Before  his  glazing  eyes  begin  to  float, 

While  Gualbert's  sabre  glitters  at  his  throat. 

"  Now  die,  base  wretch !"  the  victor  fiercely  cries, 
His  heart  of  hate  outflashing  from  his  eyes. 
"  Never  again,  by  the  all-righteous  Lord, 
Shalt  thou  with  life  escape  this  trusty  sword  ! 


Gualberto  s  Victory.  97 

Revenge  is  sweet !"     And  upward  flash'd  the  steel, 

But  e'er  it  fell — dear  Lord  !  a  silvery  peal 

Of  voices,  chanting  in  the  town  below, 

Rose,  like  a  fountain's  spray,  from  spires  of  snow, 

And  chimed,  and  chimed,  to  die  in  echoes  slow. 

In  the  sweet  silence  following  the  sound,   • 

Gualberto  and  the  man  upon  the  ground 

Glared  at  each  other  with  bewildered  eyes. 

And  then  the  latter,  struggling  to  rise, 

Made  one  last  effort,  while  his  face  grew  dark 

With  pleading  agony  :  "  Gualberto  !  hark  ! 

The  chant — the  hour — you  know  the  olden  fashion — 

The  monks  below  intone  Our  Lord's  dear  Passion. 

Oh !  by  this  cross  " — and  here  he  caught  the  hilt 

Of  Gualbert's  sword — "  and  by  the  blood  once  spilt 

Upon  it  for  us  both  long  years  ago, 

Forgive — forget — and  spare  your  fallen  foe  !" 

The  face  that  bent  above  grew  white  and  set, 
The  lips  were  drawn,  the  brow  bedew'd  with  sweat, 
But  on  the  grass  the  harmless  sword  was  flung, 
And,  stooping  down,  the  generous  hero  wrung 
The  outstretched  hand.     Then,  lest  he  lose  control 
Of  the  but  half-tamed  passions  of  his  soul, 
Fled  up  the  pathway,  tearing  casque  and  coat, 
To  ease  the  throbbing  tempest  at  his  throat — 
Fled  up  the  crags,  as  if  a  fiend  pursued, 
Nor  paused  until  he  reached  the  chapel  rude'. 

There,  in  the  cool,  dim  stillness,  on  his  knees', 

Trembling,  he  flings  himself,  and,  startled,  sees 

Set  in  the  rock  a  crucifix  antique, 

From  which  the  wounded  Christ  bends  down  to  speak : 

"  Thou  hast  done  well,  Gualberto.     For  my  sake 

Thou  didst  forgive  thine  enemy  ;  now  take 

My  gracious,  pardon  for  thy  years  of  sin, 

And  from  this  day  a  better  life  begin" 

White  flash'd  the  angels'  wings  above  his  head, 
Rare  subtile  perfumes  thro'  the  place  were  shed  ; 
And  golden  harps  and  sweetest  voices  pour'd 
Their  glorious  hosannas  to  the  Lord, 
Who,  in  that  hour  and  in  that  chapel  quaint, 
Changed,  by  his  power,  by  his  sweet  love's  constraint, 
Gualbert  the  sinner  into  John  the  saint. 


VOL.  XIIL — 7 


98 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


OUR     LADY    OF    LOURDES. 


FROM   THE   FRENCH    OF   HENRI    LASSERRE. 


PART    SIXTH. 


THE  enemies  of  "  superstition " 
had  lost  a  good  deal  of  ground  in 
their  desperate  struggle  against  the 
events  which  for  the  last  ten  or  twelve 
weeks  had  scandalized  their  distress- 
ed philosophy.  As  it  had  become 
impossible  to  deny  the  existence  of 
the  fountain  whose  pure  streams  were 
flowing  before  the  eyes  of  the  amazed 
people,  so  it  was  becoming  impossi- 
ble to  continue  denying  the  reality 
of  the  cures  which  were  being  work- 
ed, continually  and  in  many  places, 
by  the  use  of  this  mysterious  water. 

At  first  the  incredulous  had  shrug- 
ged their  shoulders  at  the  report  of 
these  cures,  taking  the  simple  course 
of  denying  them  out-and-out,  and 
refusing  to  make  any  examination. 
Then  some  skilful  persons  had  in- 
vented several  false  miracles,  to  en- 
joy an  easy  triumph  in  refuting  them. 
But  they  had  very  soon  been  con- 
founded by  the  multiplicity  of  these 
wonderful  cures,  of  which  a  few  have 
been  mentioned.  The  facts  were 
evident.  They  became  so  numerous 
and  so  striking  that  it  was  necessary, 
however  painful  it  might  be,  either 
to  acknowledge  their  miraculous  na- 
ture or  find  some  natural  explanation 
for  them. 

The  free-thinkers,  then,  understood 
that,  unless  they  were  willing  either 
to  surrender  or  to  deny  in  the  face 
of  complete  evidence,  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  take  up  some 
new  line  of  tactics. 

The  most  intelligent  of  the  clique, 


indeed,  saw  that  things  had  already 
gone  too  far,  and  perceived  the  grave 
error  which  they  had  committed  at 
the  outset  in  denying  prematurely 
and  without  examination  facts  which 
had  afterward  become  patent  and 
perfectly  well  established,  such  as 
the  appearance  of  the  fountain,  and 
the  cures  of  a  great  number  of  many 
who  were  notoriously  incurable  by 
natural  means,  and  who  were  now 
to  be  seen  going  about  the  streets  of 
the  town  in  perfect  health.  What 
made  the  mistake  worse  and  almost 
irreparable  was  that  these  unfortu- 
nate denials  of  the  most  well-attest- 
ed events  were  authentically  and  offi- 
cially recorded  in  all  the  newspapers 
of  the  department. 


II. 

THE  greater  part  of  the  cures  ef- 
fected by  the  Massabielle  water  had 
a  character  of  rapidity,  nay,  even  of 
instantaneousuess,  which  clearly  show- 
ed the  immediate  action  of  sovereign 
power.  There  were  some,  however, 
which  did  not  present  this  evidently 
supernatural  appearance,  being  ac- 
complished after  baths  or  draughts 
repeated  a  few  or  many  times,  and 
in  a  slow  and  gradual  manner — re- 
sembling somewhat  in  their  mode  the 
ordinary  course  of  natural  cures, 
though  in  reality  different. 

In  a  village  called  Gez,  near 
Lourdes,  a  little  child  of  seven  years 
had  been  the  subject  of  one  of  these 
cures,  of  a  mixed  character,  which,  ac- 
cording to  one's  natural  inclination, 
might  be  attributed  to  a  special  grace 
of  God  or  to  the  unaided  forces  of 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


99 


nature.  This  child,  named  Lasba- 
reilles,  had  been  born  entirely  de- 
formed, with  a  double  curvature  of 
the  back  and  breast-bone.  His  thin 
and  almost  withered  legs  were  use- 
less from  their  extreme  weakness ; 
the  poor  little  boy  had  never  been 
able  to  walk,  but  was  always  either 
sitting  or  lying  down.  When  he 
had  to  move,  his  mother  carried  him 
in  her  arms.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the 
child,  resting  on  the  edge  of  the  ta- 
ble or  helped  by  his  mother's  hand, 
could  manage  to  keep  himself  up  and 
to  take  a  few  steps ;  but  it  was  at 
the  cost  of  violent  efforts  and  im- 
mense fatigue.  The  physician  of  the 
place  had  professed  himself  unable 
to  cure  him ;  and  the  disease  being 
organic,  no  remedy  had  ever  been 
resorted  to. 

The  parents  of  this  unfortunate 
child,  having  heard  of  the  miracles 
of  Lourdes,  had  procured  some  of 
the  water  from  the  grotto  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  a  fortnight  had  applied  it 
on  three  different  occasions  to  the 
body  of  the  little  fellow  without  ob- 
taining any  effect.  But  their  faith 
was  not  discouraged  on  that  account ; 
if  hope  was  banished  from  the  world, 
it  would  still  remain  in  the  hearts  of 
mothers.  A  fourth  application  was 
made  on  Holy  Thursday,  the  first  of 
April,  1858.  That  day  the  child  took 
several  steps  without  assistance. 

The  bathings  from  that  time  be- 
came more  and  more  efficacious,  and 
the  health  of  the  patient  gradually 
improved.  After  three  or  four  weeks, 
he  became  strong  enough  to  walk 
almost  as  well  as  other  people.  We 
say  "  almost,"  for  there  was  still  in 
his  gait  a  certain  awkwardness,  which 
seemed  like  a  reminiscence  of  his 
original  infirmity.  The  thinness  of 
his  legs  had  slowly  disappeared  to- 
gether with  their  weakness,  and  the 
deformity  of  his  chest  was  almost 
entirely  gone.  All  the  people  of  the 


village  of  Gez,  knowing  his  previous 
condition,  said  that  it  was  a  miracle. 
Were  they  right  or  wrong  ?  What- 
ever our  own  opinion  may  be,  there 
is  certainly  much  to  be  said  on  both 
sides  of  the  question. 

Another  child,  Denys  Bouchet,  of 
the  town  of  Lamarque,  in  the  can- 
ton of  Ossun,  had  also  been  cured 
of  a  general  paralysis  in  very  much 
the  same  way.  A  young  man  of 
twenty  -  seven  years,  Jean  Louis 
Amare,  who  was  subject  to  epileptic 
fits,  had  been  completely  though  gra- 
dually cured  of  his  terrible  malady 
solely  by  the  use  of  the  water  of 
Massabielle. 

Some  other  similar  cases  had  also 
occurred.* 

in. 

IF  we  were  not  acquainted  with 
the  wonderfully  varied  forms  which 
supernatural  cures  have  assumed  since 
the  Christian  era,  we  might  perhaps 
be  inclined  to  believe  that  Providence 
had  thus  disposed  things  at  this  mo- 
ment to  cause  proud  human  philoso- 
phy to  catch  itself  in  its  own  nets, 
and  to  destroy  itself  with  its  own 
hands.  But  let  us  not  think  that 
there  was  in  this  case  such  a  snare 
on  the  part  of  God.  He  lies  m  am- 
bush for  no  one.  But  truth  in  its 
normal  and  regular  developments,  the 
logic  of  which  is  unknown  to  human 
philosophy,  is  of  itself  an  eternal  snare 
for  error. 

*  We  think  it  well  to  say  that  no  one  of  these 
cures,  except  that  of  Denys  Bouchet,  whom  the 
physicians  had  pronounced  absolutely  and  con- 
stitutionally incurable,  was  declared  to  be  mira- 
culous by  the  episcopal  commission  which  will  be 
mentioned  further  on.  Kor  these  cures,  the  loth, 
nth,  and  i6th  proces  verbaux  of  the  commission 
may  be  consulted.  Whatever  the  probability  of 
divine  intervention  may  be  in  such  cases,  the 
church  before  proclaiming  a  miracle  requires 
that  no  natural  explanation  of  the  fact  should 
be  possible,  and  sets  aside,  without  affirming  or 
denying,  every  case  in  which  this  condition  is 
not  found.  She  is  content  to  say  Nescio. 

We  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  speak  of 
the  work  of  the  commission. 


IOO 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


However  this  may  be,  the  savants 
and  physicians  of  the  country  hasten- 
ed to  find  in  these  various  cures,  the 
cause  of  which  was  doubtful,  though 
their  reality  and  progressive  nature 
were  well  ascertained,  an  admirable 
opportunity  and  an  excellent  pretext 
to  effect  that  change  of  base  which 
the  increasing  evidence  of  facts  made 
absolutely  necessary. 

Ceasing,  therefore,  to  ascribe  these 
cures  to  such  a  commonplace  cause 
as  imagination,  they  loudly  attribut- 
ed them  to  the  natural  virtues  which 
this  remarkable  water,  which  had  been 
discovered  by  the  merest  chance,  un- 
doubtedly possessed.  To  give  this 
explanation  was  of  course  equivalent 
to  recognizing  the  cures. 

Let  the  reader  recall  the  beginning 
of  this  story,  when  a  little  shepherd- 
ess, going  out  to  gather  some  dead 
wood,  claimed  to  have  seen  a  shining 
apparition.  Let  him  remember  the 
sneers  of  the  great  men  of  Lourdes, 
the  shrugging  of  shoulders  at  the 
club,  the  supreme  contempt  with 
which  these  strong-minded  individuals 
received  this  childish  nonsense  ;  what 
progress  the  supernatural  had  made ; 
and  how  much  incredulity,  science, 
and  philosophy  had  lost,  since  the 
first  events  which  had  so  suddenly 
occurred  at  the  lonely  grotto  on  the 
banks  of  the  Gave. 

The  miraculous  had,  if  we  may 
use  such  an  expression,  taken  the  of- 
fensive. Free  thought,  lately  so 
proud  and  confident  in  its  attacks, 
was  now  pursued  by  facts  and  oblig- 
ed to  defend  itself. 

The  representatives  of  philosophy 
and  science  were  none  the  less  posi- 
tive, however,  and  showed  as  much 
disdain  as  ever  for  the  popular  super- 
stition. 

"  Well,  be  it  so,"  said  they,  affect- 
ing a  tone  of  good  humor  and  the 
air  of  good  faith.  "  We  acknowledge 
that  the  water  of  the  grotto  cures 


certain  maladies.  What  can  be  more 
simple  ?  What  need  is  there  of  having 
recourse  to  miracles,  supernatural  grac- 
es, and  divine  intervention  to  explain 
effects  similar  to,  if  not  even  exactly 
the  same  as,  those  of  the  thousand 
springs  which,  from  Vichy  or  Baden- 
Baden  to  Luchon,  act  with  such  effi- 
cacy on  the  human  system  ?  The 
Massabielle  water  has  merely  some 
very  powerful  mineral  qualities,  like 
those  which  are  found  in  the  springs 
of  Bareges  or  Cauterets,  a  little  high- 
er up  in  the  mountains.  The  grotto 
of  Lourdes  has  no  connection  with 
religion,  but  comes  within  the  pro- 
vince of  medical  science." 

A  letter,  which  we  take  at  random 
from  our  documents,  presents  better 
than  we  could  the  attitude  of  the 
savants  of  the  neighborhood  regard- 
ing the  wonders  worked  by  the  Mas- 
sabielle water.  This  letter,  written 
by  an  eminent  physician  of  Jhat  re- 
gion, Dr.  Lary,  who  had  no  faith 
whatever  in  the  miraculous  explana- 
tions of  the  cures,  was  addressed 
by  him  to  a  member  of  the  faculty  : 

"  OSSUN,  April  28,  1858. 

"  I  hasten,  my  dear  sir,  to  send  you  the 
details  which  you  ask  of  me  in  regard  to 
the  case  of  the  woman  Galop  of  our 
commune. 

"  This  woman,  in  consequence  of  rheu- 
matism in  the  left  hand,  had  lost  the 
power  of  holding  anything  with  it.rHence, 
if  she  wished  to  wash  or  carry  a  glass 
with  this  hand,  she  was  very  apt  to  drop 
it,  and  she  was  obliged  to  give  up  draw- 
ing water  from  the  well,  because  this 
hand  was  unable  to  hold  the  rope.  For 
more  than  eight  months  she  had  not 
made  her  bed  and  had  not  spun  a  single 
skein  of  thread. 

"  Now,  after  a  single  journey  to  Lourdes, 
where  she  made  use  of  the  water  irrter 
nally  and  externally,  she  spins  with  case, 
makes  her  bed,  draws  water,  washes  and 
carries  the  glasses  and  dishes,  and,  in  short, 
uses  this  hand  as  well  as  the  other. 

"  The  movements  of  the  left  hand  are 
not  yet  quite  as  free  as  before  the  illness, 
but  90  per  cent,  of  the  power  that  had 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


101 


been  lost  before  the  use  of  the  water  from 
the  grotto  at  Lourdes  has  been  restored. 
The  woman  proposes,  however,  to  go 
again  to  the  grotto.  I  shall  ask  her  to 
pass  your  way  that  you  may  see  her,  and 
convince  yourself  of  all  that  I  have  said. 

"  You  will  find,  in  examining  her  case, 
an  incomplete  anchylosis  of  the  lower 
joint  of  the  forefinger.  If  the  repeated 
use  of  the  water  of  the  grotto  destroys 
this  morbid  condition,  it  will  be  an  addi- 
tional proof  of  its  alkaline  properties.* 

"  In  conclusion,  I  beg  you  to  believe  me 
vours  very  faithfully, 

"  LARV,  M.D." 

This  explanation,  once  admitted 
and  considered  as  certain  in  advance, 
the  doctors  were  less  unwilling  to  ac- 
cept the  cures  worked  by  the  water 
of  the  grotto ;  and  from  this  period 
they  set  to  work  to  generalize  their 
thesis,  and  to  apply  it  almost  without 
any  distinction  to  all  cases,  even  to 
those  which  were  marked  by  the 
most  amazing  rapidity,  which  could 
by  no  means  be  ascribed  to  the  ordi- 
nary action  of  mineral  waters.  The 
learned  personages  of  the  place  got 
out  of  this  difficulty  by  attributing  to 
the  water  of  the  grotto  extremely 
powerful  properties,  such  as  had  been 
previously  unknown.  It  mattered 
little  that  they  discarded  all  the  laws 
of  nature  in  their  theories,  provided 
that  heaven  got  no  profit  thence. 
They  willingly  admitted  the  preter- 
natural in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  su- 
pernatural. 

There  were  among  the  laithful 
some  perverse  and  troublesome  per- 
sons, who  by  impertinent  remarks  in- 
terfered with  the  profound  conclu- 
sions of  the  scientific  coterie. 

"  How,"  they  said,  "  is  it  that  this 
mineral  spring,  so  extraordinarily  pow- 
erful that  it  works  instantaneous  cures, 
was  found  by  Bernadette  when  in  a 
state  of  ecstasy,  and  came  after  her 
accounts  of  certain  celestial  visions, 


*  The  patient  was,  in  fact,  entirely  cured  at  the 
second  visit  to  Lourdes. 


and  apparently  in  support  of  them  ? 
How  did  it  happen  that  the  fountain 
sprang  out  precisely  at  the  moment 
when  Bernadette  believed  herself  to 
hear  a  heavenly  voice  telling  her  to 
drink  and  bathe  ?  And  how  is  it 
that  this  fountain,  which  appeared 
suddenly  under  the  eyes  of  all  the 
people  in  such  very  unusual  circum- 
stances, yields  not  ordinary  water, 
but  a  water  which,  as  you  yourselves 
acknowledge,  has  already  cured  so 
many  sick  persons  whose  cases  had 
been  abandoned  as  hopeless,  and 
who  have  used  it  without  medical 
advice,  and  merely  in  the  spirit  of  re- 
ligious faith  ?" 

These  objections,  repeated  under 
many  different  forms,  provoked  the 
free-thinkers,  philosophers,  and  sa- 
rants  exceedingly.  They  tried  to 
evade  them  by  answers  which  were 
really  so  poor  and  miserable  that 
they  ought,  one  would  think,  to  have 
hardly  presented  a  good  appearance 
even  in  their  authors'  eyes ;  but  then, 
to  find  any  others  was  no  doubt  very 
difficult. 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  they.  "  Coffee 
was  discovered  by  a  goat.  A  shep- 
herd found  by  chance  the  waters  of 
Luchon.  It  was  also  by  accident 
that  the  ruins  of  Pompeii  were 
brought  to  light  by  the  pickaxe  of  a 
laborer.  Why  should  we  be  so  much 
surprised  that  this  little  girl,  while 
amusing  herself  by  digging  in  the 
ground  during  her  hallucination, 
should  have  come  upon  a  spring,  and 
that  the  water  of  this  spring  should 
be  mineral  and  alkaline  ?  That  she 
imagined  at  the  moment  that  the 
Blessed  Virgin  was  before  her,  and 
that  she  heard  a  voice  directing  her 
to  the  fountain,  is  merely  a  coinci- 
dence, entirely  accidental,  but  of 
which  superstition  tries  to  make  a 
miracle.  On  this  occasion,  as  on  the 
others,  chance  has  done  everything, 
and  has  been  the  real  discoverer." 


IO2 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes, 


The  faithful  were  not,  however, 
moved  by  this  sort  of  argument. 
They  had  the  bad  taste  to  think  that 
to  explain  everything  by  accidental 
coincidence  was  to  do  violence  to 
reason  under  the  pretext  of  defend- 
ing it.  This  irritated  the  free-think- 
ers, who,  though  acknowledging  at 
last  the  reality  of  the  cures,  deplored 
more  than  ever  'the  religious  and  su- 
pernatural character  which  the  com- 
mon people  insisted  upon  giving  to 
these  strange  events ;  and,  as  was  na- 
tural under  the  circumstances,  they 
were  inclined  to  resort  to  force  to 
stop  the  popular  movement.  "  If 
these  waters  are  mineral,"  they  be- 
gan to  say,  "  they  belong  to  the  state 
or  to  the  municipality  ;  people  should 
not  use  them  except  by  the  advice  of 
a  doctor;  and  an  establishment  for 
baths  should  be  built  at  the  spot, 
not  a  chapel." 

The  science  of  Lourdes,  forced  to 
assent  to  the  facts  in  this  case,  had 
arrived  at  the  state  of  mind  just  de- 
scribed when  the  measures  of  the 
prefect,  relative  to  the  objects  de- 
posited in  the  grotto,  and  the  at- 
tempt to  imprison  Bernadette  under 
the  pretext  of  insanity,  were  an- 
nounced— this  attempt,  as  we  have 
seen,  having  been  defeated  by  the 
unexpected  intervention  of  the  cure, 
M.  Peyramale. 


IV. 


A  CERTAIN  and  official  basis  for  all 
these  theses  of  the  desperate  adhe- 
rents of  the  medical  theory  was  still 
a  desideratum.  M.  Massy  had  al- 
ready bethought  himself  of  asking 
such  a  basis  from  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  and  indubitable  sciences 
of  the  age — namely,  that  of  chemis- 
try. With  this  view,  he  had  applied, 
through  the  mayor  of  Lourdes,  to  a 
chemist  of  some  distinction  in  the 
department — M.  Latour  de  Trie. 


To  show,  not  in  detail  by  the  ex- 
amination of  each  special  case,  but 
once  for  all,  that  these  cures  which 
were  rising  up  as  formidable  objec- 
tions were  naturally  explained  by  the 
chemical  constitution  of  the  new 
spring,  seemed  to  him  a  master- 
stroke ;  and  he  considered  that,  in 
accomplishing  it,  he  would  lay  sci- 
ence and  philosophy  under  obliga- 
tion, not  to  mention  also  the  admin- 
istration, represented  by  the  minister, 
M.  Rouland. 

Seeing  that  it  was  impossible  to 
have  Bernadette  arrested  as  insane, 
he  urged  the  analysis,  which  was  to 
show  officially  the  mineral  and  heal- 
ing qualities  of  the  water.  It  was 
becoming  imperatively  necessary  to 
get  rid  of  the  intrusive  supernatural 
power  which,  after  having  produced 
the  fountain,  was  now  curing  the  sick 
people,  and  threatening  to  pass  all 
bounds.  Though  its  abominable  in- 
fluence should  continue  strong  in 
many  quarters,  a  really  official  analy- 
sis might  be  of  great  service. 

The  chemist  of  the  prefecture, 
therefore,  set  to  work  to  make  this 
precious  investigation  of  the  water 
from  Massabielle,  and,  with  a  good 
conscience,  if  not  with  perfect  sci- 
ence, he  found  at  the  bottom  of  his 
crucibles  a  solution  perfectly  agree- 
ing with  the  explanations  of  the  doc- 
tors, the  reasonings  of  the  philoso- 
phers, and  the  desires  of  the  prefect. 
But  was  truth  also  as  well  satisfied 
with  it  as  the  prefecture,  the  philoso- 
phers, and  the  faculty  ?  At  first, 
perhaps,  this  question  was  not  pro- 
posed, but  it  lay  in  store  for  a  future 
occasion.  But,  not  to  consider  this 
for  the  present,  let  us  see  what  was 
this  analysis  which  M.  Latour  de 
Trie,  chemist  of  the  administration, 
addressed  officially,  on  the  6th  of 
May,  to  the  mayor  of  Lourdes,  and 
which  the  latter  immediately  forward- 
ed to  the  Baron  Massy  : 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


103 


"  CHEMICAL   ANALYSIS. 

"  The  water  of  the  grotto  of  Lourdes 
is  very  clear,  without  smell  or  decided 
taste.  Its  specific  gravity  is  very  nearly 
that  of  distilled  water.  Its  temperature 
at  the  spring  is  15°  Cent.  (59°  Fahr.) 

"  It  contains  the  following  elements  : 

"  ist.  Chlorides  of  sodium,  calcium 
and  magnesium  in  abundance.* 

"  2d.  Carbonates  of  lime  and  of  mag- 
nesia. 

"  3d.  Silicates  of  lime  and  of  alumina. 

"  4th.  Oxide  of  iron. 

"  $th.  Sulphate  and  carbonate  of  soda. 

"  6th.  Phosphate  (traces). 

"  7th.  Organic  matter — ulmine. 

"  The  complete  absence  of  sulphate  of 
lime  in  this  water  is  also  established  by 
this  analysis. 

"  This  remarkable  peculiarity  is  entire- 
ly to  its  advantage,  and  entitles  it  to  be 
considered  as  very  favorable  to  digestion, 
and  as  giving  to  the  animal  economy  a 
disposition  favorable  to  the  equilibrium 
of  the  vital  action. 

"  We  do  not  think  it  imprudent  to  say, 
in  consideration  of  the  number  ahd  qual- 
ity of  the  substances  which  compose  it, 
that  medical  science  will,  perhaps,  soon 
recognize  in  it  special  curative  properties 
which  will  entitle  it  to  be  classed  among 
the  waters  which  constitute  the  mineral 
wealth  of  our  department. 

"  Be  pleased  to  accept,  etc. 

"  A.  LATOUR  DE  TRIE." 

The  civil  order  is  not  so  well  dis- 
ciplined as  the  military,  and,  through 
misunderstanding,  false  steps  are  oc- 
casionally taken  in  it.  The  prefect, 
in  the  multitude  of  his  avocations, 
had  omitted  to  give  his  orders  to  the 
editors  ot  the  official  newspaper  of 
the  department,  the  Ere  Impe'riale, 
so  that,  while  the  chemist  of  the  pre- 
fecture said  white,  its  journalist  said 
black;  while  the  former  was  recog- 
nizing in  the  spring  at  Lourdes  one 
of  the  future  medical  and  mineral 
treasures  of  the  Pyrenees,  the  latter 


*  The  presence  of  chloride  of  sodium  (common 
salt"),  to  say  nothing  of  the  others,  in  abundance, 
without  a  decided  taste  in  the  water,  is  a  little 
mysterious.  The  original  reads:  "  Ch.orures  de 
soude,  de  chaux  et  de  magnesie:  abondants."— 
NOTE  BY  TRANSLATOR. 


was  calling  it  dirty  water,  and  jok- 
ing about  the  cures  which  had  been 
obtained. 

"  It  is  needless  to  say,"  he  wrote 
on  the  precise  day  on  which  M.  La- 
tour  de  Trie  sent  in  his  report — that 
is,  on  the  6th  of  May — "  that  the 
famous  grotto  turns  out  miracles  in 
abundance,  and  that  our  department 
is  inundated  with  them.  At  every 
corner  you  will  meet  with  people 
who  tell  you  of  a  thousand  cures 
obtained  by  the  use  of  some  dirty 
water. 

"  The  doctors  will  soon  have  noth- 
ing to  do,  and  the  rheumatic  and 
consumptive  people  will  have  disap- 
peared from  the  department,"  etc. 

Notwithstanding  these  discrepan- 
cies, which  might  have  been  avoided, 
it  must  be  acknowledged  that  Baron 
Massy  was,  on  the  whole,  attentive 
to  his  business.  On  the  4th  of  May, 
at  about  noon,  he  had  delivered  his 
address  to  the  mayors  of  the  canton 
of  Lourdes,  and  given  his  orders. 
On  the  4th  of  May,  in  the  evening, 
the  grotto  had  been  stripped  of  the 
offerings  and  '  ex-wtos.  On  the 
morning  of  the  5th,  he  had  ascertain- 
ed the  impossibility  of  having  Berna- 
dette  arrested,  and  had  abandoned 
this  measure.  On  the  6th,  in  the 
evening,  he  received  the  analysis  of 
his  chemist.  Fortified  with  this  im- 
portant document,  he  waited  the 
course  of  events. 

What  was  about  to  take  place  at 
Lourdes  ?  What  would  happen  at 
the  grotto  ?  What  would  be  done 
by  Bernadette,  whose  every  move-, 
ment  was  watched  by  the  Argus  eyes 
of  Jacomet  and  of  his  agents  ?  Would 
not  the  fountain  at  the  grotto  disap- 
pear in  the  coming  hot  weather,  and 
thus  put  an  end  to  the  whole  busi- 
ness ?  What  attitude  would  the  peo- 
ple assume  ?  Such  were  the  hopes 
and  anxieties  of  the  Baron  Massy, 
imperial  prefect. 


104 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


v. 


AT  the  grotto  the  miraculous  foun- 
tain continued  to  flow,  abundant  and 
clear,  with  that  character  of  quiet 
perpetuity  which  is  generally  found 
in  springs  coming  from  the  rock. 

The  supernatural  apparition  did 
not  cease  to  assert  its  existence,  and 
to  prove  it  by  benefits  conferred. 

The  grace  of  God  continued  to 
descend  visibly  and  invisibly  upon  the 
people,  sometimes  quick  as  the  light- 
ning which  flashes  through  the  clouds, 
sometimes  gradual  like  the  light  of 
dawn. 

We  can  only  speak  of  those  graces 
which  were  external  and  manifest. 

At  six  or  seven  kilometres  (four 
miles)  from  Lourdes,  at  Loubajac, 
lived  a  good  woman,  a  peasant,  who 
had  formerly  been  accustomed  to  la- 
bor, but  whom  an  accident  had  for 
eighteen  months  past  reduced  to  a 
most  painful  inaction.  Her  name 
was  Catherine  Latapie-Chouat.  In 
October,  1856,  having  climbed  an 
oak  to  knock  down  some  acorns,  she 
had  lost  her  balance,  and  suffered  a 
violent  fall,  Avhich  caused  a  severe 
dislocation  of  the  right  arm  and 
hand.  The  reduction — as  is  stated 
in  the  report  and  the  official  state- 
ment, which  are  now  before  us — 
though  performed  immediately  by 
an  able  surgeon,  and  though  it 
nearly  restored  the  arm  to  its  normal 
state,  had  nevertheless  not  prevent- 
ed an  extreme  weakness  in  it.  The 
most  intelligent  and  continuous  treat- 
ment had  been  ineffectual  in  remov- 
ing the  stiffness  of  the  three  most  im- 
portant fingers  of  the  hand.  The 
thumb  and  first  two  fingers  remained 
obstinately  bent  and  paralyzed,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  either  to 
straighten  them  or  to  enable  them  to 
move  in  the  least.  The  unfortunate 
peasant,  still  young  enough  for  much 
labor,  for  she  was  hardly  thirty-eight, 


could  not  sew,  spin,  knit,  or  take  care 
of  the  house.  The  doctor,  after  having 
treated  her  case  for  a  long  time  with- 
out success,  had  told  her  that  it  was 
incurable,  and  that  she  must  resign 
herself  to  give  up  the  use  of  that 
hand.  This  sentence,  from  such  a 
reliable  authority,  was  for  the  poor 
woman  the  announcement  of  an  irre- 
parable misfortune.  The  poor  have 
no  resource  but  work ;  for  them  com- 
pulsory inaction  is  inevitable  misery. 

Catherine  had  become  pregnant 
nine  or  ten  months  after  the  accident, 
and  her  time  was  approaching  at  the 
date  of  our  narrative.  One  night  she 
awaked  with  a  sudden  thought  or  in- 
spiration. "  An  interior  spirit,"  to 
quote  her  own  words  to  myself, 
"  said  to  me  as  it  were  with  irresis- 
tible force,  '  Go  to  the  grotto  !  go  to 
the  grotto,  and  you  will  be  cured !'  " 
Who  this  mysterious  being  was  who 
spoke  thus,  and  whom  this  ignorant 
peasant — ignorant  at  least  as  far  as 
human  knowledge  is  concerned — 
called  a  "  spirit,"  is  no  doubt  known 
by  her  angel  guardian. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. Catherine  called  two  of  her 
children  who  were  large  enough  to 
accompany  her. 

"  Do  you  remain  to  work,"  said 
she  to  her  husband.  "  I  am  going 
to  the  grotto." 

"  In  your  present  condition  it  is 
impossible,"  replied  he ;  "  to  go  to 
Lourdes  and  return  is  full  three 
leagues." 

"  Nothing  is  impossible.  I  am  go- 
ing to  get  cured." 

No  objection  had  the  least  effect 
upon  her,  and  she  set  out  with  her 
two  children.  It  was  a  fine  moon- 
light night ;  but  the  awful  silence, 
occasionally  broken  by  strange  and 
mysterious  sounds,  the  solitude  of 
the  plains  only  dimly  visible,  and 
seemingly  peopled  by  vague  forms, 
terrified  the  children.  They  trem- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


105 


bled,  and  would  have  stopped  a<-  eve- 
ry step  had  not  Catherine  reassured 
them.  She  had  no  fear,  and  felt  that 
she  was  going  to  the  fountain  of 
life. 

She  arrived  at  Lourdes  at  day- 
break, and  happened  to  meet  Berna- 
dette.  Some  one  telling  her  who  it 
was,  Catherine,  without  saying 
anything,  approached  the  child 
blessed  by  the  Lord  and  beloved  by 
Mary,  and  touched  her  dress  hum- 
bly. Then  she  continued  her  jour- 
ney to  the  rocks  of  Massabielle,  where, 
in  spite  of  the  early  hour,  a  great 
many  pilgrims  were  already  assembled 
and  were  on  their  knees. 

Catherine  and  her  children  also 
knelt  and  prayed.  Then  she  rose, 
and  quietly  bathed  her  hand  in  the 
marvellous  water. 

Her  fingers  immediately  straight- 
ened, became  flexible,  and  under  her 
control.  The  Blessed  Virgin  had 
cured  the  incurable. 

What  did  Catherine  do  ?  She  was 
not  surprised.  She  did  not  utter  a 
cry,  but  again  fell  on  her  knees,  and 
gave  thanks  to  God  and  to  Mary. 
For'the  first  time  for  eighteen  months, 
she  prayed  with  her  hands  joined,  and 
clasped  the  resuscitated  fingers  with 
the  others. 

She  remained  thus  for  a  long  time, 
absorbed  in  an  act  of  thanksgiving. 
Such  moments  are  sweet ;  the  soul  is 
glad  to  forget  itself,  and  thinks  that 
it  is  in  Paradise. 

But  violent  sufferings  recalled  Ca- 
therine to  the  earth — this  earth  of 
sighs  and  tears,  where  the  curse  pro- 
nounced upon  the  guilty  mother  of 
the  human  race  has  never  ceased  to 
be  felt  by  her  innumerable  posterity. 
We  have  said  that  Catherine  was 
very  near  her  confinement,  and  as 
she  was  still  upon  her  knees  she 
found  herself  suddenly  seized  by  the 
terrible  pains  of  childbirth.  She 
shuddered,  seeing  that  there  would 


be  no  time  to  go  even  to  Lourdes, 
and  that  her  delivery  was  about  to 
occur  in  the  presence  of  the  surround- 
ing multitude.  And  for  a  moment 
she  looked  around  with  terror  and 
anguish. 

But  this  terror  did  not  last  long. 

Catherine  returned  to  the  Queen 
whom  nature  obeys. 

"Good  Mother,"  said  she  simply, 
"  you  have  just  shown  me  so  great  a 
favor,  I  know  you  will  spare  me  the 
shame  of  being  delivered  before  all 
these  people,  and  at  least  grant  that 
I  may  return  home  before  giving  birth 
to  my  child." 

Immediately  all  her  pains  ceased, 
and  the  interior  spirit  of  whom  she 
spoke  to  us,  and  who,  we  believe,  was 
her  angel  guardian,  said  to  her: 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Set  out 
with  confidence ;  you  will  arrive  safe- 

If-" 

"  Let  us  go  home  now,"  said  Ca- 
therine to  her  two  children. 

Accordingly  she  took  the  road  to 
Loubajac,  holding  them  by  the  hand, 
without  intimating  to  any  one  her 
critical  state,  and  without  showing 
any  uneasiness,  even  to  the  midwife 
of  her  own  village,  who  happened  to 
be  there  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd 
of  pilgrims.  With  inexpressible  hap- 
piness she  quietly  traversed  the  long 
and  rough  road  which  separated 
her  from  home.  The  two  children 
were  not  afraid  of  it  now ;  the  sun 
was  risen,  and  their  mother  was 
cured. 

As  soon  as  she  returned,  she  wish- 
ed still  to  pray ;  but  immediately  her 
pains  returned.  In  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  she  was  the  mother  of  a  third 
son.* 


*  The  reader  will  perhaps  like  to  see  the  re- 
ports of  the  episcopal  commission  on  this  case  : 

"  Hardly  had  Catherine  Latapie-Chouat  plung- 
ed her  hand  into  the  water,  than  she  felt  herself 
to  be  entirely  cured  ;  her  fingers  recovered  their 
natural  suppleness  and  elasticity,  so  that  she 
could  quickly  open  and  shut  them,  and  use  them 


io6 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


At  the  same  time,  a  woman  of  La- 
marque,  Marianne  Garrot,  had  been 
relieved  in  less  than  ten  days,  merely 
by  lotions  with  the  water  from  the 
grotto,  of  a  white  eruption  which  had 
covered  her  Avhole  face,  and  which 
for  two  years  had  resisted  all  treat- 
ment. Dr.  Amadou,  of  Pontacq,  her 
physician,  was  satisfied  of  the  fact, 
and  was  an  incontestable  witness  of 
it  subsequently  before  the  episcopal 
commission.* 


with  as  much  ease  as  before  t'ho  accident  of  Oc- 
tober, 1856. 

"  From  that  time  she  has  had  no  more  trouble 
with  them. 

"  The  deformity  of  the  hand  of  Catherine  La- 
tapie,  and  the  impossibility  of  using  it.  being  due 
to  an  anchylosis  of  the  joints  of  the  fingers,  and 
to  a  complete  lesion  of  the  nerves  or  the  flexor 
tendons,  it  is  certain  that  the  case  was  a  very  se- 
rious one;  as  also  by  the  uselessness  of  all  the 
means  of  cure  used  during  eighteen  months,  and 
by  the  avowal  of  the  physician,  who  had  declar- 
ed to  this  woman  that  her  condition  was  irreme- 
diable. 

"  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  failure  of  such 
long  and  repeated  attempts,  the  employment  of 
various  active  healing  agents,  and  the  statement 
of  the  physician,  this  severe  lesion  disappeared 
immediately.  Now,  this  sudden  disappearance 
of  the  infirmity,  and  restoration  of  the  fingers  to 
their  original  state,  is  evidently  beyond  and 
above  the  usual  course  of  nature,  and  of  the  laws 
which  govern  the  efficacy  of  its  agents. 

"  The  means  by  which  this  result  has  been 
brought  about  leave  no  doubt  in  this  respect, 
and  establish  this  conclusion  incontestably.  In 
fact,  it  has  been  averred  (a)  that  the  Massabielle 
water  is  of  an  ordinary  character,  without  the 
lesfst  curative  properties.  It  cannot,  then,  by  its 
natural  action,  have  straightened  the  fingers  of 
Catherine  Latapie  and  restored  their  suppleness 
and  agility,  which  had  not  been  accomplished  by 
the  scientific  remedies  which  were  so  vari- 
ous and  used  for  so  long  a  time.  The  wonderful 
result,  then,  which  the  mere  touch  of  this  water 
immediately  produced,  cannot  be  ascribed  to  it, 
but  we  must  rise  to  a  superior  cause,  and  do  hom- 
age for  it  to. a  supernatural  power,  of  which  the 
water  of  Massabielle  has  been,  as  it  were,  the  veil 
and  inert  instrument. 

"  Besides,  if  ordinary  water  had  been  possessed 
of  such  a  prodigious  power,  Catherine  Latapie 
would  have  experienced  its  effect  long  before  by 
the  daily  use  which  she  made  of  it  in  washing 
herself  and  her  children  ;  for  she  had  daily  em- 
ployed for  this  purpose  water  exactly  similar  to 
that  at  the  grotto." — Extract  from  the  i*,th  pro- 
ds-verbal of  the  commission. 

• 

(a)  This  was,  in  fact,  authentically  averred,  the 
administrative  analysis  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, at  the  time  of  \}e&  proces-verbaux  of  the 
commission. 

*  We  will  also  give  the  conclusions  of  the  com- 
mission on  this  point. 
"  An  eruptive  affection  of  this  sort  might  not  of 


At  Borderes,  near  Nay,  the  widow 
Marie  Lanou-Domenge,  eighty  years 
old,  had  been  for  three  years  a  sufferer 
from  an  incomplete  paralysis  in  the 
whole  left  side.  She  could  not  take 
a  step  without  assistance,  and  was 
unable  to  do  any  work. 

Dr.  Poueymiroo,  of  Mirepoix,  af- 
ter having  ineffectually  used  some 
remedies  to  restore  life  in  the  palsied 
parts,  though  continuing  his  visits, 
had  abandoned  medical  treatment  of 
the  case. 

Hope,  however,  is  with  difficulty 
extinguished  in  the  hearts  of  the  sick. 

"  When  shall  I  get  well  ?"  the  good 
woman  would  say  to  Dr.  Poueymi- 
roo, every  time  that  he  came. 

"  You  will  get  well  when  the  good 
God  sees  fit,"  was  the  invariable  reply 
of  the  doctor,  who  was  far  from  suspect- 
ing the  prophetic  nature  of  his  words. 

"  Why  should  I  not  believe  what 

itself  have  a  very  grave  character,  nor  threaten 
serious  danger  or  disastrous  consequences. 
Still,  that  from  which  Marianne  Garrot  had  suf- 
fered would  indicate  by  its  duration,  by  its  resis- 
tance to  the  treatment  which  had  been  prescrib- 
ed and  faithfully  followed,  and  by  its  continual 
and  progressive  spreading,  a  very  decidedly  ma- 
lignant character,  the  inoculation,  so  to  speak,  of 
a  deeply  seated  virus,  to  expel  which  would  re- 
quire long  and  persevering  attention,  with  a  pa- 
tient continuance  of  the  treatment  already  adopt- 
ed or  of  some  other  more  appropriate  and  effec- 
tual one. 

"The  rapid  though  not  instantaneous  disappear- 
ance of  the  white  eruption  from  the  face  of  the 
patient  is  very  different  from  the  usual  effect  of 
chemical  preparations  ;  for  the  first  lotion  produc- 
ed a  perceptible  improvement  or  partial  cure 
instantaneously,  which  was  advanced  by  the 
second,  made  four  days  afterward;  and  without 
the  aid  of  any  other  remedy,  these  two  lotions 
accomplished  a  complete  restoration  in  a  few 
days  by  a  gradual  and  rapid  progress. 

"Now,  the  liquid  the  employment  of  which  pro- 
duced this  speedy  effect  was  nothing  but  water, 
without  any  special  properties,  and  without  any 
relation  or  appropriateness  to  the  disease  which 
it  overcame  ;  and  which,  besides,  if  it  had  possess- 
ed any  such  qualities,  would  long  before  have 
produced  the  effect  through  the  daily  use  which 
the  patient  made  of  it  for  drinking  and  washing. 

"This  cure  cannot,  then,  be  ascribed  to  the  na- 
tural efficacy  of  the  Massabielle  water,  and  a  1 
the  circumstances,  as  it  would  seem — namely,  the 
tenacity  and  activity  of  the  eruption,  the  rapidity 
of  the  cure,  and  the  inappropriateness  of  the  ele- 
ment which  brought  it  about — concur  to  show  in 
it  a  cause  foreign  and  superior  to  natural  agents." 
— Extract  from  the  \^th  frocks-verbal  of  the 
commission. 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


107 


he  says,  and  throw  myself  direct- 
ly on  the  divine  goodness  ?"  said  the 
old  peasant  woman  one  day  to  her- 
self, when  she  heard  people  talking 
of  the  fountain  of  Massabielle. 

Accordingly,  she  sent  some  one  to 
Lourdes  to  get  at  the  spring  itself  a 
little  of  this  healing  water. 

When  it  was  brought  to  her,  she 
was  much  excited. 

"  Take  me  out  of  bed,"  said  she, 
"  and  hold  me  up." 

They  took  her  out,  and  dressed 
her  hurriedly.  Both  the  actors  and 
spectators  in  this  scene  were  some- 
what disturbed. 

Two  persons  held  her  up,  placing 
their  hands  under  her  shoulders. 

A  glass  of  water  from  the  grotto 
was  presented  to  her. 

She  extended  her  trembling  hand 
toward  the  quickening  water  and 
dipped  her  fingers  in  it.  Then  she 
made  a  great  sign  of  the  cross  on 
herself,  raised  the  glass  to  her  lips, 
and  slowly  drank  the  contents,  no 
doubt  absorbed  in  fervent  and  silent 
prayer. 

She  became  so  pale  that  they 
thought  for  the  moment  that  she  was 
going  to  faint. 

But  while  they  were  exerting  them- 
selves to  prevent  her  from  falling,  she 
rose  with  a  quick  and  joyful  move- 
ment and  looked  around.  Then 
she  cried  out  with  a  voice  of  tri- 
umph : 

"  Let  me  go — quick  !  I  am  cured." 

Those  who  were  holding  her  with- 


drew their  arms  partially  and  with 
some  hesitation.  She  immediately 
freed  herself  from  them,  and  walked 
with  as  much  confidence  as  if  she 
had  never  been  ill. 

Some  one,  however,  who  still  had 
some  fear  of  the  result,  offered  her  a 
stick  to  lean  on. 

She,  looked  at  it  with  a  smile ;  then 
took  it  and  contemptuously  threw  it 
far  away,  as  a  thing  which  was  no 
longer  of  use.  And  from  that  day, 
she  employed  herself  as  before  in 
hard  out-door  work. 

Some  visitors,  who  came  to  see 
her  and  to  convince  themselves  of  the 
fact,  asked  her  to  walk  in  their  pres- 
ence. 

"  Walk,  did  you  say  ?  I  will  run 
for  you!"  And,  true  to  her  word, 
she  began  to  run. 

This  occurred  in  the  month  of 
May.  In  the  following  July,  the 
people  pointed  out  the  vigorous  oc 
togenarian  as  a  curiosity,  as  she  mow- 
ed the  grain,  and  was  by  no  means 
the  last  in  the  hard  labors  of  the 
harvest. 

Her  physician,  the  excellent  Dr. 
Poueymiroo,  praised  God  for  this 
evident  miracle,  and  subsequently, 
with  the  examining  commission,  sign- 
ed the  proces-verbal  on  the  extraor- 
dinary events  which  we  have  just 
related,  in  which  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  recognize  "  the  direct  and  evident 
action  of  divine  power."  * 

*  Ninth  proces-verbal  of  the  commission. 


TO    BE    CONTINUED. 


loS 


Our  Northern  Neighbors. 


OUR    NORTHERN    NEIGHBORS. 


IN  the  adjustment  of  differences 
to  which  conflicting  interests  or  a 
spirit  of  rivalry  may  give  birth,  gov- 
ernments, like  individuals,  are  prone 
to  satisfy  themselves  with  conven- 
tions limited  to  matters  immediately 
in  dispute.  They  are  like  medical 
doctors,  who  treat  symptoms  as  the 
malady  to  be  cured,  and,  satisfied 
with  alleviating  present  pain,  leave 
its  causes  to  war  against  mortal  life, 
until  disease  becomes  chronic  and  in- 
curable. 

Whether  the  labors  of  the  Joint 
High  Commission,  now  sitting  in 
Washington,  will  be  of  this  descrip- 
tion, remains  to  be  seen;  but 
such,  it  appears  to  us,  has  been 
the  character  of  treaties  or  conven- 
tions affecting  commercial  relations 
with  our  Canadian  and  provincial 
neighbors.  They  seem  not  to  have 
been  founded  upon  any  intelligent 
consideration  of  the  wants  of  con- 
tracting parties,  but,  presuppos- 
ing that  there  must  be  conflicting 
interests,  are  devised  to  prevent  rival 
industries  from  merging  in  unfriend- 
liness and  strife.  We  ask,  then, 
whether  these  rival  interests  have  le- 
gitimate existence.  The  answer  to 
this  question  will  be  derived  from  an 
examination  of  the  statistics  of  the 
two  countries — their  agricultural  and 
other  products — their  climatic  and 
social  conditions,  and  the  commer- 
cial relations  actually  subsisting  be- 
tween them,  as  well  as  those  which 
both  sustain  to  other  countries  and 
peoples. 

The  productions  of  a  country  are 
properly  classified  according  to  the 
sources  whence  they  are  derived. 

We  have,  then,  five  distinct  classes 
of  products,  namely :  The  natural 


productions  of  the  sea,  the  earth,  the 
forest,  and  the  results  of  industry 
applied  to  agriculture  and  manufac- 
tures. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  map  of 
British  America.  Beginning  at  the 
east,  the  waters  of  Newfoundland  and 
the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence  are  rich  in 
fisheries.  They  yield  salmon,  mac- 
kerel, codfish,  haddock,  ling,  herring, 
and  oysters,  in  great  abundance. 
Newfoundland  has  not  enough  of 
agriculture  to  save  its  own  popula- 
tion from  absolute  suffering  when 
there  is  a  failure  in  the  catch  of  fish 
along  its  shores.  It  possesses  rich 
though  undeveloped  deposits  of  cop- 
per, iron,  and  other  ores.  Prince 
Edward  Island,  in  the  centre  of  the 
mackerel  fisheries,  is,  perhaps,  more 
favored  by  nature  than  the  other  ma- 
ritime provinces.  Every  acre  of  its 
surface  may  be  reckoned  as  arable 
land.  Its  agriculture,  always  limited 
to  the  growth  of  hay,  oats,  potatoes, 
and  turnips,  is  only  partially  deve- 
loped, though  even  now  yielding 
a  considerable  surplus  for  export. 
Its  forests  are  exhausted  of  timber. 
And  though,  from  habit,  its  people 
still  continue  to  build  wooden  ships 
to  send  "  home  "  for  sale,  they  are 
obliged  to  import  the  material  for 
their  construction.  The  southern 
part  of  Nova  Scotia  contains  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  good  farm  lands; 
yielding  the  invariable  crops  of  hay, 
oats,  potatoes,  and  turnips.  In 
some  districts,  apples  and  pears, 
of  excellent  quality,  are  grown  in 
abundance.  The  eastern  portion, 
especially  the  island  of  Cape  Bre- 
ton, is  rich  in  coal,  lime,  freestone, 
and  marble ;  all  so  placed  as  to  be 
easily  accessible  to  commerce.  Even 


Our  NortJiern  Neighbors. 


109 


now,  despite  protective  duties  on  co- 
lonial products,  the  streets  of  some 
of  our  Atlantic  cities  are  lighted 
with  gas  from  Nova  Scotia  coal. 

Gold  has  been  found  in  sufficient . 
quantity  to  afford  opportunity  for 
speculation,  but  not  for  profit.  The 
yield  for  1867  was  27,583  oz.  = 
£413,745;  for  1868,  20,541  oz.  = 
£308,115.  The  same  amount  of 
capital  applied  to  the  growing  of  po- 
tatoes would  doubtless  afford  a  much 
larger  return.  Coal  is  the  most  im- 
portant mineral  product;  and  its 
chief  market  is  found  in  the  United 
States.  The  net  amount  mined  in 
one  year  was  418,313  tons;  sold 
for  home  consumption  and  to  neigh- 
boring colonies,  176,392  tons;  sent 
to  the  United  States,  241,921  tons. 

New  Brunswick  offers  the  same 
agricultural  products  as  the  neigh- 
boring provinces  of  Prince  Edward 
Island  and  Nova  Scotia.  A  great 
part  of  its  territory,  like  the  northern 
part  of  Maine,  is  cold,  rocky,  and 
inarable.  But  its  forests  yield  large 
quantities  of  pine  lumber,  oak,  beech, 
maple,  and  other  valuable  woods, 
and  bark  for  tanning  leather.  This 
source  of  wealth  is,  however,  rapidly 
failing.  The  forests  begin  to  give 
evidence  of  exhaustion.  St.  John 
already  asks  what  shall  be  her  re- 
source when  the  lumber  is  gone. 
Formerly,  ship-building  was  a  large 
interest  in  these  lower  provinces. 
But  from  the  growing  scarcity  of 
ship  timber,  as  well  as  from  the  more 
general  use  of  iron  vessels,  it  has 
been  declining  from  year  to  year. 

We  see,  then,  what  these  provin- 
ces can  now  contribute  to  commerce  ; 
and  we  also  see  their  prime  deficien- 
cy. They  cannot  supply  their  peo- 
ple with  bread.  That  comes  from 
Canada  and  the  United  States. 
But  Canada  does  not  want  their 
mackerel  or  other  fish,  their  oats, 
potatoes,  turnips,  or  hay.  She  wants 


money ;  and  for  want  of  a  near- 
er market,  the  surplus  oats  must 
be  sent  upon  a  very  doubtful  ven- 
ture across  the  ocean,  the  macke- 
rel to  the  United  States,  and  the 
dried  fish  to  the  West  Indies  and 
Brazil,  to  get  money  to  pay  for  Ca- 
nadian bread.  But  time  is  money. 
It  is  more  than  money — it  is  life. 
And  when  we  take  into  account  the 
loss  of  time  in  going  to  and  fro  across 
the  ocean,  and  the  great  expenditure 
of  unproductive  labor  that  is  required 
by  this  selling  to  Peter  on  one  side 
of  the  world  to  pay  Paul  on  the  oth- 
er, Ave  cannot  help  believing  that  the 
poor  provincial  pays  a  high  price  for 
bread  to'  eat  and  clothes  to  wear,  as 
well  as  for  the  various  products  of 
other  lands  which,  from  being  only 
conveniences,  have  become  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life. 

We  come  now  to  the  Province 
of  Quebec — prior  to  the  Dominion, 
called  Canada  East.  Nearly  all  her 
territory  lies  north  of  the  forty-sixth 
parallel  of  latitude.  Need  we  say  that 
agriculture,  save  for  the  few  and  slen- 
der productions  of  cold  climates,  is 
here  impossible  ?  For  nearly  seven 
months  of  the  year  the  greater  part 
of  her  rivers  and  harbors  are  closed 
to  commerce  by  bars  of  impenetra- 
ble ice.  The  soil,  and  every  industry 
relating  to  it,  is  under  the  dominion 
of  frost. 

The  forests  of  timber  may  be  acces- 
sible despite  the  snows  of  winter,  and 
in  the  early  spring  her  people  may 
hunt  seals  along  the  coasts  of  Labra- 
dor; but  during  the  long  period  of 
actual  winter,  her  agriculturists,  near- 
ly her  whole  industrial  population, 
must  be  employed  upon  indoor  la- 
bor, or  be  left  to  hibernate  in  posi- 
tive idleness.  It  is  simply  impossi- 
ble that  agriculture  can  ever  be  a 
successful  industry  in  so  rigorous  a 
climate  as  that  of  Quebec. 

Going   westward    through     what 


I  IO 


Our  Northern  Neighbors. 


was  once  called  Canada  West,  now 
the  Province  of  Ontario,  we  find  a 
peninsula  bounded  by  the  St.  Law- 
rence River,  Lake  Ontario,  and  Lake 
Erie,  on  the  south  and  east ;  and  by 
Lakes  St.  Clair  and  Huron,  with  their 
connecting  straits,  on  the  west.  This 
peninsula,  south  of  45°  N.,  comprises 
the  wheat-growing  lands  of  Canada 
east  of  Lake  Winnipeg.  Its  area  is 
something  less  than  that  of  the  State 
of  New  York.  It  produces  good  crops 
of  wheat  and  other  cereals,  and  near- 
ly all  vegetables  and  fruits  grown  in 
our  northern  and  northwestern  states. 
Farther  west,  we  have  the  valleys  of 
the  Saskatchawan  and  its  tributaries, 
capable  of  producing  cereals,  grasses, 
potatoes,  and  other  vegetables.  But 
our  information,  derived  from  mis- 
sionaries and  others  long  resident  in 
that  region,  induces  the  belief  that  it 
is  mere  folly  to  regard  a  country  in 
whose  streams  the  fish  lie  torpid,  and 
where  the  snow-fall  is  not  enough  to 
protect  the  land  from  killing  frosts, 
in  winter,  as  suited  to  the  growth  of 
cereals  for  export,  or  as  capable  of 
giving  bread  to  any  considerable 
population. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written 
concerning  the  territory  lying  on  the 
Pacific  coast.  We  believe  it  is  well 
ascertained  that  the  climate  of  Bri- 
tish Columbia  west  of  the  mountains 
— we  might  well  add  the  southeast 
coast  of  Alaska — is  as  mild  as  that  of 
the  state  of  New  York.  Unfortu- 
nately, it  is  very  much  more  moist; 
so  much  more  that  it  never  can  be- 
come a  good  agricultural  country. 
The  reason  is  so  obvious  that  one  is 
hardly  disposed  to  question  the  asser- 
tion. The  vast  accumulations  of  ice 
and  snow  in  and  immediately  north 
of  Behring  Strait,  and  on  the  high 
mountain  range  lying  on  the  east  side 
of  this  territory,  must  produce  intense 
cold  when  the  wind  blows  from  the 
north  and  east.  When  the  warm  air 


comes  from  the  southwest,  the  whole 
atmosphere  must  resemble  a  vapor- 
bath.  Seeds  may  readily  germinate; 
but  can  they  produce  ripe  crops  ? 

We  have  recently  discussed  this 
subject  with  a  friend  who  has  had 
intimate  personal  acquaintance  with 
this  coast  for  more  than  ten  years, 
and  we  but  reiterate  his  assertion 
in  saying  that,  north  of  Oregon,  ag- 
riculture is  not  a  safe  reliance  for  the 
support  of  a  colony.  We  do  not 
doubt  that  hay,  oats,  and  potatoes 
will  grow  there.  It  is  well  known 
that  they  may  grow  where  the  sub- 
soil is  everlasting  ice.  But  we  know 
that  agriculture  cannot  be  profitable 
either  there  or  where  the  heats  of 
summer  last  just  long  enough  to  melt 
the  snows  on  adjacent  mountains 
and  convert  the  soil  to  mud.  There 
must  always  be  an  excess  of  mois- 
ture to  contend  with  in  maturing 
crops.  Our  information  as  to  the 
fact  is  positive.  But  suppose  that, 
in  process  of  time,  by  the  clearing 
of  forest  lands,  and  other  causes  in- 
cident to  the  peopling  and  cultiva- 
tion of  the  soil,  these  difficulties  were 
overcome.  Does  any  one  believe 
that  the  products  of  the  land  could 
be  carried  by  rail  and  inland  wa- 
ters through  a  distance  of  three 
thousand  miles,  and  two  or  three 
thousand  more  by  sea,  and,  after 
successive  reshipments,  at  last  pay 
the  producer — save  in  cumulation  of 
expenses  added  to  the  original  cost 
of  goods  received  in  .  return  ?  If, 
then,  this  far  western  country  should 
ever  have  an  excess  of  food  or  other 
commodities,  they  must  find  a  readi- 
er market  than  either  the  far-off 
country  of  eastern  Canada  or  more 
distant  lands  can  afford.  Its  trade 
must  be  with  the  neighboring  states  . 
of  Washington,  Oregon,  and  Califor- 
nia. Will  the  people,  on  either  side, 
long  consent  to  pay  tribute  to  gov- 
ernment officials  for  the  privilege 


Our  Northern  Neighbors. 


i  n 


of  exchanging  the  fruits  of  their 
toil? 

Were  they  really  of  different  races — 
distinct  in  language,  manners,  and 
customs  beyond  the  degree  that  al- 
ways makes  the  dwellers  in  one  vil- 
lage imagine  its  "  excellent  society  " 
a  little  superior  to  that  of  the  neigh- 
boring hamlet — we  might  say,  yes  ! 
But  knowing,  as  we  do,  that  they 
are  by  race,  by  conditions  of  soil 
and  climate,  and  by  reason  of  mutu- 
al interests,  but  one  people,  we  do 
no.t  believe  it. 

Let  us  now  glance  at  the  map  of 
the  United  States.  Leaving  out 
Maine,  northern  New  Hampshire, 
and  Vermont,  in  the  northeast ;  the 
narrow  belt  north  of  the  48th  paral- 
lel, between  Lake  Superior  and  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  in  the  northwest; 
Florida,  Louisiana,  and  southern 
Texas  in  the  south;  the  whole  vast 
area  between  the  32d  and  46th  par- 
allels of  latitude,  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific  Ocean — in  extent  equi- 
valent to  three-fourths  of  all  Europe — 
is  suited  to  the  production  of  wheat, 
rye,  barley,  Indian  corn,  oats,  hay, 
potatoes,  and  every  fruit  found  in 
temperate  climates.  There  are  no 
frosts  to  render  agriculture  a  «mere 
speculative  enterprise ;  no  bonds  of 
ice  to  close  the  ports  to  commerce. 
Seed-time  and  harvest  may  be  count- 
ed upon  as  certainly  as  the  succes- 
sion of  seasons.  Can  there  be  a 
doubt  that  here  the  material  inte- 
rest forming  the  basis  of  all  others 
is  agriculture  ?  We  have  no  exact 
data  for  a  comparison  of  the  several 
products  of  the  United  States  and 
British  America ;  but  for  our  imme- 
diate purpose  it  is  quite  unnecessary 
to  present  tables  of  statistics.  We 
refer  only  to  chief  products.  First — 
of  those  common  to  both  countries, 
the  productions  of  the  United  States 
are  to  the  productions  of  Canada 
and  the  Lower  Provinces  as  13  to  i. 


The  whole  agricultural  products  of 
the  United  States,  excluding  those 
of  orchards,  vineyards,  and  gardens 
— which  would  present  a  still  wider 
difference — are  to  those  of  Canada 
as  15  to  i.  The  annual  yield  of  In- 
dian corn  in  the  United  States  is 
worth  upwards  of  $800,000,000,  or 
about  five  times  the  entire  value  of 
the  agricultural  product  of  British 
America.  If  we  include  in  the  com- 
parison the  values  of  animals  and 
animal  products,  orchards,  vineyards, 
and  gardens,  the  proportion  is  some- 
thing nearer  30  to  i,  while  the  breadth 
of  improved  land  is  not  as  10  to  i. 
And  this  while  the  breadth  of  our 
improved  land  is  not  more  than  one- 
thirteenth  of  our  territory — though 
double  the  whole  area  of  Great  Bri- 
tain and  Ireland  —  and  while  any 
great  expansion  of  agriculture  in  Ca- 
nada is  forbidden  by  the  conditions 
of  soil  and  climate.  Are  not  these 
considerations  sufficient  to  show  the 
absurdity  of  persistence  in  the  de- 
velopment of  rivalry  in  agricultural 
and  commercial  interests  ?  Do  we 
not  see  that  in  the  United  States 
agriculture  is  legitimately  the  great- 
est industrial  interest,  and  that  in 
Canada  it  is  not?  And  we  may 
well  ask  why  the  industrial  popula- 
tion of  Canada  should  not  be  em- 
ployed in  utilizing  its  timber  and 
other  products  of  the  forest  and  the 
mine,  or,  where  material  is  more  rea- 
dily found  in  the  neighboring  coun- 
try, using  the  forces  so  abundantly 
provided  by  their  inland  waters  and 
mines  of  coal,  as  well  as  by  the  mus- 
cle half-wasted  for  want  of  use,  in 
supplying  fabrics  which  they  now 
import,  and  pay  for  by  the  scanty 
labors  of  just  half  the  time  that  God 
has  given  them  ?  These  considera- 
tions are  in  some  degree  applicable 
to  New  England.  The  difference  is, 
that  New  England  knows  it,  and  acts 
upon  the  knowledge. 


112 


Our  Northern  Neighbors. 


Manufacturing  is  the  appropriate 
industry  of  cold  climates.  When  this 
is  acknowledged,  hibernation  ceases. 
The  people  are  no  longer  forced  to 
eke  out  a  meagre  existence  in  winter 
upon  the  slender  profits  of  toil  spent 
in  contention  with  chilling  winds  and 
frosts.  True,  Canada — a  small  part 
of  it  —  produces  bread  for  export. 
We  know  it:  and  we  also  know  that 
every  loaf  costs  twice  as  much,  in 
human  toil,  as  the  better  loaf  yielded 
by  the  more  generous  soils  and  ge- 
nial suns  of  Illinois,  Minnesota,  Iowa, 
New  York,  Ohio,  Maryland,  Virgi- 
nia, and  California.  Canada  pro- 
duces good  beef,  mutton,  pork,  and, 
of  course,  the  raw  materials  for  ma- 
nufactures incident  to  these  products. 
But  the  herdsmen  on  the  plains 
of  Illinois,  Iowa,  Florida,  and  Texas 
would  grow  rich  in  selling  beeves, 
swine,  and  sheep  for  the  cost  of  their 
keeping  through  a  Canadian  winter  ! 

On  the  other  hand,  we  see,  in 
some  parts  of  our  own  country,  whole 
communities  of  people  engaged  in 
mechanical  industries,  while  the  earth 
calls  for  tillage.  Even  in  our  more 
populous  territories,  enough  of  what 
should  be  fruitful  lands  to  yield  sub- 
sistence to  a  larger  population  than 
Canada  will  ever  contain,  lies  fallow 
and  neglected.  But  our  commercial 
relations  are  adverse  to  the  proper 
adjustment  of  industrial  pursuits. 

The  Canadians  dare  not  rely  upon 
their  neighbors  for  bread  to  eat,  any 
more  than  those  neighbors  would 
venture  to  build  their  workshops  and 
factories  in  Canada.  The  more  ven- 
turesome try  to  obviate  the  difficul- 
ty, to  some  extent,  by  illicit  trade ; 
but  all  the  obstacles  to  legitimate 
commerce — to  the  conveniences  of 
living — remain  ;  and  they  must  re- 
main as  long  as  the  American  and 
Canadian  producers  have  to  pay  tri- 
bute to  Caesar  on  exchanging  the 
fruits  of  their  labors.  Reciprocity 


treaties  may  modify,  but  they  cannot 
remove,  this  great  obstacle  to  pros- 
perous trade. 

Treaties  regulating  trade  cannot 
so  change  the  industries  of  the  two 
countries  as  to  confine  large  agricul- 
tural enterprises  to  the  soil  and  cli- 
mate that  would  insure  success,  nor 
send  the  artisan,  now  living  on  rich 
uncultivated  lands,  to  till  the  earth. 
What  means  the  extraordinary  emi- 
gration from  Canada  to  the  States  ? 
And  how  can  we  account  for  the  sud- 
den expansion  of  manufacturing  in- 
dustries in  Montreal  and  other  Cana- 
dian towns  ?  It  means  that,  while  gov- 
ernments are  discussing  treaties  for  re- 
ciprocal trade,  their  people  are  practis- 
ing reciprocal  emigration — but  with  a 
difference.  The  Canadian  becomes  an 
American  citizen — the  American  very 
rarely  a  British  subject.  We  recollect 
two  incidents  in  our  own  experience 
apropos  to  the  matter  under  conside- 
ration. 

Some  two  years  ago  we  passed  a 
summer  in  the  "  Lower  Provinces." 
In  the  parlor  of  our  hotel,  we  fell  in- 
to conversation  with  an  intelligent 
man  of  business  who  proved  to  be 
a  commercial  traveller  from  Canada. 
His  specialty  was  boots  and  shoes. 
On  mentioning  that  Lynn,  in  Massa- 
chusetts, was  the  great  shoe  factory 
of  "  the  States,"  his  reply  was,  "  Yes  ! 
the  head  of  our  firm  is  from  Lynn." 
Lynn  had  gone  to  Montreal  to  em- 
ploy Canadian  hands  in  turning  Ca- 
nadian leather  into  boots  and  shoes 
to  supply  colonial  markets.  "  The 
head  of  our  firm,"  like  other  heads 
of  firms,  had  solved  the  problem  of 
appropriate  industry  as  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  He  had  learned  where 
material,  and  hands  to  work  it,  were 
cheapest,  and  he  was  utilizing  them. 
He  had  emigrated  to  employ  the 
cheap  labor  that  could  not  emigrate. 
At  another  time,  we  met  a  well-dress- 
ed mechanic  who  was  not  at  home. 


Our  Northern  Neighbors. 


His  home  was  in  "  the  States." 
He  was  only  visiting  his  birthplace 
and  kindred.  In  reply  to  the  remark 
that  the  high  wages  which  had  en- 
ticed him  to  the  States  were  only  high 
in  sound,  since  greenbacks  were  at  a 
great  discount,  and  food,  clothing, 
and  rent  at  inflated  prices,  his  reply 
evinced  a  perfect  understanding  of 
the  whole  question,  as  it  affected  him 
and  the  class  to  which  he  belonged. 

"  True,"  said  he,  "  I  am  paid  in 
greenbacks;  but  I  have  a  better 
house,  better  food,  and  better  clothes 
than  I  ever  had  before.  And  at  the 
end  of  the  year,  my  surplus  green- 
backs are  worth  more,  in  gold,  than  I 
could  get  for  a  year's  labor  in  this 
colony." 

Here  are  two  parties  whose  inte- 
rests are  reciprocal,  whose  social  con- 
ditions are  essentially  the  same,  who 
live  in  juxtaposition  to  each  other, 
but  with  broad  ocean  between  them 
and  other  countries  and  peoples,  frit- 
tering away  material  interests,  wast- 
ing revenues  that  of  right  should  be 
employed  for  their  advancement  in 
social  life,  to  gratify  a  spirit  of  anta- 
gonism where  even  rivalry  should  be 
deemed  insane.  But  is  there  no 
remedy  for  these  disorders  in  our 
political  economy  ?  We  think  there 
is  a  very  obvious  one ;  and  if  we  may 
not  say,  "  What  God  has  joined  to- 
gether, let  not  man  put  asunder,"  be- 
cause the  parties  are  not  agreed,  we 
can  and  do  say,  the  sooner  they 
are  agreed,  the  better  for  both.  We 
would  say  to  Canada,  do  not  waste 
your  time  and  strength  in  trying  to 
effect  impossibilities.  Let  us  see 
your  many  rivers  alive  with  the  arti- 
sans who  can  send  to  the  market 
something  else  than  ship-timber  and 
deals.  Let  us  see  the  smoke  of  the 
forge  and  the  foundry  rise  in  prox- 
imity to  your  mines  of  coal.  We 
want  all  that  you  can  make,  and 
have  no  fear  that  you  will  in  any 

VOL.  XIII. — 8 


degree  impair  the  prosperity  of  our 
own  industrial  people.  And  we  will 
pay  you  in  bread,  better  and  cheaper 
than  you  can  get  from  your  colder 
and  less  fruitful  lands.  And  when 
your  coarser  materials  are  wrought 
into  shape  for  export,  we  have  skilled 
labor,  nearer  than  Britain,  to  receive 
your  surplus  products  and  fashion 
them  into  the  thousand  fabrics  which 
only  skilled  labor  can  supply. 

We  have  no  desire  to  see  your 
wheat-fields  fail  or  to  decry  their  pro- 
ducts in  the  market.  W"e  only  say 
that  they  are  too  limited  for  danger- 
ous competition  with  ours.  And  we 
further  say,  that  if  you  will  but  de- 
velop other  and  more  legitimate  in- 
dustries, so  that  your  wheat-growing 
districts  cannot  feed  your  people,  we 
will  be  sure  to  have  bread  enough 
and  to  spare.  And  you  may  be  also 
sure  that  all  your  efforts  will  not  so 
overstock  the  markets  we  can  offer 
as  to  make  trade  languish,  when  the 
thousands  now  peopling  this  conti- 
nent shall  become  millions,  though 
the  Old  World  should  want  nothing 
that  you  can  give.  And,  then,  you 
have  but  a  doubtful  road  to  the  mar- 
kets of  the  Old  World.  For  half  the 
year  your  highway  to  the  ocean  and 
to  other  lands  must  be  across  our 
territory.  Intercolonial  railways 
through  unsettled  and  unproduc- 
tive countries  will  not  answer  the  de- 
mands of  commerce.  They  will  not 
pay;  and,  if  they  would,  the  inte- 
rests served  ought  not  to  be  so  bur- 
dened where  access  may  be  had  to 
readier  and  cheaper  lines  of  com- 
munication. 

Does  all  this  imply  annexation  ? 
Call  it  what  you  will.  As  one  of 
your  Canadian  statesmen  said  to  the 
people  of  a  lesser  province,  "  If  you 
do  not  want  us  to  annex  you,  we  are 
willing  that  you  should  annex  us." 
If  you  are  more  conservative  than 
we  are,  a  little  conservatism  will  do 


Our  Northern  Neighbors. 


us  no  harm;  and  the  interests  you 
would  conserve  would  be  quite  as 
safe  under  the  eagle's  beak  as  under 
the  lion's  paw.  If  one  be  a  bird,  the 
other  is  surely  a  beast  of  prey;  and 
we  believe  that  harmless  folk  have 
less  to  apprehend  from  one  alone 
than  from  the  jealous  rivalries  of 
both. 

Of  one  thing  we  feel  assured:  the 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  the  peo- 
ple of  this  northern  half  of  America 
will  have  to  adopt  a  policy  so  dis- 
tinct from  that  of  the  older  nations 
of  Europe  that  self-preservation  will 
demand  a  union  of  power  where 
there  is  now  an  evident  identity  of 
interests. 

It  were  well  that  this  union  should 
be  preceded  by  such  guarantees  of 
existing  rights  and  privileges  as 
might,  without  specific  and  just  con- 
ventions, be  open  to  subsequent 
question  and  dispute.  And  it  were 
also  well  for  governments  to  direct 
the  inarch  which  necessity  compels 
their  people  to  make,  rather  than 
incur  the  risk  of  finding  themselves 
at  variance  with  those  for  whose 
greater  good  civil  government  is 
designed.  We  do  not  purpose  to 
discuss,  the  origin  or  foundation  of 
civil  government.  It  is  enough  for 
us  to  know  that  man  requires  and  God 
wills  it ;  and  that,  in  the  absence  of 
other  and  higher  sanctions,  the  best 
evidence  of  his  will  is  found  in  the 
intelligent,  honest  consent  of  the  gov- 
erned. Does  any  one  doubt  what 
the  more  intelligent  and  honest  people 
of  Canada  and  the  United  States 
require  ?  We  do  not  ask  what  may 
be  the  role  of  the  political  adventur- 
er, the  office-seeker,  the  government 
speculator  or  tuft-hunter.  We  always 
know  that  the  end  of  all  their  loyalty 
or  patriotism  is  self.  But  we  ask 
what  is  needed  for  the  greater  good 
of  the  people.  Not  alone  the  peo- 
ple of  to-day  or  to-morrow,  but  of 


the  future  as  well.  How  the  people 
of  to-day  esteem  the  policy  of  their 
lawgivers,  may  be  known  by  their 
conduct  under  it.  And  the  army  of 
government  revenue  officers  and  de- 
tectives on  either  side  along  the 
frontiers  of  Canada  and  "  the  States  " 
offers  sufficient  evidence  of  the  es- 
teem in  which  the  laws  of  trade 
are  held.  We  know  not  which  is  the 
more  corrupt — the  law-breakers  or 
the  agents  of  the  law;  but  we  do 
know,  from  the  notoriety  of  the  fact, 
that  the  commercial  relations  now 
existing  between  the  Canadas  and 
the  States  are,  in  effect,  so  demoral- 
izing, to  commercial  people  and  com- 
mercial interests,  that  the  laws  which 
propose  to  govern  them  were  better 
abrogated  than  left  to  offer  a  premi- 
um to  chicanery  and  fraud. 

We  are  neither  alarmists  nor  po- 
litical propagandists.  We  have  no 
greedy  desire  for  our  neighbor's  goods, 
no  fanatical  wish  to  impose  our  po- 
litical dogmas  or  theories  upon  the 
people  of  other  states.  We  but  be- 
hold and  see  what  is  before  and 
around  us — and,  seeing  it,  we  only  give 
utterance  to  belief  that  has  grown 
and  strengthened,  until  scarcely  a 
doubt  remains,  when  we  say  that  we 
believe  the  ultimate  union  of  the 
United  States  and  British  America  to 
be  inevitable.  The  time  may  be 
more  or  less  distant,  the  occasion  and 
the  means  may  be  as  yet  undreamed 
of;  but  the  event  seems  as  certain 
as  the  coming  of  the  morrow's  sun 
while  the  shades  of  evening  gather 
over  and  around  us.  If,  unfortunate- 
ly, war  should  take  the  place  of 
peaceful  union,  the  calamity  would 
hardly  be  less  to  us  than  to  Canada. 

By  peaceful  union,  existing  rights 
of  the  weaker  party  are  made  secure. 
By  war,  they  are  jeopardized  and 
may  be  lost.  But  to  us,  as  well  as  to 
them,  war  would  be  a  calamity  of 
such  fearful  magnitude,  that  we  are 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


constrained  to  look  with  hope  to  the 
time  when  the  conflicting  interests 
of  the  Old  World  shall  have  no  pow- 


er to  disturb  the  peaceful  relations 
that  should  always  exist  between  our- 
selves and  our  neighbors. 


ON  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION. 


SECOND  ARTICLE. 


THE  whole  scope  of  the  subject 
properly  comprised  under  the  title 
"  Higher  Education  "  obviously  in- 
cludes all  that  belongs  to  every  kind 
of  institute  of  learning  above  common 
schools.  We  have  selected  this  title 
in  order  to  leave  freedom  to  our- 
selves to  discourse  upon  any  part  of 
the  subject  we  might  think  proper, 
although  in  our  first  article  we  limited 
our  remarks  to  a  class  of  schools  in- 
tended for  that  which  is  more  strict- 
ly to  be  designated  as  intermediate 
education.  We  have  a  few  addition- 
al remarks  to  offer  upon  the  same 
part  of  our  subject,  after  which  we 
will  proceed  to  throw  out  a  few  sug- 
gestions upon  some  of  its  remaining 
and  still  more  important  portions. 
We  are  not  attempting  to  treat  these 
topics  fully  and  minutely,  and  our 
observations  will  be,  therefore,  brief 
and  desultory. 

In  regard  to  the  course  of  studies 
to  be  pursued  in  intermediate  schools, 
it  is  a  question  of  great  practical 
moment  how  to  arrange  the  several 
branches  to  be  taught  to  the  pupils 
in  such  a  way  as  to  prepare  them 
most  efficiently  for  the  future  occu- 
pations of  their  lives.  The  course 
common  to  all  ought  to  be  made  up 
of  those  studies  which  are  alike  nec- 
essary or  important  to  all.  In  addi- 
tion to  these  common  studies,  certain 
special  branches  should  be  taught,  or 


the  distinct  branches  of  the  common 
course  more  extensively  carried  out, 
for  distinct  classes  of  pupils,  varying 
these  optional  studies  according  to 
the  different  occupations  for  which 
they  are  preparing.  For  instance,  a 
moderate  quantity  of  mathematics 
and  a  rudimental,  general  course  of 
instruction  in  physical  sciences  are  suf- 
ficient for  all,  except  those  who  will 
need  greater  knowledge  and  practice 
in  them  for  use  in  their  profession. 
It  is  useless  to  attempt,  in  these 
days,  education  on  the  encyclopaedic 
principle.  The  common  and  solid 
basis  of  all  education  once  laid,  the 
more  specific  it  becomes,  the  better ; 
and  for  want  of  good  sense  and  skill 
in  selecting  studies,  apportioning  the 
relative  time  and  labor  given  to  them, 
and  directing  them  to  a  definite  end, 
very  great  waste  and  loss  are  incur- 
red in  education. 

One  other  most  important  point, 
which  we  merely  notice,  is  the  pro- 
priety of  providing  the  most  thorough 
instruction  in  the  modern  languages, 
especially  the  French,  which  can 
more  easily  be  done,  as  we  suppose, 
in  the  schools  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing, that  no  time  whatever,  or  at 
most  but  a  moderate  amount,  is 
given  to  the  ancient  languages. 
Without  going  further  into  details,  it 
is  obvious  that  schools  of  the  inter- 
mediate class  have  an  unlimited 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


sphere  in  which  they  can  give  any 
kind  and  degree  of  instruction  be- 
longing to  the  most  extensive  and 
liberal  education,  deducting  the  clas- 
sics, and  stopping  short  of  the  uni- 
versity, properly  so  called.  Nor  is 
there  any  reason  why,  if  we  had  uni- 
versities in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
term,  the  pi$>ils  of  these  schools 
should  not  afterward  enjoy  all  the 
privileges  they  offer  which  do  not 
require  a  knowledge  of  the  ancient 
languages.  We  will  not  say  any- 
thing on  the  vexed  classical  question. 
Did  it  seem  to  be  practicable,  we 
should  strongly  favor  making  the 
study  of  Latin  a  part  of  the  education 
of  all  who  go  beyond  the  common 
rudiments,  as  well  girls  as  boys,  to 
such  an  extent  that  they  could  un- 
derstand the  divine  offices  of  the 
church.  For  all  other  uses  or  advan- 
tages, we  are  inclined  to  think  that 
many  pupils  who  occupy  a  great 
deal  of  time  in  gaining  a  very  imper- 
fect smattering  of  Latin  and  Greek, 
might  better  spare  it  for  other  studies.* 

However  the  question  may  be 
eventually  settled  in  regard  to  the 
classics  as  a  part  of  general  educa- 
tion, it  is  certain  that  they  must 
retain  their  place  in  the  education  of 
the  clergy,  and  of  at  least  a  select 
portion  of  those  who  are  destined  for 
other  learned  pursuits  and  profes- 
sions. We  shall  speak  more  fully 
about  this  part  of  the  subject  a  little 
further  on.  Before  leaving  the  topic 
of  English  education,  however,  we 
have  one  or  two  supplementary  ob- 
servations to  make,  suggested  by  the 
remarks  of  other  writers  which  we 
have  come  across  since  we  began 
writing  the  present  article. 

F.  Dalgairns,  in  an  article  which  he 

*  Prof.  Seeley  advocates  the  plan  of  devoting  a 
part  of  the  time  during  the  last  two  years  at 
English  schools  to  Latin.  The  proper  study  of 
English  must  also  include  in  it  an  analysis  of  the 
Latin  element,  and  an  explanation  of  the  deriva- 
tion of  words  of  Latin  origin. 


has  published  in  the  Contemporary  Re- 
view, has  expressed  himself  in  a  man- 
ner quite  similar  to  our  own  respect- 
ing the  necessity  of  a  return  to  the 
scholastic  philosophy.  His  remarks 
have  given  us  great  pleasure,  and 
they  furnish  one  more  proof  of  the 
tendency  toward  unity  in  philosophi- 
cal doctrine  among  Catholics  which 
is  daily  spreading  and  gaining 
strength.  One  observation  of  his 
on  this  head  is  specially  worthy  of 
attention.  He  says  that  it  is  necessa- 
ry, if  we  desire  to  teach  the  scholastic 
philosophy  to  those  who  have  re- 
ceived or  are  receiving  a  modern  or 
English  education,  to  translate  and 
explain  its  terms  in  the  best  and 
most  intelligible  English.  A  mere 
literal  translation  from  Latin  text- 
books will  not  answer  the  purpose. 
This  is  very  true,  and  we  cannot  re- 
frain from  expressing  the  wish  that 
the  health  and  occupations  of  F.  Dal- 
gairns may  permit  him  to  write  an 
entire  series  of  philosophical  essays, 
like  the  one  he  has  just  published  on 
the  Soul,  to  which  we  have  just  re- 
ferred. Indeed,  we  know  of  no  one 
better  fitted  by  intellectual  aptitude 
for  metaphysical  reasoning  and  mas- 
tery of  the  requisite  art  as  a  writer, 
to  prepare  a  manual  of  philosophy 
for  English  students. 

The  Dublin  Review  has  repeated 
and  sanctioned  the  observations  of 
F.  Dalgairns,  and  has  added  some- 
thing to  them  equally  worthy  to  be 
noticed  —  to  wit,  that  our  Catholic 
text-books  of  logic  need  to  be  im- 
proved by  incorporating  into  them 
the  results  of  the  more  careful  and 
thorough  analysis  of  the  laws  of 
logic  which  has  been  made  by  seve- 
ral English  writers.  It  is  very  true 
that,  although  the  English  metaphy- 
sic  is  a  sorry  affair,  there  have  been 
several  very  acute  logicians  among 
modern  English  thinkers;  as,  for 
instance,  Mr.  Mill,  Mr.  De  Morgan, 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


117 


and  Sir  William  Hamilton.  We 
suppose  that  the  Dublin  Review 
intends  to  designate  the  doctrine  of 
what  is  technically  called  the  "  quan- 
tification of  the  predicate "  made 
known  by  the  two  authors  last  men- 
tioned, simultaneously  and  indepen- 
dently of  each  other,  as  a  real 
discovery  in  logical  science,  and  an 
addition  to  Aristotle's  laws.  We 
hope  the  matter  will  be  further  dis- 
cussed, and  that  not  only  English  and 
American  writers  interested  in  the 
subject  of  philosophical  teaching 
will  give  it  their  attention,  but  Conti- 
nental scholars  also.  For  our  own 
part,  our  role  at  present  is  the  modest 
one  of  giving  hints  and  provoking 
discussion,  and  we  therefore  abstain 
from  going  any  deeper  than  a  mere 
scratch  of  the  rich  soil  we  hope  to 
see  well  dug  and  planted  before 
long. 

From  another  and  very  different 
quarter,  we  have  found  within  a  day 
or  two  a  corroboration  of  several 
opinions  we  expressed  in  our  first 
article.  Prof.  Seeley,  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Cambridge,  England,  in  a 
little  volume  of  essays,  noticed  by  us 
in  another  place,  advocates  the  teach- 
ing of  logic  in  English  schools,  dwells 
on  the  importance  of  teaching  history 
after  a  better  method,  and  sketches 
out  a  plan  of  improving  the  instruc- 
tion given  in  medium  schools  and 
universities,  which  is  well  worthy  of 
being  read  and  thought  over  by  those 
who  have  the  direction  of  education. 

But  we  will  turn  now  to  another 
and  still  higher  department  of  edu- 
cation, which  embraces  the  courses  of 
study  proper  to  the  university  and 
the  schools  which  are  preparatory  to 
it.  Beginning  with  that  branch  of 
study  which  must  undoubtedly  still 
continue  to  form  an  essential  and 
principal  branch  of  the  strictly  colle,- 
giate  education,  the  classics,  we  do 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  this  branch, 


instead  of  being  less,  ought  to  be 
more  thoroughly  and  completely  cul- 
tivated. In  so  far  as  Latin  is  con- 
cerned, it  is  evident  that  those  who 
aim  at  anything  more  than  the  de- 
gree of  knowledge  requisite  for 
understanding  better  the  modern 
languages,  and  the  terms  which  are 
in  common  use  derived  from  Latin, 
or,  perhaps,  for  a  more  intelligent  ap- 
preciation of  church  offices,  ought  to 
master  the  language  fully,  together 
with  its  classical  literature.  The 
reasons  which  prove  this  statement 
apply  with  tenfold  force  to  ecclesias- 
tics, for  whom  Latin  ought  to  be  a 
second  mother-tongue.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  give  these  reasons,  for 
they  are  well  known  and  fully  appre- 
ciated by  all  who  are  concerned  with 
the  collegiate  or  ecclesiastical  educa- 
tion of  Catholic  youth. 

The  question  of  Greek  is  a  distinct 
one.  For  those  who  study  the  clas- 
sics for  the  sake  of  their  intrinsic  value 
as  works  of  art,  Greek  has  the  pre- 
cedence of  Latin  in  importance.  It 
is  evident,  therefore,  that  a  most 
thorough  and  extensive  course  of 
Greek  is  necessary  for  students  of 
this  class.  Whether  such  a  course 
ought  to  be  made  a  part  of  the  obliga- 
tory collegiate  curriculum  of  studies, 
or  merely  provided  for  a  select  class 
who  may  choose  to  enter  upon  it, 
we  leave  to  the  discretion  and  judg- 
ment of  the  learned.  Undoubtedly, 
we  ought  to  have  a  certain  number 
of  accomplished  Grecians  among  our 
men  of  letters.  It  is  necessary  in  the 
interests  of  ecclesiastical  learning 
that  we  should  have  thorough  Greek 
scholars  among  our  clergy.  For  all 
useful  purposes,  however,  the  value 
of  the  amount  of  Greek  actually 
learned  by  the  majority  is  exceeding- 
ly small,  and  not  to  be  compared 
with  the  practical  utility  of  a  know- 
ledge of  any  one  of  several  modern 
languages,  for  example,  the  Ger- 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


man.  A  clergyman,  for  instance, 
who  does  not  aspire  to  become  a 
learned  philologist,  but  only  to  make 
himself  acquainted  with  the  labors  of 
the  best  commentators  on  the  Scrip- 
ture, will  not  find  it  very  necessary 
to  be  able  to  read  the  Septuagint  or 
the  Greek  New  Testament.  As  for 
Hebrew,  whatever  can  be  learned  by 
a  short  and  superficial  course  will  be 
almost  useless.  If  he  desires  to 
read  Aristotle,  Plato,  or  the  Greek 
fathers,  for  the  sake  of  their  sense 
and  ideas,  he  can  do  so  in  the  Latin 
translations  without  any  fear  of  being 
led  into  any  erroneous  interpretation. 
The  point  we  are  driving  at  is,  that 
the  thorough  study  of  Latin  is  the 
most  essential  thing  to  be  secured  in 
a  classical  course.  Philosophy;  a 
moderate  course  of  mathematics ;  the 
English  language  and  literature  ;  the 
physical  sciences,  and  the  modern 
languages,  especially  the  French,  are 
the  other  essentials  of  a  complete 
collegiate  course.  Whatever  time 
remains  will  be  most  usefully  em- 
ployed in  the  study  of  history  and  of 
modern  political  and  social  questions, 
branches  which  are  certainly  essen- 
tial to  a  complete  liberal  education, 
•though  for  many,  or  perhaps  most, 
students  their  thorough  cultivation 
may  have  to  be  postponed  until  after 
their  college  course  is  finished.  The 
improvement  of  the  collegiate  educa- 
tion in  all  these  branches,  requires,  of 
course,  a  corresponding  improvement 
in  the  preparatory  schools,  since  the 
school  and  college  depend  on  each 
other.  It  is  our  opinion,  in  which 
we  are  sure  that  the  men  most  ex- 
perienced in  these  matters  concur, 
that  those  who  begin  their  schooling 
at  the  earliest  suitable  age  need  to  be 
well  trained  in  an  excellent  prepara- 
tory school  until  the  age  of  seventeen, 
before  they  are  fit  to  profit  fully  by  a 
high  collegiate  course.  Those  who 
begin  later  must  enter  college  at  a 


more  advanced  age,  unless  they  can 
make  up  by  diligence  for  lost  time, 
or  be  content  with  a  shorter  course 
of  study.  The  raising  of  the  condi- 
tions for  entering  college,  which  can 
be  done  gradually,  must  improve  the 
preparatory  schools,  and  the  improve- 
ment of  these  schools  will  in  turn 
benefit  the  colleges,  by  furnishing 
them  with  subjects  fitted  for  a  higher 
course  of  studies. 

In  saying  this,  we  beg  to  disavow 
any  intention  of  undervaluing  or 
finding  fault  with  the  colleges  and 
schools  at  present  existing,  or  the 
learned  and  laborious  corps  of  teach- 
ers employed  in  them.  They  de- 
serve the  highest  meed  of  praise  and 
gratitude,  and  we  may  well  congratu- 
late ourselves  on  the  truly  vast  work 
which  has  been  accomplished,  at 
great  cost  and  by  dint  of  great  ef- 
forts, in  the  cause  of  Catholic  educa- 
tion in  this  country.  But  our  motto 
should  ever  be,  like  that  of  the  past 
generations  of  laborers  in  this  great 
cause,  "  Upward  and  onward !"  We 
trust,  therefore,  that  all  we  may  say 
in  favor  of  improvement  will  be 
taken  as  an  encouragement  and  not 
as  a  fault-finding  criticism — as  a 
friendly  suggestion,  and  not  as  a  pre- 
sumptuous attempt  at  dictation. 

We  have  now  reached  the  proper 
place  for  speaking  of  the  great  neces- 
sity of  a  Catholic  University  in  the 
United  States.  A  well-conducted 
college  for  undergraduates  is  not  a 
university,  though  it  is  often  digni- 
fied with  that  name;  but  is  merely 
one  of  the  principal  constituent  parts 
of  a  university.  In  regard  to  the 
proper  constitution,  nature,  and  con- 
duct of  a  university,  much  has  been 
written,  of  late,  both  in  Europe  and 
America.  In  Europe,  those  who 
write  on  the  subject  either  consider 
the  subject  of  improvement  or  reform 
in  universities  already  existing,  or 
the  demands  existing  in  various 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


119 


quarters  for  the  foundation  of  new 
ones.  These  last  are  chiefly  among 
Catholics,  who  are  extremely  alive 
to  this  necessity  in  several  countries, 
but  especially  in  Germany  and  Eng- 
land. The  foundation  of  a  great 
Catholic  University  for  Germany  at 
the  spot  which  is  most  appropriate 
for  such  a  grand  undertaking,  on  ac- 
count of  its  hallowed  and  scholastic 
memories,  Fulda,  has  been  deter- 
mined. We  hope  that  the  efforts  to 
make  the  Catholic  University  of 
Dublin  completely  successful,  and  to 
found  another  in  England,  may 
speedily  produce  their  desired  result. 
In  this  country,  the  heads  of  the 
older  Protestant  colleges  are  consid- 
ering what  measures  can  be  taken  to 
raise  these  institutions  to  the  level  of 
the  universities  of  Europe.  Among 
the  papers  which  we  have  read  from 
different  quarters  on  this  subject, 
those  of  Professor  Seeley,  of  Cam- 
bridge, and  of  one  or  two  professors 
of  Yale  College,  writing  in  the  New 
Englander,  have  especially  attracted 
our  attention ;  and  we  may  have  oc- 
casion to  reproduce  some  of  their  re- 
marks or  suggestions  in  the  present 
article.  Among  the  Catholics  of  the 
United  States,  the  Germans  have 
manifested  what  looks  like  the  most 
serious  disposition  which  has  yet 
shown  itself  for  taking  the  actual  initi- 
ative in  the  movement.  We  rejoice 
to  see  it,  and  hope  they  may  go  on. 
They  are  a  most  respectable  body; 
their  energy,  wealth,  and  power  of 
organized  action  are  great.  Ger- 
many is  full  of  young  ecclesiastics  of 
the  best  education,  who  are  sighing 
for  employment,  and  competent  to 
fill  chairs  in  all  the  departments 
except  that  of  English  literature. 
We  have  but  one  precaution  to 
suggest,  in  case  this  enterprise  is 
undertaken,  which  is:  that  pro- 
per care  be  taken  to  secure  the 
entire  subordination  of  the  corps  of 


governors  and  teachers  to  the  hierar- 
chy and  the  Holy  See,  and  to  ascertain 
the  strict  orthodoxy  of  the  persons 
called  to  fill  the  professorial  chairs. 
We  want  no  followers  of  Hermes, 
Dollinger,  or  any  other  leader  of  a 
German  sect  in  philosophy  or  the- 
ology; and  persons  of  that  class 
whose  role  is  played  out  at  home, 
might  be  the  very  first  to  look  out 
for  a  new  field  in  which  to  practise 
their  manoeuvres,  in  a  German  Uni- 
versity in  the  United  States,  if  they 
saw  a  chance  of  securing  in  it  the 
desirable  position  of  professors — a 
position  which  has  special  attractions 
for  the  German  mind. 

The  Advocate  of  Louisville  has  re- 
cently spoken  out  very  strongly  on 
the  need  of  a  Catholic  University  in 
this  country;  and  the  topic  is  fre- 
quently broached  in  conversation,  as, 
indeed,  it  has  been  for  the  last  fifteen 
years.  Let  the  Germans  go  forward 
and  take  the  lead  if  they  are  able  and 
willing ;  but  this  will  not  lessen  the 
necessity  of  the  same  action  on  the 
part  of  the  other  Catholics  of  the 
country,  who,  we  may  hope,  will  be 
stimulated  by  the  example  of  a  body 
of  men  so  much  smaller  in  number 
than  themselves.  When  the  time 
comes  for  action  in  this  matter,  the 
direction  of  it  will  be  in  higher  hands 
than  ours;  but,  meanwhile,  we  will 
indulge  ourselves  in  the  at  least 
harmless  amusement  of  sketching  an 
ideal  plan  of  the  university  as  it  lies 
in  our  own  imagination,  and  of  the 
possible  method  of  making  it  a 
reality. 

A  university  is  a  corporation  of 
learned  and  studious  men  who  are 
devoted  to  the  acquisition  and  com- 
munication of  science  and  art  in  all 
their  higher  branches.  It  may  "be 
more  or  less  complete  and  extensive-, 
In  its  greatest  extension  it  ought  ta 
comprise  one  or  more  colleges  for 
undergraduates,  schools  of  all  the 


120 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


special  professional  studies,  and  a 
school  of  the  higher  and  more  pro- 
found studies  in  every  department  of 
literature  and  science.  It  must  have 
a  permanent  body  of  learned  men 
residing  within  its  precincts,  whose 
lives  are  entirely  devoted  to  study 
and  instruction.  It  must  have  a 
vast  library ;  museums  of  science  and 
antiquities;  a  gallery  of  painting, 
sculpture,  and  all  kinds  of  artistic 
works ;  a  complete  scientific  appara- 
tus, a  botanical  garden,  magnificent 
buildings,  beautiful  chapels,  and  a 
grand  collegiate  church,  with  its 
chapter  of  clergymen  and  perfectly 
trained  choir.  It  should  have,  also, 
a  great  publishing-house,  and  issue 
regularly  its  periodical  reviews  and 
magazines,  as  well  as  books,  of  the 
first  class  of  excellence  in  the  several 
distinct  departments  of  science  and 
letters.  It  must  be  richly  endowed, 
and  well  governed,  under  the  su- 
preme control  and  direction  of  the 
hierarchy  and  the  Holy  See.  A 
plan  combining  the  chief  distinctive 
features  of  the  Roman  University, 
Oxford,  Louvain,  and  the  best  uni- 
versities of  France  and  Germany, 
with  some  improvements,  would  re- 
present the  full  and  complete  idea 
we  have  in  our  mind. 

When  we  come  to  the  practical 
question.  What  could  be  done  now, 
at  once,  toward  the  beginning  of 
such  a  colossal  undertaking  ?  it  is 
by  no  means  so  easy  to  solve  it  as  it 
is  to  sketch  the  plan  of  our  ideal  uni- 
versity. We  do  not  fancy,  of  course, 
that  such  a  grand  institution  as  this 
we  have  described,  or  even  one  simi- 
lar to  the  best  existing  European 
universities,  can  be  created  in  a 
hurry  by  any  speedy  or  summary 
process.  But  if  it  is  commenced 
now,  can  it  not  be  brought  to  com- 
pletion by  the  beginning  of  the 
twentieth  century?  It  seems  to  us 
that  in  the  year  1900  or  1925  we 


shall  need  not  one  only,  but  three 
grand  Catholic  universities  in  the 
United  States.  That  we  can  and 
ought  to  begin  the  work  of  founding 
one  without  delay,  we  have  no 
doubt.  The  difficulty  is,  however, 
in  pointing  out  a  sensible  and  feasi- 
ble method  of  doing  well  what  many 
or  most  of  us  are  ready  to  acknow- 
ledge ought  to  be  done  quickly.  Let 
us  suppose  that  the  requisite  autho- 
rity and  the  necessary  funds  are  con- 
fided to  the  hands  of  the  proper 
commission,  who  are  to  lay  the  first 
stones  in  the  foundation  of  a  univer- 
sity. How  should  they  proceed,  and 
what  should  they  first  undertake  ? 
As  these  high  powers  exist  only  po- 
tentially and  in  our  own  imagina- 
tion, we  can  be  certain  that  they  will 
not  take  offence  if  we  presume  to 
offer  them  our  opinion  and  advice. 

What  is  the  first  and  most  obvious 
want  which  we  seek  to  satisfy  by 
founding  a  university  ?  It  is  the 
want  of  a  collegiate  system  of  educa- 
tion and  discipline  superior  to  the 
one  already  existing  in  our  colleges, 
and  equal  to  any  existing  elsewhere. 
The  first  thing  to  be  done,  then,  is 
to  select  some  already  existing  col- 
lege, or  to  establish  a  new  one,  as 
the  nucleus  of  the  future  university. 
We  will  suppose  that  some  one  of 
our  best  colleges  can  be  found  which 
has  the  requisite  advantages  of  loca- 
tion, etc.,  making  it  an  eligible  place 
for  a  great  university.  Let  measures 
be  taken  to  place  the  grade  of  educa- 
tion and  instruction  in  this  college  at 
the  highest  mark.  The  first  of  these 
measures  must  be  to  give  it  a  corps 
of  professors  and  tutors  fully  equal  to 
their  task,  and  to  make  the  position 
of  these  professors  a  dignified,  hon- 
orable, and  permanent  one.  An- 
other measure  of  immediate  neces- 
sity would  be  the  total  separation  of 
the  college  from  the  grammar-school, 
and  the  establishment  of  a  system  of 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


121 


discipline  suitable  not  for  boys  but 
for  young  men.  The  mere  an- 
nouncement by  sufficiently  high  au- 
thority that  such  a  system  would  be 
inaugurated  in  a  college,  would  draw 
at  once  within  its  walls  students 
enough  eager  to  begin  a  thorough 
course  of  study,  to  secure  the  success 
of  the  experiment.  At  first,  the 
course  of  study  already  in  vogue 
might  be  carried  on,  merely  adding 
to  it  such  branches  as  would  not  pre- 
suppose a  previous  preparation  not 
actually  possessed  by  the  students. 
For  admission  to  the  class  of  the 
next  year  to  come,  the  conditions 
might  be  raised  one  grade  higher, 
and  thus  by  successive  changes,  pre- 
viously made  known,  the  maximum 
standard  might  be  reached  without 
inconvenience  or  injustice  to  any; 
and  the  grammar-schools  would  be 
enabled  and  obliged  to  prepare  their 
pupils  expressly  for  the  examination 
they  would  have  to  pass  for  admit- 
tance into  the  college.  The  college 
thus  properly  planted  and  cultivated 
would  grow  of  itself  in  due  time  to 
maturity  and  perfection.  Nothing 
more  is  wanted  than  a  good  system, 
fit  men  to  administer  it,  plenty  of 
money,  and  a  body  of  youth  fit  and 
desirous  to  be  instructed  and  edu- 
cated in  the  best  manner.  The 
library,  the  scientific  cabinets,  the 
philosophical  apparatus,  the  build- 
ings, grounds,  and  other  exterior 
means  and  appliances,  should  be 
provided  for  as  speedily  and  amply 
as  circumstances  would  permit. 

The  second  great  want,  in  our 
opinion,  is  the  provision  for  ec- 
clesiastical students  of  the  advan- 
tages for  education  which  can 
only  be  completely  furnished  by  a 
university,  and  which  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  fully  enjoyed  at  separate  ec- 
clesiastical seminaries.  The  Little 
Seminary  is  only  a  superior  kind  of 
grammar-school,  even  though  it  gives 


instruction  in  the  ancient  languages 
and  some  other  branches  to  the  same 
extent  with  a  college.  The  Grand 
Seminary  is,  strictly  speaking,  a  col- 
lege for  instruction  in  theology,  al- 
though it  includes  a  year  or  two  of 
that  study  of  philosophy  which  is  only 
introductory  to  the  theological  course. 
A  thorough  university  course,  in 
which  all  the  instruction  preparatory 
to  theology  should  be  finished,  would 
give  a  more  complete  and  thorough 
education  to  young  ecclesiastics,  fit 
them  much  better  for  their  profes- 
sional studies,  and  prepare  them 
much  more  efficaciously  for  the  high 
position  which  belongs,  by  all  divine 
and  human  right,  to  the  priesthood. 
This  is  the  way  in  which  the  clergy, 
both  secular  and  regular,  were  trained 
during  the  Middle  Ages.  The  system 
of  separate  training  came  in  after- 
ward, and  has  been  kept  up  by  a 
sort  of  necessity,  chiefly  because  the 
universities  have  become  so  secular- 
ized as  to  be  dangerous  places.  \Ve 
have  touched,  in  these  last  words,  the 
tender  spot,  which  we  well  know 
must  be  handled  delicately.  The 
great  argument  for  secluding  young 
ecclesiastics  in  seminaries  entirely 
separate  from  secular  colleges  is,  that 
their  morals,  their  piety,  their  voca- 
tion, are  otherwise  endangered.  We 
reply  to  this  by  a  suggestion  in- 
tended to  do  away  with  the  objec- 
tion to  a  university  life,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  show  how  its  advan- 
tages may  be  secured.  Let  both  sys- 
tems be  combined.  Let  there  be  a 
college  exclusively  intended  for 
young  ecclesiastics,  in  which  they 
shall  be  kept  under  the  discipline  of 
the  Little  Seminary,  at  the  university. 
The  Little  Seminary  will  then  take  its 
place  as  a  separate  grammar-school 
for  boys  who  are  intended  for  the  ec- 
clesiastical state.  From  this  school 
they  can  pass,  not  before  their  seven- 
teenth year,  to  the  college  at  the  uni- 


122 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


versity,  and  they  will  have  seven 
years  still  remaining  in  which  to 
finish  their  education,  before  they  ar- 
rive at  the  canonical  age  for  ordina- 
tion to  the  priesthood.  It  seems  to 
us  that  the  separate  college  is  a  suffi- 
cient security  for  the  morals,  piety, 
and  vocation  of  any  young  man 
above  seventeen  years  of  age  who  is 
fit  to  be  a  priest  in  this  country  out- 
side of  the  walls  of  a  monastery. 
Moreover,  we  are  speaking  about  a 
model  Catholic  university,  which,  we 
should  hope,  would  not  be  so  ex- 
tremely dangerous  a  place  for  young 
men.  We  have  never  heard  that 
Louvain  is  considered  in  that  light 
by  the  clergy  of  Belgium,  and  the 
glimpse  we  had  of  a  large  body  of 
the  Louvain  students  at  Malines  dur- 
ing the  session  of  the  Congress  of 
1867,  gave  us  the  most  favorable 
impression  of  their  virtuous  char- 
acter. 

The  university  should  also  be  the 
seat  of  the  principal  Grand  Seminary, 
and  of  a  school  of  Higher  Theology. 
The  reasons  for  locating  the  place  of 
education  for  ecclesiastics  at  a  uni- 
versity apply  to  all  the  grades  of 
their  distinct  schools  above  that  of 
the  grammar-school  with  nearly  equal 
force,  and  they  are  very  weighty 
in  their  nature.  They  concern  in 
part  the  professors  and  in  part  the 
students.  So  far  as  the  former  are 
concerned,  it  is  evident  that  they 
would  derive  the  greatest  advantage 
from  the  facilities  for  study  and  inter- 
course with  learned  men  afforded  by 
the  university,  and  would  exercise  the 
most  salutary  influence  over  the  pro- 
fessors in  the  departments  of  philoso- 
phy and  secular  science.  One  great 
end  of  the  university  is  to  collect 
together  a  great  body  of  learned  men 
devoted  to  the  pursuit  of  universal 
science;  and  it  is  obvious  that 
this  cannot  be  successfully  accom- 
plished unless  the  ecclesiastical  col- 


leges are  included  within  the  corpo- 
ration. 

In  regard  to  the  students,  it  seems 
plain  enough  that  all  that  part  of 
their  course  which  precedes  theology 
can  be  much  more  thoroughly  carried 
on  at  a  university  of  the  highest  class 
than  at  a  Little  Seminary,  especially  if 
these  seminaries  are  numerous  and 
therefore  necessarily  limited  in  num- 
bers and  all  kinds  of  means  for  im- 
provement. A  concentration  of  the 
endowments,  the  instructors,  and  the 
pupils  in  one  grand  institution,  makes 
it  possible  to  give  a  much  better  and 
higher  kind  of  education,  and  saves  a 
great  deal  of  labor  besides.  It  is  es- 
pecially, however,  in  relation  to  the 
lectures  on  physical  science,  and  the 
cultivation  of  other  general  branches 
distinct  from  the  routine  of  class 
recitations,  that  the  university  has  the 
advantage  over  the  seminary.  The  4 
students  of  theology,  moreover,  can 
receive  great  benefit  from  lectures  of 
this  kind,  and  from  the  libraries,  mu- 
seums, cabinets,  etc.,  which  a  great 
university  will  possess,  as  well  as  from 
the  greater  ability  and  learning  which 
men  chosen  to  fill  the  chairs  of  sacred 
science  in  such  an  institution  are 
likely  to  have,  in  comparison  with 
those  who  can  be  made  available  for 
giving  instruction  in  many  of  the 
smaller  seminaries.  Over  and  above 
all  these  advantages  for  actually  gain- 
ing a  greater  amount  of  knowledge, 
there  is  the  immense  advantage  to  be 
gained  of  bringing  up  together  and 
binding  into  one  intellectual  brother- 
hood our  most  highly  educated 
Catholic  youth.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  atmosphere  and  the  sur- 
roundings of  a  great  university  which 
quickens  and  enlarges  the  intellectual 
life ;  brightens  the  faculties ;  trains 
the  mind  for  its  future  career,  and 
fits  it  to  act  in  society  and  upon 
men.  The  alma  mater  is  a  centre 
of  influences  and  associations  lasting 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


123 


through  life.  The  learned  men  re- 
siding there,  and  their  pupils  in  all 
professions,  are  bound  together  by 
sacred  ties,  which  are  not  only  a 
cause  of  pleasure  to  them  in  future 
years,  but  of  great  power  for  good 
in  the  community.  Such  a  university 
as  we  have  described  would  in  twenty- 
five  years  produce  a  body  of  alum- 
ni who  would  intellectually  exert  a 
great  influence  over  the  Catholic 
community  throughout  the  United 
States,  and  make  themselves  re- 
spected by  all  classes  of  educated 
men.  The  clergy  ought  to  retain 
the  first  place  and  a  commanding 
influence  among  this  body  of  educat- 
ed Catholics.  For  this  purpose,  it 
seems  to  us  that  they  ought  to  be 
educated  with  them,  and  look  to 
the  same  university  as  their  alma 
mater. 

We  see  no  reason,  moreover,  why 
the  religious  orders  and  congrega- 
tions should  not  share  and  co-operate 
in  the  labors  and  advantages  of 
this  great  enterprise.  The  smaller 
congregations  find  the  suitable  edu- 
cation of  their  postulants  a  difficult 
task.  One  or  more  colleges  at  a 
university,  where  these  students  could 
reside  by  themselves,  under  their 
own  rule  and  superior,  but  receiving 
their  instruction  from  the  university 
professors,  would  solve  this  difficulty. 
The  older  and  more  numerous  reli- 
gious societies  have  greater  facilities 
for  educating  their  students,  and  are 
governed  by  their  own  old  and  pecu- 
liar traditions.  We  will  not  presume 
so  far  as  to  give  them  any  sugges- 
tions from  our  modern  brain  in  re- 
gard to  matters  in  which  they  have 
the  experience  of  from  one  to  six 
centuries.  It  strikes  us,  however,  as 
a  very  pleasing  and  quite  medieval 
idea,  that  our  proposed  grand  uni- 
versity, which  we  may  as  well  make 
as  splendid  as  possible  while  it  re- 
mains purely  ideal,  should  have  its 


Dominican,  Jesuit,  Sulpician,  and 
Lazarist  colleges.  There  is  no  rea- 
son why  such  colleges  should  not 
make  constituent  parts  of  the  uni- 
versity, each  one  having  its  own  laws 
and  regulating  its  own  internal  af- 
fairs according  to  its  own  standards. 

We  will  say  nothing  about  the  law, 
medical,  scientific,  and  artistic  schools 
which  a  university  ought  to  have  to 
make  it  complete. 

We  have  only  attempted  to  show 
how  a  university  might  be  started  on 
its  career.  Once  really  alive  and  in 
motion,  the  rest  would  be  more  easi- 
ly provided  for.  Undoubtedly,  a 
vast  sum  of  money  would  be  requi- 
site for  such  an  undertaking.  Our 
wealthy  Catholics  would  have  to  exer- 
cise a  princely  liberality,  and  the  whole 
mass  of  the  people  would  be  obliged 
to  contribute  generously  for  many 
years  in  succession.  We  must  ad- 
mire the  remarkable  instances  of 
princely  liberality  in  the  cause  of  ge- 
neral education  recently  given  by  Mr. 
Peabody,  Mr.  Cornell,  and  a  consi- 
derable number  of  other  wealthy 
gentlemen  in  the  United  States,  whose 
benefactions  to  colleges  and  schools 
haye  been  frequent  and  munificent. 
Let  us  have  one-twentieth  part  of 
the  money  expended  on  education 
by  other  religious  or  learned  so- 
cieties, and  we  will  show  again 
what  we  did  in  former  ages,  when 
we  founded  Oxford,  Cambridge,  St. 
Gall,  Bee,  Paris,  Salamanca,  Fulda, 
Louvain,  Cologne,  Pavia,  Padua,  Bo- 
logna, and  the  other  famous  schools 
of  the  middle  ages.  WThat  more  im- 
portant or  more  glorious  work  can 
be  proposed  to  the  Catholics  of  the 
United  States  than  this  ?  We  know 
what  our  Catholic  youth  are,  for  we 
have  spent  much'  time  in  giving  them 
both  scholastic  and  religious  instruc- 
tion. What  can  be  more  ingenuous, 
bright,  and  promising  than  their  cha- 
racter— more  capable  of  being  mould- 


124 


On  the  Higher  Education. 


ed  and  formed  to  everything  that  is 
virtuous  and  noble  ?  They  contain 
the  material  which  only  needs  the 
proper  formation  to  produce  a  new 
and  better  age,  which  we  fervently 
hope  is  already  beginning  to  dawn. 
As  the  Alcuins,  Lanfrancs,  and  other 
illustrious  fathers  of  education  in 
former  times  were  among  the  princi- 
pal agents  in  producing  epochs  of 
new  life,  so  those  who  take  up  their 
work  now  in  our  own  country,  and 
throughout  Christendom,  will  be 
among  the  principal  benefactors  of 
the  church  and  the  human  race,  and 
deserve  for  themselves  a  most  hon- 
orable crown. 

Our  topic  in  the  present  article  has 
led  us  to  present  almost  exclusively 
and  in  strong  light  the  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  a  university  and  from 
university  education,  in  relation  both 
to  the  ecclesiastical  state  and  secular 
professions.  To  prevent  mistake,  we 
add  in  conclusion,  that  we  do  not 
desire  or  anticipate  the  suppression 
or  merging  into  one  institution  of  all 
our  colleges  and  seminaries.  It  is 
scarcely  possible  that  all  the  students 
of  this  vast  country  should  be  edu- 
cated in  one  place.  The  necessity 
for  other  colleges  and  seminaries  will 
of  itself  create  or  continue  them. 
The  university  will  give  them  an  ex- 
ample and  model  to  follow,  will  fur- 
nish those  not  already  amply  provid- 
ed for  from  the  bosom  of  old  and 
learned  religious  orders  with  profes- 
sors, will  give  those  who  desire  it  a 
chance  to  complete  their  studies  af- 
ter leaving  college  by  residing  for  a 
time  within  its  walls,  and  will  reign 
as  a  queen  among  lesser  institutions, 


giving  tone,  character,  and  uniformity 
to  the  scientific  and  literary  commu- 
nity of  Catholic  scholars  throughout 
the  country.  There  are  doubtless  cer- 
tain respects  in  which  the  universi- 
ties of  Europe  must  always  have  an 
advantage  over  any  institution  we 
can  hope  to  found  in  this  new  coun- 
try. Some,  or  even  many,  will  al- 
ways have  a  longing  for  a  residence 
abroad  in  these  ancient  seats  of  learn- 
ing, which  they  may  and  ought  to 
gratify,  when  it  lies  in  their  power  to 
do  so.  Above  all  other  places,  Rome 
must  ever  draw  to  her  those  who  de- 
sire to  drink  faith,  piety,  and  know- 
ledge from  their  fountain-head.  And, 
if  a  better  age  is  really  coming,  not 
only  will  the  Pope  necessarily  be  secur- 
ed in  a  more  tranquil  and  firm  posses- 
sion of  his  temporal  kingdom  in  all 
the  extent  which  he  justly  claims, 
that  he  may  govern  the  church  with 
all  the  plenitude  of  his  supremacy, 
but  also  that  the  wealth  and  prospe- 
rity of  the  Roman  Church  may  give  to 
her  institutions  of  learning  an  ampli- 
tude and  splendor  which  they  have 
never  yet  attained.  Planets  are 
nevertheless  necessary  as  well  as  a 
sun  in  a  system,  and  so  also  are  satel- 
lites. However  ample  and  extensive 
the  provisions  made  at  Rome  may 
be  for  educating  a  select  portion  of 
the  clergy  of  all  countries,  they  can 
never  make  it  unnecessary  to  provide 
also  in  every  country  for  the  best 
and  highest  education  of  its  own  cler- 
gy. So  far  as  we  can  see,  every  rea- 
son and  consideration  cries  out  im- 
peratively for  the  speedy  foundation 
of  a  Catholic  University  in  the  Unit- 
ed States. 


T/ie  Warning.  125 


THE     WARNING. 


YE  nations  of  earth,  give  ear,  give  ear, 
From  Holy  Writ  comes  the  warning  true, 

The  voice  of  the  ancient  captive  seer 

Through  the  dim- aisled  centuries  reaches  you. 


Thus  saith  the  seer :  "  Ye  have  lifted  high 
Against  his  altar  your  impious  hand ; 

From  the  Lord's  spoiled  house  is  heard  the  cry, 
4  Destruction  swift  to  this  guilty  land.'  " 


But  a  deeper  than  Belshazzar's  wrong 
Veils  the  light  of  these  mournful  years, 

And  many  an  eye  in  the  saintly  throng 
Turns  from  the  earth  bedimmed  with  tears. 


The  Holy  City  by  promise  given, 

A  precious  dower  to  the  spotless  bride, 

Is  trodden  by  feet  outlawed,  unshriven, 
And  her  streets  with  martyrs'  blood  are  dyed. 


The  crown  that  ever  has  fallen  as  light 
On  holy  brows,  from  the  Hand  above, 

Has  been  torn  away  by  sinful  might 

From  him  whose  rule  was  a  father's  love. 


The  deed  was  by  one ;  the  sin  by  all ; 

By  ay,  or  by  silence,  ye  gave  assent ; 
Ye  saw  the  shrine  to  the  spoiler  fall, 

Nor  hand  ye  lifted,  nor  aid  ye  lent. 


O  nations  of  earth  !  give  ear,  give  ear, 
From  Holy  Writ  comes  the  warning  true, 

The  voice  of  the  ancient  captive  seer, 
From  the  far-off  ages,  speaks  to  you ! 


126 


Writing-  Materials  of  the  Ancients. 


WRITING   MATERIALS    OF  THE   ANCIENTS. 


IT  is  curious  to  remark  the  various 
and  apparently  incongruous  substan- 
ces which  men,  in  their  efforts  to  pre- 
serve knowledge  or  transmit  ideas, 
have  used  as  writing  materials.  The 
animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral  king- 
doms have  each  and  all  been  laid 
under  contribution.  In  every  land 
and  in  every  age,  stone  and  marble 
have  been  employed  to  perpetuate 
the  remembrance"  of  the  great  deeds 
of  history.  Inscriptions  cut  in  jas- 
per, cornelian,  and  agate  are  to  be 
met  with  in  every  collection  of  anti- 
quities. A  cone  of  Basalt  covered 
with  cuneiform  characters  was  found 
some  years  since  in  the  river  Euphra- 
tes, and  is  now  preserved  in  the  Im- 
perial Library  of  Paris,  side  by  side 
with  the  sun-baked  bricks  on  which 
the  Babylonian  astronomers  were 
wont  during  seven  centuries  to  in- 
scribe their  observations  on  the  starry 
heavens. 

The  Romans  made  books  of  bronze, 
in  which  they  engraved  the  conces- 
sions granted  to  their  colonies ;  and 
they  preserved  on  tablets  and  pillars 
of  the  same  durable  material  the  de- 
crees and  treaties  of  the  senate,  and 
sometimes,  even,  the  speeches  of  their 
emperors. 

"  The  Boeotians,"  says  the  learned 
Greek  geographer  Pausanias,  "  show- 
ed me  a  roll  of  lead  on  which  was 
inscribed  the  whole  work  of  Hesiod, 
but  in  characters  that  time  had  near- 
ly effaced." 

"  Who  will  grant  me,"  cries  Job, 
"  that  my  words  may  be  written  ? 
who  will  grant  me  that  they  may  be 
marked  down  in  a  book  ?  With  an 
iron  pen  and  in  a  plate  of  lead,  or 
else  be  graven  with  an  instrument  in 
flintstone  ?"  (xix.  23  24.) 


Tanned  skins  were  likewise  em- 
ployed for  writing  purposes  by  the 
Asiatics,  the  Greeks,  the  Romans, 
and  the  Celts.  In  the  Brussels  li- 
brary there  is  to  be  seen  a  manu- 
script of  the  Pentateuch,  believed  to 
be  anterior  to  the  ninth  century,  writ- 
ten on  fifty-seven  skins  sewed  toge- 
ther, and  forming  a  roll  more  than 
thirty-six  yards  long. 

The  custom  of  writing  on  leathern 
garments  appears  to  have  been  pre- 
valent during  the  middle  ages.  The 
great  Italian  poet,  Petrarch,  used  to 
wear  a  leathern  vest,  on  which,  while 
sitting  or  sauntering  near  the  shaded 
margin  of  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse, 
he  would  note  each  passing  thought, 
each  poetic  fancy.  This  precious  re- 
lic, covered  with  erasures,  still  existed 
in  1527. 

We  read,  too,  of  a  certain  abbot 
who  strictly  enjoined  his  monks,  if 
they  happened  to  meet  with  any  of 
the  works  of  St.  Athanasius,  to  trans- 
scribe  the  precious  volumes  on  their 
clothes,  should  paper  be  unattainable. 
The  use  of  prepared  sheep-skin, 
that  is,  parchment,  dates  from  about 
a  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  the 
Christian  era ;  its  Latin  name,  fcrga- 
mena,  is  very  evidently  derived  from 
Pergamos,  but  whether  because  in- 
vented there,  or  because  it  was  more 
perfectly  prepared  in  that  city  than 
elsewhere,  is  a  question  not  yet  de- 
cided. Besides  white  and  yellow 
parchment,  the  ancients  employed 
purple,  blue,  and  violet.  These  dark 
shades  were  intended  to  be  written 
on  with  gold  and  silver  ink.  Several 
very  beautiful  manuscripts  of  this  de- 
scription are  to  be  seen  in  the  Impe- 
rial Library  of  Paris.  Parchment 
manuscripts  were  sometimes  of  great 


Writing  Materials  of  the  Ancients. 


127 


size ;  thus,  the  roll  containing  the  in- 
quiry concerning  the  Knights  Tem- 
plars, which  is  still  preserved  in  the 
archives  of  France,  is  full  twenty- 
three  yards  long. 

Parchment  became  very  scarce 
during  the  invasions  of  the  barbari- 
ans, and  this  scarcity  gave  rise  to  the 
custom  of  effacing  the  characters  of 
ancient  manuscripts  in  order  to  write 
a  second  time  on  the  skin.  This  un- 
fortunate practice,  most  prevalent 
among  the  Romans,  and  which  was 
continued  until  the  invention  of  rag 
paper,  has  occasioned  the  loss  of 
many  literary  and  scientific  treasures. 
The  primitive  characters  of  some  few 
of  these  doubly-written  manuscripts, 
or  palimpsests,  as  they  are  called, 
have  been  restored  by  chemical  sci- 
ence, and  several  valuable  works  re- 
covered ;  among  others,  for  instance, 
Cicero's  admirable  treatise  on  the  Re- 
public. 

Even  the  intestines  of  animals 
have  been  used  as  writing  material. 
The  magnificent  library  of  Constan- 
tinople, burnt  under  the  Emperor  of 
the  East,  Basiliscus,  is  said  to  have 
contained,  among  its  other  curiosities, 
the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  traced  in 
letters  of  gold  on  the  intestine  of  a 
serpent.  This  rare  specimen  of  cali- 
graphy  measured  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet. 

The  most  ancient  inscribed  cha- 
racters we  possess  are  upon  wood. 
A  sycamore  tablet  containing  an  en- 
graved inscription  was  discovered, 
about  thirty  years  since,  in  one  of 
the  Memphis  pyramids ;  the  learned 
Egyptologist  who  deciphered  it  pro- 
nounced it  to  have  been  in  existence 
some  five  thousand  nine  hundred 
years !  The  Chinese,  also,  before 
they  invented  paper  two  thousand 
years  ago,  wrote  upon  wood  and 
bamboo.  Many  oriental  nations  still 
make  books  of  palm-leaves,  on  which 
the  characters  are  scratched  with  a 


sharp-pointed  instrument.  The  Sy- 
racusans  of  bygone  times  used  to 
write  their  votes  on  an  olive-leaf. 
The  modern  Maldivians  trace  their 
hopes,  fears,  and  wishes  on  the  gi- 
gantic foliage  of  their  favorite  tree, 
the  makareko,  of  which  each  leaf  is 
a  yard  long  and  half  a  yard  wide. 
The  Imperial  Library  of  Paris,  rich 
in  all  that  is  rare  and  interesting, 
possesses  several  ancient  leaf  manu- 
scripts, some  beautifully  varnished 
and  gilt. 

In  Rome,  before  the  use  of  bronze 
tables  and  columns,  the  laws  were 
engraven  on  oak  boards.  "  The  an- 
nals of  the  pagan  high- priests,"  says 
a  French  writer,  "  which  related  day 
by  day  the  principal  events  of  the 
year,  were  probably  written  with 
black  ink  on  an  album,  that  is,  a 
wooden  plank  whitened  with  white- 
lead.  These  annals  ceased  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  years  before  Christ, 
but  the  use  of  the  album  was  kept 
up  some  time  longer."  The  Romans 
also  wrote  their  wills  on  wood. 

Linen  cloth  covered  with  writing 
has  been  found  in  most  of  the  mummy- 
cases  that  have  been  opened.  The 
Egyptian  Museum  in  the  Louvre  con- 
tains several  rituals  on  cloth.  The 
Sibylline  Oracles  were  traced  on 
cloth.  The  first  copy  of  the  Empe- 
ror Aurelian's  journal  that  was  made 
after  his  death  was  written  on  cloth, 
and  is  still  preserved  in  the  Library 
of  the  Vatican.  On  cloth  were  writ- 
ten also  some  of  the  edicts  of  the 
first  Christian  emperors. 

No  certain  epoch  can  be  ascribed 
to  the  fabrication  of  paper  from  the 
papyrus  reed.  The  celebrated  French 
saTant,  Champollion  the  younger,  dis- 
covered during  his  travels  in  Egypt 
several  contracts  written  on  papyrus, 
which  by  their  date  must  have  been 
drawn  up  seventeen  hundred  years 
B.C. 

Egypt  appears  to  have  kept  the  mo- 


128 


Writing  Materials  of  the  Ancients. 


nopoly  of  the  papyrus  paper  trade. 
The  principal  manufactories  of  it 
were  situated  at  Alexandria,  and  so 
important  an  article  of  commerce  did 
it  become  that  a  dearth  of  papyrus 
was  the  cause  of  several  popular  dis- 
turbances in  some  of  the  great  cities 
of  Italy  and  Greece.  Under  the 
Emperor  Tiberius,  a  scarcity  in  the 
supply  produced  so  formidable  a  riot 
in  Rome,  that  the  senate  was  com- 
pelled to  take  measures  similar  to 
those  necessary  in  years  of  famine, 
and  actually  had  to  name  commissa- 
ries, whose  duty  it  was  to  distribute 
to  each  citizen  the  quantity  of  writ- 
ing-paper he  absolutely  required. 

The  papyrus  reed  seems  indeed  to 
have  been  ancient  Egypt's  greatest 
material  blessing,  for  not  only  was  it 
the  principal  article  of  foreign  com- 
merce and  source  of  immense  wealth 
in  the  form  of  paper,  but  it  was  also 
of  the  most  extraordinary  utility  to 
the  poorer  classes.  Household  uten- 
sils of  every  description  were  fabri- 
cated from  its  roots ;  boats  were  con- 
structed of  its  stem ;  roofing,  sail-cloth, 
ropes,  and  clothes  were  made  of  its 
bark ;  and  from  the  appellation  of  "  eat- 
ers of  papyrus,"  often  applied  to  the 
Egyptians  by  the  Greeks,  some  have 
thought  that  it  was  a  common  article 
of  food.  How  extraordinary  does  it 
then  seem  that  a  plant  of  such  ines- 
timable value  should  ever  have  dis- 
appeared from  a  land  which  derived 
such  benefits  from  it.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  papyrus 
is  no  longer  to  be  found  in  Egypt; 
recent  travellers  assure  us  that  not  a 
stalk  is  to  be  seen  at  the  present  day 
in  the  Delta.  Sicily  alone  now  pos- 
sesses the  beautiful  reed. 

We  are  ignorant  of  the  exact  pe- 
riod of  the  introduction  of  the  papy- 
rus paper  into  Greece  and  Italy,  but 
Pliny  has  left  us  copious  details  con- 
cerning the  manipulations  it  under- 
went among  the  Romans.  Sizing 


\vtls  then,  as  it  is  now,  one  of  the  most 
important  operations  in  paper-mak- 
ing. The  membranous  covering  of 
the  stem  of  the  papyrus  reed  was  far 
from  being  of  a  firm,  compact  tex- 
ture, and  the  Alexandrian  factories 
probably  sent  it  forth  very  imperfect- 
ly prepared.  The  best  quality  of 
paper  was  made  by  gluing  together, 
with  starch  and  vinegar,  two  sheets 
of  papyrus,  one  transversely  to  the 
other,  and  then  sizing  them.  These 
sheets  were  sometimes  of  considera- 
ble dimensions  ;  documents  have  been 
discovered  written  on  paper  three 
yards  in  length. 

Those  true  lovers  of  literature,  art, 
and  science,  the  Athenians,  raised  a 
statue  to  Philtatius — to  him  who  first 
taught  them  the  secret  of  sizing  pa- 
per ! 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  about  thir- 
ty years  since,  the  vegetable  size  used 
by  the  ancient  Egyptians  was  intro- 
duced, with  some  slight  improvement, 
as  a  new  discovery,  into  the  paper 
manufactories  of  France,  and  has 
now  almost  entirely  abolished  the  use 
of  animal  size  in  that  country  for  all 
purposes  connected  with  the  fabrica- 
tion of  paper. 

About  the  fourth  century,  the  Arabs 
made  Europe  acquainted  with  cotton 
paper,  just  then  invented  in  Damas- 
cus, thereby  causing  a  great  diminu 
tion  in  the  papyrus  trade.  A  long 
struggle  ensued  between  the  rival 
productions,  which  was  only  put  an 
end  to  at  the  commencement  of  the 
twelfth  century,  by  the  invention  of 
paper  manufactured  from  flaxen  and 
hempen  refuse.  The  papyrus  disap- 
peared at  once  and  completely ;  soon 
forgotten  by  commerce,  but  immor- 
tal in  the  remembrance  of  poets  and 
sages — immortal  as  the  pages  of  Ci- 
cero and  Virgil,  whose  sweet  and 
eloquent  thoughts  were  first  traced 
on  Egypt's  reed. 

Until  the  present  time,  this  flaxen 


Writing  Materials  of  the  Ancients. 


129 


and  hempen  rag  paper  has  been  pro- 
duced in  sufficient  quantities  for  the 
necessities  of  our  civilization,  but  as 
civilization  increases,  and  as  educa- 
tion becomes  more  general,  especially 
among  the  masses  of  Europe,  it  is 
evident  that  the  supply  of  rags  will 
be  inadequate  to  the  demand,  and 
\vood  will  most  probably  again  be 
brought  into  requisition,  as  in  the 
age  of  Pericles. 

Not,  however,  in  the  form  of  the 
ancient  tablets,  but  transformed  by 
mechanical  and  chemical  science  in- 
to sheets  of  white  and  pliant  paper ; 
or  the  numerous  fibrous  plants  of 
Algeria,  Cuba,  and  other  tropical 
countries  will  be  turned  to  account, 
and  no  longer  permitted  to  waste 
their  usefulness  on  the  desert  air. 
Even  .now,  in  France,  among  the 
Vosges  Mountains,  there  is  a  pa- 
per manufactory  where  wood  is  ma- 
nipulated with  the  most  complete 
success.  And  some  few  years  since, 
a  newspaper  paragraph  informed  the 
civilized  world  that  a  process  of  mak- 
ing paper  from  marble  had  been  dis- 
covered by  a  canny  Scotchman  of 
Glasgow !  It  is  not,  indeed,  impossi- 
ble that  the  marble  painfully  hewn 
and  engraven  by  our  forefathers  to 
perpetuate  the  memory  of  a  bloody 
struggle  or  of  some  vain  triumph, 
may  in  time  to  come,  by  the  magic 
power  of  modern  science,  become  a 
sheet  of  snowy  tissue,  whereon  the 
fair,  slight  hand  of  beauty  shall  trace 
the  dainty  nothings  of  fashionable 
life! 

The  tablets  so  continually  men- 
tioned by  ancient  writers  must  be 
noted.  They  were  made  of  parch- 
ment, thin  boards,  ivory,  or  metal, 
prepared  to  receive  ink,  or  coated 
with  wax  and  written  on  with  a  sty- 
lus, or  sharp-pointed  pencil.  In  the 
Fourth  Book  of  Kings  we  read :  "  I 
will  efface  Jerusalem  as  tables  are 
wont  to  be  effaced,  and  I  will  erase 

VOL.  XIII. — 9 


and  turn  it,  and  draw  the  pencil  ovei 
the  face  thereof."  Herodotus  and 
Demosthenes  speak  of  their  tablets. 
In  Rome,  they  were  used  not  only 
as  note-books  and  journals,  but  also 
for  correspondence  in  the  city  and 
its  environs,  while  the  papyrus  served 
for  letters  intended  to  be  sent  to  a 
distance.  The  receiver  of  one  of 
these  notes  not  unfrequently  return- 
ed his  answer  on  the  same  tablet. 
Made  of  African  cypress  and  highly 
ornamented  and  inlaid,  they  were  giv- 
en as  presents,  precisely  as  portfolios, 
souvenirs,  and  note-books  are  now- 
adays. On  the  wax-covered  tablets 
was  generally  traced  the  first  rough 
copy  of  any  document,  to  be  after- 
ward neatly  written  out  either  on 
papyrus  or  parchment.  These  wax- 
covered  tablets  were  used  in  France 
until  the  beginning  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. 

Two -leaved  tablets  were  called 
diptychs,  and  were  sometimes  of  ex- 
traordinary cost  and  beauty.  The 
Roman  consuls  and  high  magistrates 
were  accustomed,  on  their  first  ap- 
pointment to  office,  to  present  their 
friends  with  ivory  diptychs,  exquisite- 
ly engraved  and  carved,  and  orna- 
mented with  gold. 

Ancient  ink  was  composed  of  lamp- 
black and  gum-water.  Pliny  says 
that  the  addition  of  a  little  vinegar 
rendered  it  ineffaceable,  and  that  a 
little  wormwood  infused  it  in  pre- 
served the  manuscript  from  mice. 
This  ink  was  used  until  the  twelfth 
century,  when  our  present  common 
ink  was  invented. 

Not  only  black,  but  also  red,  blue, 
green,  and  yellow  inks  were  employ- 
ed in  antiquity.  Sepia  ink  and  In- 
dian ink  are  mentioned  by  Pliny. 
Red  ink,  made  from  a  murex,  was  es- 
pecially esteemed,  and  reserved  for 
the  emperor's  exclusive  use,  under 
pain  of  death  to  all  infringers  of  the 
privilege.  Gold  and  silver  inks,  prin- 


130 


Dona  Fortuna  and  Don  Dinero. 


cipally  used  from  the  eighth  to  the 
tenth  centuries,  were  also  prized; 
writers  in  gold,  termed  chrysograph- 
ers,  formed  a  class  apart  among  writ- 
ers in  general.  The  Imperial  Library 
of  Paris  possesses  several  Greek  Gos- 
pels, and  the  Livre  des  Heures  of 
Charles  the  Bold,  entirely  written  in 
gold.  Few  manuscripts  are  extant 
written  in  silver;  the  most  celebrated 
are  the  Gospels,  preserved  in  the 
Upsal  Library. 

The  stylus,  a"  dangerous  weapon 
when  made  in  iron,  and  proscribed 
by  Roman  law,  which  required  it  to 
be  of  bone ;  the  painting  brush,  used 
still  by  the  Chinese ;  the  reed,  which 
was  cut  and  shaped  like  our  modern 
pen,  and  with  which  some  oriental 
nations  write  even  now;  and  the 
feather  pen,  which  is  mentioned  by 
an  anonymous  writer  of  the  fifth  cen- 


tury, were  the  general  writing  imple- 
ments of  antiquity  and  the  middle 
ages.  Metallic  pens  are  also  suppos- 
ed to  have  been  known;  the  Patri- 
archs of  Constantinople  were  accus- 
tomed to  sign  their  official  acts  with 
a  silver  reed,  probably  of  the  form 
of  a  pen. 

Some  paintings  found  in  Hercu- 
laneum  give  evidence  that  the  an- 
cients were  accustomed  to  make  use 
of  most,  if  not  of  all  the  various  con- 
veniences with  which  modern  writers 
surround  themselves.  The  writ- 
ing-desk, the  inkstand,  the  penknife, 
the  eraser,  the  hone,  and  the  powder- 
box  were  well-known.  They  do  not 
seem,  however,  to  have  had  the  hab- 
it of  sitting  up  to  a  table  to  write, 
but  rested  their  tablet  or  paper  on 
their  knee,  or  on  their  left  hand,  as 
the  orientals  do  at  the  present  day. 


DONA   FORTUNA  AND   DON    DINERO.* 


FROM   THE   SPANISH   OF   FERNAN   CABALLERO. 


WELL,  sirs,  Dona  Fortuna  and 
Don  Dinero  were  so  in  love  that  you 
never  saw  one  without  the  other. 
The  bucket  follows  the  rope,  and 
Don  Dinero  followed  Dona  Fortuna 
till  folks  began  to  talk  scandal.  Then 
they  made  up  their  minds  to  get 
married. 

Don  Dinero  was  a  big  swollen  fel- 
lo'v,  with  a  head  of  Peruvian  gold,  a 
belly  of  Mexican  silver,  legs  of  the 
copper  of  Segovia,  and  shoes  of  pa- 
per from  the  great  factory  of  Ma- 
drid.t 

Dona   Fortuna   was  a  mad  -  cap, 


*  Madame  Fortune  and  Sir  Money. 
t  The  Bank  of  Madrid. 


without  faith  or  law,  very  slippery,  un- 
certain, and  queer,  and  blinder  tha'n 
a  mole. 

The  pair  were  at  cross  purposes  be- 
fore they  had  finished  the  wedding- 
cake.  The  woman  wanted  to  take 
the  command,  but  this  did  not  suit 
Don  Dinero,  who  was  of  an  overbear- 
ing and  haughty  disposition.  Why, 
sirs !  my  father  (may  glory  be  his 
rest !)  used  to  say  that  if  the  sea  were 
to  get  married  he  would  lose  his 
fierceness.  But  Don  Dinero  was 
more  proud  than  the  sea  and  did 
not  lose  his  presumption. 

As  both  wished  to  be  first  and 
best,  and  neither  would  consent  to 
be  last  or  least,  they  determined  to 


Dona  Fortuna  and  Don  Dincro. 


decide  by  a  trial  which  of  the  two 
had  the  more  power. 

"  Look,"  said  the  wife  to  the  hus- 
band, "  do  you  see,  down  there  in  the 
hollow  of  that  olive-tree,  that  poor  man 
so  discouraged  and  chop-fallen  ?  Let's 
try  whether  you  or  I  can  do  more  for 
him." 

The  husband  agreed,  and  they 
went  right  away,  he  croaking,  and 
she  with  a  jump,  and  took  up  their 
quarters  by  the  tree. 

The  man,  who  was  a  wretch  that 
had  never  in  his  whole  life  seen  eith- 
er of  them,  opened  eyes  like  a  pair 
of  great  olives  when  the  two  ap- 
peared suddenly  in  front  of  him. 

"  God  be  with  you !"  said  Don 
Dinero. 

"  And  with  his  grace's  worship 
also,"  replied  the  poor  man. 

"  Don't  you  know  me  ?" 

"  I  only  know  his  highness  to 
serve  him." 

"  You  have  never  seen  my 
face  ?" 

"  Never  since  God  made  me." 

"  How  is  that  —  have  you  no- 
thing ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  have  six  children  as 
naked  as  colts,  with  throats  like  old 
stocking-legs ;  but,  as  to  property,  I 
have  only  grab  and  swallow,  and  often 
not  that." 

"  Why  don't  you  work  ?" 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  can't  find 
work,  and  I'm  so  unlucky  that  every- 
thing I  undertake  turns  out  as  crook- 
ed as  a  goat's  horn.  Since  I  mar- 
ried, it  appears  as  though  a  frost  had 
fallen  on  me.  I'm  the  fag  of  ill-hap. 
Now,  here — a  master  set  us  to  dig 
him  a  well  for  a  price,  promising 
doubloons  when  it  should  be  finish- 
ed, but  giving  not  a  single  maravedi* 
beforehand." 

"  The  master  was  wise,"  remarked 
Don  Dinero.  "  '  Money  taken,  arms 

*  Less  than  a  farthing. 


broken,'  is  a  good  saying.  Go  on,  my 
man." 

"  I  put  my  soul  in  the  work ;  for, 
notwithstanding  your  worship  sees 
me  looking  so  forlorn,  I  am  a  man, 
sir." 

"Yes,"  said  Don  Dinero,  "I  had 
perceived  that." 

"  But  there  are  four  kinds  of  men, 
senor.  There  are  men  that  are  men ; 
there  are  good-for-naughts ;  and  con- 
temptible monkeys;  and  men  that 
are  below  monkeys,  and  not  worth 
the  water  they  drink.  But,  as  I  was 
telling  you,  the  deeper  we  dug,  the 
lower  down  we  went,  but  the  fewer 
signs  we  found  of  water.  It  appear- 
ed as  if  the  centre  of  the  world  had 
been  dried.  Lastly,  and  finally,  we 
found  nothing,  senor,  but  a  cob- 
bler." 

"  In  the  bowels  of  the  earth !"  ex- 
claimed Don  Dinero,  indignant  at 
hearing  that  his  ancestral  palace  was 
so  meanly  inhabited. 

"  No,  senor!"  said  the  man  depre- 
catingly ;  "  not  in  the  bowels ;  further 
on,  in  the  country  of  the  other 
tribe." 

"  What  tribe,  man  ?" 

"  The  antipodes,  senor." 

"  My  friend,  I  am  going  to  do  you 
a  favor,"  said  Don  Dinero  pOmpous- 
ly ;  and  he  put  a  dollar  in  the  man's 
hand. 

The  man  hardly  credited  his  eyes ; 
joy  lent  wings  to  his  feet,  he  was  not 
long  in  arriving  at  a  baker's  shop 
and  buying  bread,  but,  when  he  went 
to  take  out  his  money,  he  found  no- 
thing in  his  pocket  but  the  hole 
through  which  his  dollar  had  gone 
without  saying  good-by. 

The  poor  fellow  was  in  despair;  he 
looked  for  it,  but  when  did  one  of 
his  sort  ever  find  anything  ?  No ; 
St.  Anthony  guards  the  pig  that  is 
destined  for  the  wolf.  After  the  mo- 
ney he  lost  time,  and  after  time  pa- 
tience, and,  that  lost,  he  fell  to  cast- 


132 


Dona  Fortuna  and  Don  Dinero. 


ing  after  his  bad  luck  every  curse 
that  ever  opened  lips. 

Dona  Fortuna  strained  herself  with 
laughing.  Don  Dinero's  face  turned 
yellower  with  bile,  but  he  had  no  re- 
medy except  to  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  bring  out  an  onza  *  to 
give  the  man. 

The  poor  fellow  was  so  full  of  joy 
that  it  leaped  out  of  his  eyes.  He 
did  not  go  for  bread  this  time, 
but  hurried  to  a  dry-goods  store  to 
buy  a  few  clothes  for  his  wife  and 
children.  When  he  handed  the  onza 
to  pay  for  what  he  had  bought,  the 
dealer  said,  and  stuck  to  it,  that  the 
piece  was  bad;  that  no  doubt  its 
owner  was  a  coiner  of  false  money, 
and  that  he  was  going  to  give  him 
up  to  justice.  On  hearing  this,  the 
poor  man  was  confounded,  and  his 
face  became  so  hot  that  you  might 
have  toasted  beans  on  it;  but  he 
took  to  his  heels  and  ran  to  tell  Don 
Dinero  what  had  happened,  weeping 
the  while  with  shame  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

.  Dona  Fortuna  nearly  burst  herself 
with  laughing,  and  Don  Dinero  felt 
the  mustard  rising  in  his  nose,  f 
"Here,"  said  he  to  the  poor  man, 
"  take  these  two  thousand  reals ;  your 
luck  is  truly  bad;  but  if  I  don't  mend 
it,  my  power  is  less  than  I 
think." 

The  man  set  off  so  delighted  that 
he  saw  nothing  until  he  flattened  his 
nose  against  some  robbers.  They 
left  him  as  his  mother  brought  him 
into  the  world. 

When  his  wife  chucked  him  under 
the  chin  and  said  it  was  her  turn,  and 
it  would  soon  be  seen  which  had  the 
more  power,  the  petticoats  or  the 
breeches,  Don  Dinero  looked  more 
shame-faced  than  a  clown. 


*  A  gold  piece  valued  at  sixteen  dollars, 
t  Was  becoming  angry. 


She  then  went  to  the  poor  man, 
who  had  thrown  himself  on  the 
ground  and  was  tearing  his  hair,  and 
blew  on  him.  At  the  instant  the  lost 
dollar  lay  under  his  hand.  "  Some- 
thing is  something,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; "  I'll  buy  bread  for  my  chil- 
dren, for  they  have  gone  three  days 
on  half  a  ration,  and  their  stomachs 
must  be  as  empty  as  a  charity- 
box." 

As  he  passed  before  the  shop 
where  he  had  bought  the  clothes,  the 
dealer  called  him  in,  and  begged  of 
him  to  overlook  his  previous  rude- 
ness ;  said  that  he  had  really  be- 
lieved the  onza  to  be  a  bad  one,  but 
that  the  assayer,  who  happened  to 
stop  as  he  passed  that  way,  had  as- 
sured him  that  it  was  one  of  the  very 
best,  rather  over  than  under  weight, 
in  fact.  He  asked  leave  to  return 
the  piece,  and  the  clothes  besides, 
which  he  begged  him  to  accept  as  an 
expression  of  sorrow  for  the  annoy- 
ance he  had  caused  him. 

The  poor  man  declared  himself 
satisfied,  loaded  his  arms  with  the 
things ;  and,  if  you  will  believe  me,  as 
he  was  crossing  the  plaza,  some  sol- 
diers of  the  civil  guard  were  bringing 
in  the  highwaymen  that  had  robbed 
him.  Immediately,  the  judge,  who 
was  one  of  the  judges  God  sends, 
made  them  restore  the  two  thousand 
reals  without  costs  or  waste.  The 
poor  man,  in  partnership  with  a 
neighbor  of  his,  put  his  money  in  a 
mine.  Before  they  had  dug  down 
six  feet  they  struck  a  vein  of  gold, 
another  of  lead,  and  another  of  iron. 
Right  away  people  began  to  call  him 
Don,  then  "  You  Sir,"  then  Your  Ex- 
cellency. Since  that  time  Dona  For- 
tuna has  had  her  husband  humbled 
and  shut  up  in  her  shoe,  and  she, 
more  addle-pated  and  indiscriminat- 
ing  than  ever,  goes  on  distributing 
her  favors  without  rhyme  or  reason, 


S/.  Francis  of  Assist.  133 

without  judgment  or  discretion —  stick;  and  one  of  them  will  reach  the 
madly,  foolishly,  generously,  hit  or  writer,  if  the  reader  is  pleased  with 
miss,  like  the  blows  of  the  blind  the  tale. 


ST.    FRANCIS    OF   ASSIST. 

MY  brothers,  ye  are  sad,  and  my  sisters,  ye  are  poor, 
But  once  was  holy  poverty  the  cloak  that  angels  wore ; 
My  fathers,  ye  are  lame,  and  my  children,  pale  ye  be, 
But  in  every  face,  by  his  dear  grace,  that  blessed  Lord  I  see 
Who  brother  is  and  father  is,  and  all  things,  unto  me. 

In  the  sigh  of  sick  men's  prayers,  in  the  woeful  leper's  eye, 
In  the  pangs  of  wicked  men,  in  the  groans  of  them  that  die, 
Thy  voice  I  hear,  thine  eye  I  see,  thy  thought  doth  hedge  me  in. 
Oh  1  may  thy  sinner  bear  thy  stripes  for  them  that  toil  in  sin, 
And  with  thy  ransomed  suffering  ones  find  me  my  choicest  kin. 

For,  whether  down  to  pious  rest  on  these  bare  stones  I  lie, 

Or  if  at  last  upon  thy  cross  triumphantly  I  die, 

The  joy  of  thee,  the  praise  of  thee,  is  more  than  all  reward ; 

For  holy  misery  doth  most  with  heavenly  bliss  accord  : 

All  ways  are  sweet,  all  wounds  are  dear,  to  them  that  seek  the  Lord. 

I  made  a  harp  to  praise  the  Lord  with  ever-glorious  strain ; 
I  tuned  a  harp  to  praise  my  God,  and  all  its  strings  were  pain  : 
Its  song  was  like  to  fire,  but  sweet  its  keenest  agony, 
And  thus  in  every  tune  and  tear  its  burden  seemed  to  be, 
"  So  great  is  the  joy  that  I  expect,  all  pain  is  joy  to  me." 

Through  all  the  weary  world  do  I  an  exiled  orphan  roam, 

Yet  for  thy  sake  were  desert  cave  a  palace  and  a  home ; 

And  birds,  and  flowers,  and  stars  are  lights  to  read  thy  Scripture  by, 

And  earth  is  but  a  comment  rude  unto  thy  wondrous  sky, 

The  which  to  reach,  my  soul  must  teach  earth's  body  how  to  die. 

With  thy  wayfaring  ones  my  crust  I've  broken  by  the  brooks, 
When  flowers  were  as  our  children  fair,  our  comrades  were  the  oaks, 
And  wildest  forests  for  thy  praise  were  churches,  choirs,  and  clarks — 
Such  house  and  kindred  doth  he  find  who  to  thy  wisdom  harks. 
Praise  ye  the  Lord,  ye  spirits  small — my  sisters  sweet,  the  larks  1 

The  untented  air  is  home  for  me  who  in  thy  promise  sleep, 
Or  wake  to  find  thee  ever  nigh,  and  still  my  sins  to  weep ; 


134 


Letter  from  Rome. 

And  holy  poverty's  disguise  is  pleasant  to  thine  eye  ; 

Yea  richer  garb  was  never  worn,  that  treasures  may  not  buy, 

Since  thou  hast  clad  me  with  thy  love,  and  clothed  me  with  the  sky. 

Oh  !  could  I  for  one  moment's  light  thy  heavenly  body  see, 

All  joy  were  pain,  all  pain  were  joy,  all  toil  were  bliss  to  me. 

I  would  give  mine  eyes  for  weeping,  and  my  blood  should  flow  like 

wine, 

To  purchase  in  that  sight  of  bliss  one  blessed  look  of  thine, 
Who  hath  ransomed  with  a  crown  of  pain  this  sinful  soul  of  mine ! 

My  brethren,  ye  are  poor,  but  as  children  ye  are  wise, 
Who  wander  through  the  wilderness  in  quest  of  paradise. 
O  little  children !  seek  the  Lord,  wherever  he  may  be, 
Whose  blessed  face  by  his  dear  grace  on  every  side  I  see, 
Who  brother  is,  who  father  is,  and  all  things,  unto  ye. 


LETTER    FROM    ROME. 


ROME,  Jan.  21,  1871. 

FOUR  months  have  gone  by  since 
the  Italian  troops  entered  Rome 
through  the  breach  made  by  the 
cannon  of  Cadorna,  four  months 
since  a  new  light  dawned  upon 
the  Eternal  City,  and  its  regener- 
ators set  about  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  aspirations.  What 
has  been  the  development  of  this 
third  life  of  Rome — la  terza  vita,  as 
Terenzio  Mamiani  has  been  pleased 
to  style  it — in  this  its  primal  stage  ? 
The  child  is  father  to  the  man — the 
seed  produces  the  tree  and  its  fruit. 
So,  too,  do  the  beginnings  of  a  poli- 
tical state  give  an  index  of  its  future, 
fix  the  causes  that  are  to  produce 
the  results  of  the  future.  The  his- 
tory of  these  four  months,  then,  must 
be  looked  on  with  interest,  and  pon- 
dered with  care. 

The  present  century  is  universally 
considered  an  age  of  progress,  and  it 
was  in  the  name  of  progress  that  the 
forces  of  Victor  Emmanuel  entered 
the  capital  of  Christianity.  Progress 


implies  motion  from  one  state  or 
condition  to  another  more  perfect : 
the  simplicity  of  this  statement  can- 
not be  gainsaid,  and  we  shall  assume 
it  as  uncontested.  The  party  of 
progress  took  possession  of  Rome 
in  the  interest  of  progress.  Has 
Rome  progressed  during  these 
months  since  the  Both  of  September  ? 
Has  she  gone  from  her  past  state  to 
one  more  perfect  ?  Facts  must 
speak  ;  and  facts  we  give.  One  thing 
at  a  time. 

Abundance  and  cheapness  of  food 
are  the  first  essentials  in  the  well- 
being  of  a  state,  and  necessarily  con- 
nected with  this  is  the  facility  of  ob- 
taining it.  We  cannot  say  that  food 
is  scarce  in  Rome  ;  but  the  absolute 
and  the  relative  cheapness  have  un- 
dergone a  decided  change,  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  the  poorer  as  well  as 
the  wealthier  classes,  since  the  2oth 
of  September.  The  mocinato,  or  so- 
called  grist-tax,  extending  even  to 
the  grinding  of  dried  vegetables, 
chestnuts,  and  acorns,  has  sent  up 


Letter  from  Rome. 


135 


the  price  of  bread.  Salt  has  risen  at 
least  a  cent  per  pound.  The  further 
application  of  the  system  of  heavy 
taxation  is  not  likely  to  make  other 
articles  of  prime  necessity  cheaper. 
And  while  this  state  of  things  exists, 
the  facility  of  obtaining  food  has 
become  much  less  for  the  poorer 
classes.  The  causes  of  this  are  to 
be  sought  in  the  want  of  employers. 
It  is  the  universal  complaint  that 
there  is  no  work.  Before  the  com- 
ing of  the  present  rulers,  the  army 
of  the  Pope,  composed  in  great  part 
of  young  men  of  some  means,  spent 
a  great  deal  among  the  people.  This 
source  of  gain  ceased  with  the  dis- 
bandment  of  the  Papal  troops,  for  it 
is  notorious  lippis  et  tonsortbns,  that 
the  men  of  the  present  contingent 
have  barely  enough  daily  allowance 
to  keep  body  and  soul  together.  Be- 
sides this,  ecclesiastics  spent  their 
revenues,  fixed  by  law  and  sure,  with 
a  liberal  hand.  Now,  when  they  find 
difficulty  in  getting  even  what  they 
cannot  be  deprived  of;  now  that 
confiscation  hangs  over  their  heads 
with  menacing  aspect ;  now  that  re- 
ligious orders  are  called  on  to  make 
immense  outlays  to  send  their  young 
men  to  places  of  safety — in  one  case  to 
the  extent  of  six  thousand  dollars — 
it  would  be  foolish  to  expect  them  to 
sacrifice  what  is  necessary  for  them- 
selves; though,  to  do  them  justice, 
they  are  always  willing  to  share  their 
little  with  the  poor.  Dearth  of  for- 
eign ecclesiastics,  and  of  foreigners 
in  general,  is  another  source  of  dis- 
tress, and  this  is  directly  a  conse- 
quence of  the  invasion.  The  result 
of  all  this  is  that  there  is  more  mi- 
sery in  the  city  of  Rome  than  has 
been  seen  for  many  a  day — beggars 
are  more  numerous  in  the  streets, 
and  needy  families,  ashamed  to  beg, 
suffer  in  silence  or  pour  their  tale 
of  woe  into  the  ear  of  the  clergy, 
who  always  are  honored  with  the 
confidence  of  the  poor  and  afflicted. 
Surely  this  state  of  things  is  not  an 
improvement  on  the  plenty  which 
characterized  the  rule  of  the  pon- 
tiffs. We  cannot  say  Rome  in  this 
respect  has  moved  into  a  better 


sphere  —  that    she    has    progress- 
ed. 

Security  of  person  and  property  is 
another  essential  object  of  the  at- 
tention of  every  state.  No  state 
that  cannot  guarantee  this  is  deserv- 
ing of  the  name  of  having  a  good 
government.  Under  the  Papal  rule, 
it  is  well  known  that  not  only  in 
Rome  did  good  order  prevail,  as  the 
immense  multitude  present  at  the 
(Ecumenical  Council  can  attest,  but 
that  also  on  the  frontiers  of  the  ter- 
ritories governed  by  the  Pope,  af- 
ter the  withdrawal  of  the  French 
troops  from  Veroli  and  Anagni,  the 
energy  displayed  by  the  Roman  de- 
legate was  such  as  to  liberate  com- 
pletely the  provinces  from  the  bands 
sprung  from  the  civil  strifes  of 
southern  Italy.  The  city  of  Rome 
itself  was  a  model  of  good  order  and 
of  personal  safety.  Now  things  are 
changed.  Only  a  few  days  ago,  a 
"  guardia  di  pubblica  sicurezza  "  was 
stopped  in  the  streets  and  robbed 
of  his  watch  and  revolver.  There  is 
not  a  day  that  has  not  in  the  daily 
papers  ita  record  of  thefts  and  acts 
of  personal  violence.  Only  a  few 
days  ago,  there  was  a  sacrilegious 
robbery  in  the  Church  of  St.  Andrea 
della  Valle.  On  the  8th  of  Decem- 
ber there  was  rioting  with  bloodshed 
in  Rome.  A  band  of  young  students 
under  the  charge  of  a  religious 
were  stoned  on  Sunday,  January 
15.  On  the  i6th,  the  Very  Rev. 
Rector  of  the  "  Ospizio  degli  Orfan- 
elli "  was  struck  with  a  stone.  It 
would  be  easy  to  multiply  examples, 
but  those  we  have  given  are  quite 
enough  to  show  that  progress  in  se- 
curity of  person  and  property  has 
not  been  attained  since  the  2oth 
of  September,  1870. 

Then  public  morality  in  the  centre 
of  Christianity  could  not  foil  to  be 
at  a  far  higher  standard,  now  that  the 
regeneration  of  the  city  of  Rome  has 
been  accomplished.  What  bitter  il- 
lusions fortune  delights  in  dispens- 
ing to  those  that  trust  her  !  Before 
the  entrance  of  Italian  statesmen  into 
Rome,  vice  and  immorality  did  not 
dare  raise  their  heads — they  could 


Letter  from  Rome. 


not  flaunt  themselves  on  the  public 
ways.  Now  there  is  a  change,  and 
the  moral  order  of  Italy  has  entered 
through  the  breach  at  the  Porta 
Pia.  We  say  no  more,  the  subject  is 
a  delicate  one,  and  we  therefore  re- 
frain from  penning  facts  notorious 
in  Rome.  Surely,  none  who  has  re- 
ceived even  an  elementary  training 
in  virtue  will  deem  this  state  of 
things  progress— an  elevation  to  a 
higher  and  more  perfect  state. 

But  the  King  of  Italy  came  to 
Rome  to  protect  the  independence 
of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  to  save 
him  from  the  bondage  of  foreign 
hordes.  Now,  as  the  Pope  is  prin- 
cipally a  spiritual  sovereign,  it  is  his 
spiritual  power  that  most  needs  pro- 
tection ;  consequently,  the  King  of 
Italy  and  his  faithful  servants  have 
been  most  zealous  in  preventing 
acts  or  publications  that  would  tend 
to  diminish  the  respect  due  to  the 
Holy  Father. 

Incomprehensible,  but   true — the 
very    opposite    has     taken     place  ! 
We  have  at  hand  the  satirical  pa- 
per, the  Don  Pirlone  Figlio,  of  Janu- 
ary 19.     On  its  first  page  is  a  ridicu- 
lous adaptation  of  the  heading  used 
by  the  cardinal  vicar  in  his  official 
notifications  to   the   faithful.      The 
same  page  has  an  article  grossly  dis- 
respectful to  the  Sovereign  Pontiff, 
and  insulting  to  the  Belgian  depu- 
tation, who  have  just  come  on  to 
present  the  protest  of  their  coun- 
trymen,   and     their    contributions. 
The  Holy  Father  is  styled  Giovanni 
Mastai    detto    Colui    ex-disponibile 
anche  lui ;  the  members  of  the  depu- 
tation are  given  ridiculous  names ; 
and  the  contributors  of  Peter  Pence 
are  blackbirds  caught  in  a  cage ;  final- 
ly, a  ridiculous  discourse  is  put  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Pope,  concluding  with 
a  benediction.    The  illustration  re- 
presents Pius  IX.  with  a  boot  in  his 
hand,  in  the  act  of  giving  it  to  the 
Emperor  of  Germany,  who  figures  as 
a  cobbler.    Such  are  the  illustrations 
and  articles  one  sees  exposed  to  the 
public  day  by  day.      When  we  who 
have  seen  Rome  under  far  different 
circumstances  witness  these  things, 


is  it  at  all  strange  that  we  refuse  to 
see  "  the  general  respect  shown  to 
ecclesiastics  in  the  exercise  of  their 
sacred  functions,"  even  though  on 
the  faith  of  a  Lamarmora  it  be  as- 
serted to  exist  ?  Can  we  be  blamed 
for  thinking  that  anything  but  pro- 
gress in  veneration  of  religion  has 
been  the  result  of  the  taking  of 
Rome  ? 

After  this,  any  of  the  advantages 
arising  from  the  occupation  of  Rome 
can  have  no  weight  sufficient  to  war- 
rant much  attention — for  they  must 
be,  as  they  are,  material  and  of  a  low 
order — chiefly  regarding  facility  of 
communication  and  despatch  in  bu- 
siness matters,  things  desirable  in 
themselves,  but,  it  would  seem,  pur- 
chased at  a  fearful  sacrifice. 

Is  this  state  of  things  to  continue  ? 
Is  the  Italian  kingdom  on  such  a 
permanent  basis  that  the  Papacy  has 
no  hope  of  a  change  that  may  give 
it  back  its  possessions  ?  Or  can  the 
kingdom  of  Italy  be  brought  to 
make  restitution  of  what  it  has 
seized,  without  itself  undergoing 
destruction  ?  A  word  in  reply  to 
each  of  these  queries.  And  first, 
is  this  state  of  things  to  con- 
tinue ? 

When  we  consider  who  the  Sover- 
eign Pontiff  is,  and  consult  the  opi- 
nions of  men  famed  for  their  fore- 
sight and  statesmanship,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  deny  that  the  restoration  of 
the  Pontiff  to  his  rights  is  very  pos- 
sible. Napoleon  Bonaparte,  although 
he  afterwards  made  Pius  VII.  his 
prisoner,  left  recorded  his  opinion 
that  it  was  impossible  that  the  Pope 
should  be  the  subject  of  any  one 
sovereign,  and  that  it  was  providen- 
tial the  head  of  the  church  had  been 
given  the  possession  of  a  small  state 
to  secure  his  independence.  M. 
Thiers,  in  commendation  of  whom  we 
need  say  nothing,  as  his  reputation  is 
world-wide,  has  clearly  and  forcibly 
proclaimed  this  very  opinion.  In 
the  debates  on  the  temporal  power 
in  the  French  Senate,  in  1867,  his 
voice  was  heard  calling  on  France 
to  protect  Rome,  and  it  was  his 
energy  forced  from  the  hypocri- 


Letter  from  Rome. 


137 


tical  government  of  his  country  the 
famo,us  word,  uttered  by  Rouher, 
that  struck  terror  into  Italy — 
"  Jainais."  One  would  imagine  that 
now  Rome  has  fallen,  and  France  is 
reduced  to  the  verge  of  desperation, 
no  man  of  "  liberal  "  political  views 
would  be  foolhardy  enough  to  risk 
his  reputation  by  reiterating  an  opi- 
nion like  this.  Yet,  strange  to  say, 
there  is  one  who  has  been  willing  to 
run  the  risk,  and  that  in  the  very 
Chamber  of  Deputies  at  Florence. 
Only  a  few  weeks  ago,  the  Deputy 
Toscanelli,  a  liberal,  and,  we  learn, 
a  free-thinker,  with  a  courage,  a 
strength  of  argument,  and  flow  of 
wit  that  gained  the  respect  and  atten- 
tion of  the  house,  almost  in  the  words 
of  M.  Thiers  gave  the  same  opinion. 
In  the  days  of  the  last  of  the  Medici, 
said  the  distinguished  deputy,  there 
was  a  court-jester  riding  a  spirited 
horse  down  the  ViaCalzaioli,  in  Flo- 
rence. The  horse  got  the  better  of 
his  rider,  and  started  off  at  full  speed. 
"  Ho  !  Sor  Fagioli,"  cried  out  one 
of  the  crowd,  "  where  are  you  going 
to  fall  ?"  "  No  one  knows  or  can 
know,"  was  the  jester's  answer,  as 
he  held  on  with  both  hands.  Just 
so  is  it  with  the  government ;  it  has 
mounted  a  policy  that  is  running 
away  with  it,  and  neither  it  nor  any 
one  else  knows  where  it  is  going  to 
fall.  The  government  has  gone  to 
Rome,  and  in  Rome  it  cannot  stay  ; 
it  cannot  hold  its  own  face  to  face 
with  the  Pope.  "  I  give  you,  then, 
this  advice  :  leave  Rome,  declare  it 
a  free  city  under  the  protection  of 
the  kingdom  of  Italy."  So  much  for 
the  opinions  of  political  men  of  emi- 
nence ;  we  will  examine  the  ques- 
tion for  a  moment  on  its  intrinsic 
merits. 

We  know  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  in 
his  official  capacity  of  teacher  of  the 
whole  church  is  infallible  in  declara- 
tions regarding  faith  or  morals.  But 
in  other  matters  of  policy?  of  fact, 
he  has  no  guarantee  against  error 
beyond  what  is  afforded  him  by 
the  use  of  the  means  which  he 
has  at  hand,  the  information  of 
his  advisers,  and  especially  of  the 


Sacred  College  of  Cardinals.  Sup- 
pose for  a  moment  this  means  of 
information  is  done  away  with,  or 
made  a  vehicle  of  untrue  statements. 
Suppose  unworthy  men  are  artfully 
intruded  on  the  Pope,  and  act  in  ac- 
cordance with  instructions  received 
from  the  rulers  of  Italy.  Imagine 
Italy  at  war  or  on  bad  terms  with 
the  United  States  or  England.  A 
crafty  statesman  sees  an  opportunity 
of  putting  in  a  position  to  aid  him 
in  one  or  the  other  country  an  able 
man,  through  the  influence  of  some 
high  ecclesiastic,  whose  good  opi- 
nion will  have  great  weight  with 
men  of  standing  or  with  the  people. 
The  whole  matter  is  artfully  carried 
out.  There  is  an  understanding  be- 
tween the  Italian  statesman  and  his 
American  or  English  friend ;  both 
act  cautiously  and  avoid  alarming 
susceptibilities.  The  affair  works 
well.  Persons  around  the  Pope  are 
made  to  drop  a  word  incidentally  in 
praise  of  the  virtue  and  ability  of 
the  one  whom  it  is  intended  to  raise 
to  power.  The  Pope  in  his  relations 
with  the  bishops  of  foreign  coun- 
tries, speaking  of  the  prospects  of 
the  church  in  good  faith,  speaks  also 
to  the  ecclesiastic  of  whom  we  have 
made  mention,  and  in  favorable 
terms,  of  the  person  in  question. 
Who  that  knows  human  nature  can 
fail  to  see  the  thorough  nature  of 
the  influence  thus  used  ?  The  craf- 
ty originators  are  the  ones  to  blame, 
and  the  harm  done  is  effected  in  per- 
fect good  faith  by  the  unconscious 
instruments  of  their  design.  To 
show  we  are  not  building  on  our  fan- 
cy, we  turn  to  the  pages  of  a  man 
whose  name  all  revere — Cardinal 
Wiseman.  In  his  Recollections  of  the 
Last  Four  Popes,  he  speaks  of  the 
character  of  Pius  VII. : 

''When  no  longer  a  monarch,  but  a 
captive — when  bereft  of  all  advice  and 
sympathy,  but  pressed  on  close  by  those 
who,  themselves  probably  deceived,  tho- 
roughly deceived  him,  he  committed  the 
one  error  of  his  life  and  pontificate,  in 
1813.  For  there  cnme  to  him  men  'of  the 
seed  of  Aaron,"  who  could  not  be  expect 
ed  to  mislead  him,  themselves  free  and 


138 


Letter  from  Rome. 


moving  in  the  busiest  of  the  world,  who 
showed  him,  through  the  loopholes  of  his 
prison,  that  world  from  which  he  was 
shut  out,  as  though  agitated  on  its  sur- 
face, and  to  its  lowest  depths,  through 
his  unbendingness  ;  the  church  torn  to 
schism,  and  religion  weakened  to  de- 
struction, from  what  they  termed  his 
obstinacy.  He  who  had  but  prayed  and 
bent  his  neck  to  suffering  was  made  to 
appear  in  his  own  eyes  a  harsh  and  cruel 
master,  who  would  rather  see  all  perish 
than  loose  his  grasp  on  unrelenting  but 
impotent  jurisdiction. 

"  He  yielded  for  a  moment  of  conscien- 
tious alarm  ;  he  consented,  though  con- 
ditionally, under  false  but  virtuous  im- 
pressions, to  the  terms  proposed  to  him 
for  a  new  concordat.  But  no  sooner  had 
his  upright  mind  discovered  the  error, 
than  it  nobly  and  successfully  repaired 
it."  (Chap.  IV.) 

Such  are  the  words  of  a  man  writ- 
ing after  years  of  intercourse  with 
the  first  men  of  Europe.  They  are 
instructive  words — for  human  nature 
is  ever  the  same.  There  are  men  still 
in  Italy  who  follow  out  closely  the 
principles  of  Macchiavelli — to  whozi 
everything  sacred  or  profane,  no 
matter  what  veneration  may  have 
surrounded  it,  is  but  the  means 
to  self-aggrandizement  and  the 
satisfaction  of  ambition.  It  is 
for  the  nations  of  the  world  to 
say  whether  they  are  willing 
to  allow  the  existence  of  the  per- 
manent danger  to  themselves,  aris- 
ing from  the  subjection  of  the  spi- 
ritual head  of  the  church  to  any 
crowned  head  or  even*  republic 
whatsoever.  Perhaps,  of  the  two, 
the  latter  would  be  the  more  to 
be  dreaded.  The  Roman  mobs  that 
drove  Eugenius  IV.  from  Rome,  and 
pelted  him  as  he  went  down  the 
Tiber,  or  made  many  another  Pope 
seek  safety  in  flight,  could  be  easily 
gotten  together  again,  as  the  pres- 
ent residents  of  the  Eternal  City 
know  only  too  well. 

We  answer,  then,  our  first  query, 
and  say  that  this  state  of  things  can- 
not last.  Time,  the  great  remedy  of 
human  ills,  will  solve  this  question, 
and  establish  the  See  of  Peter  on  a 


perfectly  independent  basis — inde- 
pendent of  all  sovereign  control, 
even  if  this  be  not  done  shortly 
through  the  armed  interference  of 
European  powers. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  inquire 
whether  the  Italian  kingdom  is  so 
firmly  constituted  that  no  hope  of 
restoration  of  the  Pope  is  to  be  seen. 
For  ourselves,  we  think  there  are  in- 
dications that  point  to  a  speedy  dis- 
solution of  this  state  on  the  first 
breaking  out  of  a  war  between  Italy 
and  any  great  power.  Her  policy  is 
to  avoid  entangling  alliances,  and 
this  she  is  following  out,  striving  to 
propitiate  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
for  her  leaning  towards  France. 
The  first  army  that  will  enter  the 
peninsula  to  aid  the  Pope  will  shiver 
Italy  to  fragments.  The  southern 
provinces  have  too  lively  a  recollec- 
tion of  the  days  of  plenty  under 
their  kings, and  too  painful  an  impres- 
sion of  heavy  taxation  and  procon- 
sular domination  of  the  Piedmontese 
race,  to  hesitate  between  submission 
to  them  and  the  regaining  their  own 
autonomy,  which  will  make  Naples 
again  one  of  the  queenly  capitals  of 
the  world. 

One  index  of  the  general  discon- 
tent or  indifference  is  the  small 
number  of  those  who  vote  at  the 
elections  in  proportion  to  those 
who  are  inscribed  on  the  electoral 
lists.  The  motto  proposed  by  the 
Unttti  Cattolica,  the  foremost  Catho- 
lic journal  of  Italy — "  Neither  elected 
nor  electors  " — has  been  adopted  and 
acted  upon  by  very  many  through- 
out the  country.  We  feel  no  diffi- 
culty in  saying  that  the  majority  of 
the  Italians  are  not  with  the  House 
of  Savoy,  nor  are  they  in  favor  of 
United  Ital)r.  The  ruling  power  has 
the  government  and  the  command 
of  the  army,  a  fact  that  quite  ac- 
counts for  the  existing  state  of 
things. 

Our  third  question,  whether  the 
kingdom  of  Italy  can  be  brought  to 
make  restitution  of  the  territories 
it  has  seized,  without  itself  under- 
going destruction,  remains  to  be  an- 
swered. We  believe  it  cannot,  un- 


New  Publications, 


139 


less  half-measures — ahvays  more  or 
less  dangerous— be  adopted.  The 
late  spoliation  is  not  more  criminal 
than  the  first,  an.d  no  amount  of 
plebiscite  can  make  it  legitimate,  no 
more  than — to  use  the  words  of  the 
able  editor  of  the  Um'ld,  Cattolica — 
the  popular  approbation  of  the  con- 
demnation of  Jesus  Christ  legiti- 
mized the  crucifixion.  The  claim, 
then,  to  restitution  extends  to  the 
whole  of  the  former  provinces,  just- 
ly held  by  the  Popes  to  supply  them 
with  the  revenue  needed  to  make 
them  independent  of  the  precarious 
contributions  of  ths  Peter  Pence, 
and  which  was  none  too  large  for 
that  purpose. 

Whatever  may  come,  we  know  the 
future  of  the  church  is  in  the  hands 
of  One  in  whose  holding  are  the 
hearts  of  princes  and  peoples.  What 
we  have  to  do  is  to  pray  earnestly 
for  our  spiritual  head,  aid  him  by 
our  means,  console  him  with  our 
sympathy,  and  give  him  whatever 
support,  moral  or  other,  it  be  in  our 
power  to  offer.  And  while  we  do  so, 
it  is  a  joy  to  us  to  know  we  have 
lessened  the  grief  of  his  hardships 
by  what  we  have  done  hitherto,  even 
gladdened  the  hours  of  his  captivity. 
A  few  days  ago,  speaking  to  the 
Belgian  deputation,  Pius  IX.  said  : 
"  Belgium  gives  me  very  often  proofs 


of  her  fidelity.  Continue  in  the  way 
in  which  you  are  walking ;  do  not 
allow  your  courage  to  fail.  What  is 
happening  to-day  is  only  a  trial,  and 
the  church  came  into  existence  in 
the  midst  of  trials,  lived  always 
amid  them,  and  amid  them  she 
will  end  her  earthly  career.  It  is 
our  duty  to  battle  and  stand  firm  in 
the  face  of  danger.  .  .  .  We  have  an 
Italian  proverb  which  says :  It  is 
one  thing  to  talk  of  dying ;  quite 
another  to  die.  People  speak  very 
resignedly  of  persecutions,  but 
sometimes  it  is  hard  to  bear  them. 
The  world  offers  to-day  a  very  sad 
spectacle,  and  particularly  this  our 
city  of  Rome,  in  which  we  see  things 
to  which  our  eyes  have  not  been  ac- 
customed. Let  us  all  pray  together 
that  God  may  soon  deliver  his 
church,  and  re-establish  public  or- 
der, so  deeply  shaken.  Your  efforts, 
your  prayers,  your  pious  pilgrim- 
ages, all  tend  to  this  end,  and  I 
therefore  bless  them  with  all  my 
heart."  May  the  words  of  the 
Holy  Father  find  an  echo  in  our 
hearts  ;  let  us  not  lose  courage,  but 
keep  up  our  efforts, so  happily  begun, 
and  never  rest  till  wrong  be  righted, 
until  we  see  the  most  sublime  dig- 
nity and  power  on  earth  freed  from 
the  surroundings  that  would  seek  to 
make  it  as  little  as  themselves. 


NEW       PUBLICATIONS. 


MECHANISM  IN  THOUGHT  AND  MORALS. 
An  Address  delivered  before  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard  Uni- 
versity, June  29,  1870.  With  Notes 
and  Afterthoughts.  By  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes.  Boston:  James  R.  Osgood 
&  Co.  1871. 

Dr.  Holmes  is  a  Benvenuto  Cel- 
lini in  literature,  and  everything  he 
produces  is  of  precious  metal,  skil- 


fully enchased,  and  adorned  with 
gems  of  art.  The  present  address 
is  no  exception  to  the  general  rule, 
but  rather  an  unusually  good  illus- 
tration of  it.  It  is  a  remarkably  curi- 
ous piece  of  work,  containing  many 
interesting  facts  and  speculations 
derived  from  the  author's  scientific 
studies  on  the  mechanism  of  the 
brain.  There  is  nothing  in  it  posi- 


140 


New  Publications. 


lively  affirmed  which  is  necessarily 
materialistic,  as  far  as  we  can  see  ; 
rather,  we  should  say  that  its  doc- 
trine stands  on  one  side  of  both  ma- 
terialism and  spiritualism,  and  can 
be  reconciled  with  either.  It  can  be 
explained,  if  we  have  understood 
it  correctly,  in  conformity  with  the 
Aristotelian  and  scholastic  philoso- 
phy, in  such  a  way  as  not  to  preju- 
dice the  truth  of  the  distinct  and 
spiritual  nature  of  the  soul.  The 
author,  indeed,  appears  more  in- 
clined to  that  belief  than  the  oppo- 
site, although  we  are  sorry  to  find 
him  expressing  himself  in  so  hesitat- 
ing and  dubious  a  manner.  When 
he  passes  from  thought  to  morals, 
he  gets  out  of  his  element,  and  dis- 
plays a  flippancy  and  levity  which 
may  pass  very  well  in  humorous 
poetry,  but  are  out  of  place  in  treat- 
ing of  graver  topics.  His  remarks 
on  some  points  of  Catholic  doctrine 
are  so  completely  at  fault  as  to  show 
his  entire  incompetency  to  meddle 
with  the  subject  at  all.  His  language 
in  regard  to  the  Council  of  the 
Vatican  and  Pius  IX.  is  more  like 
that  of  a  pert  and  vulgar  student  of 
Calvinistic  divinity  than  that  of  an 
elegant  and  refined  Cambridge  pro- 
fessor. "  But  political  freedom  in- 
evitably generates  a  new  type  of  re- 
ligious character,  as  the  conclave  that 
contemplates  endowing  a  dotard  with 
infallibility  has  found  out,  we  trust, 
before  this  time "  (p.  95).  Dr. 
Holmes  has  apparently  profited  by 
his  close  observations  among  that 
class  of  the  female  population  of 
Boston  who  are  wont  to  thrust  their 
bodies  half  out  of  their  windows,  and 
"  exhaust  the  vocabulary,  to  each 
other's  detriment."  We  congratu- 
late him,  and  the  learned  Society  of 
Phi  Beta  Kappa,  on  the  choice  sen- 
tence we  have  quoted  above.  We 
trust  those  Catholics  who  are  dis- 
posed to  think  that  we  can  make 
use  of  Harvard  University  as  a  place 
of  education  for  our  youth,  will  take 
note  of  this  sample  of  the  language 
they  may  expect  to  hear  in  that  and 
similar  institutions,  and  open  their 
eyes  to  the  necessity  of  providing 


some  better  instruction  for  their 
sons  than  can  be  had  at  such  sources. 
Notwithstanding  our  high  apprecia- 
tion of  Dr.  Holmes's  genius,  and  the 
great  pleasure  we  have  derived  from 
his  works,  we  regret  to  say  that  we 
must  consider  his  influence  on  young 
people  grievously  detrimental.  In 
virtue  of  a  reaction  from  Calvinism, 
he  has  swung  into  an  extreme  of 
rationalism  the  effect  of  which  is 
checked  in  his  own  person  by  the 
influence  of  an  unusually  good  heart 
and  an  early  religious  education,  but 
in  itself  is  sure  to  overthrow  all  re- 
verence, faith,  and  moral  principle. 
The  whole  effect  of  this  address  on 
the  minds  of  young  men  tends  to  a 
most  pernicious  result,  and  encour- 
ages them,  with  a  kind  of  thought- 
less gaiety,  to  rush  forward  in  a 
career  of  mental  and  moral  lawless- 
ness. 

JESUS  AND  JERUSALEM  ;  OR,  THE  WAY 
HOME.  Books  for  Spiritual  Reading. 
First  Series.  Boston  :  Patrick  Dona- 
hoe.  1871. 

Here  we  have  a  plain,  practical, 
but  very  attractively  and  charmingly 
written  book  of  spiritual  reading 
for  everybody.  It  emanates  from 
the  Convent  of  Poor  Clares,  Ken- 
mare,  County  Kerry,  Ireland,  who 
are  anything  but  poor  in  intellectual 
gifts  and  religious  zeal.  We  suppose 
it  is  from  the  pen  of  the  gifted 
authoress  of  the  History  of  Ireland 
and  several  other  works  of  the  high- 
est literary  merit.  The  idea  of  the 
volume  is  apparently  taken  from 
the  "  Parable  of  a  Pilgrim  "  in  F. 
Baker's  Sancta  Sophia,  of  which  it  is 
a  minute  paraphrase  and  commen- 
tary. Its  minuteness,  diffuseness, 
and  fluency  of  style  are,  in  our 
opinion,  great  merits,  considering 
the  end  and  object  of  the  book.  It 
is  easy  reading,  explains  and  en- 
larges on  each  topic  at  length  and 
in  detail  with  great  tact  and  dis- 
cretion, and  is  eminently  fitted  to 
help  a  person  in  the  acquisition  and 
practice  of  the  homely,  everyday 
Christian  virtues.  Its  bread  is  of 
fine  quality,  broken  up  fine.  It  is 


New  Publications. 


141 


eminently  adapted  for  the  young  and 
simple,  timid  beginners,  and  persons 
living  an  everyday  busy  life,  and  also 
for  the  sick,  the  suffering,  and  the 
afflicted.  At  the  same  time,  a  pro- 
fessor of  theology,  or  even  a  bishop, 
may  read  it  with  great  profit  and 
satisfaction.  We  recommend  this 
book  with  more  than  usual  earnest- 
ness, and  we  trust  the  good  Sis- 
ters of  Kenmare  will  keep  on  with 
their  series,  which  must  certainly 
produce  an  extraordinary  amount  of 
good. 

ELIA  ;  OR,  SPAIN  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO. 
Translated  from  the  Spanish  of  Fernan 
Caballero.  New  York  :  Catholic  Pub- 
lication Society. 

Fernan  Caballero  is  the  nom  de 
plume  of  Madame  de  Baer,  who  is 
now  an  aged  lady,  though  still  in  the 
full  possession  of  her  intellectual 
powers.  We  admire  the  old  Spanish 
character,  customs,  faith,  and  chival- 
ry. Mme.  de  Baer  is  their  champion, 
and  the  enemy  of  the  revolution 
which  has  desolated  that  grand  old 
Catholic  country.  This  is  one  of  her 
stories  written  to  that  point,  and  we 
trust  it  will  find  even  here  many  a 
reader  who  will  sympathize  with  the 
author,  and  help  to  neutralize  the 
poison,  too  widely  spread,  of  modern 
liberalism — the  deadly  epidemic  of 
Spain  and  all  Europe.  It  is  a  very 
suitable  book  for  school  premiums, 
and  ought  to  be  in  every  library. 
Other  persons,  also,  will  find  it  a 
lively  and  entertaining  book,  with  a 
strong  dash  of  the  peculiar  quaint- 
ness  usually  found  in  Spanish  stories. 

ROMAN  IMPERIALISM,  AND  OTHER  LEC- 
TURES AND  ESSAYS.  By  J.  R.  Seelye, 
M.D.,  Professor  of  Modern  History  in 
the  University  of  Cambridge.  (Author 
of  "  Ecce  Homo.")  Boston  :  Roberts 
Brothers.  1871. 

These  essays  are  cleverly  and 
agreeably  written.  Their  topics  are 
very  miscellaneous,  but  all  of  them 
important  and  interesting.  Those 
on  "Liberal  Education  in  Universi- 
ties," "English  in  Schools,"  "The 


Church  as  a  Teacher  of  Morality," 
and  the  "  Teaching  of  Politics,"  are 
especially  worthy  of  attention.  Some 
of  the  writers  of  the"  Broad  Church," 
to  which  Prof.  Seelye  belongs,  are 
quite  remarkable  for  their  honorable 
candor,  largeness  of  mind,  original- 
ity of  thought,  and,  in  certain  re- 
spects, approximation  to  Catholic 
views.  We  like  to  read  them  better 
than  most  other  Protestant  writers, 
and  often  find  their  writings  instruc- 
tive. We  have  seldom  seen  a  book 
written  by  a  Protestant  in  which  a 
Catholic  can  find  so  many  things  to 
approve  of  and  be  pleased  with,  and 
so  few  in  which  he  is  obliged  to  dif- 
fer from  the  author,  as  the  present 
volume. 


LIFE  AND  SELECT  WRITINGS  OF  THE  VEN. 
Louis  MARIE  GRIGNON  DE  MONTFORT. 
Translated  from  the  French  by  a  Secu- 
lar Priest.  London  :  Richardson.  1870. 

The  Ven.  Grignon  de  Montfort 
was  a  priest  of  noble  birth,  who 
lived  and  labored  in  France  as  a 
missionary,  and  became  the  founder 
of  two  religious  congregations,  dur- 
ing the  eighteenth  century.  He 
was  a  person  of  great  individuality 
of  character  and  many  peculiar  gifts 
and  traits,  which  made  his  life  quite 
a  salient  one,  if  we  may  be  allowed 
the  expression.  His  talents  for 
poetry,  music,  and  the  arts  of  de- 
sign, and  a  marked  poetic  fervor  in 
his  temperament,  gave  a  certain  zest 
and  raciness  to  his  career  as  a  mis- 
sionary, and  were  a  great  help  to  his 
success.  His  character  was  chival- 
rous and  daring,  and  his  sanctity 
shows  a  kind  of  exaltation,  a  sort  of 
gay  mockery  of  danger,  contempt, 
privation,  and  suffering,  which  it  al- 
most takes  one's  breath  away  to  con- 
template. His  life  was  very  short, 
but  his  labors,  persecutions,  and 
services  were  very  great.  He  is 
best  known  in  modern  times  by  his 
extraordinary  devotion  to  the  Bless- 
ed Virgin.  It  is  altogether  probable 
that  ere  long  the  process  of  his  can- 
onization will  be  completed,  and  a 
decree  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ  enrol 


142 


New  Publications. 


his  name  among  the  saints.  Those 
who  are  capable  of  profiting  by  an 
example,  and  by  writings  of  such 
sublime  spirituality,  will  find  some- 
thing in  this  book  seldom  to  be  met 
with  even  in  the  Lives  of  Saints. 

A  TEXT  BOOK  OF  ELEMENTARY  CHEMIS- 
TRY, THEORETICAL  AND  INORGANIC.  By 
George  F.  Barker,  M.D.,  Professor  of 
Physiological  Chemistry  in  Yale  Col- 
lege, New  Haven,  Conn.  Charles  C. 
Chatfield  &  Co.  1870. 
Chemical  science,  as  Prof.  Barker 
remarks  in  his  preface,  has  indeed 
undergone  a  remarkable  revolution 
in  the  last  few  years  ;  and  the  text- 
books which  were  excellent  not  long 
ago  are  now  almost  useless,  as  far 
as  the  theoretical  part  of  the  subject 
is  concerned.  And  though,  in  all 
probability,  more  brilliant  discove- 
ries as  to  the  internal  constitution  of 
matter,  the  formation  of  molecules, 
and  the  nature  of  the  chemical  ad- 
hesion of  atoms  are  in  store  than 
any  yet  made,  still  the  conclusions 
recently  attained  on  these  points 
maybe  considered  as  well  establish- 
ed, and  can  by  no  means  be  con- 
sidered as  crude  speculations,  to  be 
overthrown  to-morrow  by  others  of 
no  greater  weight.  Chemistry  seems, 
at  present,  to  promise  better  than 
ever  before  to  solve  the  problem  of 
the  arrangement  of  the  ultimate 
material  elements,  though,  perhaps, 
the  laws  of  the  forces  which  con- 
nect them,  and  the  nature  of  the 
molecular  movements,  will  be  rather 
obtained  from  other  sources. 

Prof.  Barker's  book  is  an  admir- 
able exponent  of  the  science  in  its 
present  state.  The  first  quarter  of 
it  is  devoted  to  an  explanation  of 
the  principles  of  theoretical  chemis- 
try, and  it  is  this,  of  course,  which 
is  specially  interesting  and  import- 
ant at  present,  though  the  remain- 
der will  be  found  much  easier  read- 
ing. The  work  is  one,  however, 
which  is  meant  to  be  studied,  rather 
than  merely  read,  containing  a  great 
deal  of  information,  and  giving  much 
material  for  mental  exercise  through- 
out. It  would  not  have  been  easy 


to  put  more  valuable  matter  in  its 
few  pages,  and  its  merits  as  a  text- 
book are  very  great.  The  type  is 
very  clear,  and  the  illustrations  nu- 
merous and  excellent. 

VARIETIES  OF  IRISH  HISTORY.  By  James 
J.  Gaskin.  Dublin  :  W.  B.  Kelly.  New 
York  :  The  Catholic  Publication  So- 
ciety, 9  Warren  Street.  1871. 

If  Mr.  Gaskin  had  not  stated  in 
his  preface  that  "  the  present  work 
is,  in  great  part,  based  on  a  lecture 
delivered  by  the  author  before  a 
highly  influential,  intelligent,  and 
fashionable  audience,"  we  would 
have  anticipated,  from  the  title  of 
his  book,  something  not  only  inter- 
esting but  instructive  relating  to 
Irish  history.  But  knowing  very 
well  what  pleases  a  highly  fashion- 
able audience  in  the  dwarfed  and 
provincialized  capital  of  Ireland,  this 
announcementwas  enough  to  satisfy 
us  that  his  conception  of  what  makes 
history  was  neither  very  lucid  nor 
comprehensive.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that,  within  the  shadow  of 
Dublin  Castle,  any  rash  man  who 
would  be  unthinking  enough  to 
write  or  speak  seriously  about  the 
history  of  Ireland — that  protracted 
tragedy  upon  which  the  curtain  has 
not  yet  fallen — would  soon  be  voted 
a  bore,  or  something  worse,  by  the 
fashionable  people  who  are  privi- 
leged once  or  twice  a  year  to  kiss  the 
hand  of  the  representative  of  royal- 
ty. But  the  author  is  evidently  too 
well  bred  to  commit  such  a  solecism, 
and  accordingly,  under  a  very  at- 
tractive exterior,  he  treats  us  to  all 
sorts  of  gossip,  from  the  doings  of 
Gra  na'  Uile,  a  sort  of  western  Vi- 
queen,  to  the  murder  of  Captain  Glas, 
a  Scotch  privateersman.  The  inter- 
vals between  these  two  great  histori- 
cal events  is  filled  up  with  the  mock 
regal  ceremonies  that  used  to  be  ob- 
served annually  on  the  island  of 
Dalkey;  reminiscences  of  Swift,  Dr. 
Delaney,  Curran,  and  other  distin- 
guished men  of  the  last  century, 
which,  though  not  new,  are  pleasant 
to  read  ;  and  some  correct  and  ela- 


New  Publications. 


143 


borate  descriptions  of  scenery  in  the 
suburbs  of  Dublin,  which  will  not  be 
without  interest  to  those  who  have 
visited  that  part  of  Ireland.  The 
Varieties  is  not  a  book  which  will 
find  much  favor  with  historical  stu- 
dents, but  for  railroad  and  steam- 
boat travellers,  who  wish  to  read  as 
they  run,  and  as  a  book  for  the 
drawing-room,  being  light  in  style 
and  handsomely  illustrated,  it  will 
be  found  entertaining  and  agree- 
able. 

A  HAND-BOOK  OF  LEGENDARY  AND  MY- 
THOLOGICAL ART.  By  Clara  Erskine 
Clement.  With  Descriptive  Illustra- 
tions. New  York  :  Hurd  &  Houghton. 

The  best  thing  we  can  say  about 
this  book  is  that  it  affords  another 
striking  oroof  that  the  Catholic 
Church  is  the  genius  of  all  true 
poetry  and  art.  One-half  of  the 
volume  is  devoted  to  sketches  of 
the  lives  of  Catholic  saints,  the  other 
half  being  equally  divided  between 
legends  of  German  localities  and  the 
gods  and  goddesses  of  Greece  and 
Rome.  We  look  in  vain  for  some 
notice  of  works  of  art  or  poetic  le- 
gend to  which  Protestantism,  with 
its  heroes,  or  modern  Rationalism, 
with  no  heroes,  has  given  inspira- 
tion. The  authoress,  however,  is 
not  a  Catholic,  for  she  calls  us 
"  Romanists,"  a  vulgar  term,  the  use 
of  which,  she  ought  to  know,  we  con- 
sider as  impertinent  and  insulting. 

False  legends  and  true  biographies 
of  our  saints  are  strung  together 
without  discrimination.  This  we 
would  not  complain  of  so  much,  if, 
as  she  would  seem  to  imply,  they  are 
both  illustrated  by  art ;  but  the  in- 
stances in  which  these  apocryphal 
and  unworthy  stories  have  been 
chosen  by  the  painter  or  sculptor  as 
fitting  subjects  are  exceedingly  rare, 
and  where  they  are,  as  in  the  case 
of  Diirer's  painting  of  "  St.  John 
Chrysostom's  Penance,"  which  is 
reproduced  by  the  authoress  (shall 
we  say  with  her  in  the  preface,  "  to 
interest  and  instruct  her  children  "?), 
they  bear  evidence  of  an  art  de- 


graded   in  inspiration  and   debased 
in  morals. 

SARSFIELD  ;  OR,  THE  LAST  GREAT  STRUG- 
GLE FOR  IRELAND.  By  D.  P.  Conyng- 
ham.  Boston:  Patrick  Donahoe. 

This  short  historical  novel  has 
been  written  for  two  purposes — to 
disprove  the  correctness  of  the  say- 
ing, attributed  to  Voltaire,  that  the 
Irish  always  fought  badly  at  home, 
and  to  illustrate,  in  a  popular  man- 
ner, the  struggle  between  James  II. 
and  his  son-in-law,  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  With  due  respect  to  the 
author,  we  submit  that  too  much 
importance  has  already  been  attach- 
ed to  Voltaire's  ipse  dixit  with  re- 
gard to  the  fighting  qualities  of  the 
Irish.  It  is  of  little  importance,  in- 
deed, what  that  gifted  infidel  has 
said  about  anything  or  anybody,  as 
it  is  pretty  well  understood  in  our 
day  that  among  his  numerous  fail- 
ings veracity  was  not  very  conspicu- 
ous. Mr.  Conyngham  has,  however, 
succeeded  very  creditably  in  accom- 
plishing his  main  object,  and  pre- 
sents us  with  a  succinct  and  truthful 
view  of  the  rival  forces  which,  for 
three  years,  contested  for  the  Eng- 
lish crown  on  the  soil  of  Ireland. 
There  is  very  little  plot  in  the  story, 
the  principal  interest  centring  in 
the  acts  of  Sarsfield  and  other  well- 
known  historical  personages  ;  but 
the  narrative  of  the  war  is  well  sus- 
tained, and  the  author's  conception 
of  the  inner  life  of  his  principal 
characters  is  in  the  main  correct  and 
natural. 

ARTHUR   BROWN.     By  Rev.  Elijah  Kel- 
Boston  :  Lee  &  Shepard. 


This  is  one  of  that  class  of  books 
for  boys  full  of  hair-breadth  escapes 
and  improbable  incidents.  It  is  the 
first  of  The  Pleasant  Cove  Scries, 
which  means  five  more  just  like  this. 
The  fact  that  the  characters  have 
been  introduced  in  a  former  "  series," 
and  are  to  be  carried  forward  through 
the  coming  five  volumes,  renders 
the  story  a  little  obscure  at  times. 
This,  however,  will  not  prevent 


144 


New  Publications. 


boys  who  enjoy  tales  of  perilous 
sea  voyages  and  marvellous  en- 
counters from  finding  this  volume 
interesting  and  amusing. 

PRAYERS  AND  CEREMONIES  OF  THE  MASS  ; 
or,    Moral,    Doctrinal,  and    Liturgical 
Explanations  of  the  Prayers  and  Cere- 
monies of  the  Mass.     By  Very   Rev. 
John   T.   Sullivan,   V.G.     Diocese    of 
Wheeling,  W.  Va.     New  York  :  D.  & 
J.  Sadlier  &  Co.     I2mo.     1870. 
The  subject  and  nature  of  this  lit- 
tle book  are  sufficiently  expressed 
in   its   title.     The   position   of   the 
Very  Reverend  author,  and  approba- 
tions by  the  Archbishop  of  New  York 
and  the  Right  Reverend  Bishop  of 
Wheeling,  testify  to  its  sound  doc- 
trine and  usefulness  as  a  book  of  in- 
struction. 

LITTLE  PUSSY  WILLOW.  By  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe.  Boston :  Fields,  Os- 
good  &  Co. 

Pussy  Willow  is  a  charming  girl 
and  a  charming  woman,  but  we  think 
that  it  is  not  often  that  nature  ac- 
complishes so  much  even  with  the 
aid  of  country  air  and  simple,  health- 
ful habits  and  pleasures.  However, 
we  must  not  forget  the  fairy's  gift, 
of  always  looking  at  the  bright  side 
of  things.  Pity  we  had  not  more 
of  us  this  gift !  But  the  girls  must 
read  for  themselves. 

FOLIA  ECCLESIASTICA,  ad  notandum  Mis- 
sas   persolvendas   et    persolutas,    pro 
clero     ordinata    et    disposita.        Neo- 
Eboraci  et   Cincinnati! :    surnptibus  et 
typis  Friderici  Pustet. 
This  little  memorandum  book  will 
be  found  quite  useful  for  the  purpose 
designed.     Besides  the  pages  appro- 
priated to  the  record  of  Masses,  there 
are  also  "  Indices  Neo-Communican- 
tium,  Confirmandorum,  Confraterni- 
tatum,"  etc.,  etc. 

SYNCHRONOI.OGY  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL 
EVENTS  IN  SACRED  AND  PROFANE  HIS- 
TORY, FROM  THE  CREATION  OF  MAN  TO 

.    THE    PRESENT    TIME.    Third    edition. 
Revised.      Boston :     Lee    &   Shepard. 
New  York  :  Lee,  Shepard  &  Dilling- 
ham.     i  vol.  8vo. 
Before  its  republication,  this  work 

should    have   been    placed    in    the 


hands  of  a  competent  editor.  As  it 
is  now,  it  is  very  objectionable,  and 
loses  all  its  value.  Here  is  one  quo- 
tation, taken  at  random.  Under  the 
year  1362,  we  read  :  "  Pope  Urban  V. 
at  Avignon  ;  beautifies  the  city  of 
Rome ;  presents  the  right  arm  of 
Thomas  Aquinas  to  Charles  V.  of 
France  as  an  object  of  worship." 

POEMS.   By  Bret  Harte.    Boston  :  Fields, 

Osgood  &  Co.     1871. 

We  have  read  this  unpretending 
little  volume  with  much  interest. 
The  author  is  a  true  poet,  and  has 
the  merit  of  originality  quite  as  much 
as  of  descriptive  power.  His  more 
serious  poems  display  a  high  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful  and  the  ro- 
mantic, and  there  is  a  Catholic  tone 
about  them.  Those  in  dialect,  with 
the  other  humorous  pieces,  are 
equally  pleasing  in  their  way.  The 
former,  particularly,  reflect  a  side  of 
life  which  is  generally  supposed  the 
least  poetical  cf  all.  Mr.  Bret  Harte 
has  "gathered honey  from  the  weed." 

CORRIGENDUM.  —  In  the  article 
"  Which  is  the  School  of  Religious 
Fraudulence,"  in  our  last  number, 
p.  791,  col.  2,  near  the  middle,  the 
sentence  beginning,  "  It  is  no  mark 
of  falsity,  therefore,  in  any  docu- 
ment," should  be  thus  concluded: 
"  that  it  occurs  there,  unless  it  oc- 
curs there  alone  and  nowhere  else." 

BOOKS   RECEIVED. 

From  JNO.  MURPHY  &  Co.,  Baltimore  :  A  Circular 
Letter  on  the  Temporal  Power  of  the  Popes  ; 
addressed  to  the  clergy  and  laity  of  the  Vicari- 
ate  Apostolic  of  North  Carolina.  By  the  Right 
Rev.  James  Gibbons,  D.D. 

From  the  YOUNG  CRUSADER  Office,  Boston :  Pro- 
tests of  the  Pope  and  People  against  the  Usur- 
pation of  the  Sovereignty  of  Rome  by  the 
Piedmontese  Government. 

From  P.  J.  KENEDY.  New  York :  The  Life  of  St. 
Mary  of  Egypt.  To  which  is  added  the  Life  of 
St.  Cecilia  and  the  Life  of  St.  Bridget. 

From  PETER  F.  CUNNINGHAM,  Philadelphia:  The 
Acts  of  the  Early  Martyrs.  Bv  J.  H.  M.  Fas- 
tre",  SJ. 

From  LEYPOLDT  &  HOLT,  New  York :  Across 
America  and  Asia.  By  Raphael  Pumpelly. 
Fifth  edition.  Revised. — Art  in  the  Nether- 
lands. By  H.  Taine.  Translated  by  J.  Du- 
rand. 

From  PATRICK  DONAHOE,  Boston :  The  "  Our 
Father."  Being  illustrations  of  the  several  pe- 
titions of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Translated  from 
the  German  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  J.  Emanuel  Veith, 
by  the  Rev.  Edward  Cox,  D.D. 

From  ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston :  Ad  Clerum  : 
Advice  to  a  Young  Preacher.  Bv  Joseph 
Parker,  D.D. 


THE 


CATHOLIC  WORLD. 


VOL.  XIIL,  No.  74.— MAY,  1871. 


THE  CHURCH  ACCREDITS   HERSELF* 


ARCHBISHOP  MANNING'S  pastoral 
letter  to  his  clergy  on  the  first  coun- 
cil, The  Vatican  and  its  Definitions,  to 
which  are  appended  the  two  consti- 
tutions the  council  adopted — the  one 
the  Constitutio  de  Fide  Catholica,  and 
the  other  the  Constitutio  Dogmatica 
Ptima  de  Ecclesia — the  case  of  Hono- 
rius,  and  the  Letter  of  the  German 
bishops  on  the  council,  though  con- 
taining little  that  is  new  to  our  read- 
ers, is  a  volume  which  is  highly 
valuable  in  itself,  and  most  conve- 
nient to  every  Catholic  who  would 
know  the  real  character  of  the  coun- 
cil and  what  is  the  purport  of  its 
definitions.  Few  members  of  the 
council  were  more  assiduous  in  their 
attendance  on  its  sessions  or  took 
a  more  active  part  in  its  deliberations 
than  the  illustrious  Archbishop  of 
Westminster,  and  no  one  can  give  a 
more  trustworthy  account  of  its  dis- 
positions or  of  its  acts.  We  are 
glad,  therefore,  that  the  volume  has 
been  republished  in  this  country,  and 


*  The  Vatican  Council  and  its  Definitions.  A 
Pastoral  Letter  to  the  Clergy.  By  Henry  Ed- 
ward. Archbishop  of  Westminster.  'New  York: 
D.  &  J.  Sadlier.  1871.  12010,  pp.  252. 


hope  it  will  be  widely  read  both  by 
Catholics  and  non-Catholics. 

The  character  of  the  book  and  of 
the  documents  it  contains  renders  any 
attempt  by  us  either  to  review  it  or  to 
explain  it  alike  unnecessary  and  im- 
pertinent. The  pastoral  is  addressed 
officially  by  the  Archbishop  to  his 
clergy;  the  constitutions  or  definitions 
adopted  by  the  Holy  Synod  declare, 
by  the  assistance  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
what  is,  and  always  has  been,  and 
always  will  be  the  Catholic  faith  on 
the  matters  defined ;  and  we  need  not 
say  that  we  cordially  accept  it  as  the 
word  of  God,  and  as  the  faith  which 
all  must  accept  ex  animo,  and  without 
which  it  is  impossible  to  please  God. 
What  the  council  has  defined  is  the 
law  of  God,  and  binds  us  as  if  spoken 
to  us  directly  by  God  himself  in  a 
voice  from  heaven.  He  speaks  to  us 
by  his  church,  his  organ,  and  her 
voice  is  in  fact  his  voice,  and  what 
we  take  on  her  authority  we  take  on 
his  authority,  for  he  assists  her, 
vouches  for  her,  and  commands  us 
to  believe  and  obey  her. 

There  are,  indeed,  enemies  of  the 
faith  who  pretend  that  Catholics  be- 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by  REV.  I.  T.  HECKER,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


146 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


lieve  solely  on  the  authority  of  the 
church  as  an  organic  body ;  but  this 
is  a  misapprehension.  We  believe 
what  is  revealed  on  the  veracity  of 
God  alone,  because  it  is  his  word, 
and  it  is  impossible  for  his  word  to 
be  false;  and  we  believe  that  it  is  his 
word  on  the  authority  or  testimony 
of  the  church,  with  whom  the  word  is 
deposited,  and  who  is  its  divinely 
commissioned  keeper,  guardian,  wit- 
ness, and  interpreter.  The  word  of 
God  is  and  must  be  true,  and  there  is 
and  can  be  no  higher  ground  of  faith 
or  even  of  knowledge  than  the  fact 
that  God  says  it.  Nothing  can  be 
aiore  consonant  to  reason  than  to 
believe  God  on  his  word.  Certainly,  it 
is  answered,  if  we  have  his  word; 
but  how  do  I  know  that  what  is  pro- 
posed to  me  as  his  word  is  his  word  ? 
We  take  the  fact  that  it  is  his  word 
on  the  authority  of  the  Catholic 
Church;  we  believe  it  is  his  word 
because  she  declares  it  to  be  his 
word.  It  is  permitted  no  one  to 
doubt  the  word  of  God  is  conceded ; 
but  whence  from  that  fact  does  it 
follow  that  I  am  not  permitted  to 
doubt  the  word  of  the  church  ?  Or 
why  should  I  believe  her  testimony 
or  her  declaration  rather  than  that  of 
any  one  else  ? 

To  this  question  the  general  an- 
swer is,  that  she  has  been  divinely 
instituted,  and  is  protected  and  as- 
sisted to  bear  true  witness  to  the 
revelation  which  it  has  pleased  God 
to  make,  to  proclaim  it,  declare  its 
sense,  and  condemn  whatever  im- 
pugns or  tends  to  obscure  it.  Sup- 
posing she  has  been  instituted  and 
commissioned  by  our  Lord  himself, 
for  this  very  purpose,  her  authority 
is  sufficient  for  believing  whatever 
she  teaches  and  declares  or  defines 
to  be  the  word  of  God  is  his  word 
or  the  truth  he  has  revealed ;  for  the 
divine  commission  is  the  divine 
word  pledged  for  her  veracity  and 


infallibility.  This  is  plain  enough  and 
indubitable ;  but  how  am  I  to  know 
or  to  be  assured  that  she  has  been 
so  instituted  or  commissioned,  and  is 
so  assisted  ? 

There  are  several  answers  to  this 
question ;    but    we    would    remark, 
before  proceeding  to   give  any  an- 
swer, that  the  church  is  in  possession, 
has  from  the  moment  of  the  descent 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  upon  the  apos- 
tles on  the  day  of  Pentecost  claimed 
to  be  in  possession  of  the  authority  in 
question,  and  has  had  her  claim  ac- 
knowledged  by  the  whole  body  of 
the  faithful,  and  denied  by  none  ex- 
cept   those    who    deny    or    impugn 
authority  itself.    Being  in  possession, 
it  is  for  those  who  question  her  right 
to  show    that    she   is  wrongfully  in 
possession.     They  are,  to  use  a  legal 
term,  the    plaintiffs    in    action,  and 
must  make  out  their  case.      Every 
one  is  presumed  in  law  to  be  inno- 
cent till  proven  guilty.     The  church 
must  be  presumed  to  be  rightfully  in 
possession  till  the  contrary  is  shown. 
They  who    question   her   possession 
must,  then,  adduce   at   least  prima 
fade  evidence  for  ousting  her  before 
she  can  be  called  upon  to  produce 
her  title-deeds.     This  has  never  been 
done,  and  never  can  be  done ;  for,  if 
it  could  be  done,  some  of  our  able  and 
learned  Protestant  divines  would,  in 
the  course  of  the  last  three  hundred 
years  and  over,  have  done  it.  There  is, 
then,  in  reality  no  need,  in  order  to  jus- 
tify the  faith  of  Catholics,  to  prove  by 
extrinsic  testimony  the  divine  institu- 
tion and  commission  of  the  church  to 
teach  all  men  and  nations  all  things 
whatsoever  God  has    revealed    and 
commanded  to  be  believed. 

But  we  have  no  disposition  to 
avail  ourselves  just  now  of  what  some 
may  regard  as  a  mere  legal  techni 
cality.  We  answer  the  question  by 
saying  the  church  is  herself  the  wit- 
ness in  the  case,  and  accredits  her- 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


147 


self,  or  her  existence  itself  proves  her 
divine  institution,  commission,  and 
assistance  or  guidance. 

The  church  was  founded  by  our 
Lord  on  the  prophets  and  apostles, 
being  himself  the  chief  corner-stone. 
This  is  asserted  here  as  a  simple  his- 
torical fact.  Historically,  the  church 
has  existed,  without  any  break  or 
defect  of  continuity,  from  the  apos- 
tles down  to  our  times.  Its  un- 
broken existence  from  that  time  to 
this  cannot  be  questioned.  It  has 
been  a  fact  during  all  that  period 
in  the  world's  history,  and  too  mo- 
mentous a  fact  to  escape  observation. 
Indeed,  it  has  been  the  one  great 
fact  of  history  for  over  eighteen 
hundred  years;  the  central  fact 
around  which  all  the  facts  of  history 
have  revolved,  and  without  which 
they  would  be  inexplicable  and 
meaningless.  This  assumed  or  grant- 
ed, it  must  be  conceded  that  she 
unites  as  one  continuous  fact,  in  one 
body,  the  apostles  and  the  believers 
of  to-day.  She  is  a  continuous  fact ; 
a  present  fact  during  all  the  period 
of  time  that  has  elapsed  between  the 
apostles  and  us,  and  therefore  is  alike 
present  to  them  and  to  us.  Her  exist- 
ence being  unbroken,  she  has  never 
fallen  into  the  past ;  never  been  a  past 
fact ;  but  has  always  been  and  is  a  pres- 
ent fact ;  and  therefore  as  present  with 
the  apostles  to-day  as  she  was  on  the 
day  of  Pentecost,  when  they  received 
the  Holy  Ghost ;  and  therefore  pre- 
sents us  not  simply  what  they  taught, 
but  what  they  teach  her  now  and 
here.  She  bridges  over  the  abyss 
of  time  between  our  Lord  himself 
and  us,  and  makes  us  and  the 
apostles,  so  to  speak,  contempora- 
ries ;  so  that,  as  it  is  our  Lord  him- 
self we  hear  in  the  apostles,  so  it  is 
the  apostles  themselves  that  we  hear 
in  her. 

This    continuity  or    unity  of  the 
church  in  time  is  a  simple  historical 


fact,  and  as  certain  as  any  other  his- 
torical fact,  and  even  more  so,  for  it 
is  a  fact  that  has  never  fallen  into 
the  past,  and  to  be  established  only 
by  trustworthy  witnesses  or  docu- 
ments. By  it  the  church  to-day  is 
and  must  be  as  apostolic  and  as  au- 
thoritative as  in  the  days  of  the  apos- 
tles Peter,  James,  and  John.  Indi- 
viduals die,  but  the  church  dies  not: 
individuals  are  changed,  as  are  the 
particles  of  our  bodies,  but  the  church 
changes  not.  As  in  the  human  race 
individuals  pass  off,  but  the  race  re- 
mains always  the  same;  so  in  the 
church  individuals  pass  away,  but 
the  church  remains  unchanged  in  all 
its  integrity ;  for  the  individuals  die 
not  all  at  once,  and  the  new  indivi- 
duals born  in  their  places  are  born 
into  the  one  identical  body,  that  does 
not  die,  but  remains  ever  the  same. 
No  matter,  then,  how  many  genera- 
tions succeed  one  another  in  their 
birth  and  death,  the  body  of  the 
church  is  subject  to  no  law  of  suc- 
cession, and  remains  not  only  one 
and  the  same  church,  but  always  the 
one  and  the  same  present  church. 
The  church  of  to-day  is  identically 
the  church  of  yesterday,  the  church 
of  yesterday  is  identically  the  church 
of  the  day  before,  and  thus  step  by 
step  back  to  the  apostles ;  on  the  oth- 
er hand,  the  church  in  the  time  of 
the  apostles  is  identically  the  church 
of  their  successors  down  through  all 
succeeding  generations  of  individuals 
to  us.  There  has  never  been  an  in- 
terval of  time  when  it  was  not,  or 
when  it  lost  its  identity  as  one  and 
the  same  body.  The  church  is  pre- 
cisely as  apostolic  now  as  it  was  in 
the  beginning,  or  as  were  the  apostles 
themselves. 

Now,  if  we  suppose  our  Lord  com- 
municated the  whole  revelation  to 
the  apostles  either  by  his  personal 
teaching  or  by  the  inspiration  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  then  he  communicated 


148 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


it  to  her,  and  she  is  an  eye  and  ear 
witness  to  the  fact  of  revelation  in 
the  same  sense  that  the  apostles 
were,  and  her  historical  identity  with 
the  apostles  makes  her  a  perpetual 
and  contemporary  witness  to  the  fact 
of  revelation  and  to  what  is  revealed. 
What  misleads  not  a  few  on  this 
point  is  that  they  regard  the  church 
as  a  mere  aggregation  of  individuals, 
born  and  dying  with  them,  or  suc- 
ceeding to  herself  with  the  succes- 
sion of  each  new  generation  of  in- 
dividuals. But  this  is  no  more  the 
case  with  the  church  than  with  the 
human  race  itself,  or  with  any  parti- 
cular nation  that  has  an  historical 
existence  through  several  generations. 
In  all  historical  bodies  the  genera- 
tions overlap  one  another,  and  no 
generation  of  individuals  is  either 
aggregated  to  the  body  or  segregat- 
ed from  it  all  at  once.  The  body 
does  not  die  with  the  receding  nor 
is  it  born  anew  with  the  acceding 
generation.  The  church,  indeed,  is 
an  organism,  not  a  mere  aggregation 
of  individuals,  but  even  if  it  were 
the  conclusion  would  not  follow  ;  for 
though  the  individuals  are  successive- 
ly aggregated  or  affiliated,  they  are 
aggregated  or  affiliated  to  her  as  a 
persistent  body,  and  though  they  pass 
•off  successively,  they  leave  the  body 
standing,  one  and  identical.  This  is 
the  simple  historical  fact.  The  church, 
as  an  ever-present  body,  remains  one 
and  the  same  identical  body  amid 
all  the  successive  changes  of  indivi- 
duals, and  is  just  as  much  the  deposi- 
tary of  the  revelation  and  an  eye- 
witness of  the  facts  recorded  in  the 
Gospels,  as  were  the  apostles  them- 
selves. 

We  say,  then,  the  church  is  herself 
the  witness,  and  a  competent  and 
credible  witness,  to  her  own  divine 
commission  to  teach  and  declare  the 
word  of  God  which  he  has  revealed, 
and  no  better,  no  more  competent 


or  credible  witness  is  needed  or,  in 
fact,  conceivable.  She  is  competent 
because  she  is  the  identical  apostoli- 
cal body,  the  contemporary  and  the 
eye-witness  through  the  successive 
ages  of  the  facts  to  which  she  testi- 
fies. She  is  a  credible  witness,  be- 
cause even  as  a  human  body  it  would 
be  hardly  possible  for  her  either  to 
mistake  or  to  misrepresent  the  facts 
to  which  she  testifies,  since  they  are 
always  present  before  her  eyes,  since, 
however  her  individual  members 
may  change,  she  herself  knows  no 
change  with  lapse  of  time,  and  no 
succession.  She  could  not  forget  the 
faith,  change  it,  or  corrupt  it,  because 
there  is  at  all  times  in  her  commu- 
nion an  innumerable  body  ot  living 
witnesses  to  its  unity,  purity,  and  in- 
tegrity, who  would  detect  the  change 
or  alteration  and  expose  it.  It  is 
not  with  her  as  it  would  be  with  a 
book  having  a  limited  circulation. 
Copies  of  the  book  could  easily  be 
altered  or  interpolated  without  detec- 
tion ;  but  the  living  testimony  of  the 
church,  spread  over  the  whole  world 
and  teaching  all  nations,  cannot  be 
interpolated  or  corrupted.  It  is  on 
the  fidelity  of  the  church,  her  vi- 
gilant guardianship,  and  uniform 
testimony  that  we  depend  for  our 
confidence  in  the  genuineness  and  au- 
thenticity of  our  copies  of  the  sacred 
writings,  and  it  is  worthy  of  note 
that  in  proportion  as  men  throw  off 
the  authority  of  the  church,  and  re- 
ject her  traditions,  they  lose  that  con- 
fidence, and  fail  to  agree  among 
themselves  what  books,  if  any,  are 
inspired ;  so  that  without  the  testimo- 
ny of  the  church  the  Holy  Scriptures 
themselves  cease  to  be  an  authority 
in  matters  of  faith. 

In  human  tribunals  the  supreme 
court  is  presumed  to  know  the  law 
.which  constitutes  it,  and  it  defines 
its  own  jurisdiction  and  powers.  It 
declares  the  law  of  which  it  is  the 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


149 


depositary  and  guardian,  and  though 
the  judges  have  only  their  human 
wisdom,  learning,  and  sagacity,  it  is 
remarkable  how  few  mistakes  through 
a  long  series  of  ages  they  commit 
as  to  what  is  or  is  not  the  law  they 
are  appointed  to  administer,  and 
nearly  all  the  mistakes  they  do  com- 
mit are  due  to  the  changes  the  l<^gis- 
lature  makes  in  the  law  or  in  the 
constitution  of  the  court.  Why  should 
the  church  be  less  competent  to 
judge  of  the'  law  under  which  she 
is  constituted,  and  to  define  her  jur- 
isdiction and  powers?  And  since 
her  constitution,  as  well  as  the  law 
she  administers,  changes  not,  why 
should  she  be  less  exempt,  even  as  a 
human  court,  from  mistakes  in  inter- 
preting and  declaring  the  law,  than 
the  supreme  court  of  England  or 
the  United  States  ?  What  higher 
authority  can  there  be  to  judge  of 
her  own  constitution  and  the  law 
given  her  to  administer  than  the 
church  herself? 

The  church  received  her  constitu- 
tion in  the  commission  given  to  the 
apostolic  body  with  whom  she  is  one 
and  identical,  and  the  law  or  reveal- 
ed word  in  the  reception  of  it  by  the 
apostles.  Being  one  and  identical 
body  with  them,  she  has  received 
what  they  received,  and  knows  what 
they  knew,  is  taught  what  they  were 
taught,  understands  it  in  the  same 
sense  that  they  did,  and  has  the  same 
authority  to  interpret  and  declare  it 
that  they  had.  If  they  were  com- 
missioned to  teach  all  nations  to  ob- 
serve all  things  whatsoever  our  Lord 
commanded  them,  she  is  commission- 
ed in  their  commission  to  do  the 
same.  If  he  promised  them  his  effi- 
cacious presence  and  assistance  to 
the  consummation  of  the  world,  he 
made  the  promise  to  her ;  if  he  made 
Peter  the  prince  of  the  apostles,  the 
father  and  teacher  of  all  Christians, 
and  gave  him  plenary  authority  to 


feed,  rule,  and  govern  the  universa 
church,  he  made  the  successor  of 
Peter  the  visible  head  of  the  church, 
and  gave  him  the  same  authority. 
The  church,  being  the  apostolic  body 
persisting  through  all  times,  knows 
what  the  apostles  received,  knows 
therefore  both  her  own  constitution 
and  the  law  deposited  with  her,  and  is 
as  competent  to  judge  of  them  as  the 
apostles  were,  and  has  full  authority 
to  interpret  and  declare  both,  and  it 
is  to  her,  as  to  the  supreme  court  of 
a  nation,  to  judge  what  they  are,  and 
to  define  her  constitution,  jurisdiction, 
and  powers. 

The  objection  which  many  make 
to  this  conclusion  arises  from  their 
confounding  the  authority  of  the 
church  to  interpret  and  define  the 
law — and,  as  a  part  of  the  law,  her 
own  constitution,  jurisdiction,  and 
powers  or  functions — with  the  authori- 
ty to  make  the  law  :  a  mistake  like 
that  of  confounding  the  supreme 
court  of  the  United  States  with  Con- 
gress. The  church,  like  the  court  or 
the  supreme  executive,  may  make  her 
own  rules  and  orders — what  are 
called  the  orders  and  rules  of  court, 
for  the  purpose  of  carrying  out  the 
intent  of  the  law — but  she  no  more 
makes  the  law  than  does  the  civil 
court  make  the  law  under  which  it  is 
constituted,  and  which  it  administers. 
God  alone  is  the  lawgiver  or  law- 
maker, and  his  revealed  word  is  the 
law — the  law  for  the  human  reason 
and  will,  and  which  binds  all  men  in 
thought,  word,  and  deed.  We  want 
no  church,  as  the  supreme  judge  of 
the  law,  to  tell  us  this,  for  it  is  a  dic- 
tamen  of  reason  itself.  It  is  the  re- 
vealed word  of  God,  which  again  is 
only  his  will,  the  will  of  the  supreme 
Lawgiver — that  is  the  law  under 
which  the  church  is  constituted,  and 
which  she  guards,  interprets,  and  de- 
clares, whenever  a  question  of  law 
arises.  She  does  not  make  the  law; 


150 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


she  keeps,  interprets,  declares,  and 
defends  or  vindicates  it.  Even  with 
only  human  wisdom,  she  can  no  more 
make  the  law,  or  declare  that  to  be 
law  which  is  not,  than  the  supreme 
civil  court  can  declare  that  to  be  civil 
law  Avhich  is  not  civil  law.  The  ob- 
jection, therefore,  is  not  well  taken. 

The  law,  it  is  agreed  on  all  hands — 
that  is,  the  revelation,  whether  writ- 
ten or  unwritten — was  deposited  with 
the  apostles,  then  it  was  deposited,  as 
we  have  seen,  with  the  church  iden- 
tical with  the  apostolic  body.  Now, 
she  knows,  as  the  apostles  knew,  what 
she  received,  the  law  committed  to 
her  charge,  and,  as  she  is  constituted 
by  the  law  she  has  received,  she 
knows,  and  cannot  but  know,  her 
own  constitution  and  powers,  also 
what  promises,  if  any,  she  has  re- 
ceived from  her  divine  Lawgiver  and 
Founder.  The  promises  of  God  can- 
not fail;  and  if  he  has. promised  her 
his  assistance  as  an  immunity  from 
error  she  knows  it,  and  knows  that 
her  judgments  of  law,  or  in  matters 
of  faith,  are  through  that  assistance 
infallible.  Of  all  these  questions  she 
is  the  divinely  constituted  judge.  She 
is  the  judge  of  the  law  constituting 
her,  of  her  own  appointment  and 
commission,  and  of  her  rights,  pow- 
ers, and  jurisdiction,  no  less  than  of 
the  law  or  revelation  committed  to 
her  charge,  for  all  this  is  included  in 
the  law.  If  she  defines  that  in  her 
commission  is  included  the  promise 
of  the  divine  assistance  to  protect 
her  from  error  in  interpreting  and  de- 
claring the  law — that  is,  the  faith,  the 
revealed  word  of  God — then  of  all 
this  she  judges  infallibly,  and  she  is 
the  infallible  authority,  not  for  believ- 
ing what  God  has  revealed — for  that 
is  believed  on  the  veracity  of  God 
alone — but  for  believing  that  what  she 
teaches  as  his  revealed  word  is  his 
revealed  word,  and  therefore  the  law 
we  are  to  obey  in  thought,  word, 


deed,  as  the  supreme  court  is  the 
authority  for  defining  its  own  consti- 
tution and  powers,  and  what  is  or  is 
not  the  law  of  the  state.  Say  we  not, 
then,  truly  that  the  church  is  her 
own  witness  and  accredits  herself? 
Say  we  not  truly,  also,  that  she  is  the 
faithful  and  infallible  witness  to  the  fact 
of  revelation,  and  teacher  and  judge 
of  what  God  has  or  has  not  reveal- 
ed ?  The  fact,  then,  that  the  church 
defines  that  she  is  the  divinely  ap- 
pointed guardian  and  infallible  teach- 
er and  judge  of  revelation,  is  all  we 
need  to  know  in  order  to  know  that 
it  is  God  we  believe  in  believing  her. 
None  of  the  sects  can  apply  this 
argument  to  themselves ;  for  no  o»e 
of  them  can  pretend  to  be  the  iden- 
tical apostolical  body,  or  to  span  the 
distance  of  time  from  the  apostles  to 
us,  so  as  to  be  at  once  their  contem- 
porary and  ours.  They  all  have 
either  originated  too  late  or  have  died 
too  soon  for  that.  Not  one  of  them 
can  pretend  to  have  originated  in  the 
apostolic  communion,  and  to  have 
existed  as  one  continuous  body  down 
to  us.  There  were  sectaries  in  the 
lifetime  of  the  apostles,  but  they  were 
not  in  the  apostolic  communion,  but 
separated  from  it ;  and  there  is,  as  far 
as  we  know,  no  sect  in  existence  that 
originated  in  apostolic  times.  Some 
of  the  Gnostic  sects  sprang  up  at  a 
very  early  day,  but  they  have  all 
disappeared,  though  many  of  their 
errors  are  revived  in  our  day.  The 
Nestorian  and  Jacobite  sects  still 
subsist  in  the  East,  but  they  were 
born  too  late  to  be  of  apostolic  ori- 
gin, and  our  modern  Unitarians 
are  not  the  old  Arians  continued 
in  one  unbroken  body.  The  Lu- 
theran and  Calvinistic  sects  are  of  yes 
terday,  and  they  and  their  numerous 
offshoots  are  out  of  the  question. 
The  poor  Anglicans  talk  of  apostolic 
succession  indeed,  but  they  separat- 
ed or  were  cut  off  from  the  apostolic 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


body  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and, 
with  all  the  pretensions  of  a  few  of 
them,  are  only  a  Protestant  sect,  born 
of  the  Reformation,  as  the  greater  part 
of  them  strenuously  contend.  There  is 
something  in  people's  instincts ;  and  it 
is  worthy  ot  note  that  no  people  ^vho 
have  cast  off  the  authority  of  the 
Holy  See  have  ever  ventured  to  as- 
sume as  their  official  name  the  title 
of  APOSTOLIC.  Even  the  schisma- 
tic Greeks,  while  they  claim  to  be  or- 
thodox, do  not  officially  call  their 
church  apostolic;  and  the  American 
Anglicans  assume  only  the  name  of 
Protestant  Episcopal.  Protestant  apos- 
tolic would  strike  the  whole  world 
as  incongruous,  and  very  much  as  a 
contradiction  in  terms. 

Let  the  argument  be  worth  little 
or  much,  the  only  body  claiming  to 
be  the  church  of  Christ  that  has  or 
has  had  an  uninterrupted  historical 
existence  from  the  apostles  to  us,  is 
the  body  that  is  in  communion  with 
the  See  of  Rome,  and  recognizes  the 
successor  of  Peter  in  that  see  as 
the  Vicar  of  Christ,  the  teacher  of 
the  nations,  supreme  pastor  of  the 
faithful,  with  plenary  authority  from 
our  Lord  himself  to  feed,  rule,  and 
govern  the  universal  church.  The 
fact  is  too  plain  on  the  very  face  of 
history  for  any  one  who  knows  his- 
tory at  all  to  deny  it.  Nor,  in  fact, 
does  any  one  deny  it.  All  in  reality 
concede  it ;  and  the  pretence  is  that 
to  be  in  communion  with  that  see  is 
not  necessary  in  order  to  be  in  com- 
munion with  Christ,  or  with  the  uni- 
versal church. 

But  this  is  a  question  of  law  or  of 
its  interpretation,  and  can  itself  be 
determined  only  by  the  supreme 
court  instituted  to  keep,  interpret,  and 
declare  the  law.  The  court  of  last 
resort  has  already  decided  the  ques- 
tion. It  is  res  adjudicata,  and  no  long- 
er an  open  question.  The  court  has 
decided  that  extra  ecclcsiam,  nulla 


satus,  or,  that  out  of  communion 
with  the  church  there  is  no  commu- 
nion with  Christ;  and  that  out  of 
communion  with  the  Holy  See  there 
is  no  communion  with  the  universal 
church,  for  there  is  no  such  church. 
Do  you  appeal  from  the  decision 
of  the  court  ?  To  what  tribunal  ? 
To  a  higher  tribunal  ?  But  there  is 
no  higher  tribunal  than  the  court  of 
last  resort.  None  of  the  sects  are 
higher  than  the  church,  or  competent 
to  set  aside  or  overrule  her  decisions. 
Do  you  appeal  to  the  Bible  ?  But 
this  were  only  appealing  from  the 
law  as  expounded  by  the  church  or 
the  supreme  court  to  the  law  as  ex- 
pounded by  yourself  or  your  sect. 
Such  an  appeal  cannot  be  entertain- 
ed, for  it  is  an  appeal,  not  from  an 
inferior  court  to  a  superior,  but  from 
the  highest  court  to  the  lowest.  The 
law  expounded  by  the  individual  or 
the  sect  is  below,  not  above,  the  law 
expounded  and  declared  by  the 
church.  The  sect  has  confessedly 
no  authority,  and  the  law  expounded 
and  applied  by  the  sect  is  no  more 
than  the  law  expounded  and  applied 
by  the  private  individual ;  and  no  pri- 
vate individual  is  allowed  to  expound 
and  apply  the  law  for  himself,  but 
must  take  it  as  expounded  and  applied 
by  the  court,  and  the  judgment  as  to 
what  the  law  is  of  the  court  of  last 
resort  is  final,  and  from  it,  as  every 
lawyer  knows,  there  lies  no  appeal. 
To  be  able  to  set  aside  or  overrule 
the  judgment  of  the  church,  it  is  ne- 
cessary, then,  to  have  a  court  of  su- 
perior jurisdiction,  competent  to  re- 
vise her  judgments  and  to  confirm 
or  to  overrule  them.  But,  unhappi- 
ly for  those  who  are  dissatisfied  with 
her  judgments,  there  is  and  can  be 
no  such  court  to  which  they  can  ap- 
peal. 

There  might  be  some  plausibility 
in  the  pretended  appeal  from  the 
church  to  the  Bible,  if  the  church  had 


152 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


not  the  Bible,  or  if  she  avowedly 
rejected  its  divine  authority ;  but  as 
the  case  stands,  such  an  appeal  is 
irregular,  illegal,  and  absurd.  The 
church  has  and  always  has  had  the 
Bible  ever  since  it  was  written.  It  was, 
as  we  have  seen,  originally  deposited 
with  her,  and  it  is  only  from  her  that 
those  outside  of  her  communion  have 
obtained  it  or  their  knowledge  of  it. 
She  has  always  held  and  taught  it 
to  be  the  divinely  inspired  and  autho- 
ritative written  word  of  God,  which 
none  of  her  children  are  allowed  to 
deny  or  question.  There  is  no  op- 
position possible  between  her  teach- 
ing and  the  Bible,  for  the  Bible  is 
included  in  her  teaching,  and  conse- 
quently no  appeal  from  her  teaching 
to  the  Bible.  It  would  be  only  an 
appeal  from  herself  to  herself.  The 
only  appeal  conceivable  in  the  case 
is  from  her  understanding  of  the  sa- 
cred Scriptures  or  the  revealed  word 
of  God  to — your  own ;  but  as  you 
at  best  have  confessedly  no  autho- 
rity to  expound,  interpret,  or  de- 
clare the  law,  your  understanding 
of  the  written  word  can  in  no  case 
override  or  set  aside  hers. 

The  Reformers,  when  they  pre- 
tended to  appeal  from  the  church  to 
the  Bible,  mistook  the  question  and 
proceeded  on  a  false  assumption. 
There  never  was  any  question  be- 
tween the  church  and  the  Bible ;  the 
only  question  there  was  or  could  be 
was  between  her  understanding  of 
the  Bible  and  theirs,  or,  as  we  have 
said,  between  the  Bible  as  expound- 
ed by  the  church  and  the  Bible  as 
expounded  by  private  individuals. 
This  the  Reformers  did  not  or  would 
not  see,  and  this  their  followers  do 
not  or  will  not  see  to  this  day.  Now, 
count  the  authority  of  the  church  for 
as  little  as  possible,  her  understand- 
ing cannot  be  below  that  of  private 
individuals,  and  the  understanding 
of  private  individuals  can  never  over- 


ride it,  or  be  a  sufficient  reason  for 
setting  it  aside.  The  Reformers  had 
recognized  the  church  as  the  supreme 
authority  in  matters  of  faith,  and  the 
question  was  not  on  admitting  her 
authority  as  something  hitherto  un- 
recognized, but  on  rejecting  an 
authority  they  had  hitherto  ac- 
knowledged as  divine.  They  could 
not  legally  reject  it  except  on  a  high- 
er authority,  or  by  the  judgment  of 
a  superior  court.  But  there  was  no 
superior  court,  no  higher  authority, 
and  they  could  oppose  to  her  not  the 
authority  of  the  Bible,  as  they  pre- 
tended, but  at  best  only  their  pri- 
vate opinion  or  views  of  what  it 
teaches,  which  in  no  case  could  count 
for  more  than  her  judgment,  and 
therefore  could  not  overrule  it  or  au- 
thorize its  rejection. 

It  is  all  very  well  to  deny  the 
divine  commission  and  authority  of 
the  church  to  expound  the  word  and 
declare  the  law  of  God ;  but  a  denial, 
to  serve  any  purpose,  or  to  be  worth 
anything,  must  have  a  reason,  and  a 
higher  reason  than  has  the  affirma- 
tion denied.  One  can  deny  only  by 
an  authority  sufficient  to  warrant  an 
affirmation.  It  needs  as  much  rea- 
son to  deny  as  to  affirm.  The  autho- 
rity of  the  church  can  really  be  de- 
nied only  by  opposing  to  her  a  truth 
that  disproves  it.  A  simple  negation 
is  nothing,  and  proves  or  disproves 
nothing.  Yet  the  Reformers  opposed 
to  the  church  only  a  simple  negation. 
They  opposed  to  her  no  authority, 
no  affirmative  truth,  and  consequent- 
ly gave  no  reason  for  denying  or  un- 
churching her.  Indeed,  no  individ- 
ual or  sect  ever  opposes  either  to 
the  church  or  to  her  teaching  any- 
thing but  simple  negation,  and  no 
one  ever  makes  an  affirmation  or 
affirms  any  truth  or  positive  doctrine 
which  she  does  not  herself  affirm 
or  hold  and  teach.  Every  known 
heresy,  from  that  of  the  Docetse  down 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


153 


to  the  latest  development  of  Protes- 
tantism, simply  denies  what  the  churqh 
teaches,  and  affirms  nothing  which 
she  does  not  herself  affirm,  as  Catho- 
lics have  shown  over  and  over  again. 
These  denials,  based  as  they  are  on^ 
no  principle  or  affirmative  truth,  are 
gratuitous,  and  count  for  nothing 
against  the  church  or  her  teaching. 
Who  would  count  the  denialby  a 
madman  that  the  sun  shines  in  a  clear 
sky  at  noonday  ? 

The  simple  fact  is  that  whoever 
denies  the  church  or  her  judgments 
does  it  without  any  authority  or 
reason  but  his  own  private  opinion  or 
caprice,  and  that  is  simply  no  author- 
ity or  reason  at  all.  It  is  not  possi- 
ble to  allege  any  authority  against 
her  or  her  teaching.  Men  may  cavil 
at  the  truth,  may  by  their  sophistries 
and  subtleties  obscure  the  truth  or 
involve  themselves  in  a  dense  men- 
tal fog,  so  that  they  are  unable  to  see 
anything  distinctly,  or  to  tell  where 
they  are  or  in  what  direction  they 
are  moving.  They  may  thus  imag- 
ine that  they  have  some  reason  for 
their  denials,  and  even  persuade 
others  that  such  is  the  fact;  but  when- 
ever the  fog  is  cleared  away,  and 
they  have  easted themselves,  they  can- 
not, if  they  have  ordinary  intelligence, 
fail  to  discover  that  the  truth  which 
in  their  own  minds  they  opposed  to 
her  or  her  teaching  is  a  truth  which 
she  herself  holds  and  teaches  as  an 
integral  part  of  her  doctrine,  or  as 
included  in  the  depositum  of  faith 
she  has  received.  Do  you  say  there 
is  truth  outside  of  the  church ;  truth 
in  all  religions;  in  all  superstitions, 
even  ?  Be  it  so ;  but  there  is  no 
truth  outside  of  her  in  any  religion  or 
superstition  that  she  denies  or  does 
not  recognize  and  hold,  and  hold  in 
its  unity  and  catholicity.  There  may 
be  facts  in  natural  history,  in  physics, 
chemistry,  in  all  the  special  sciences, 
as  in  the  several  handicrafts,  that  she 


does  not  teach ;  but  there  is  no  prin- 
ciple of  science  of  any  sort  that  she 
does  not  hold  and  apply  whenever 
an  occasion  for  its  application  occurs. 
None  of  the  special  sciences  have 
their  principles  in  themselves,  or  do 
or  can  demonstrate  the  principles  on 
which  they  depend,  and  from  which 
they  derive  their  scientific  character. 
They  all  depend  for  their  scientific 
character  on  a  higher  science,  the 
science  of  sciences,  which  the  church 
and  the  church  alone  teaches.  The 
principles  of  ethics,  and  therefore  of 
politics  as  a  branch  of  ethics,  all 
lie  in  the  theological  order,  and 
without  theology  there  is  and  can  be 
no  science  of  ethics  or  politics ;  and 
hence  we  see  that  both,  with  those  who 
reject  theology,  are  purely  empirical, 
without  any  scientific  basis.  An 
atheist  may  be  moral  in  his  conduct, 
but  if  there  were  no  God  there 
could  be  no  morality;  so  may  an 
atheist  be  a  geometrician,  but  if  there 
were  no  God  there  could  be  no  ge- 
ometry. Deny  God,  and  what  be- 
comes of  lines  that  may  be  infinitely 
projected,  or  of  space  shading  off  in- 
to immensity,  on  which  so  much  in  the 
science  of  geometry  depends  ?  Nay, 
deny  God,  and  what  would  become 
even  of  finite  space  ?  Yet  without  the 
conception  of  space,  which  is  in 
truth  only  the  power  of  God  to  ex- 
ternize  his  acts,  geometry  would  be 
impossible.  All  the  special  sciences 
are  secondary,  and  are  really  science 
only  when  carried  up  to  their  first 
principles  and  explained  by  them. 
What  more  absurd,  then,  than  the  at- 
tempt of  scientists  to  prove  by  science 
there  is  no  God,  or  to  oppose 
science  to  the  theology  of  the  church, 
without  which  no  science  is  possible  ? 
We  need  but  look  at  the  present 
state  of  men's  minds  to  see  how  the 
world  gets  on  without  the  church. 
Never  were  men  more  active  or  inde- 
fatigable in  their  researches :  they  send 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


their  piercing  glances  into  all  subjects, 
sacred  and  profane ;  they  investigate 
the  heavens  and  the  earth,  the  pres- 
ent and  the  past,  and  leave  no  nook  or 
corner  of  nature  unexplored,  and  yet 
there  is  not  a  principle  of  ethics,  pol- 
itics, or  science  that  is  not  denied  or 
called  in  question.  In  the  moral  and 
political  world  nothing  is  fixed  or 
settled,  and  moral  and  intellectual 
science,  as  well  as  statesmanship,  dis- 
appears. Doubt  and  uncertainty 
hang  over  all  questions,  and  the  dis- 
tinctions between  right  and  wrong, 
just  and  unjust,  as  well  as  between 
good  and  evil,  are  obscured  and  well- 
nigh  obliterated.  The  utmost  con- 
fusion, reigns  in  the  whole  world  ot 
thought,  and  "men,"  as  a  distin- 
guished prelate  said  to  us  the  other 
day,  "  are  trying  the  experiment  of 
governing  the  world  without  con- 
science." All  this  proves  what  we 
maintain,  that  they  who  deny  the 
church,  or  reject  her  teaching,  have 
no  truth  to  oppose  to  her,  no  reason 
for  their  denial,  and  no  principle  on 
which  they  base  their  rejection  of 
her  authority.  Their  rejection  of  the 
church  and  her  teaching  is  purely 
gratuitous,  and  therefore,  if  not  sin- 
ful, is  at  least  baseless. 

This  much  is  certain,  that  it  is 
either  the  church  or  nothing.  There 
is  no  other  alternative.  Nothing  is 
more  absurd  than  for  those  who  re- 
ject the  church  and  her  teaching 
to  pretend  to  be  Christian  teachers 
or  believers.  They  cannot  believe 
the  revelation  God  has  made  on  the 
veracity  of  God  alone,  for  they  have 
no  witness,  not  even  an  unassisted 
human  witness,  of  the  fact  of  revela- 
tion, of  what  God  has  revealed,  or 
that  he  has  or  has  not  revealed  any- 
thing, since  they  have  no  witness 
who  was  the  contemporary  of  our 
Lord  and  his  apostles — they  were 
none  of  them  born  then — and  they 
have  no  institution  that  dates  from 


apostolic  times,  and  that  has  con- 
tinued without  break  down  to  the 
present.  In  fact,  what  they  profess 
to  believe,  in  so  far  as  they  believe  it 
at  all,  they  believe  on  the  authority 
of  the  church,  or  of  that  very  tradi- 
tion which  they  reject  and  deny  to  be 
authority.  They  agree  among  them- 
selves in  their  doctrinal  belief  only 
when  and  where  they  agree  with 
the  church  ;  whenever  and  wherever 
they  break  from  Catholic  tradition, 
preserved  and  handed  down  by  her, 
they  disagree  and  fight  with  one  an- 
other, are  all  at  sea,  and  have  neither 
chart  nor  compass.  Do  they  tell  us 
that  they  agree  in  the  essentials  of 
the  Christian  faith  ?  Yet  it  is  only  so 
far  as  they  follow  Catholic  tradition 
that  they  know  or  can  agree  among 
themselves  as  to  what  are  or 
are  not  essentials.  There  is  a  wide 
difference  between  what  Dr.  Pusey 
holds  to  be  essential  and  what  is  held 
to  be  essential  by  Dr.  Bellows.  Nearly 
the  only  point  in  which  the  two  agree 
is  in  rejecting  the  infallible  authority 
of  the  successor  of  Peter ;  and,  in  re- 
iecting  that  authority,  neither  has  any 
authority  for  believing  what  he  be- 
lieves, or  for  denying  what  he  denies. 
Deny  the  church,  and  you  have  no 
authority  for  asserting  divine  reve- 
lation at  all,  as  your  rationalists  and 
radicals  conclusively  prove. 

But,  happily,  the  other  alternative 
saves  us  from  all  these  logical  incon- 
sistencies. The  church  meets  every 
demand,  removes  every  embarrass- 
ment, and  affords  us  the  precise  au- 
thority we  need  for  faith,  for  she  is 
in  every  age  and  every  land  a  living 
witness  to  the  fact  of  revelation,  and 
an  ever-present  judge  competent  to 
declare  what  God  reveals,  and  to 
teach  us  what  we  have,  and  what  we 
have  not,  the  veracity  of  God  for  be- 
lieving. She  can  assure  us  of  the 
divine  inspiration  and  authority  of 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  without 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


155 


her  tradition  is  not  provable ;  for  she 
has  received  them  through  the  apos- 
tles from  our  Lord  himself.  She  can 
enable  us  to  read  them  aright,  and 
can  unfold  to  us  by  her  teaching  their 
real  sense;  for  the  Holy  Ghost  has 
deposited  with  her  the  whole  revela- 
tion of  God,  whether  written  or  un- 
written. Outside  of  her,  men,  if 
they  have  the  book  called  the  Bible, 
can  make  little  or  nothing  of  it,  can 
come  to  no  agreement  as  to  its  sense, 
except  so  far  as  they  inconsistently 
and  surreptitiously  avail  themselves  of 
her  interpretation  of  it.  They  have 
no  key  to  its  sense.  But  she  has  the 
key  to  its  meaning  in  her  possession 
and  knowledge  of  all  that  God  re- 
veals, or  in  the  divine  instruction  she 
has  received  in  the  beginning.  The 
whole  word  of  God,  and  the  word 
of  God  as  a  whole,  is  included  in 
the  depositum  she  has  received,  and 
therefore  she  is  able  at  all  times  and 
in  all  places  to  give  the  true  sense 
of  the  whole,  and  of  the  relation 
to  the  whole  of  each  and  every 
part.  In  her  tradition  the  Bible 
is  a  book  of  divine  instruction,  of 
living  truth,  of  inestimable  value, 
and  entitled  to  the  profoundest  reve- 
rence, which  we  know  it  is  not  in  the 
hands  of  those  who  wrest  it  from  her 
tradition,  and  have  no  clue  to  its 
meaning  but  grammar  and  lexicon. 

The  notion  that  a  man  who  knows 
nothing  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  is 
a  stranger  to  the  whole  order  of 
Christian  thought  and  life,  can  take 
up  the  Bible,  even  when  correctly 
translated  into  his  mother-tongue, 
and  from  reading  and  studying  it  ar- 
rive at  an  adequate  knowledge,  or 
any  real  knowledge  at  all,  of  Chris- 
tian truth  or  the  revelation  which 
God  has  made  to  man,  is  preposter- 
ous, and  contradicted  by  every  day's 
experience.  Just  in  proportion  as 
men  depart  from  the  tradition  of  faith 
preserved  by  the  church,  the  Bible 


becomes  an  unintelligible  book,  ceas- 
es to  be  of  any  use  to  the  mind, 
and,  if  reverenced  at  all,  becomes, 
except  in  a  few  plain  moral  precepts, 
a  source  of  error  much  more  fre- 
\quently  than  of  truth.  One  of  the 
most  precious  gifts  of  God  to  man 
becomes  instead  of  a  benefit  a  real 
injury  to  the  individual  and  to  socie- 
ty. Our  school-boards  may,  then, 
easily  understand  why  we  Catholics 
object  to  the  reading  of  the  Bible  in 
schools  where  the  church  cannot  be 
present  to  enlighten  the  pupil's  mind 
as  to  its  real  and  true  sense.  It 
is  the  court  that  keeps  the  statute- 
books,  and  interprets  and  applies  the 
law,  whether  the  lex  scripta  or  the 
lex  non  scripta. 

The  church,  existing  in  all  ages 
and  in  all  nations  as  one  identical 
body,  is  a  living  witness  in  all  times 
and  places,  as  we  have  said,  of  the 
fact  that  God  has  revealed  what  she 
believes  and  teaches,  and  is  through 
his  assistance  a  competent  and  suffi- 
cient authority  for  that  fact,  and  to 
interpret  and  declare  the  revealed 
law,  as  much  so,  to  say  the  least,  as 
the  supreme  court  of  a.  nation  is  to 
declare  what  is  the  law  of  the  state. 
The  objection  made  by  rationalists 
and  others  to  believing  on  the  autho- 
rity of  the  church,  or  to  recognizing 
her  authority  to  declare  the  faith,  is 
founded  on  the  false  assumption  that 
the  church  makes  the  faith,  and  can 
make  anything  of  faith  she  pleases, 
whether  God  has  revealed  it  or  not. 
We  have  already  answered  this  ob- 
jection. The  church  bears  witness 
to  the  fact  of  revelation,  and  declares 
what  is  or  is  not  the  faith  God  has 
revealed,  as  the  supreme  court  de- 
clares what  is  or  is  not  the  law  of 
the  state ;  but  she  can  declare  noth- 
ing to  be  of  faith  that  is  not  of  faith, 
or  that  God  has  not  revealed  and 
commanded  all  men  to  believe,  for 
through  the  divine  assistance  she  is 


I56 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


infallible,  and  therefore  cannot  err  in 
matters  of  faith,  or  in  any  matters 
pertaining  in  any  respect  to  faith  and 
morals.  Since  she  cannot  err  in  de- 
claring what  God  has  revealed  and 
commanded,  we  are  assured  that 
what  she  declares  to  be  revealed  is 
revealed,  or  to  be  commanded  is  com- 
manded, and  therefore  we  know  that 
whatever  we  are  required  to  believe 
as  of  faith,  or  to  do  as  commanded 
of  God,  we  have  the  authority  of 
God  himself  for  believing  and  doing, 
the  highest  possible  reason  for  faith, 
since  God  is  truth  itself,  and  can  nei- 
ther deceive  nor  be  deceived ;  and  the 
highest  possible  law,  for  God  is  the 
Supreme  Lawgiver.  It  is  they  who 
reject  the  church  or  deny  her  autho- 
rity that  have  only  an  arbitrary  and 
capricious  human  authority,  and  who 
abdicate  their  reason  and  their  free- 
dom, and  make  themselves  slaves, 
and  slaves  of  human  passion,  arro- 
gance, and  ignorance.  The  Catholic 
is  the  only  man  who  has  true  mental 
freedom,  or  a  reason  for  his  faith. 
His  faith  makes  him  free.  It  is  the 
truth  that  liberates ;  and  therefore  our 
Lord  says,  "  If  the  Son  shall  make 
you  free,  ye  shall  be  free  indeed." 
Who  can  be  freer  than  he  who  is  held 
to  believe  and  obey  only  God  ?  They 
whom  the  truth  does  not  make  free 
may  fancy  they  are  free,  but  they  are 
not;  they  are  in  bondage,  and  abject 
slaves. 

The  church  in  affirming  herself  is 
not  making  herself  the  judge  in  her 
own  cause,  is  not  one  of  the  litigants,  as 
some  pretend,  for  the  cause  in  which 
she  judges  is  not  hers,  but  that  of 
God  himself.  She  is  the  court  insti- 
tuted by  the  Supreme  Lawgiver  to 
keep,  interpret,  and  declare  his  law, 
and  therefore  to  judge  between  him 
and  the  subjects  his  law  binds.  She, 
in  determining  a  case  of  faith  or  mo- 
rals, no  more  judges  in  her  own  cause 
than  the  supreme  court  of  a  nation 


does  in  defining  its  own  jurisdiction, 
and  in  determining  a  case  arising  un- 
der the  law  of  which  it  is  constituted 
by  the  national  authority  the  judge. 
She  has,  of  course,  the  right,  as  has 
every  civil  court,  to  punish  contempt, 
whether  of  her  orders  or  her  jurisdic- 
tion, for  he  who  contemns  her  con- 
temns him  who  has  instituted  her ; 
but  the  questions  to  be  decided  are 
questions  of  law,  which  she  does  not 
make,  and  is  therefore  no  more  a 
party  to  the  cause  litigated,  and  no 
more  interested  or  less  impartial,  than 
is  a  civil  court  in  a  civil  action.  In- 
deed, we  see  not,  if  it  pleases  Almighty 
God  to  make  a  revelation,  and  to  set 
up  his  kingdom  on  earth  with  that 
revelation  for  its  law,  how  he  can 
provide  for  its  due  administration 
without  such  a  body  as  the  church 
affirms  herself  to  be,  nor  how  it  would 
be  possible  to  institute  a  higher  or 
more  satisfactory  method  of  deter- 
mining what  the  law  of  his  kingdom 
is,  than  by  the  decision  of  a  court 
instituted  and  assisted  by  him  for  that 
very  purpose.  In  our  judgment,  no 
better  way  is  practicable,  and  no  oth- 
er way  of  attaining  the  end  desired 
is  possible.  We  repeat,  therefore,  that 
the  church  meets  every  demand  of 
the  case,  and  removes  every  real  dif- 
ficulty in  ascertaining  what  is  the 
faith  God  has  revealed,  as  well  as 
what  is  opposed  to  it,  or  tends  to  ob- 
scure or  impair  it. 

It  is  agreed  on  all  hands,  by  all 
who  hold  that  our  heavenly  Father 
has  made  us  a  revelation  and  insti- 
tuted a  church,  that  the  Church  of 
Rome,  founded  by  Saints  Peter  and 
Paul,  was  in  the  beginning  catholic 
and  apostolic.  If  she  was  so  in  the 
beginning,  she  is  so  now ;  for  she  has 
not  changed,  and  claims  no  authori- 
ty which  she  has  not  claimed  and  ex- 
ercised, as  the  occasion  arose,  from  the 
first.  She  is  the  same  identical  body 
as  she  has  been  from  the  beginning. 


The  Church  Accredits  Herself. 


157 


All  the  sectarian  and  schismatical 
bodies  that  oppose  or  refuse  to  sub- 
mit to  her  authority  acknowledged 
her  authority  prior  to  rejecting  it,  and 
were  in  communion  with  her.  The 
change  is  not  hers,  but  theirs.  They 
have  changed  and  gone  out  from  her, 
because  they  were  not  of  her,  but  she 
has  remained  ever  the  same.  Take 
the  schismatic  Greeks.  They  origi- 
nally were  one  body  with  her,  and 
held  the  successor  of  Peter  in  the 
Roman  See  as  primate  or  head  of  the 
whole  visible  church.  They  got  an- 
gry or  were  perverted,  and  rejected  the 
authority  of  the  Roman  Pontiff,  and 
have  never  even  to  this  day  ventured 
to  call  themselves  officially  the  Catho- 
lic or  the  Apostolic  church.  The  men 
who  founded  the  Reformed  Church- 
es so-called — the  Anglican  among 
the  rest — were  brought  up  in  the 
communion  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
and  acknowledged  the  supremacy  of 
the  Roman  Pontiff,  and  the  Church 
of  Rome  as  the  mother  and  mistress 
of  all  the  churches.  The  separation 
was  caused  by  their  change,  not  by 
hers.  She  held  and  taught  at  the 
time  of  the  separation  what  she  had 
always  held  and  taught,  and  claim- 
ed no  authority  which  she  had  not 
claimed  from  the  first.  Evidently, 
then,  it  was  they  and  not  she  that 
changed  and  denied  what  they  had 
previously  believed.  She  lost  indi- 
viduals and  nations  from  her  com- 
munion, but  she  lost  not  her  identi- 
ty, or  any  portion  of  her  rights  and 
authority,  as  the  one  and  only  church 
of  Christ,  for  she  holds  from  God,  not 
from  the  faithful.  She  has  continued 
to  be  what  she  was  at  first,  while 
they  have  gone  from  one  change  to 
another,  have  fallen  into  a  confusion 
of  tongues,  as  their  prototypes  did  at 
Babel ;  and  Luther  and  Calvin  could 
hardly  recognize  their  followers  in 
those  who  go  by  their  name  to-day. 
In  the  very  existence  of  the  church 


through  so  many  changes  in  the  world 
around  her,  the  rise  and  fall  of  states 
and  empires,  assailed  as  she  has  been 
on  every  hand,  and  by  all  sorts  of 
enemies,  is  a  standing  miracle,  and  a 
>sufficient  proof  of  her  divinity.  She 
was  assailed  by  the  Jews,  who  cruci- 
fied her  Lord  and  stirred  up,  wher- 
ever they  went,  the  hostility  of  the 
people  against  his  holy  apostles  and 
missionaries ;  she  was  assailed  by  the 
relentless  persecution  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  the  strongest  organization 
the  world  has  ever  seen,  and  the 
greatest  political  power  of  which  his- 
tory gives  any  hint  —  an  empire 
which  wielded  the  whole  power  of 
organized  paganism  ;  she  was  driven 
to  the  catacombs,  and  obliged  to 
offer  up  the  holy  sacrifice  under  the 
earth,  for  there  was  no  place  for  her 
altars  on  its  surface'.  Yet  she  survived 
the  empire;  emerged  from  the  cata- 
combs and  planted  the  cross  on  the 
Capitol  of  the  pagan  world.  She 
had  then  to  encounter  a  hardly 
less  formidable  enemy  in  the  Arian 
heresy,  sustained  by  the  civil  power; 
then  came  her  struggle  with  the  bar- 
barian invaders  and  conquerors  from 
the  fifth  to  the  tenth  century — the 
revolt  of  the  East,  or  the  Greek 
schism;  the  great  schism  of  the 
West ;  the  Northern  revolt,  or  the  so- 
called  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth 
century;  and  the  hostility  since  of 
the  greatest  and  most  powerful  states 
of  the  modern  world ;  yet  she  stands 
erect  where  she  did  nearly  twenty 
centuries  ago,  maintaining  herself 
against  all  opposition;  against  the 
power,  wealth,  learning,  and  refine- 
ment of  this  world ;  against  Jew, 
pagan,  barbarian,  heretic,  and  schis- 
matic, and  preserving  her  identity 
and  her  faith  unchanged  through  all 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  world  in  the 
midst  of  which  she  is  placed.  She 
never  could  have  done  it  if  she  had 
been  sustained  only  by  human  virtue, 


I58 


Bordeaux. 


human  wisdom,  and  human  sagacity; 
she  could  not  have  survived  un- 
changed if  she  had  not  been  under 
the  divine  protection,  and  upheld  by 
the  arm  of  Almighty  God.  The 
fact  that  she  has  lived  on  and  pre- 
served her  identity,  especially  if  we 
add  to  the  opposition  from  without 
the  scandals  that  have  occurred  with- 
in, is  conclusive  proof  that  under  her 
human  form  she  lives  a  divine  and 
supernatural  life ;  therefore  that  she  is 
the  church  of  God,  and  is  what  she 
affirms  herself  to  be. 

Believing  the  church  to  be  what 
she  affirms  herself  to  be ;  believing  the 
Roman  Pontiff  to  be  the  successor  of 
Peter,  the  Vicar  of  Christ  on  earth, 
the  father  and  teacher  of  all  Chris- 
tians, we  have  no  fear  that  she  will 
not  survive  the  persecution  which 
now  rages  against  her,  ,and  that  the 
Pope  will  not  see  his  enemies  pros- 
trate at  his  feet.  Through  all  his- 


tory, we  have  seen  that  the  successes 
of  her  enemies  have  been  short-lived, 
and  the  terrible  losses  they  have  oc- 
casioned have  been  theirs,  not  hers. 
It  will  always  be  so.  Kings,  emperors, 
potentates,  states,  and  empires  may 
destroy  themselves  by  opposing  her, 
but  her  they  cannot  harm.  See  we 
not  how  the  wrongs  done  to  the 
Holy  Father  by  Italian  robbers, 
obeying  the  dictates  of  the  secret 
societies,  some  of  which,  like  the 
Madre  Natura,  date  almost  from  apos- 
tolic times,  are  quickening  the  faith 
and  fervor  of  Catholics  throughout 
the  world  ?  Not  for  centuries  has 
the  Holy  Father  been  so  strong  in 
the  love  and  devotion  of  his  faithful 
children  as  to-day.  Never  is  the 
church  stronger  or  nearer  a  victory 
than  when  abandoned  by  all  the 
powers  of  this  world,  and  thrown  back 
on  the  support  of  her  divine  Spouse 
alone. 


BORDEAUX. 


ONE  of  the  first  objects  that  strikes 
the  mariner  ascending  the  Garonne 
towards  Bordeaux  is  the  ancient  tow- 
er of  St.  Michel.  I  visited  it  the 
very  morning  after  my  arrival  in  that 
city.  It  is  the  belfry  of  a  church  of 
the  same  name,  but  is  separated  from 
it,  being  about  forty  yards  distant. 
It  was  built  in  1472,  and  is  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  high.  Formerly, 
it  was  over  three  hundred  feet  in 
height,  but  the  steeple  was  blown 
down  by  a  hurricane  on  the  8th 
of  September,  1768.  The  view  from 
the  top  is  superb.  Before  you,  like 
a  map,  lies  the  whole  city— a  noted 
commercial  centre  from  the  time  of 


the  Caesars — encircling  a  great  bend 
of  the  river.  The  eye  is  at  first  con- 
fused by  the  mass  of  roofs,  spires,  and 
streets,  but  in  a  moment  singles  out 
the  great  cruciform  churches  of  St. 
Andre,  Ste.  Croix,  and  St.  Michel. 
They  lie  beneath  like  immense 
crosses  with  arms  stretched  out — a 
perpetual  appeal  to  heaven.  Such 
remembrances  of  Calvary  must  ever 
stand  between  a  sinful  world  and  the 
justice  of  Almighty  God.  How  can 
he  look  down  upon  all  the  iniquity 
of  a  great  city,  and  not  feel  the  si- 
lent Pane  nobis  of  these  sacred  arms 
extended  over  it,  repeating  silently, 
as  it  were,  the  divine  prayer,  "  Father, 


Bordeaux. 


159 


forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do  !"  Oh  !  what  a  love  for  the 
Passion  dwelt  in  the  heart  of  the 
middle  ages  which  built  these  church- 
es. Absorbed  in  the  thought,  I  lost 
sight  of  the  city.  Its  activity,  its 
historical  associations,  the  fine  build- 
ings and  extensive  view,  all  disap- 
pear before  the  cross.  Bordeaux  is 
generally  thought  of  only  as  a  wine- 
mart,  but  it  also  has  holier  associa- 
tions. "  Every  foot-path  on  this 
planet  may  lead  to  the  door  of  a 
hero,"  it  is  said,  and  very  few  paths 
there  are  in  this  Old  World  that  do 
not  bring  us  upon  the  traces- of  the 
saints — the  most  heroic  of  men,  who 
have  triumphed  over  themselves, 
which  is  better  than  the  taking  of  a 
strong  city.  They  it  was  that  made 
these  great  signs  of  the  cross  on  the 
breast  of  this  fair  city,  hallowing  it 
for  ever. 

Beneath  the  tower  of  St.  Michel 
is  a  caveau,  around  which  are  ranged 
ninety  mummies  in  a  state  of  preser- 
vation said  to  be  owing  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  soil.  Why  is  it_that  eve- 
ry one  is  enticed  down  to  witness  so 
horrid  a  spectacle  ?  Dust  to  dust 
and  ashes  to  ashes  .is  far  preferable 
to  these  withered  bodies,  and  a  quiet 
resting-place,  deep,  deep  in  the  bo- 
som of  mother  earth  till  the  resur- 
rection. Edmond  About  says  the 
twelfth  century  would  have  embroi- 
dered many  a  charming  legend  to 
throw  around  these  bodies,  but  the 
moderns  have  less  imagination,  and 
the  guardian  of  the  tower,  who  dis- 
plays them  by  the  light  of  his  poor 
candle,  is  totally  deficient  in  poesy. 
Had  this  writer  been  at  Bordeaux 
on  the  eve  of  All  Souls'  day,  he  would 
have  been  invited  at  the  midnight 
hour,  "  when  spirits  have  power,"  to 
listen  to  the  lugubrious  cries  and 
chants  that  come  up  from  the  caveau, 
where,  as  the  popular  voice  declares, 
these  ninety  forms  are  having  their 


yearly  dance — the  dance  of  death  .' 
I  wonder  if  the  mummy  next  the 
door,  as  you  gladly  pass  out  into  the 
upper  air,  has  his  hand  still  extended 
like  an  an  revoir.  .  .  .  Yes,  there 
^s  one  place  where  we  shall  meet, 
but  not  in  this  repulsive  form.  May 
we  all  be  found  there  with  glorified 
bodies ! 

The  church  of  St.  Michel  is  older 
than  the  tower,  having  been  built  in 
the  twelfth  century.  It  is  of  the  Go- 
thic style,  and  one  of  those  antique 
churches  that  speak  so  loudly  to  the 
heart  of  the  traveller  frontline  New 
World — one  in  which  we  are  pene- 
trated with 

"An  inward  stillness, 

That  perfect  silence  when  the  lips  and  heart 
Are  still,  and  we  no  longer  entertain 
Our  own  imperfect  thoughts  and  vain  opinions. 
But  God  alone  speaks  in  us,  and  \ve  wait 
In  singleness  of  heart  that  we  may  know 
His  will,  and  in  the  silence  of  our  spirits 
That  he  may  do  his  will,  and  do  that  only." 

The  ancients  had  a  deep  meaning 
when  they  represented  the  veiled  Isis 
with  her  finger  on  her  hushed  lips. 
The  soul  profoundly  impressed  by 
the  Divine  Presence  is  speechless. 

In  one  of  the  side  chapels  is  the 
tomb  of  an  old  bishop  of  the  middle 
ages,  in  a  niche  of  the  wall.  On  it 
he  lies  carven  in  stone,  with  the  mitre 
on  his  head,  and  clad  in  his  pontifi- 
cal vestments,  and  his  hands  folded 
in  prayer. 

"  Still  praying  in  thy  sleep 
With  lifted  hands  and  face  supine, 
Meet  attitude  of  calm  and  reverence  deep, 
Keeping  thy  marble  watch  in  hallowed 
shrine." 

The  cathedral  of  St.  Andre  is  an- 
other of  these  venerable  monuments 
of  the  past.  Founded  in  the  fourth 
century,  destroyed  by  the  barbarians, 
restored  by  Charlemagne,  and  again 
ruined  by  the  Normans,  it  was  re- 
built in  the  eleventh  century,  and 
consecrated  by  Pope  Urban  II.,  in 
1096.  I  went  there  at  an  early  hour 


i6o 


Bordeaux. 


to  offer  up  my  thanksgiving  for  the 
happy  end  of  this  stage  of  my  jour- 
ney. The  canons  were  just  chanting 
the  hours,  which  reverberated  among 
the  light  arches  with  fine  effect. 
Masses  were  being  offered  in  various 
chapels,  and  there  were  worshippers 
everywhere.  I  was  particularly  struck 
with  the  devout  appearance  of  a  ve- 
nerable old  man  in  one  of  the  dim- 
mest and  most  remote  chapels,  enve- 
loped in  a  hooded  cloak,  with  the 
capuche  drawn  over  his  head.  He 
looked  as  if  his  soul,  as  well  as  his 
body,  was  almost  done  with  time. 

Through  all  these  aisles  and  ora- 
tories, which  whispering  lips  filled 
with  the  perfume  of  prayer  stream- 
ing through  the  old  windows  came 
the  morning  sun, 

"  Whose  beams,  thus  hallowed  by  the  scenes 

they  pass, 
Tell  round  the  floor  each  parable  of  glass." 

I  can  still  see  the  purple  light  fill- 
ing the  chapel  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
and  ensanguining  the  uplifted  Host. 

"  A  sweet  religious  sadness,  like  a  dove, 
Broods  o'er  this  place.     The  clustered  pillars 

high 

Are  rose'd  o'er  by  the  morning  sky : 
And  from  the  heaven-hued  windows  far  above, 
Intense  as  adoration,  warm  as  love, 
A  purple  glory  deep  is  seen  to  lie. 
Turn,  poet,  Christian,  now  the  serious  eye, 
Where,  in  white  vests,  a  meek  and  holy  band, 
Chanting  God's  praise  in  solemn  order,  stand. 
O  hear  that  music  swell  far  up  and  die  ! 
Old  temple,  thy  vast  centuries  seem  but  years, 
Where  wise  and  holy  men  lie  glorified  ! 
Our  hearts  are  full,  our  souls  are  occupied, 
And  piety  has  birth  in  quiet  tears!" 

And  all  the  worshippers  in  this 
church  were  turned  toward  the  holy 
East,  whence  cometh'  the  Son  of 
Man.  The  glory  of  the  Lord  came 
into  the  house  by  the  way  of  the 
gate  whose  prospect  is  toward  the 
East.  I  like  this  orientation  of 
churches  now  too  much  neglected. 
The  old  symbolic  usages  of  the 
church  should  be  perpetuated.  This 
turning  to  the  East  in  prayer  was  at 
one  age  the  mark  of  a  true  believer, 
distinguishing  him  from  those  who 


had  separated  from  the  church.  True, 
some  of  the  old  basilicas  at  Rome 
and  elsewhere  have  their  altars  at  the 
west,  but,  according  to  the  ritual  of 
such  churches,  the  priest  turns  toward 
the  people,  thus  looking  to  the  East. 
Cassiodorus  and  others  say  that  our 
Lord  on  the  cross  had  his  face  to- 
ward the  west.  So,  in  directing  our 
thoughts  and  hearts  to  Calvary,  it  is 
almost  instinctive  to  look  to  the  East. 

"  With  hands  outstretched,  bleeding  and  bare. 
He  doth  in  death  his  innocent  head  recline, 
Turning  to  the  west.     Descending  from  his 

height, 

The  sun  beheld,  and  veiled  him  from  the  sight. 
Thither,  while  from  the  serpent's  wound  we 

pine, 

To  thee,  remembering  that  baptismal  sign,. 
We  turn  and  drink  anew  thy  healing  might." 

Let  us,  then,  place,  as  Wordsworth 
says, 

"  Like  men  of  elder  days, 
Our  Christian  altar  faithful  to  the  east, 
Whence  the  tall  window  drinks  the  morning 
rays." 

While  I  was  lingering  with  pecu- 
liar interest  before  a  monument  to 
the  memory  of  Cardinal  de  Cheve- 
rus,  the  first  Bishop  of  Boston,  and 
afterward  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux, 
whose  memory  is  revered  in  the  Old 
World  and  the  N.ew,  I  heard  a  chant- 
ing afar  off,  and,  looking  around,  saw 
through  the  open  door  a  funeral  pro- 
cession coming  hastily  along  the 
street  toward  the  church,  and  singing 
the  Miserere  —  coming,  not  with 
mournful  step  and  slow,  as  with  us, 
but  like  the  followers  of  Islam,  who 
believe  the  soul  is  in  torment  be- 
tween death  and  burial,  and  so  lay 
aside  their  usual  dignified  deport- 
ment and  hurry  the  body  to  the  grave. 
But  in  France  the  funeral  cortege 
does  not  necessarily  include  the 
relatives,  and  I  felt  this  very  haste 
might  be  typical  of  their  eagerness  to 
commence  the  Office  of  the  Dead. 
Anyhow,  I  forgave  them  when,  in  the 
chapel  draped  in  black,  I  saw  them 
devoutly  betake  themselves  to  prayer 


Bordeaux. 


161 


during  the  Holy  Sacrifice.  I,  too, 
dropped  my  little  bead  of  prayer  for 
the  eternal  rest  of  one  whose  name 
I  know  not,  but  which  is  known  to 
God. 

"  Help,  Lord,  the  souls  which  thou  hast  made, 

The  souls  to  thee  so  dear  ; 
In  prison  for  the  debt  unpaid, 
Of  sins  committed  here." 

The  confessionals  seemed  to  be 
greatly  frequented  the  day  I  was  at 
St.  Andre's — those  sepulchres  into 
which  rolls  the  great  burden  of  our 
sins.  There 

"  The  great  Absolver  with  relief 
Stands  by  the  door,  and  bears  the  key, 
O'er  penitence  on  bended  knee." 

What  non-Catholic  has  not  felt,  at 
least  once  in  his  life,  as  if  he  would 
give  worlds  for  the  moral  courage 
to  lay  down  the  burden  of  memory  at 
the  feet  of  some  holy  man  endowed 
with  the  power  of  absolving  from  sin ! 
Almighty  God  has  made  his  church 
the  interpreter  between  himself  and 
his  creatures ;  hence  the  peculiar  grace 
a  holy  confessor  has  to  meet  the 
wants  of  the  human  heart  laid  bare 
before  him.  Zoroaster  told  his  disci- 
ples that  the  wings  of  the  soul,  lost  by 
sin,  might  be  regained  by  bedewing 
them  with  the  waters  of  life  found 
in  the  garden  of  God.  It  is  only 
the  consecrated  priest  who  has  the 
power  of  unsealing  this  fountain  to 
each  one  of  us.  These  confessionals 
are  distributed  in  the  various  chapels, 
everywhere  meeting  the  eye  of  the 
parched  and  sin-worn  traveller  who 
would 


"  Kneel  down,  and  take  the  word  divine, 
ABSOLVO  TE." 


Of  course  there  is  a  Ladye  Chapel 
in  this  church,  as  in  all  others.  Je- 
sus and  Mary,  whose  names  are  ever 
mingled  on  Catholic  lips,  the  first  they 
learn  and  the  last  they  murmur,  are 
never  separated  in  our  churches.  De- 
votion to  the  Virgin  has  grown  up 

VOL.  XIII. — II 


through  the  church,  beautifying  and 
perfuming  it  like  the  famous  rose- 
bush in  the  Cathedral  of  Hildesheim 
in  Germany — the  oldest  of  all  known 
rose-bushes.  It  takes  root  under  the 
fhoir  in  the  crypt.  Its  age  is  un- 
known, but  a  document  proves  that 
nearly  a  thousand  years  ago  Bishop 
Hezilo  had  it  protected  by  a  stone 
roof  still  to  be  seen.  So  with  devo- 
tion to  our  Mystical  Rose — quasi 
plantatlo  rostz  in  Jericho — its  roots 
go  down  deep  among  the  founda- 
tions of  the  church ;  saints  have  pro- 
tected and  nourished  it,  and  all  na- 
tions come  to  sit  under  its  vine  and 
inhale  its  perfume. 

"  Blossom  for  ever,  blossoming  rod  ! 

Thou  didst  not  blossom  once  to  die  : 
That  life  which,  issuing  forth  from  God, 
Thy  life  enkindled,  runs  not  dry. 

"  Without  a  root  in  sin-stained  earth, 

'Twas  thine  to  bud  salvation's  flower, 
No  single  soul  the  church  brings  forth 
But  blooms  from  thee,  and  is  thy  dower." 

What  a  safeguard  to  man  is  devo- 
tion to  Mary  Most  Pure!  It  is  like 
the  Pridwin — the  shield  of  King  Ar- 
thur— on  which  was  emblazoned  the 
Holy  Virgin,  warding  off  the  strokes 
of  the  great  enemy  of  souls. 

There  are  some  poetical  associa- 
tions connected  with  Bordeaux : 
among  others,  the  memory  of  the 
troubadours  who  enriched  and  per- 
fected the  Romance  tongue,  but  whose 
songs  at  last  died  away  in  the  sad 
discord  of  the  Albigensian  wars. 
Here  the  gay  and  beautiful  Eleanor 
of  Aquitaine  held  her  court  of  love, 
gathering  around  her  all  the  famous 
troubadours  of  her  time,  and  decid 
ing  upon  the  merits  of  their  songs. 
Among  these  was  her  favorite,  Ber- 
nard de  Ventadour,  chiefly  known 
to  fame  by  being  mentioned  by  Pe- 
trarch. Eleanor  herself  was  a  musi- 
cian and  a  lover  of  poetry — tastes 
she  inherited  from  her  grandfather, 
William,  Duke  of  Aquitaine,  general- 
ly called  the  Count  de  Poitiers,  one 


1 62 


Bordeaux. 


of  the  earliest  of  the  troubadours 
whose  songs  have  come  down  to  us. 
Around  this  charming  queen  of  love 
and  song  gathered  the  admiring  vo- 
taries of  la  gaia  sciencia,  like  night- 
ingales singing  around  the  rose,  all 
vowing,  as  in  duty  bound,  that 
their  hearts  were  bleeding  on  the 
horns ! 

Poor  maligned  Eleanor  was  too 
gay  a  butterfly  for  the  gloomy  court 
of  Louis  VII.  She  wanted  the  bright 
sun  of  her  own  province  in  which  to 
float,  and  the  incense  of  admiring 
voices  to  waft  her  along.  She  her- 
self was  a  composer  of  chansons,  and 
is  reckoned  among  the  authors  of 
France.  She  dearly  loved  Bordeaux, 
her  capital,  and  was  adored  by  its 
people.  Here  she  was  married  with 
great  pomp  to  Louis,  after  which  the 
Duke  of  Aquitaine  laid  aside  his  in- 
signia of  power,  and,  assuming  the 
garb  of  a  hermit,  went  on  a  pilgri- 
mage to  St.  James  of  Compostella, 
and  devoted  the  remainder  of  his 
life  to  prayer  and  penance  in  hermi- 
tage on  Montserrat,  by  way  of  pre- 
paration for  death.  It  is  well  to 
pause  awhile  before  plunging  into 
the  great  ocean  of  eternity. 

These  pilgrimages  to  Compostella 
were  exceedingly  popular  in  that 
*ge,  and  hospices  for  the  pilgrims  to 
that  shrine  were  to  be  found  in  all 
the  large  cities  and  towns.  There 
was  one  at  Auch,  and  another  at  Pa- 
ris in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  which  was 
particularly  celebrated  and  served 
by  Augustinian  nuns.  And  here  at 
Bordeaux  was  the  Hospice  of  St.  An- 
dr£  for  the  reception  of  the  weary 
votary  of  St.  Jago. 

"  Here  comes  a  pilgrim,"  says  one 
of  Shakespeare's  characters.  "  God 
save  you,  pilgrim.  Where  are  you 
bound  ?" 

"  To  St.  Jacques  le  Grand.  Where 
do  the  palmers  lodge,  I  beseech 
you  ?" 


"  Eftsoones  unto  an  holy  hospital! 
That  was  forby  the  way,  she  did  him  bring, 
In  which  seven  bead-men  that  had  vowed  all 
Their  life  to  service  of  high  heaven's  King, 
Did  spend  their  dales  in  doing  godly  thing  ; 
Their  gates  to  aH  were  open  evermore. 
That  by  the  wearie  way  were  travelling, 
And  one  sate  wayting  ever  them  before 
To  call  in  comers-by,  that  needy  were  and 
pore." 

Digby  says  the  hospitality  and 
charity  of  these  hospices  had  their 
origin  in  the  bishops'  houses.  For- 
tunatus  thus  speaks  of  Leontius  II., 
Archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  who,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  apostle's  injunc- 
tion, was  given  to  hospitality : 

"Susceptor  peregrum  distribuendo  cibum. 
Longius  extremo  si  quis  properasset  ab  orbe, 
Advena  mox  vidit,  hunc  ait  esse  patrem." 

That  the  devotion  of  the  middle 
ages  is  yet  alive  in  the  church  is 
proved  by  the  influx  of  pilgrims  at 
the  shrine  of  St.  Germaine  of  Pibrac, 
at  Notre  Dame  de  Lourdes,  and  a 
thousand  other  places  of  popular  de- 
votion. So  great  is  the  number  of 
pilgrims  to  Lourdes,  drawn  by  the 
brightness  of  Mary's  radiant  form, 
that  the  railway  between  Tarbes  and 
Pau  was  turned  from  its  intended  di- 
rect line  in  order  to  pass  through 
Lourdes.  In  one  day  the  train  from 
Bayonne  brought  nine  hundred,  and 
at  another  time  over  a  thousand  pil- 
grims. And  as  for  the  continued 
charity  and  hospitality  of  the  church, 
witness  the  monks  of  St.  Bernard 
and  of  Palestine,  known  to  all  the 
world.  How  disinterested  is  genuine 
Catholic  charity,  done  unto  the  Lord 
and  not  unto  man  !  Some  suppose 
the  good  works  practised  among  us 
is  by  way  of  barter  for  heaven,  but 
they  little  know  the  spirit  of  the 
church.  Charity  is  one  expression 
of  its  piety,  which,  in  its  highest  ma- 
nifestations, is  devoid  of  self-interest. 
Listen  to  John  of  Bordeaux,  a  holy 
Franciscan  friar,  who,  after  quoting 
a  saying  of  Epictetus,  that  we  gene- 
rally find  piety  where  there  is  utility, 


Bordeaux. 


163 


says  :  "  He  does  not  come  up  to  the 
standard  of  pure  Christianity :  he 
pretends  that  piety  takes  its  birth  in 
utility,  so  that  it  is  interest  that  gives 
rise  to  devotion.  Yes,  among  the 
profane,  but  not  among  Christians, 
who,  acquainted  with  the  maxims  of 
our  holy  religion,  have  no  other  end 
but  to  serve  God  for  his  love  and  for 
his  glory ;  forgetting  all  considera- 
tions of  their  own  advantage,  they 
aspire  to  attain  to  that  devotion 
which  is  agreeable  to  him  without 
any  view  to  their  own  interest." 

And  in  these  practical  times  an- 
other holy  writer,  Dr.  Newman,  says 
in  the  same  spirit :  "  They  who  seek 
religion  for  culture's  sake,  are  aesthe- 
tic, not  religious,  and  will  never  gain 
that  grace  which  religion  adds  to 
culture,  because  they  can  never  have 
the  religion.  To  seek  religion  for 
the  present  elevation,  or  even  the  so- 
cial improvement  it  brings,  is  really 
to  fall  from  faith  which  rests  in  God, 
and  the  knowledge  of  him  as  the  ul- 
timate good,  and  has  no  by-ends  to 
serve." 

But  to  return  to  the  romantic  as- 
sociations of  this  land  of  the  vine, 
we  recall  the  celebrated  old  romance 
of  Huon  of  Bordeaux,  which  con- 
tains some  delightful  pictures  of  the 
age  of  chivalry.  Here  is  one  which 
I  have  abridged,  showing  how  the 
religious  spirit  was  inwoven  with  the 
impulses  of  the  knightly  heart.  The 
Emperor  Thierry,  furious  because  his 
nephews  and  followers  had  been 
slain  by  Huon,  seized  upon  Esclar- 
monde  (Huon's  wife)  and  her  atten- 
dants, and  threw  them  into  a  dun- 
geon, there  to  await  death.  Huon, 
greatly  afflicted  at  this,  disguised  him- 
self as  a  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land, 
and  set  out  for  Mayence,  where  the 
emperor  lived.  He  arrived  on  Maun- 
day-Thursday,  and  learned  that  it 
was  the  custom  of  the  emperor  to 
grant  the  petitions  of  him  who  first 


presented  himself  after  the  office  of 
Good  Friday  morning.  Huon  was 
so  overjoyed  at  this  information  thai 
he  could  not  sleep  all  that  night,  but 
betook  himself  to  his  orisons,  implor- 
fcig  God  to  inspire  and  aid  him  so  he 
might  again  behold  his  wife.  When 
morning  came,  he  took  his  pilgrim 
staff  and  repaired  to  the  chapel.  As 
soon  as  the  office  was  ended,  he  con- 
trived to  be  the  first  to  attract  atten- 
tion. He  told  the  emperor  he  was 
there  to  avail  himself  of  the  custom 
of  the  day  in  order  to  obtain  a  grace. 
The  emperor  replied  that,  should  he 
even  demand  fourteen  of  his  finest 
cities,  they  would  be  given  him,  for 
he  would  rather  have  one  of  his  fists 
cut  off  than  recede  from  his  oath; 
therefore  to  make  known  his  petition, 
which  would  not  be  refused.  Then 
Huon  requested  pardon  for  himself 
and  for  all  of  his  who  might  have 
committed  some  offence.  The  em- 
peror replied  :  "  Pilgrim,  doubt  not 
that  what  I  have  just  promised,  I 
will  fulfil,  but  I  beg  you  right  hum- 
bly to  tell  me  what  manner  of  man 
you  are,  and  to  what  country  and 
race  you  belong,  that  you  request 
such  grace  from  me."  Huon  then 
made  himself  known.  The  empe- 
ror's face  blanched  while  listening  to 
him,  and  for  a  long  time  he  was  un- 
able to  speak.  At  last  he  said  :  "  Are 
you,  then,  Huon  of  Bordeaux,  from 
whom  I  have  received  such  ills — the 
slayer  of  my  nephews  and  followers  ? 
I  cannot  cease  wondering  at  your 
boldness  in  presenting  yourself  be- 
fore me.  I  would  rather  have  lost 
four  of  my  best  cities,  have  had  my 
whole  dominions  laid  waste  and  burn- 
ed, and  I  and  my  people  banished 
for  three  years,  than  find  you  thus 
before  me.  But  since  you  have  thus 
taken  me  by  surprise,  know  in  truth 
that  what  I  have  promised  and  vow  • 
ed  I  will  hold  good,  and,  in  honor 
of  the  Passion  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 


164 


Bordeaux. 


the  blessed  day  which  now  is,  on 
which  he  was  crucified  and  dead,  I 
pardon  you  all  hatred  and  evil-doing, 
and  God  forbid  that  I  should  hold 
your  wife,  or  lands,  or  men,  which  I 
will  restore  to  your  hands."  Then 
Huon  threw  himself  on  his  knees, 
beseeching  the  emperor  to  forgive 
the  injury  he  had  done  him.  "  God 
pardon  you,"  said  the  emperor.  "  As 
for  me,  I  forgive  you  with  right  good 
will,"  and  taking  Huon  by  the  hand, 
he  gave  him  the  kiss  of  peace.  Huon 
then  said  :  "  May  it  please  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  that  this  guerdon  be  re- 
turned to  you  twofold."  Then  the 
prisoners  were  released,  and,  after  a 
sumptuous  entertainment,  the  empe- 
ror accompanied  Huon  and  his  noble 
lady  on  their  way  back  to  Bordeaux. 
Bordeaux  is  interesting  to  the  Eng- 
lish race,  because,  among  other  rea- 
sons, it  was  for  about  three  hundred 
years  a  dependency  of  the  English 
crown,  being  the  dowry  of  Eleanor  of 
Aquitaine,  who  married  Henry  II. 
after  her  divorce  from  Louis  le  Jeune. 
We  associate  the  city,  too,  with  Frois- 
sart  and  the  Black  Prince,  who  held 
his  court  here.  Richard  II.  was  born 
hard  by  at  the  Chateau  de  Lormont. 
And  Henry  III.  came  here  to  receive 
his  son's  bride,  Eleanor  of  Castile, 
and  gave  her  so  extravagant  a  mar- 
riage feast  as  to  excite  the  remon- 
strances of  his  nobles.  The  country 
prospered  under  the  English  govern- 
ment. The  merchants  had  especial 
privileges  granted  them  by  Eleanor, 
and  their  wines  then,  as  now,  found 
a  ready  market  in  London.  Bor- 
deaux in  particular  increased  won- 
derfully, and  outgrew  its  defensive 
walls.  The  church  of  St.  Michel 
dates  from  the  time  of  English  do- 
mination, and  in  that  quarter  of  the 
city  may  be  seen  old  houses,  one 
story  projecting  beyond  the  other, 
and  the  whole  surmounted  by  a  py- 
ramidal roof,  said  to  be  of  English 


origin,  and  such  as  are  to  be  seen  in 
some  of  the  oldest  streets  of  Lon- 
don. 

Eleanor  always  used  her  influence 
for  the  benefit  of  her  people.  The 
most  ancient  charter  of  privileges 
granted  the  Gascon  merchants  was 
given  by  her  on  the  first  of  July, 
1189. 

The  English  seem  to  have  taken 
their  war-cry  from  the  old  dukes  of 
Aquitaine  who  charged  to  the  sound 
of  "  St.  George  for  the  puissant 
duke."  A  devotion  to  St.  George 
was  brought  from  the  East  by  the 
Crusaders.  Richard  I.  placed  him- 
self and  his  army  under  the  special 
protection  of  this  saint,  who,  the  re- 
doubted slayer  of  the  dragon  and 
the  redresser  of  woman's  wrongs,  ap- 
pealed to  the  tenderest  instincts  of 
the  chivalric  heart.  St.  George's  re- 
mains were  brought  from  Asia  by 
the  Crusaders,  and  a  large  part  is 
enshrined  at  To'ulouse,  in  the  great 
basilica  of  St.  Sernin.  The  crest  of 
the  dukes  of  Aquitaine  was  a  leopard, 
which  the  kings  of  England  bore  for 
a  long  time  on  their  shields.  Edward 
III.  is  called  a  valiant  pard  in  his 
epitaph. 

These  old  dukes  of  Aquitaine 
seem  always  to  have  gone  to  ex- 
tremes either  as  sinners  or  saints. 
Eleanor's  grandfather,  as  I  have  said, 
was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  trouba- 
dours. He  was  distinguished  for  his 
bravery,  his  musical  voice,  and  his 
manly  beauty.  His  early  life  was 
such  as  to  incur  the  censure  of  the 
bishop,  but  he  ended  his  career  in 
penitence,  and  the  last  of  his  poems 
is  a  farewell  d  la  chevalerie  qrfil  a 
taut  aimte  for  the  sake  of  the  cross. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  to  join  the 
crusades  at  the  head  of  sixty  thou- 
sand warriors,  but  he  lost  his  troops 
and  gained  neither  glory  nor  renown. 

The  term  Aquitaine  was  given  this 
country  by  Julius  Caesar  on  account 


Bordeaux. 


i65 


of  its  numerous  rivers  and  ports. 
The  ancient  province  of  this  name  ex- 
tended from  the  Loire  to  the  Pyrenees. 
In  the  time  of  the  Roman  domin- 
ion, Bordeaux  was  its  capital  under  the 
name  of  Burdigala.  The  origin  of  the 
city  is  uncertain.  Strabo,  who  lived 
in  the  first  century,  mentions  it  as 
a  celebrated  emporium.  Some  sup- 
pose its  first  inhabitants  to  have  been 
of  Iberian  origin.  The  real  history 
of  the  city  commences  about  the 
middle  of  the  third  century,  when  Te- 
tricus,  governor  of  Aquitaine,  assum- 
ed the  purple  and  was  proclaimed 
emperor.  About  the  same  time  St. 
Martial  preached  in  this  region.  But 
the  pagan  divinities  were  still  invok- 
ed in  the  time  of  Ausonius.  In  the 
annals  of  the  Council  of  Aries,  in  314, 
Orientalis,  Bishop  of  Bordeaux,  is 
mentioned. 

The  intellectual  superiority  of  the 
Romans  was  always  even  more  po- 
tent than  the  force  of  their  arms. 
Barbarism  disappeared  before  the 
splendor  of  their  civilization.  Burdi- 
gala under  their  dominion  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  this  superiority,  and  rose 
to  such  a  degree  of  magnificence  and 
luxury  as  to  be  a  theme  for  Ausonius, 
St.  Jerome,  and  Sidonius  Apollinaris. 
The  remains  of  buildings  at  Bordeaux 
belonging  to  this  epoch  give  an  idea 
of  its  prosperity  and  importance. 
There  is  still  an  arena  in  ruins,  com- 
monly called  the  Palais-Gallien,  but 
the  most  remarkable  Roman  monu- 
ment of  the  city  was  a  temple  called 
Fillers  de  Tutelle,  which,  partly  ruined, 
was  demolished  in  1677,  by  the  or- 
der of  Louis  XIV.,  for  the  construc- 
tion of  a  quay.  Schools  were  establish- 
ed at  Bordeaux  at  an  early  day.  We 
learn  from  St.  Jerome  that  in  his  time 
the  liberal  arts  were  in  the  most  flour- 
ishing condition  here.  In  the  time 
of  the  Roman  dominion,  there  were 
universities  at  Bordeaux,  Auch,  Tou- 
louse, Marseilles,  Treves,  etc.  The 


edicts  issued  for  their  benefit  show- 
ed the  importance  attached  to  their 
prosperity  by  the  government.  The 
college  of  Bordeaux  furnished  pro- 
fessors for  Rome  and  Constantino- 
ple. Valentinian  I.  chose  Ausonius, 
a  native  of  Bordeaux,  to  superintend 
the  education  of  his  son  Gratian. 
When  the  latter  became  emperor,  he 
made  his  old  tutor  a  Roman  consul 
(A.D.  379).  The  poems  of  Ausonius 
are  still  admired,  but  there  is  much 
in  them  that  is  reprehensible.  They 
were  translated  into  French  by  M. 
Jaubert,  a  priest  at  Bordeaux,  who 
lived  in  the  last  century. 

That  the  wines  of  Aquitaine  were 
already  celebrated  in  the  fourth  cen- 
tury is  shown  by  the  writings  of  Au- 
sonius 

"  Ostrea    . 
Non  laudata  minus,  nostii  quam  gloria  vini." 

St.  Paulinus,  bishop  of  Nola,  lived 
at  this  time.  He  was  born  at  Bordeaux 
in  the  year  353,  and  was  descended 
from  a  long  line  of  illustrious  sena- 
tors. One  of  the  several  estates  he 
owned  near  the  city  still  bears  .the 
name  of  Le  Puy  Paulin,  puy  being  a 
word  from  the  langue  Romaine,  per- 
haps synonymous  with  the  Latin 
word  podium.  One  of  the  public 
squares  of  Bordeaux  also  bears  the 
same  name.  Paulinus  possessed  great 
elevation  of  mind  and  a  poetical  ge- 
nius, which  he  cultivated  under  Auso- 
nius, for  whose  care  he  expresses  his 
gratitude  in  verse.  But  Ausonius 
was  magnanimous  enough  to  acknow- 
ledge that  Paulinus  excelled  him  as 
a  poet  and  that  no  modern  Roman 
could  vie  with  him. 

In  his  early  life  Paulinus  held  dig- 
nified offices  under  government,  but 
his  intercourse  with  St.  Delphinus, 
bishop  of  Bordeaux,  inspired  him 
with  a  love  for  retirement,  in  which 
his  wife,  a  Spanish  lady  of  wealth, 
participated.  They  passed  over  into 


1 66 


Bordeaux. 


Spain,  and  spent  four  years  there  in 
the  retirement  of  the  country,  but 
not  as  anchorites.  He  seemed  to 
have  given  up  all  of  life  but  its  sweet- 
ness when  he  composed  the  follow- 
ing prayer  :  "  O  Supreme  Master  of 
all  things,  grant  my  wishes,  if  they 
are  righteous.  Let  none  of  my  days 
be  sad,  and  no  anxiety  trouble  the 
repose  of  my  nights.  Let  the  good 
things  of  another  never  tempt  me, 
and  may  my  own  suffice  to  those 
who  ask  my  aid.  Let  joy  dwell  in 
my  house.  Let  the  slave  born  on 
my  hearth  enjoy  the  abundance  of 
my  stores.  May  I  live  surrounded 
by  faithful  servants,  a  cherished  wife, 
and  the  children  she  will  bring  me." 
While  in  Spain  they  lost  their  only 
son,  whom  they  buried  at  Alcala, 
near  the  bodies  of  the  holy  martyrs 
Justus  and  Pastor.  This  loss  wean- 
ed them  completely  from  the  world. 
Their  Spanish  solitude  had  been  a 
garden  of  roses,  but  now  they  chose 
the  lily  as  their  emblem,  and  resolv- 
ed to  lead  a  monastic  life.  Paulinus 
received  holy  orders,  and  they  both 
sold  all  they  possessed  and  gave  the 
money  to  the  poor.  This  drew  upon 
Paulinus  the  contempt  of  the  world. 
Even  his  own  relatives  and  former 
slaves  rose  up  against  him,  but  to  all 
their  invectives  he  only  replied  :  "  O 
beata  injuria  displicere  cum  Christo." 
"  O  blessed  scorn  that  is  shared  with 
Christ."  Ausonius,  in  particular,  was 
grieved  to  see  the  extensive  patrimo- 
ny of  Paulinus  cut  up  among  a  hun- 
dred possessors,  and  reproached  him 
in  bitter  terms  for  his  madness.  But 
if  the  world  rejected  him,  he  was  re- 
ceived with  open  arms  by  such  men 
as  St.  Ambrose,  St.  Jerome,  and  St. 
Augustine.  His  devotion  to  St.  Fe- 
lix, whose  tomb  he  had  visited  in  his 
childhood,  induced  him  to  fix  his  re- 
sidence near  Nola  in  Campania. 
Here  he  lived  close  by  the  church 
where  his  favorite  naint  was  enshrin- 


ed. He  had  put  on  the  livery  of 
Christ's  poor  ones,  and  contented 
himself  with  his  cell  and  garden-plot. 
And  his  meekness  and  sanctity,  join- 
ed to  his  talents  as  a  writer,  drew 
upon  him  the  admiration  of  the 
world.  Persons  of  the  highest  rank 
from  all  parts  went  to  see  him  in  his 
retreat,  as  St.  Jerome  and  St.  Augus- 
tine testify.  In  his  seclusion  he  writes 
poems  that  have  all  the  delicacy  and 
grace  of  Petrarch.  He  describes  the 
church  of  his  loved  saint,  whose  life 
and  miracles  he  is  never  weary  of 
dwelling  on,  as  hung  with  white  dra- 
peries and  gleaming  with  aromatic 
lamps  and  tapers ;  the  porch  is  wreath- 
ed with  fresh  flowers,  and  the  clois- 
ters strewn  with  blossoms;  and  pil- 
grims come  down  from  the  moun- 
tains, marching  even  at  night  by  the 
light  of  their  torches,  bringing  their 
children  in  sacks,  and  their  sick  on 
litters,  to  be  healed  at  the  tomb ;  for 
all  the  world,  a  picture  of  an  Italian 
shrine  of  these  days. 

He  loved  the  humblest  duties  of 
the  sanctuary.  "  Suffer  me  to  remain 
at  thy  gates,"  he  says.  "  Let  me 
cleanse  thy  courts  every  morning, 
and  watch  every  night  for  their  pro- 
tection. Suffer  me  to  end  my  days 
amid  the  employments  I  love.  We 
take  refuge  within  your  hallowed  pale 
and  make  our  nest  in  your  bosom. 
It  is  herein  that  we  are  cherished, 
and  expand  into  a  better  life.  Cast- 
ing off  the  earthly  burden,  we  feel 
something  divine  springing  up  with- 
in us,  and  the  unfolding  of  the  wings 
which  are  to  make  us  equal  to  the 
angels."  These  words  sound  as  if 
coming  from  the  cloistered  votary  of 
the  middle  ages,  or  even  of  the  nine- 
teenth century ;  the  same  is  the  spi- 
rit of  the  church  in  all  ages. 

The  writings  of  St.  Paulinus  show 
his  devotion  to  the  saints  and  theii 
relics,  a  belief  in  the  efficacy  of 
prayers  for  the  dead,  and  in  the  doc 


Bordeaux, 


167 


trine  of  the  Real  Presence.  What 
can  be  more  explicit,  for  instance, 
than  these  lines  on  the  Holy  Eucha- 
rist ? 

"  In  cruce  fixa  caro  est,  quS  pascor ;  de  cruce 

sanguis 
Ille  fluit,  vitam  quo  bibo,  corUa  lavo." 

He  adorned  the  walls  of  his  church 
with  paintings  and  composed  inscrip- 
tions for  the  altar,  under  which  were 
deposited  the  relics  of  St.  Andrew, 
St.  Luke,  St.  Nazarius,  and  others, 
and  sings  thus : 


'  In  regal  shrines  with  purple  marble  graced, 
Their  bones  are  'neath  illumined  altars  placed. 
This  pious  band's  contained  in  one  small  chest 
That  holds  such  mighty  names  within  its  tiny 
breast." 


After  fifteen  years  of  retirement, 
St.  Paulinus  was  made  bishop  of  No- 
la.  Shortly  before  he  died,  as  the 
lamps  were  being  lighted  for  the  Ves- 
per service,  he  murmured, 

"  I  have  trimmed  my  lamp  for  Christ." 

The  prosperity  of  Bordeaux  under 
the  Romans  was  interrupted  by  the 
invasion  of  the  barbarians  that  swept 
down  from  the  north,  bringing  ruin 
and  desolation  to  the  land.  For 
nearly  a  century  the  city  remained 
in  the  power  of  the  Visigoths,  who, 
being  Arians,  persecuted  the  Catho- 
lic inhabitants.  Sidonius  Apollinaris 
deplores  the  injury  done  to  learning 
by  their  invasion,  but  perhaps  the 
decline  of  learning  was  partly  owing 
to  a  growing  distaste  for  pagan  lite- 
rature among  Christians.  The  bar- 
barians were  finally  routed  by  Clovis 
in  507,  and  he  took  possession  of 
Bordeaux.  Charlemagne  made  Aqui- 
taine  a  kingdom  for  his  son  Louis  le 
Debonnaire.  Louis,  son  of  Charles 
le  Chauve.  was  the  last  king  of  Aqui- 
taine.  When  he  ascended  the  throne 
of  France,  it  resumed  its  former  rank 
as  a  duchy. 


The  college  of  Guienne  was  found- 
ed here  in  the  middle  ages.  In 
the  sixteenth  century,  it  had,  at  one 
time,  twenty-five  hundred  pupils. 
The  famous  George  Buchanan,  whom 
\verybody  knows,  because  his  head 
adorns  the  cover  of  Black-woods 
Magazine,  but  who  is  more  spoken 
of  than  read,  taught  in  this  college 
three  years.  He  came  here  in  1539. 
Among  his  pupils  was  the  great  Mon- 
taigne, who  passed  most  of  his  life  at 
Bordeaux  and  is  buried  in  the  church 
of  the  Feuillants.  As  Buchanan  was 
somewhat  given  to  hilarity  and  lov- 
ed the  flavor  of  Gascon  wines,  this 
city  probably  had  its  attractions  for 
him.  In  his  Maitz  Calendcz,  full  of 
gaiety  and  merry-making,  he  speaks 
of  the  grapes  of  the  sandy  soil  of 
Gascony 


1  Nee  tenebris  claudat  generosum  cella  Lyseum, 
Quern  dat  arenoso  Vasconis  uva  solo." 


One  vintage  season,  Buchanan 
went  to  Agen  to  enjoy  it  at  the  resi- 
dence of  his  friend,  the  celebrated 
Julius  Scaliger,  who  had  been  a  pro- 
fessor at  the  college  of  Guienne,  but 
was  now  settled  as  a  physician  at 
Agen. 

Among  the  other  literary  celebri- 
ties of  Bordeaux  is  Arnaud  Berquin, 
whose  charming  writings  are  still 
popular.  His  Ami  des  Enfants  was 
crowned  by  the  French  Academy  in 
1784.  And  Montesquieu  was  born 
at  the  chateau  of  La  Brede  near  Bor- 
deaux, whence  he  took  his  title  of 
Baron  de  la  Brede. 

Bordeaux  is  now  the  finest  city  in 
France  after  Paris,  and  it  ranks  next 
to  Lyons  in  importance.  Perhaps 
I  cannot  do  better  than  quote  what  a 
popular  French  author  of  the  day 
says  of  it : 

"  Bordeaux  is  five  miles  long  and  has 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabi 


1 68 


The  "  Amen  "  of  the  Stones. 


tants  :  plenty  of  room  for  few  people. 
But  the  entire  population  does  not 
breathe  at  its  case.  If  the  grass  be  grow- 
ing in  the  streets  and  squares  of  the  new 
town,  there  is  some  stifling  felt  in  the 
old  districts.  The  Jews,  chapmen,  brok- 
ers, and  marine  store  men  live  in  a  dirty 
and  unhealthy  hive,  and  their  shops  form 
no  straight  line  along  the  narrow  and  un- 
paved  streets.  You  may  still  see  a  quan- 
tity of  those  paunchy,  hunchbacked,  and 
decrepit  houses,  which  form  the  delight  of 
romantic  archseology,  and  you  need  only 
go  to  Bordeaux  to  form  an  accurate  idea 
of  old  Paris.  In  the  new  town  all  is 
vast,  rectilinear,  and  monumental :  the 
streets,  squares,  avenues,  esplanades  and 
buildings  rival  the  splendor  of  what  we 
are  taught  to  admire  in  Paris.  The 
Grand  Theatre,  containing  only  twelve 
hundred  persons,  has  the  impos  ingas- 
pect  of  a  Colosseum  and  a  staircase 
which  might  be  transferred  with  advan- 
tage to  our  Opera.  The  cafes  are  truly 
monuments,  and  I  saw  a  bathing  estab- 
lishment which  bore  a  strong  resemblance 
to  a  necropolis.  All  this  grandeur  dates 
from  Louis  XV.  and  Louis  XVI.  The 
population  of  Bordeaux  is  one  of  the 
prettiest  specimens  of  the  French  nation. 
The  women  possess  more  expression 
than  freshness,  but  with  good  hair,  good 
eyes,  and  white  teeth,  a  woman  cannot 
but  look  well.  The  men  have  a  sharp 


look,  a  lively  mind,  and  brilliancy  of  lan- 
guage." 

One  of  the  glories  of  Bordeaux  is 
the  bridge  across  the  Garonne  built 
by  order  of  Napoleon  the  Great.  It 
has  seventeen  arches,  and  there  is  an 
interior  gallery  communicating  from 
one  arch  to  another  which  is  acces- 
sible. 

There  are  some  fine  pictures  in  the 
Musee  des  Tableaux — a  Perugino, 
and  others  by  Titian,  Vandyke,  Ru- 
bens, etc.  Some  excellent  artists  have 
been  formed  in  the  School  of  Design, 
among  whom  is  Rosa  Bonheur.  But 
the  people  in  general  are  more  fond 
of  music  and  the  drama  than  the 
other  fine  arts. 

The  commerce  of  Bordeaux  is  ex- 
tensive, but  is  surpassed  by  that  of 
Havre,  perhaps  because  there  is  too 
much  of  the  laisser-aller  in  a  more 
southern  temperament.  Neverthe- 
less, the  city  is  progressing.  The 
port,  says  the  author  already  quoted, 
is  a  third  edition  of  the  Thames  at 
London  and  the  Golden  Horn  at 
Constantinople. 


THE  "AMEN"   OF  THE  STONES. 


FROM    THE    GERMAN. 


BLIND  with  old  age,  went  Beda  forth  to  preach 
The  blessed  Gospel  to  the  world,  and  teach 
The  listening  crowd  of  village  and  of  town. 
A  peasant  school-boy  led  him  up  and  down, 
Proclaiming  aye  God's  word  with  youthful  fire. 

Rather  in  childish  folly  than  in  scorn, 
The  lad  the  trusting  graybeard  led,  one  morn, 
Down  to  a  vale  where  massive  stones  around 
Were  strewed.     "  A  congregation  fills  the  ground," 
He  said,  "  and,  lo,  they  wait  to  hear  thee,  sire." 

Up  rose  the  aged  pilgrim,  took  the  text, 
Turned  it,  explained  it,  and  applied  it  next, 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


169 


Implored,  exhorted,  prayed,  and,  ending,  bowed  his  head, 
And  to  the  listening  crowd  the  Pater  Noster  said. 

When  he  had  ended,  from  the  circling  stones 
The  cry  went  forth,  as  if  in  human  tones, 
"  Amen,  most  reverend  father !"  and  again 
The  circling  stones  in  concert  cried,  "  Amen !" 

The  boy  shrank  back,  remorseful,  on  his  knees, 
Confessed  his  fault,  and  sought  to  make  his  peace. 
"  Mock  not  God's  word,"  the  old  man  to  him  said. 
"  Know  that,  though  men  were  mute  to  it,  and  dead. 
The  very  stones  will  witness.     'Tis  a  living  word, 
And  cutteth  sharply,  like  a  two-edged  sword. 
And  if  all  human  hearts  to  stones  should  turn, 
A  human  heart  within  these  stones  would  burn." 


THE    HOUSE    OF    YORKE. 

CHAPTER     III. 
DIEU   DISPOSE. 


THE  early  morning  of  Mr.  Row- 
an's burial  had  been  heavy  and 
dark ;  but  as  they  left  the  island  a 
shower  of  golden  light  broke  through 
the  clouds,  the  water  sparkled  on  all 
sides,  and  the  sighing  air  became  a 
frolic  breeze.  Dick  and  the  captain 
brightened,  and  exchanged  a  few 
words  in  seamen's  phrase  compli- 
menting the  weather.  Mrs.  Rowan 
also  roused  herself,  brushed  the  sand 
from  her  clothes,  arranged  the  folds 
of  her  veil,  and  even  smoothed  her 
hair.  The  poor  creature's  vanity 
was  dead,  but  at  the  prospect  of 
meeting  strangers  it  gave  a  slight 
post-mortem  flicker.  Out  it  went, 
though,  the  next  instant,  on  the 
breath  of  a  sigh.  What  did  it  matter 
how  she  looked  ?  But  she  glanced 
anxiously  at  Edith. 

The  child  had  put  on  her  mother's 
red  cape  and  drawn  it  up  over  her 
head,  and  she  still  held  it  there,  one 
slim  hand  pulling  the  folds  close  to- 
gether under  her  chin.  That  she 
might  appear  outlandish  did  not 


trouble  Edith.  Indeed,  she  claimed 
the  right  to  be  so  on  account  of  her 
foreign  blood.  But  when  she  noticed 
Mrs.  Rowan's  attention  to  her  own 
toilet,  and  met  •  her  glance,  she 
pushed  the  cape  off  her  head,  and, 
putting  her  arms  up,  began  to 
smooth  her  hair  and  plait  it  into 
a  long  braid.  It  was  rich,  long  hair, 
not  given  to  wilful  ringlets,  but 
would  curl  when  in  the  mood.  Now 
the  wind  blew  little  curls  out  about 
her  face,  and  the  risen  sun  steeped 
the  tresses  in  a  pale  flame. 

The  braid  finished,  she  tossed  it 
back,  and  caught  it  lightly  into  a 
loop,  the  motion  revealing  a  pair  of 
round  white  arms,  to  which  the 
hands  and  wrists  looked  like  colored 
gauntlets.  Then  she  unfolded  her 
precious  Indian  relic  of  tarnished  red 
and  gold,  and  bound  it  straightly 
about  her  head,  half-covering  the 
forehead,  so  that  the  long,  fringed 
ends  hung  behind,  and  a  loose  fold 
fell  over  each  ear. 

Beholding  her  in  that  guise,  Cap- 


170 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


tain  Gary  thought  that  she  looked 
fitter  for  some  oriental  scene  than  for 
this  crude  corner  of  a  crude  land. 
"  She  might  be  a  stolen  child  stained 
with  gypsy-wort,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

But  she  was  Gypsy  only  in  color. 
No  wild  fires  burned  in  her  face; 
her  cool  eyes  looked  out  calm  and 
observant;  her  mouth  was  gently 
closed.  The  very  shape  of  her  fea- 
tures expressed  tranquillity. 

The  sailor  found  himself  much  in- 
terested in  this  little  girl.  Besides 
that  her  appearance  pleased  him, 
his  good-will  had  been  bespoken; 
for  on  one  of  those  days  when  their 
ship  had  lain  becalmed  in  southern 
waters,  Dick  had  told  him  all  her 
story.  Listening  to  it,  half-asleep,  as 
to  something  that  might  be  fact  and 
might  be  fancy,  all  the  scene  about 
him  had  entwined  itself  with  the  his- 
tory and  with  the  heroine's  charac- 
ter. The  solid  golden  day,  shut 
down  over  a  sea  whose  soft  pulses 
told  of  perfect  repose;  the  wide-eyed, 
radiant  night,  which  seemed  every 
moment  on  the  point  of  breaking 
into  music  far  and  near,  a  fine,  clear 
music  of  countless  sweet  bells  with 
almost  human  tongues — they  formed 
the  background  on  which  her  image 
floated.  Seeing  her  did  not  dispel 
but  rather  strengthened  the  illusion. 
Something  golden  in  her  hair,  some- 
thing tranquil  in  her  face,  some- 
thing expectant  in  her  eyes — all 
were  like. 

The  rough  giant  of  a  sailor  mused 
tenderly  over  this  as  he  sent  their 
boat  forward  with  powerful  strokes, 
and  watched  Edith  Yorke  bind  on 
her  Egyptian  coiffure. 

They  did  not  row  to  the  wharf, 
where  the  steamer  had  already  ar- 
rived, but  to  a  place  a  few  rods 
above,  where  the  sea  had  taken  a 
good  semicircular  bite  out  of  the 
land  Here  a  straggling  bit  of  di- 


lapidated woods  had  been  allowed 
to  remain  by  the  vandals  who  had 
turned  all  the  rest  to  grass  and  pas- 
ture, and  a  mossy  ledge  broke  the 
teeth  of  the  soft,  gnawing  waves. 

Edith  stepped  lightly  on  shore. 
She  was  young,  healthy,  brave,  and 
ignorant,  and  pain,  though  it  called 
forth  her  tears,  was  stimulating  to 
her.  That  pang  had  not  yet  come 
which  could  cut  her  heart  in  twain 
and  let  all  the  courage  out. 

"  You  are  spry,"  Captain  Gary 
said,  smiling  down  upon  her. 

She  smiled  faintly  in  return,  but 
said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Rowan  needed  assistance  at 
either  hand.  She  had  been  broken 
by  pain. 

They  stood  awhile  in  the  grove, 
Dick  and  the  captain  making  some 
business  arrangements.  The  Hal- 
cyon was  to  remain  four  weeks  at 
Seaton,  and  it  was  agreed  that  Dick 
should  have  that  time  to  get  his 
mother  settled.  Then  the  ship  would 
touch  at  New  York,  where  he  would 
embark  for  the  East  again. 

While  they  lingered,  a  large  yel- 
low coach,  loaded  with  passengers, 
rattled  past  amid  clouds  of  dust. 

"There  is  no  hurry,"  Dick  said. 
"  It  will  take  an  hour  to  get  the 
freight  off  and  on.  But  you  needn't 
wait,  captain.  They'll  be  looking 
for  you  at  the  village." 

The  others  drew  near  to  Captain 
Gary  at  that,  holding  his  hands  and 
trying  to  utter  their  thanks. 

"  Oh  !  it's  nothing,"  he  said,  much 
abashed.  "  I  haven't  done  anything 
to  be  thanked  for.  Good-by  !  Keep 
up  your  courage,  and  you  will  come 
out  first-rate.  There's  nothing  like 
grit." 

A  subsiding  ripple  tossed  his  boat 
against  the  shore.  At  that  hint  he 
stepped  in,  dallied  with  the  rope; 
then  said,  with  a  perfectly  transpa- 
rent affectation  of  having  only  jusl 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


171 


thought  of  it :  "  Oh !  I've  got  a  ring 
here  that  Edith  is  welcome  to,  if  she 
will  wear  it.  I  brought  it  home  for 
my  niece;  but  the  child  is  dead.  It 
won't  fit  anybody  else  I  know." 

Mrs.  Rowan  immediately  thanked 
him,  and  Edith  smiled  with  childish 
pleasure.  "  You  are  very  kind,  Cap- 
tain Gary,"  she  said.  "  I  always 
thought  I  would  like  to  have  a 
ring." 

Dick  alone  darkened;  but  no  one 
noticed  it.  He  had  meant  to  do 
everything  for  her ;  and  here  was  a 
wish  which  she  had  never  expressed 
to  him,  and  he  had  not  known 
enough  to  anticipate. 

The  captain  drew  a  tiny  box  from 
his  pocket,  and  displayed  a  small 
circlet  in  which  was  set  a  single 
spark  of  diamond.  Edith  extended 
her  left  hand,  and  the  sailor,  leaning 
over  the  boatside,  slipped  the  ring 
on  to  her  forefinger. 

"  Good-by,  again !"  he  said  then 
hastily,  and  gave  each  of  them  a 
grasp  of  the  hand.  Dick  could  take 
care  of  himself;  but  the  other  two, 
putting  out  their  tender  hands  im- 
pulsively, grew  red  in  the  face  with 
pain  at  the  grip  of  his  iron  fingers. 
The  next  instant  his  boat  shot  out 
into  the  bay.  They  looked  after  him 
till  he  glanced  back  and  saluted  them 
with  a  nod,  and  two  arches  of  spray 
tossed  from  his  oars;  then  turned 
and  climbed  the  shore,  Dick  assist- 
ing his  mother,  Edith  following. 

"  Good-by,  trees!"  said  the  child, 
glancing  up.  "  Good-by,  moss !" 
stooping  to  gather  a  silken  green 
flake  and  a  cluster  of  red-topped 
gray.  The  prettiest  cup  had  a  spider 
in  it,  and  she  would  not  disturb  it. 
"  Good-by,  spider !"  she  whispered, 
"  I'm  never  coming  back  again." 

She  had  friends  to  take  leave  of, 
after  all — not  human  friends,  but 
God's  little  creatures,  who  had  never 
hurt  her  save  in  self-defence. 


When  they  reached  the  wharf,  there 
was  no  one  in  sight  but  the  men  who 
trundled  the  freight  off  and  on.  At 
the  upper  end  of  the  wharf  there  was 
^.  small  building  used  as  office  and 
waiting-room.  The  passage  to  the 
boat  being%bstructed,  Dick  sent  his 
mother  and  Edith  there,  while  he 
went  on  board  to  get  tickets.  They 
went  to  the  door  of  the  waiting-room, 
hesitated  a  moment  on  seeing  it 
occupied,  then  went  in,  and  seated 
themselves  in  a  retired  corner. 

The  party  who  were  already  in 
possession  glanced  at  the  new- 
comers, and  immediately  became 
oblivious  of  them.  This  party  were 
evidently  the  members  of  one  family. 
Some  indefinable  resemblance,  as 
well  as  their  air  of  intimacy,  showed 
that.  An  elderly  gentleman  walked 
up  and  down  the  floor,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back,  and  a  lady 
not  much  over  forty  sat  near,  sur- 
rounded by  her  three  daughters.  At 
a  window,  to  which  the  mother's 
back  was  turned,  looking  up  toward 
the  village,  stood  a  young  man 
whose  age  could  not  be  over  twenty- 
three.  The  ages  of  the  daughters 
might  vary  from  sixteen  to  twenty. 
They  formed  rather  a  remarkable 
group,  and  were  attractive,  though 
the  faces  of  all  expressed  more  or 
less  dissatisfaction.  That  of  the 
young  man  indicated  profound  dis- 
gust. The  elder  lady  had  a  sweet 
and  melancholy  expression,  and  ap- 
peared like  an  invalid.  The  young- 
est daughter,  who  sat  beside  her,  was 
as  like  her  mother  as  the  waxing 
moon  is  like  the  waning.  She  was 
pretty,  had  clinging,  caressing  ways, 
a  faint  dimple  in  her  left  cheek, 
splendid  auburn  hair,  and  gray  eyes. 
They  called  her  Hester.  On  the 
other  hand  sat  the  eldest  daughter,  a 
rather  stately,  self-satisfied  young 
woman,  whose  attentions  to  her 
mother  had  an  air  of  patronage. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


This  was  Melicent.  She  was  rather 
fair,  neutral  in  color,  and  excessively 
near-sighted.  The  second  daughter 
stood  behind  her  mother,  and  was 
very  attentive  to  her,  but  in  an  ab- 
sent way,  often  doing  more  harm 
than  good  by  her  assistaifce.  "  My 
dear  Clara,  you  are  bundling  the 
shawl  all  about  my  neck !  My  love, 
you  pull  my  bonnet  off  in  arranging 
my  veil !  Why,  Clara,  what  are  you 
doing  to  my  scarf?"  Such  remarks 
as  these  were  constantly  being  ad- 
dressed to  her.  Clara  was  a  dark 
brunette,  with  small  features,  a  su- 
perb but  not  tall  figure,  and  large 
gray  eyes  that  looked  black.  Her 
coal-black  hair  grew  rather  low  on 
the  forehead,  straight  black  brows 
overshadowed  her  eyes  and  nearly 
met  over  the  nose,  and  an  exquisitely 
delicate  mouth  gave  softness  to  this 
face  which  would  otherwise  have 
been  severe.  She  seemed  to  be  a 
girl  of  immense  but  undisciplined 
energy,  and  full  of  enthusiasm. 

The  gentleman  who  paced  the 
floor  was  slightly  under-sized  and 
thin  in  figure,  thin  in  face,  too,  dark, 
and  sallow.  The  very  look  of  him 
suggested  bile  and  sarcasm.  But 
let  him  speak  for  himself,  since  he  is 
just  now  on  this  subject.  "  Bile,  my 
dear,"  he  said  to  his  wife — "  bile 
came  into  the  world  with  original 
sin.  I  am  not  sure  that  bile  is  not 
sin.  It  is  Marah  in  a  pleasant  land. 
It  is  a  fountain  of  gall  in  the  garden 
of  paradise.  It  poisons  life.  Doc- 
tors know  nothing  whatever  about 
bile,  and  liver-medicines  are  a  super- 
stition. He  who  shall  discover  a 
way  to  eradicate  bile  from  the  sys- 
tem will  be  a  great  moral  reformer. 
Every  sin  I  ever  committed  in  my 
life  took  its  rise  in  my  liver.  I  be- 
lieve the  liver  to  be  an  interpolation 
in  the  original  man.  We  should  be 
better  without  it." 

The  gentleman  who  spoke  had  a 


wide,  thin  mouth,  very  much  drawn 
down  at  the  corners  and  nowise 
hidden,  the  gray  moustache  he 
spared  in  shaving  being  curled  up 
at  the  ends.  His  manner  was  that 
of  a  person  who  would  scarcely 
brook  contradiction.  His  speech 
was  clear  and  emphatic,  and  he  pro- 
nounced his  words  as  if  he  knew 
how  they  were  spelt.  A  long,  deli- 
cate aquiline  nose  had  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  his  profile,  as  had  also  a 
pair  of  overhanging  eyebrows.  From 
beneath  these  brows  looked  forth  a 
pair  of  keen  gray  eyes,  with  count- 
less complex  wrinkles  about  them. 
The  chin  was  handsome,  well- 
rounded,  and,  fortunately,  not  pro- 
jecting. A  projecting  chin  with  an 
aquiline  nose  is  one  of  the  greatest 
of  facial  misfortunes.  Caricature  can 
do  no  more.  The  forehead  was  in- 
tellectual, and  weighty  enough  to 
make  it  no  wonder  if  the  slight  frame 
grew  nervous  and  irritable  in  carry- 
ing out  the  behests  of  the  brain  hid- 
den there.  The  head  was  crowned 
by  a  not  inartistic  confusion  of  gray 
hair  which  seemed  to  have  been 
stirred  by  electricity. 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam,  that  I  can- 
not compliment  the  climate  of  your 
native  state,"  he  remarked  after  a 
pause.  "  The  spring  is  a  month  or 
six  weeks  behind  that  of  Massachu- 
setts, and  the  fall  as  much  earlier. 
The  travelling  here  is  simply  intol- 
erable. It  is  either  clouds  of  dust, 
bogs  of  mud,  or  drifts  of  snow.  I 
quite  agree  with  the  person  who  said 
that  Maine  is  a  good  state  to  come 
from." 

"We  all  know,  Charles,  that  the 
climate  of  Massachusetts,  and  par- 
ticularly of  Boston,  surpasses  that  of 
any  other  part  of  the  world,"  the 
lady  replied  with  great  composure. 

The  gentleman  winced  very  slight- 
ly. He  was  one  of  those  who  con- 
stantly make  sarcastic  observations 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


173 


to  others,  but  are  peculiarly  sensitive 
when  such  are  addressed  to  them- 
selves. In  his  society,  one  was  fre- 
quently reminded  of  the  little  boy's 
complaint :  "  Mother,  make  Tommy 
be  still.  He  keeps  crying  every 
time  I  strike  him  on  the  head  with 
the  hammer." 

"  Here  will  be  a  chance  to  prac- 
tise your  famous  English  walks,  Meli- 
cent,"  the  father  said.  "  I  presume 
the  old  chaise  is  dissolved.  I  re- 
member it  twenty  years  ago  nodding 
along  the  road  in  the  most  polite 
manner.  By  the  way,  Amy,  did  you  • 
ever  observe  that  in  genuine  country 
places  people  leave  their  defunct  ve- 
hicles to  decay  by  the  roadside  ?  I 
am  not  sure  that  there  is  no  poetry 
in  the  custom.  The  weary  wheels 
crumble  to  dust  in  view  of  the  track 
over  which  they  have  rolled  in  life, 
and  are  a  memento  mori  to  living  car- 
riages.. It  is  not  unlike  the  monu- 
ment of  Themistocles  '  on  the  watery 
strand.'  " 

"  Papa,"  exclaimed  Hester,  "  why 
didn't  you  say  tired  wheels?  You 
started  to." 

"  Because  I  detest  a  pun." 
"  Melicent,  who  had  been  waiting 
for   a  chance,   now  spoke.      "You 
don't   mean   to  say,  papa,  that  we 
shall  have  no  carriage  ?" 

A  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  the 
only  reply. 

The  young  woman's  face  wore  a 
look  of  dismay.  "  But,  papa !"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Wait  till  the  pumpkins  grow,"  he 
said  with  a  mocking  smile.  "  I  will 
give  you  the  largest  one,  and  your 
mother  will  furnish  the  mice.  I  don't 
doubt  there  are  mice,  and  to  spare." 

"You  don't  mean  that  we  must 
walk  everywhere?"  his  daughter 
cried. 

"  Dear  me,  Melicent,  how  persis- 
tent you  are !"  interrupted  Clara  im- 
patiently. "  One  would  think  there 


was    no    need  of   borrowing    trou 
ble." 

The  elder  sister  gazed  with  an  air 
of  superiority  at  the  younger.  "  I 
was  speaking  to  papa,"  she  remarked 
with  dignity. 

The  father  frowned,  the  mother 
raised  a  deprecating  hand,  and  the 
imminent  retort  was  hushed.  Clara 
went  to  her  brother,  and,  leaning  on 
his  arm,  whispered  that,  if  Mel  were 
not  her  own  sister,  she  should  really 
get  to  dislike  her. 

"  How  silent  you  are,  Owen,"  said 
Hester,  looking  around  at  him.  "  All 
you  have  done  to  entertain  us  so  far 
has  been  to  make  faces  when  you 
were  sick.  To  be  sure,  that  made  us 
laugh." 

"A  sea-sick  person  may  be  the 
cause  of  wit  in  others,  but  is  seldom 
himself  witty,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

The  speaker  was  a  slim,  elegant 
youth,  with  golden  tints  in  his  light 
hair,  with  rather  drooping  and  very 
bright  blue  eyes,  and  a  beautiful,  sen- 
suous mouth. 

Edith  Yorke  watched  this  party 
with  interest,  and  the  longer  she 
looked  at  the  elder  gentleman  the 
better  she  liked  him.  His  manner 
of  addressing  the  ladies  suited  her 
inborn  sense  of  what  a  gentleman's 
manner  should  be.  There  was  no 
contemptuous  waiting  before  answer- 
ing them,  no  flinging  the  reply  over 
his  shoulder,  nor  growling  it  out  like 
a  bear.  Besides,  she  half-believed — 
only  half,  for  her  eyes  were  heavy 
with  weeping  and  loss  of  sleep — that 
he  had  looked  kindly  at  her.  Once 
she  was  sure  that  he  spoke  of  her  to 
his  wife,  but  she  did  not  know  what 
he  said.  It  was  this  :  "  My  dear,  do 
you  observe  that  child  ?  She  has  an 
uncommon  face." 

The  lady  glanced  across  the  room 
and  nodded.  She  was  too  much  pre- 
occupied to  think  of  anything  but 
their  own  affairs.  But  her  husband, 


174 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


on  whom  these  affairs  had  the  con- 
trary effect  of  driving  him  to  seek 
distraction,  approached  Edith. 

"  Little  girl,"  he  said,  "  you  remind 
me  so  much  of  some  one  I  have  seen 
that  I  would  like  to  know  your  name, 
if  you  please  to  tell  it."  • 

"  My  name  is  Edith  Eugenie 
Yorke,"  she  replied,  with  perfect 
self-possession. 

He  had  bent  slightly  toward  her 
in  speaking,  but  at  sound  of  the 
name  he  stood  suddenly  upright, 
his  sallow  face  turned  very  red,  and 
he  looked  at  her  with  a  gaze  so 
piercing  that  she  shrank  from  it. 
"Who  were  your  father  and  mo- 
ther ?"  he  demanded. 

"  My  mother  was  Eugenie  Lubor- 
mirski,  a  Polish  exile,  and  my  father 
was  Mr.  Robert  Yorke,  of  Boston," 
said  Edith.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  in- 
tently on  the  gentleman's  face,  and 
her  heart  began  to  beat  quickly. 

He  turned  away  from  her  and  re- 
sumed his  walk,  but,  after  a  minute, 
came  back  again.  "  Your  father  and 
mother  are  both  dead  ?"  he  asked  in 
a  gentler  tone. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"You  have  no  brothers  nor  sis- 
ters ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Who  takes  care  of  you  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Jane  Rowan,"  Edith  re- 
plied, laying  her  hand  on  the  widow's 
lap. 

He  bowed,  taking  this  for  an  in- 
troduction, a  cold  but  courteous 
bow. 

"  May  I  ask,  madam,"  he  inquir- 
ed, "what  claim  you  have  on  this 
child  ?" 

Mrs.  Rowan  had  shown  some  agi- 
tation while  this  conversation  was 
going  on,  and  when  Edith  put  out 
her  hand,  she  grasped  it  as  if  mean- 
ing to  hold  on  to  the  child.  Her 
reply  was  made  in  a  somewhat  de- 
fiant tone.  "When  Mrs.  Robert 


Yorke  died,  she  asked  me  to  have 
pity  on  her  daughter,  and  keep  her 
out  of  the  poor-house.  I  have  taken 
care  of  her  ever  since.  The  Yorkes 
had  turned  them  off." 

The  gentleman  drew  himself  upr 
and  put  out  his  under  lip.  "  Thank 
you  for  the  information,"  he  said 
bitterly.  Then  to  Edith,  "  Come, 
child,"  and  took  her  hand. 

She  allowed  him  to  lead  her  across 
the  room  to  his  wife. 

"  Mrs.  Yorke,"  he  said,  "  this  is  my 
brother  Robert's  orphan  child !" 

There  was  a  slight  sensation  and  a 
momentary  pause;  but  the  lady  re- 
covered immediately.  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  you,  dear,"  she  said  in  a  kind 
voice.  "  Who  is  that  person  ?"  she 
added  to  her  husband,  glancing  at 
Mrs.  Rowan. 

The  widow  was  staring  at  them 
angrily,  and  seemed  on  the  pcftnt 
of  coming  to  take  Edith  away  by 
force. 

"  One  who  has  taken  care  of  the 
child  since  her  mother's  death,  Amy," 
he  answered.  "  She  has  no  claim  on 
my  niece,  and  will,  of  course,  give 
her  up  to  us.  The  little  girl  is  named 
for  my  mother.  Robert  was  always 
fond  of  mother." 

There  was  a  pause  of  embarrassed 
silence. 

"  You  must  perceive  that  there  is 
no  other  way,"  Mr.  Yorke  continued 
with  some  state.  "  Aside  from  natu- 
ral affection  and  pity  for  the  child's 
friendless  condition,  an  Edith  Yorke 
must  not  be  allowed  to  go  about  the 
country  like  a  Gypsy  with  a  shawl 
over  her  head." 

"  It  is  just  as  papa  says,"  Meli- 
cent  interposed,  and  immediately 
took  Edith  by  the  hand  and  kissed 
her  cheek.  "  You  are  my  little  cou- 
sin, and  you  will  go  home  and  live 
with  us,"  she  said  sweetly. 

Miss  Yorke's  manner  was  very  con- 
ciliating; but  her  suavity  proceeded 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


175 


less  from  real  sweetness  than  from  self- 
complacency.  She  prided  herself  on 
knowing  and  always  doing  what  was 
comme  il  faut,  and  took  great  pleasure 
in  being  the  mould  of  form. 

"  I  shall  go  with  Dick  !  I  am  go- 
ing to  live  with  Dick !"  Edith  cried, 
»natching  her  hand  away.  A  blush 
>f  alarm  overspread  her  face,  and 
she  looked  round  in  search  of  her 
protector.  At  that  moment  he  ap- 
peared in  the  door,  paused  in  sur- 
prise at  seeing  where  Edith  was,  then 
went  to  his  mother. 

"  The  Yorkes  have  got  her,"  Mrs. 
Rowan  said  to  him,  breathless  with 
excitement.  "-That  is  Mr.  Charles 
Yorke.  I  knew  him  the  moment  I 
set  eyes  on  him." 

Dick  wheeled  about  and  faced 
them.  Edith,  too  proud  to  run 
away,  looked  at  him  imploringly. 

Then  Miss  Melicent  Yorke  arose, 
like  the  goddess  of  peace,  adjusted 
her  most  impregnable  smile,  and 
sailed  across  the  room.  "  I  am 
Miss  Yorke,"  she  said  brightly,  as 
though  such  an  announcement  would 
be  sure  to  delight  them.  "  Of 
course,  the  dear  little  Edith  is  my 
cousin.  Is  it  not  the  strangest  thing 
in  the  world  that  we  should  have  met 
in  such  a  way  ?  I  am  sure  we  shall 
all  feel  deeply  indebted  to  you  for 
having  protected  the  child  while  we 
knew  nothing  of  her  necessities.  Of 
course,  we  should  have  sent  for 
her  directly  if  we  had  known.  But, 
as  it  is,*we  have  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing you." 

Pausing,  Miss  Yorke  looked  at  the 
two  as  if  they  were  the  dearest  friends 
she  had  on  earth  and  it  gave  her  heart- 
felt joy  to  behold  their  countenances. 

Dick  choked  with  the  words  he 
would  have  uttered.  He  felt  keenly 
the  insolence  of  her  perfectly  confi- 
dent and  smiling  address,  yet  knew 
not  how  to  defend  himself.  If  a  man 
had  been  in  her  place,  he  could  have 


met  his  airy  assumption  with  a  suffi- 
ciently blunt  rebuff;  but  the  young 
sailor  was  chivalric,  and  could  not 
look  a  woman  in  the  face  and  utter 
rude  words.  His  mother's  emotion 
did  not  prevent  her  replying,  and, 
fortunately,  to  the  point. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  Mrs.  Row- 
nan  exclaimed,  "that  you  are  going 
to  take  Edith  away  from  us  without 
leave  or  license,  after  we  have  sup- 
ported her  four  years  without  your 
troubling  yourselves  whether  she 
starved  in  the  street  or  not  ?" 

For  a  moment,  Miss  Yorke's  social 
poniard  wavered  before  this  broad 
thrust,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
"  Every  family  has  its  own  private 
affairs,  which  no  one  else  has  either 
the  power  or  the  right  to  decide 
upon,"  she  said  smilingly.  "All  I 
need  say  of  ours  is  that,  if  Mr.  Yorke, 
my  father,  had  known  that  his  brother 
left  a  child  unprovided  for,  he  would 
have  adopted  her  without  delay.  He 
did  not  know  it  till  this  minute,  and 
his  first  thought  is  that  there  is  only 
one  proper  course  for  him.  His  niece 
must  be  under  his  'care,  as  her  natural 
protector,  and  must  have  the  advan- 
tages of  education  and  society  to 
which  she  is  entitled.  I  am  sure 
you  would  both  be  friendly  enough 
to  her  to  wish  her  to  occupy  her 
rightful  position.  As  for  any  ex- 
pense you  may  have  gone  to  on 
her  account,  papa —  " 

"  Stop  there,  madam  !"  Dick  inter- 
rupted haughtily.  "  We  will  say  no 
more  about  that,  if  you  please.  As 
to  Edith's  going  with  you,  she  shall 
choose  for  herself.  I  don't  deny  that 
it  seems  to  be  the  proper  thing ;  but 
allow  me  to  say  that  it  was  my  inten- 
tion to  give  her  a  good  home  and  a 
good  education,  such  as  no  girl  need 
be  ashamed  of.  I  will  speak  to  Edith, 
and  see  what  she  thinks  about  it." 

He  turned  unceremoniously  away 
from  Miss  Yorke's  protestations,  and 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


went  to  the  door,  beckoning  Edith  to 
follow  him.  As  he  looked  back,  wait- 
ing for  her,  he  saw  that  the  whole 
family  had  gone  over  in  a  body  to 
talk  to  his  mother. 

Edith  clasped  the  hand  he  held 
out  to  her,  and  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  large  tears  flashing  in  her 
eyes.  • 

"I  wouldn't  leave  you  if  they 
would  give  me  all  the  world!"  she 
exclaimed. 

He  smiled  involuntarily,  but  would 
not  take  advantage  of  her  affection- 
ate impulse.  He  saw  clearly  that 
her  true  place  was  with  her  relatives. 
They  could  do  for  her  at  once  what 
he  could  do  only  after  years  of  weary 
labor.  Perhaps  they  could  do  at  once 
what  he  could  never  do.  But  it  was 
hard  to  give  her  up.  Down  in  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  was  a  thought 
which  he  had  never  fully  acknow- 
ledged the  presence  of,  but  of  which 
he  was  always  conscious:  he  had 
meant  to  bring  the  child  up  to  be 
his  wife  some  day,  if  she  should  be 
willing ;  to  load  her  with  benefits ;  to 
be  the  one  to  whom  she  should  owe 
everything.  But  with  the  pang  it 
cost  him  to  put  this  hope  in  peril 
came  the  glimpse  of  a  possibility  how 
far  more  triumphant !  Following  his 
own  plan,  he  should  be  hedging  her 
in ;  giving  her  up  now  would  be  mak- 
ing her  free  choice,  if  it  should  fall  on 
him,  an  infinitely  greater  boon.  Be- 
sides, and  above  all,  it  was  right  that 
she  should  go. 

Dick  leaned  back  against  the  wall 
of  the  building,  and  folded  his  arms 
while  he  talked  to  her.  At  first  Edith 
broke  into  reproaches  when  she  learn- 
ed that  he  meant  to  give  her  up,  but 
immediately  an  instinct  of  feminine 
pride  and  delicacy  checked  the  words 
upon  her  lips.  It  was  impossible  for 
her  to  press  her  society  on  one  who 
voluntarily  relinquished  it.  She  lis- 
tened to  her  sentence  in  silence. 


"  So  you  see,  Edith,"  he  conclud- 
ed, "  we  must  make  up  our  minds  to 
part." 

She  perceived  no  such  necessity, 
but  did  not  tell  him  so.  "Then  I 
shall  never  see  you  any  more !"  she 
said  in  a  whisper,  without  looking 
up. 

Dick's  eyes  sparkled  with  resolu- 
tion through  the  tears  that  filled  them. 
"  Yes,  you  will !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
mean  to  do  the  best  I  can  for 
mother  and  myself,  and  you  shall  not 
be  ashamed  of  us.  And  however 
high  they  may  set  you,  Edith,  I'll 
climb !  I'll  climb !  I  won't  be  so 
far  off  but  I  can  reach  you!" 

The  coach  had  taken  its  first  load 
of  passengers  to  the  village,  and  now 
came  down  to  bring  those  who  were  to 
take  the  steamer  and  carry  the  Yorkes 
back.  It  was  time  to  go  on  board. 
Dick  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  wait- 
ing-room. "Come,  mother!"  he 
said.  "  Edith  and  I  will  see  you  to 
your  state-room,  and  then  I  will  bring 
her  back.  She  is  to  go  with  her  un- 
cle." 

He  was  not  surprised  to  see  that 
his  mother  had  been  completely  talk- 
ed over  by  Edith's  relations,  and 
that,  though  tearful,  no  opposition  was 
to  be  expected  from  her.  They  seem- 
ed to  be  the  best  of  friends ;  and 
when  the  widow  rose  to  take  leave 
of  them,  Mr.  Yorke  himself  escort- 
ed her  to  the  boat.  In  fact,  it  was 
all  very  comfortably  settled,  as  Miss 
Yorke  observed  to  her  mother  when 
they  had  taken  their  seats  in  the 
coach. 

When  Edith  and  Dick  appeared 
again,  hand  in  hand,  Mr.  Yorke  stood 
at  the  coach-door,  waiting  to  assist 
his  niece  to  her  place. 

"  How  picturesque !"  Clara  Yorke 
exclaimed,  as  the  two  stepped  over 
the  planks  and  came  toward  them. 
"  It  is  like  something  out  of  the  Ara- 
bian Nights.  He  is  Sindbad,  and  she 


The  House  o/   Yorke. 


177 


is  one  of  those  princesses  who  were 
always  getting  into  such  ridiculous 
situations  and  difficulties.  The  child 
is  absurd,  of  course,  but  she  is  love- 
ly ;  and  the  young  man  is  really  very 
fine — of  his  kind." 

Sindbad  and  his  princess  were  both 
very  pale.  "Sir,"  the  sailor  said, 
presenting  the  child  to  her  uncle,  "  I 
hope  she  will  be  as  happy  with  you 
as  I  and  my  mother  would  have  tried 
to  make  her." 

As  he  released  her  hand,  Edith's 
face  suddenly  whitened.  All  her  lit- 
tle world  was  slipping  away  from  be- 
neath her  feet. 

Mr.  Yorke  was  touched  and  im- 
pressed. He  liked  the  young  man's 
dignity.  "  I  must  compliment  you, 
sir,  on  your  honorable  conduct  in  this 
affair,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  hear  from 
you;  and  come  to  see  us  whenever 
you  are  in  our  neighborhood." 

Dick  Rowan,  in  his  turn,  would 
have  been  touched  by  this  unexpect- 
ed cordiality,  had  not  a  slight  raising 
of  Miss  Melicent  Yorke's  eyebrows 
neutralized  its  effect.  The  young 
woman  thought  that  her  father  was 
really  condescending  unnecessarily. 
That  faint,  supercilious  surprise  check- 
ed the  young  man's  gratitude,  and  he 
was  turning  away  with  a  cold  word 
of  thanks,  when  Mrs.  Yorke  called 
him  back.  She  was  leaning  from  the 
carriage,  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
him. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Rowan !"  she  said 
aloud.  "  You  need  not  fear  that  we 
shall  not  cherish  this  orphan  whom 
you  have  kindly  protected  so  far,  and 
you  need  not  fear  that  we  shall  try 


to  make  her  forget  you.  Ingratitude 
is  the  vice  of  slaves.  I  am  sure  she 
will  never  be  ungrateful  to  you." 

"  Thank  you  !"  Dick  said  fervent- 
jy,  melted  by  the  kind  smile  and 
tremulous  sweetness  of  tone.  It  was 
none  of  Miss  Melicent's  exasperating 
affability. 

"  And  I  have  a  favor  to  ask,"  she 
added,  leaning  still  further  out,  and 
lowering  her  voice  so  that  only  he 
could  hear.  "  I  take  for  granted  that 
you  will  write  to  my  niece.  Will  you 
allow  her  to  let  me  read  your  let- 
ters?" 

Dick  blushed  deeply  as  he  stam- 
mered out  another  "  Thank  you  !" 
It  was  a  delicately  given  warning 
and  kindly  given  permission.  It 
showed  him,  moreover,  that  the  la- 
dy's soft  eyes  had  looked  to  the  bot- 
tom of  his  heart.  At  that  moment 
he  was  glad  that  the  ring  on  Edith's 
finger  was  Captain  Gary's  gift,  not 
his. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  the  steam- 
boat just  as  long  as  it  is  in  sight," 
Edith  said  faintly.- 

Her  uncle  immediately  gave  orders 
to  the  driver  to  take  them  round 
to  a  place  from  which  they  could 
look  down  to  the  entrance  of  the 
bay. 

The  boat  steamed  out  over  the 
water,  glided  like  a  swan  down  the 
bay,  and  soon  disappeared  around  a 
curve  that  led  to  the  Narrows. 
Edith  gazed  immovably  after  it,  un- 
conscious that  they  were  all  watch- 
ing her.  When  it  was  no  longer  vi 
sible,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  sank 
back  into  Mrs.  Yorke's  arms. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE    OLD    HOME 


MRS.  CHARLES  YORKE  was  a  native 
of  Seaton ;  her  maiden  name,  Arnold 


quite  young,  and  in  a  few  years  the 
father  married  again.     This  marriage 


Her  mother  had  died  while  Amy  was     was  an  unfortunate  one  for  the  fami- 
VOL.  xm. — 12. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


ly;  and  not  only  the  daughter  but 
many  of  Mr.  Arnold's  friends  had 
tried  to  dissuade  him  from  it.  Their 
chief  argument  was  not  that  the  per- 
son whom  he  proposed  to  marry  was 
a  vulgar  woman  whom  his  lost  wife 
would  not  have  received  as  an  ac- 
quaintance, but  that  she  was  in  every 
way  unworthy  of  him,  and  would  be 
a  discreditable  connection.  They 
met  the  fate  which  usually  awaits 
such  interference.  Truth  itself  never 
appears  so  true  as  varnished  false- 
hood does.  Mr.  Arnold  was  flattered 
and  duped ;  and  the  end  of  the  affair 
was  that  Amy  had  the  misery  of 
seeing  his  deceiver  walk  triumphant- 
ly into  her  mother's  sacred  place. 
Nor  was  this  all.  In  a  moment  of 
weakness,  the  father  betrayed  to  his 
new  wife  the  efforts  that  had  been 
made  to  separate  them,  and  she  half- 
guessed,  half-drew  from  him  every 
name.  From  that  moment  her  in- 
stinctive jealous  dislike  of  her  step- 
daughter was  turned  to  hatred. 

Had  the  young  girl  been  wise,  she 
would  have  known  that  her  only  pro- 
per course  was  to  withdraw  from  the 
field ;  but  she  was  inexperienced  and 
passionate,  and  had  no  better  adviser 
than  her  own  heart.  Had  she  been 
a  Catholic,  she  could  have  found  in 
the  confessional  the  confidant  and 
counsel  she  needed;  but  she  was 
not.  In  Seaton  there  were  no  Ca- 
tholics above  the  class  of  servants 
and  day-laborers.  She  was  left, 
therefore,  completely  to  herself,  and 
in  the  power  of  an  unscrupulous  and 
subtle  tormentor.  Miserable,  indig- 
nant, and  desperate,  the  young  girl 
descended  to  the  contest,  and  at 
every  step  she  was  defeated.  She 
called  on  her  father  for  protection ; 
but  he  saw  nothing  of  her  trials,  or 
was  made  to  believe  that  she  had 
herself  provoked  them.  It  was  the 
old  story  of  adroit  deceit  arrayed 
against  impolitic  sincerity.  -But,  hap- 


pily, the  contest  was  not  of  long  du- 
ration. 

Amy  was  not  a  person  to  remain 
in  a  position  so  false  and  degrading. 
There  came  a  time  when,  quite  as 
much  to  her  own  surprise  as  to  theirs, 
she  had  nothing  more  to  say.  But 
their  surprise  was  that  she  contend- 
ed no  longer,  hers  that  she  had  con- 
tended so  long.  The  way  was  clear 
before  her,  and  her  plans  were  soon 
made.  Her  father  had  an  unmarried 
cousin  living  in  Boston,  and  this  lady 
consented  to  receive  her.  Only  on 
the  day  preceding  her  departure  did 
she  announce  her  intentions.  The 
sufferings  she  had  undergone  were  a 
sufficient  excuse  for  her  abruptness. 
She  had  become  too  much  weakened 
and  excited  to  bear  any  controversy 
upon  the  subject.  Besides,  the  part- 
ing from  her  father,  if  prolonged, 
would  have  been  unbearable.  She 
must  tear  herself  away. 

He  sat  a  moment  with  downcast 
eyes  after  she  had  communicated  to 
him  her  design.  His  face  expressed 
emotion.  He  seemed  both  pained 
and  embarrassed,  and  quite  at  'a  loss 
what  to  say.  In  fact,  his  wife  had 
proposed  this  very  plan,  and  was 
anxious  that  Amy  should  go,  and  he 
had  entertained  the  project.  There- 
fore he  could  not  express  surprise. 
For  the  first  time,  perhaps,  a  feeling 
of  shame  overcame  him.  He  was 
obliged  to  deceive!  His  pride,  re- 
volting at  that  shame,  made  him  im- 
patient. Unwilling  to  acknowledge 
himself  in  the  wrong,  he  wished  to 
appear  injured. 

"If  you  mean  to  deprive  me  of 
my  only  child,  and  would  rather  live 
with  strangers  than  with  your  own 
father,  I  will  not  oppose  you,"  he 
said.  "  But  I  think  you  might  have 
shown  some  confidence  in  me,  and 
told  me  your  wishes  before." 

Amy's  impulse  had  been,  at  the 
first  sight  of  his  emotion,  to  throw 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


herself  into  his  arms,  and  forgive 
him  everything,  or  take  upon  herself 
all  the  blame.  But  at  these  words 
she  recoiled.  Her  silence  was  bet- 
ter than  any  answer  could  have  been. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  child,"  her 
father  resumed,  blushing  for  the  eva- 
sion he  had  practised.  "  It  would 
be  cruel  of  me  to  wish  you  to  stay 
in  a  home  where  you  cannot  live  in 
peace.  I  am  grieved,  Amy,  but  I 
can  do  nothing.  What  can  a  man 
do  between  women  who  disagree  ?" 

"  Find  out  which  is  wrong !"  was 
the  answer  that  rose  to  her  lips,  but 
she  suppressed  it.  She  had  already 
exhausted  words  to  him.  She  had 
poured  out  her  pain,  her  love,  her 
entreaties,  and  they  had  been  to  him 
as  the  idle  wind.  She  had  been 
wronged  and  insulted,  and  he  would 
not  see  it.  She  turned  away  with  a 
feeling  of  despair. 

"  At  least,  let  us  part  as  a  father 
and  daughter  should,"  he  said  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

She  held  out  one  hand  to  him, 
and  with  the  other  covered  her  face, 
unable  to  utter  a  word ;  then  broke 
away,  and  shut  herself  into  her  cham- 
ber. There  are  times  when  entire 
reparation  only  is  tolerable,  and  we 
demand  full  justice,  or  none. 

So  they  parted,  and  never  met 
again,  though  they  corresponded  re- 
gularly, and  wrote  kind  if  not  confi- 
dential letters.  The  only  sign  the 
daughter  ever  had  of  any  change  of 
opinion  in  her  father  regarding  the 
cause  of  their  separation  was  when 
he  requested  her  to  send  her  letters 
to  his  office  and  not  to  the  house. 
After  that  they  both  wrote  more 
freely. 

In  her  new  home,  Amy  did  not 
find  all  sunshine.  Miss  Clinton  was 
old  and  notional,  and  had  too  great 
a  fondness  for  thinking  for  others  as 
well  as  herself.  Consequently,  when 
the  young  lady  favored  the  addresses 


of  a  poor  artist  who  had  been  em- 
ployed to  paint  her  portrait,  there 
was  an  explosion.  With  her  father's 
consent,  Amy  married  Carl  Owen, 
and  her  cousin  discarded  her.  There 
was  one  year  of  happiness  ;  then  the 
young  husband  died,  and  left  his 
wife  with  an  infant  son. 

In  her  trouble,  Mrs.  Owen  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Edith 
Yorke,  who  became  to  her  a  helpful 
friend ;  and  in  little  more  than  a 
year  she  married  that  lady's  eldest 
son,  Charles.  From  that  moment 
her  happiness  was  assured.  She  found 
herself  surrounded  by  thoroughly 
congenial  society,  and  blest  with  the 
companionship  of*  one  who  was  to 
her  father,  husband,  and  brother,  all 
she  had  ever  lost  or  longed  for.  Mr. 
Yorke  adopted  her  son  as  his  own, 
and,  so  far  from  showing  any  jea- 
lousy of  his  predecessor,  was  the  one 
to  propose  that  the  boy  should  retain 
his  own  father's  name  in  addition  to 
the  one  he  adopted. 

As  daughters  grew  up  around  them, 
he  appeared  to  forget  that  Carl  was 
not  his  own  son,  at  least  so  far  as 
pride  in  him  went.  Probably  he 
showed  more  fondness  for  his  girls. 

Mr.  Arnold  died  shortly  after  his 
daughter's  second  marriage,  and  his 
wife  followed  him  in  a  few  years.  By 
their  death  Mrs.  Yorke  became  the 
owner  of  her  old  home.  But  she 
had  no  desire  to  revisit  the  scene  of 
so  much  misery,  and  for  years  the 
house  was  left  untenanted  in  the  care 
of  a  keeper.  Nor  would  they  ever 
have  gone  there,  probably,  but  for 
pecuniary  losses  which  made  them 
glad  of  any  refuge. 

Mr.  Charles  Yorke  appreciated  the 
value  of  money,  and  knew  admira- 
bly well  how  to  spend  it;  but  the 
acuteness  which  can  foresee  and  make 
bargains,  and  the  unscrupulousness 
which  is  so  often  necessary  to  insure 
their  success,  he  had  not.  Conse- 


i  So 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


quently,  when  in  an  evil  hour  he  em- 
barked his  inherited  wealth  in  specu- 
lation, it  was  nearly  all  swept  away. 

Creditors,  knowing  his  probity,  of- 
fered to  wait. 

"  Why  should  I  wait  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Will  my  debts  contract  as  the  cold 
weather  comes  on  ?  I  prefer  an  im- 
mediate settlement." 

Not  displeased  at  his  refusal  to 
profit  by  their  generosity,  they  hint- 
ed at  a  willingness  to  take  a  percent- 
age on  their  claims. 

"  A  percentage  !"  cried  the  debtor. 
"  Am  1  a  swindler  ?  Am  I  a  beggar  ? 
I  shall  pay  a  hundred  per  cent.,  and 
I  recommend  you  in  your  future  deal- 
ings with  me  to  bear  in  mind  that  I 
am  a  gentleman  and  not  an  adven- 
turer." 

A  very  old-fashioned  man  was  Mr. 
Charles  Yorke,  and  a  very  hard  man 
to  pity. 

Behold  him,  then,  and  his  family 
en  route  for  their  new  home. 

We  have  said  that  the  two  princi- 
pal streets  of  the  town  of  Seaton 
crossed  each  other  at  right  angles, 
one  running  north  and  south  along 
the  river,  the  other  running  east  and 
west  across  the  river.  These  roads 
carried  themselves  very  straightly  be- 
fore folks,  but  once  out  of  town, 
forgot  their  company  manners,  and 
meandered  as  they  chose,  splintered 
into  side-tracks,  and  wandered  off  in 
vagabond  ways.  But  the  south  road, 
that  passed  by  the  Rowans',  was  the 
only  one  that  came  to  nothing.  The 
other  three  persisted  till  they  each 
found  a  village  or  a  city,  twenty-five 
miles  or  so  away.  Half  a  mile  from 
the  village  centre,  on  North  Street,  a 
very  respectable-looking  road  started 
off  eastward,  ran  across  a  field,  and 
plunged  into  the  forest  that  swept 
down  over  a  long  smooth  rise  from 
far-away  regions  of  wildness.  Fol- 
lowing this  road  half  a  mile,  one  saw 
at  the  left  a  tumble-down  stone  wall 


across  an  opening,  with  two  gates, 
painted  black  in  imitation  of  iron, 
about  fifteen  rods  apart.  A  little  fur- 
ther on,  it  became  visible  that  an 
avenue  went  from  gate  to  gate,  en- 
closing a  deep  half-circle  of  lawn,  on 
which  grew  several  fair  enough  elms 
and  a  really  fine  maple.  After  such 
preliminaries  you  expect  a  house; 
and  there  it  is  at  the  head  of  the 
avenue,  a  wide-spread  building,  with 
a  cupola  in  the  centre,  a  portico  in 
front,  and  a  wing  at  either  side.  It 
is  elevated  on  a  deep  terrace,  and 
has  a  background  of  woods,  and 
woods  at  either  hand,  only  a  little 
removed. 

To  be  consistent,  this  house  should 
be  of  stone,  or,  at  least,  of  brick; 
but  it  is  neither.  Still,  it  would  not 
be  right  to  call  it  a  "  shingle  palace ;" 
for  its  frame  is  a  massive  net-work 
of  solid  oaken  beams,  and  it  is  strong 
enough  to  bear  unmoved  a  shock 
that  would  set  nine  out  of  every  ten 
modern  city  structures  rattling  down 
into  their  cellars.  When  Mrs.  Yorke's 
grandfather  built  this  house,  in  the 
year  1800,  English  ideas  and  feelings 
still  prevailed  in  that  region ;  and  in 
building  a  house,  a  gentleman  thought 
of  his  grandchildren,  who  might  live 
in  it.  Now  nobody  builds  with  any 
reference  to  his  descendants. 

But  Mr.  Arnold's  plans  had  prov- 
ed larger  than  his  purse.  The  park 
he  meant  to  have  had  still  remained 
three  hundred  acres  of  wild,  unfenc- 
ed  land,  the  gardens  never  got  be- 
yond a  few  flowers,  now  choked 
with  weeds,  and  the  kitchen-garden, 
kept  alive  by  Patrick  Chester,  Mrs. 
Yorke's  keeper.  As  for  the  orchard, 
it  never  saw  the  light.  Mrs.  Yorke's 
father  had  done  the  place  one  good 
turn,  for  he  had  planted  vines  every- 
where. Their  graceful  banners,  in 
summer-time,  draped  the  portico,  the 
corners  of  the  house,  the  dead  oak- 
tree  by  the  western  wing,  and  swept 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


181 


here  and  there  over  rock,  fence,  or 
stump. 

Back  of  the  house,  toward  the 
right,  was  a  huge  barn  and  a 
granary  ;  the  eaves  of  both  under- 
hung with  a  solid  row  of  swallows' 
nests.  On  this  bright  April  morning, 
the  whole  air  was  full  of  the  twirl 
and  twitter  of  these  birds,  and  with 
the  blue  glancing  of  their  wings 
some  invisible  crystalline  ring 
seemed  to  have  been  let  down  from 
the  heavens  over  and  around  the 
house,  and  they  followed  its  outline 
in  their  flight.  But  the  homely, 
bread-and-butter  robins  had  no  such 
mystical  ways.  They  flew  or  hopped 
straight  where  they  wanted  to  go,  and 
what  they  wanted  to  get  was  plainly 
something  to  eat.  One  of  them  alight- 
ed on  the  threshold  of  the  open  front- 
door and  looked  curiously  in.  He 
saw  a  long  hall,  with  a  staircase  on 
one  side,  and  open  doors  to  right  and 
left  and  at  the  furthest  end.  All 
the  wood-work,  walls,  and  ceilings 
in  sight  were  dingy,  and  rats  and 
mice  had  assisted  time  in  gnawing 
away ;  but  the  furniture  was  bright, 
and  three  fires  visible  through  the 
three  open  doors  were  brighter  still. 
Redbreast  seemed  to  be  much  inter- 
ested in  these  fires.  Probably  he 
was  a  bird  from  the  city,  and  had 
never  seen  such  large  ones.  Those 
in  the  front  rooms  were  large  enough, 
but  that  in  the  kitchen  was  something 
immense,  and  yet  left  room  at  one 
side  of  the  fireplace  for  a  person  to 
sit  and  look  up  chimney,  if  so  dis- 
posed. 

"  Bon  >  "  says  the  bird,  with  a  nod, 
hopping  in,  "  the  kitchen  is  the  place 
to  go  to.  As  to  those  flowers  and 
cherries  on  the  floor,  I  am  not  to  be 
cheated  by  them.  They  are  not 
good  to  eat,  but  only  to  walk  on.  I 
am  a  bird  of  culture  and  society.  I 
know  how  people  live.  I  am  not 
like  that  stupid  chicken." 


For  a  little  yellow  chicken,  with- 
out a  sign  of  tail,  had  followed  the 
robin  in,  and  was  eagerly  pecking  at 
the  spots  in  the  carpet. 
.  The  bird  of  culture  hopped  along 
to  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  hail, 
and  paused  again  to  reconnoitre. 
Here  a  long,  narrow  corridor  ran 
across,  with  doors  opening  into  the 
front  rooms,  and  one  into  the  kitchen, 
and  a  second  stairway  at  one  end. 
Three  more  hops  brought  the  bird  to 
the  threshold  of  the  kitchen-door, 
where  a  third  pause  occurred,  this 
one  not  without  trepidation;  for 
here  in  the  great  kitchen  a  woman 
stood  at  a  table  with  a  pan  of  po- 
tatoes before  her.  She  had  washed 
them,  and  was  now  engaged  in  par- 
tially paring  them  and  cutting  out 
any  suspicious  spots  that  might  be 
visible  on  the  surfaces.  "It  takes 
me  to  make  new  potatoes  out  of  old 
ones  !"  she  said  to  herself  with  an  air 
of  satisfaction,  tossing  the  potato  in 
in  her  hand  into  a  pan  of  cold  water. 

This  woman  was  large-framed  and 
tall,  and  over  forty  years  of  age. 
She  had  a  homely,  sensible,  pleasant, 
quick-tempered  face,  and  the  base  of 
her  nose  was  an  hypothenuse.  Her 
dark  hair  was  drawn  back  and  made 
into  a  smooth  French  twist,  with  a 
shell  comb  stuck  in  the  top  a  little 
askew.  It  is  hard  to  fasten  one  of 
those  twists  with  the  comb  quite  even, 
if  it  has  much  top  to  it.  This  comb 
had  much  top.  The  woman's  face 
shone  with  washing;  she  wore  a 
straightly-fitting  calico  gown  and  a 
white  linen  collar.  The  gown  was 
newly  done  up  and  a  little  too  stiff, 
and  to  keep  it  from  soil  she  had 
doubled  the  skirt  up  in  front  and 
pinned  it  behind,  and  tied  on  a  large 
apron.  For  further  safeguard,  the 
sleeves  were  turned  up  and  pinned  to 
the  shoulder  by  the  waistbands.  At 
every  movement  she  made  these  stiff 
clothes  rattled. 


182 


Tlie  House  of  Yorke. 


This  woman  was  Miss  Betsey 
Bates.  She  had  lived  at  Mr.  Arnold's 
when  Miss  Amy  was  a  young  girl,  had 
left  when  she  left,  and  was  now  come 
back  to  live  with  her  again. 

"Just  let  your  water  bile,"  Betsey 
began,  addressing  an  imaginary  au- 
dience— "  let  your  water  bile,  and 
throw  in  a  handful  of  salt ;  then  wash 
your  potatoes  clean ;  peel  'em  all  but 
a  strip  or  two  to  hold  together ;  cut 
out  the  spots,  and  let  'em  lay  awhile 
in  cold  water ;  when  it's  time  to  cook 
'em,  throw  'em  into  your  biling  water, 
and  clap  on  your  lid ;  then — " 

Betsey  stopped  suddenly  and 
looked  over  her  shoulder  to  listen, 
but,  hearing  no  carriage-wheels  nor 
human  steps,  resumed  her  occupa- 
tion. She  did  not  perceive  the  two 
little  bipeds  on  the  threshold  of  the 
door,  where  they  were  listening  to 
her  soliloquy  with  great  interest, 
though  it  was  the  chicken's  steps 
that  had  attracted  her  attention. 
That  silly  creature,  dissatisfied  with 
his  worsted  banquet,  had  hopped 
along  to  the  robin's  side,  where  he 
now  stood  with  a.  hungry  crop,  round 
eyes,  and  two  or  three  colored  threads 
sticking  to  his  bill. 

Betsey's  thoughts  took  a  new  turn. 
"  I  must  go  and  see  to  the  fires,  and 
put  a  good  beach  chunk  on  each  one. 
There's  a  little  chill  in  the  air,  and 
everybody  wants  a  fire  after  a  jour- 
ney. It  looks  cheerful.  I've  got 
six  fires  going  in  this  house.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  ?  To  my  idea, 
an  open  fire  in  a  strange  house  is 
equal  to  a  first  cousin,  sometimes 
better." 

Here  a  step  sounded  outside  the 
open  window  behind  the  table,  and 
Pat  Chester  appeared,  a  stout,  fine- 
looking,  red-faced  man,  with  mis- 
chievous eyes  and  an  honest  mouth. 
Curiously  enough,  the  base  of  his 
nose  also  was  an  hypothenuse.  Other- 
wise there  was  no  resemblance  be- 


tween the  two.  Betsey  used  to  say 
to  him,  "  Pat,  the  ends  of  our  noses 
were  sawed  off  the  wrong  way." 

"  Who  are  you  talking  to  ?"  asked 
Pat,  stopping  to  look  in  and  laugh. 

"  Your  betters,"  was  the  retort. 

"  I  don't  envy  'em,"  said  Pat,  and 
went  on  about  his  business. 

"  And  I  must  see  to  them  clocks 
again,"  pursued  Betsey.  "  The  idea 
of  having  a  clock  in  every  room  in 
the  house  !  It  takes  me  half  of  my 
time  to  set  'em  forward  and  back. 
As  to  touching  the  pendulums  of 
such  clocks  as  them,  you  don't  catch 
me.  But  I  do  abominate  to  see  one 
mantelpiece  a  quarter  past  and  an- 
other quarter  of  at  the  same  time." 

Here  a  little  peck  on  the  floor  ar- 
rested Betsey's  attention,  and,  stretch- 
ing her  neck,  'she  saw  the  chicken, 
and  instantly  flew  at  it  with  a  loud 
"  shoo !"  With  its  two  bits  of  wings 
extended  and  its  head  advanced  as 
far  as  possible,  the  little  wretch  fled 
through  the  hall,  peeping  with  ter- 
ror. But  the  robin  flew  up  and  es- 
caped over  Betsey's  head.  "  Laud 
sakes !"  she  cried,  holding  on  to  her 
comb  and  her  eyes,  "  who  ever  saw  a 
chicken  fly  up  like  that  ?" 

Wondering  over  this  phenomenon, 
Betsey  went  up-stairs  and  replenished 
the  fires  in  three  chambers,  and  set 
some  of  the  clocks  forward  and 
others  back,  then  hurried  down  to 
perform  the  same  duties  below  stairs. 
Just  as  she  set  the  last  hour-hand 
carefully  at  nine  o'clock,  Pat  put  his 
head  in  at  the  dining-room  window. 
"It's  time  for  'em  to  be  here,"  he 
said,  "  and  I'm  going  down  to  the 
gate  to  watch.  I'll  give  a  whistle 
the  minute  they  come  in  sight." 

Immersed  in  her  own  thoughts, 
Betsey  had  jumped  violently  at  sound 
of  his  voice.  "  I  do  believe  you're 
possessed  to  go  round  poking  your 
head  in  at  windows,  and  scaring  peo- 
ple out  of  their  wits !"  she  cried,  with 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


183 


a  frightened  laugh.  "  Here  I  came 
within  an  ace  of  upsetting  this  clock 
or  going  into  the  fire." 

Pat  laughed  back — he  and  Betsey 
were  always  scolding  and  always 
laughing  at  each  other — muttered 
something  about  skittish  women,  and 
walked  off  down  the  avenue  to  watch 
for  the  family. 

"  I  believe  everything  is  ready," 
Betsey  said,  looking  round.  She  took 
off  her  apron,  took  down  her  skirt 
and  sleeves,  and  gave  herself  a  gene- 
ral crackling  smoothing  over.  Then 
suddenly  she  assumed  an  amiable 
smile,  looked  straight  before  her, 
dropped  a  short  courtesy,  and  said, 
"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Yorke  ?  I 
hope  I  see  you  well.  How  do  you  do, 
sir  ?  How  do  you  do,  miss  ?  I  won- 
der if  I  had  better  go  out  to  the  door 
when  they  come,  or  stand  in  the  en- 
try, or  stay  in  the  kitchen.  I  declare 
to  man  I  don't  know  what  to  do  ! 
How  do  you  do,  ma'am  ?"  begin- 
ning her  practising  again,  this  time 
before  the  glass.  "  I  hope  I  see  you 
well.  To  think  of  my  not  being  mar- 
ried at  all,  and  her  having  grown-up 
children  !"  she  said,  staring  through 
the  window.  "  The  last  time  I  saw 
her,  she  was  a  pretty  creature,  as  pale 
as  a  snow-drop.  Poor  thing !  she 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  with  that  Jeze- 
bel. She  never  said  anything  to  me, 
nor  I  to  her ;  but  many  a  time  she 
has  come  to  me  when  that  woman 
has  been  up  to  her  tricks,  and  held 
on  to  me,  and  gasped  for  breath. 
'  O  my  heart!  my  heart!'  she'd  say. 
'  Don't  speak  to  me,  Betsey,  but  hold 
me  a  minute !'  It  was  awful  to  see 
her  white  face,  and  to  feel  her  heart 
jump  as  if  it  would  tear  itself  out. 
That  \vas  the  way  trouble  always  took 
hold  of  her." 

She  mused  a  moment  longer,  then 
broke  off  suddenly,  and  began  anew 
her  practice.  "  How  do  you  do, 
ma'am  ?  I  hope  I  see  you  well." 


Presently  a  loud,  shrill  whistle  in- 
terrupted her.  Betsey  rushed  excit- 
edly into  the  kitchen,  dashed  her  po- 
tatoes into  the  kettle,  tied  on  a  clean 
apron  that  stood  out  like  cast-iron 
with  starch,  and  hovered  in  the  rear 
of  the  hall,  to  be  ready  for  advance 
or  retreat,  as  occasion  might  demand. 

The  old  yellow  coach  came  through 
the  gate,  up  the  muddy  avenue,  and 
drew  up  at  the  steps.  The  two  gen- 
tlemen got  out  first,  then  the  young 
ladies,  and  all  stood  around  while 
Mrs.  Yorke  slowly  alighted.  She 
was  very  pale,  but  smiled  kindly  on 
them,  then  took  her  son's  arm,  and 
went  up  the  steps.  Mr.  Yorke  stop- 
ped to  offer  his  hand  to  a  little  girl 
who  still  remained  in  the  coach. 
"  My  sakes  !"  muttered  Betsey.  "  If 
it  isn't  that  Rowan  young  one  !" 

"  Mother  dear,"  said  the  son,  "  it 
is  possible  to  make  a  very  beautiful 
place  of  this." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  bright- 
ening smile.  "  You  think  so,  Carl  ?" 

She  had  been  anxiously  watching 
what  impression  the  sight  of  her  old 
home  would  make  on  her  family,  and 
exaggerating  its  defects  in  her  own 
imagination,  as  she  fancied  they  were 
doing  in  theirs.  Their  silence  so  far 
had  given  her  a  pang,  since  she  in- 
terpreted it  to  mean  disappointment, 
when  in  truth  it  had  meant  solici- 
tude for  her.  They  thought  that  she 
would  be  agitated  on  coming  again 
to  her  childhood's  home  after  so  Ion  g 
an  absence.  So  she  was;  but  her- 
own  peculiar  memories  gave  prece- 
dence to  that  which  concerned  those 
dearest  to  her. 

"  Besides,  mother,"  Owen  continu- 
ed, "  this  spot  has  a  charm  for  me 
which  no  other  could  have,  however 
beautiful:  it  \^  yours." 

That  word  conveyed  the  first  inti- 
mation Mrs.  Yorke  had  ever  received 
that  her  son  felt  his  dependence  on  a 
stepfather.  But  the  pain  the  know- 


1 84 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


ledge  caused  her  was  instantly  ban- 
ished by  the  recollection  that  the 
cause  of  his  uneasiness  was  now  re- 
moved. 

"  My  great-grandfather  had  ideas, 
though  he  did  not  carry  them  out," 
remarked  Melicent.  "  If  he  had  built 
his  house  of  stone,  it  would  have 
done  very  well.  It  is  astonishing 
that  he  did  not.  But  the  earlier  set- 
tlers in  this  country  seemed  to  revel 
in  wood,  probably  because  it  had 
been  to  them  in  the  Old  World  a 
luxury.  With  heaps  of  stones  at 
hand,  they  would  persist  in  building 
their  houses  of  logs." 

At  this  point  Betsey  rushed  out  to 
\yelcome  Mrs.  Yorke.  The  sight  of 
that  pale  face  which  seemed  to  be 
looking  for  her,  and  the  slight,  cling- 
ing form  that  used  to  cling  to  her, 
quite  overcame  her  shyness. 

"  You  dear  creature,  how  glad  I 
am  to  see  you  once  more  !"  she  cried 
out.  And,  seizing  the  lady  by  the 
shoulders,  gave  her  a  resounding  kiss 
on  the  cheek. 

"  Please  do  not  touch  Mrs.  Yorke's 
left  arm.  It  gives  her  palpitation," 
said  the  son  rather  stiffly. 

Young  Mr.  Owen  had  an  invin- 
cible repugnance  to  personal  fami- 
liarities, especially  from  inferiors. 

"  Dear  Betsey,  this  is  my  son,"  the 
mother  said  proudly,  looking  at  her 
manly  young  escort,  as  if  to  see  him 
anew  with  a  stranger's  admiring  eyes. 
"  Carl  has  heard  me  speak  of  you 
many  a  time,  my  old  friend  !" 

Betsey  immediately  dropped  a  so- 
lemn courtesy.  "  I  hope  I  see  you 
well,  sir !"  she  said,  remembering  her 
manners. 

"  This  must  be  Betsey  Bates!"  cried 
Miss  Melicent,  coming  forward  with 
great  cordiality.  "  Mamma  has 
spoken  of  you  so  often  I  knew  you 
at  once." 

Miss  Yorke  did  not  say  that  she 
recognized  Betsey  by  her  nose,  though 


that  was  the  fact.  The  impression 
left  on  the  woman's  mind  was  of 
something  highly  complimentary,  that 
some  air  expressive  of  honesty,  faith- 
fulness, and  affection,  or  some  sub- 
tile personal  grace  not  universally  ac- 
knowledged, had  led  to  the  recogni- 
tion. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
Mrs.  Yorke  turned  to  receive  her  hus- 
band. She  could  not  utter  a  word ; 
but  her  face  expressed  what  she 
would  have  said.  In  her  look  could 
be  read  that  she  placed  in  his  hands 
all  that  was  hers,  regretting  only  that 
the  gift  was  so  small. 

One  saw  then,  too,  that  Mr.  Yorke's 
sarcastic  face  was  capable  of  great 
tenderness.  As  he  met  that  mute 
welcome,  a  look  of  indulgent  kind- 
ness softened  his  keen  eyes,  gave  his 
scornful  mouth  a  new  shape,  and 
lighted  up  his  whole  countenance. 
But  he  knew  better  than  allow  his 
wife  to  yield  to  any  excitement  of 
feeling. 

"  Yes,  Amy !"  he  said  cheerfully, 
"  I  think  we  shall  make  a  very 
pleasant  home  here.  Now  come  in 
and  rest." 

They  went  into  the  sitting-room  at 
the  left  of  the  hall,  and  Mrs.  Yorke 
was  seated  in  an  arm-chair  there  be- 
tween the  fire  and  the  sunshine,  and 
they  all  waited  on  her.  Hester, 
kneeling  by  her  mother,  removed  her 
gloves  and  overshoes,  Clara  took  off 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  arid  Melicent, 
after  whispering  a  word  to  Betsey, 
went  out  with  that  factotum,  and  pre- 
sently returned  bearing  a  tin  cup  of 
coffee  on  which  a  froth  of  cream  still 
floated. 

"  I've  taken  a  cup,  mamma,"  she 
said,  "and  I  can  recommend  it. 
And  breakfast  will  be  ready  in  two 
minutes." 

Owen  Yorke,  missing  one  of  the 
company,  went  out,  and  found  Edith 
standing  forlorn  in  the  portico,  biting 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


her  quivering  lips,  and  struggling  to 
restrain  the  tears  that  threatened  to 
overflow  her  eyes.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  the  child  felt  timid  and 
disconcerted.  She  was  among  her 
own  people,  and  they  had  forgotten 
her.  At  that  moment  she  longed 
passionately  for  Dick  Rowan,  and 
would  have  flown  to  him  had  it  been 
possible. 

"  Come,  little  Gypsy !"  he  said. 
"  You're  not  going  to  run  away,  I 
hope?  Did  you  think  we  had  for- 
gotten you  ?  See !  I  have  not." 

Owen  Yorke's  face  was  very  win- 
ning when  he  chose,  and  his  voice 
could  express  a  good  deal  of  kindness. 
Edith  looked  at  him  steadily  a  mo- 
ment, then  took  the  hand  he  offered, 
and  went  into  the  house  with  him. 
As  they  entered,  Mrs.  Yorke  rose  to 
give  the  child  an  affectionate  wel- 
come to  her  new  home,  and  the 
daughters  gathered  about  her  with 
those  bright,  profuse  words  which  are 
so  pleasant  even  when  they  mean  so 
little. 

A  folding-door  opened  from  the 
sitting-room  into  the  dining-room, 
which  occupied  the  front  half  of  the 
we~st  wing,  and  here  a  breakfast  was 
set  out  that  dismayed  the  eyes  of  those 
who  were  expected  to  partake  of  it. 
There  was  a  fricassee  which  had  cost 
the  lives  of  three  hens  of  family,  and 
occasioned  a  serious  squabble  be- 
tween Pat  and  Betsey ;  there  was  a 
vast  platter  of  ham  and  eggs,  and  a 
pyramid  of  potatoes  piled  so  high 
that  the  first  time  it  was  touched  one 
rolled  off  on  to  the  cloth.  Poor  Bet- 
sey had  no  conception  of  the  Yorke 
ideal  of  a  proper  breakfast. 

"The  good  creature  has  such  a 
generous  heart!"  Mrs.  Yorke  said, 
checking  with  a  glance  the  titter 
which  her  two  younger  daughters  had 
not  tried  to  restrain.  "  And  I  am 
sure  that  everything  is  delicious." 

Taking  a  seat  at  the  table,  Edith 


recollected  that  a  trial  awaited  her. 
It  was  Friday ;  and  abstinence  from 
meat  on  that  day  was  the  one  point 
in  her  mother's  religion  which  she 
knew  and  practised.  Otherwise  she 
was  as  ignorant  of  it  as  possible. 

Owen  Yorke,  sitting  opposite, 
watched  her  curiously,  perceiving 
that  something  was  the  matter.  He 
noticed  the  slight  bracing  of  the  mus- 
cles of  her  face  and  neck,  and  that 
she  drew  her  breath  in  like  one  who 
is  preparing  for  a  plunge,  and  kept 
her  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  Mr.  Yorke. 
Edith's  way  was  to  look  at  what  she 
feared. 

"  Some  of  the  chicken,  little  niece?" 
her  uncle  asked  pleasantly. 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not  eat  meat  on 
Friday.  I  am  a  Roman  Catholic," 
the  child  answered  with  precision. 
And,  having  made  the  announcement 
thus  fully,  shut  her  mouth,  and  sat 
pale,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  Mr. 
Yorke's  face. 

A  smile  flashed  into  Owen  Yorke's 
eyes  at  this  reply.  "  Little  Spartan !" 
he  thought. 

Edith  did  not  miss  the  slight  con- 
traction of  the  brows  and  the  down- 
ward twitch  of  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  in  the  face  she  watched ;  but 
the  signs  of  displeasure  passed  as 
quickly  as  they  came.  "  Then  I  am 
afraid  you  will  make  a  poor  break- 
fast," Mr.  Yorke  said  gently.  "  But 
I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you," 

There  was  a  momentary  silence; 
then  the  talk  went  on  as  before.  But 
the  family  were  deeply  annoyed.  It 
seemed  enough  that  they  should  have 
to  take  this  little  waif,  with  they 
knew  not  what  low  habits  and  asso- 
ciates, or  what  unruly  fires  of  temper 
inherited  from  her  mother,  without 
having  an  alien  religion  brought 
into  their  midst.  Catholicism  as  they 
had  seen  it  abroad  appealed  to  their 
esthetic  sense.  It  floated  there  in  a 
higher  atmosphere,  adorned  with  all 


1 86 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


that  wealth  and  culture  could  do. 
But  at  home  they  preferred  to  keep 
it  where,  as  a  rule,  they  found  it — in 
the  kitchen  and  the  stable. 

After  they  had  returned  to  the  sit- 
ting-room, Mr.  Yorke  called  Edith 
to  him.  She  went  trembling ;  for,  in 
spite  of  himself,  her  uncle's  face  wore 
a  judicial  look.  The  girls,  who  were 
just  going  up-stairs,  lingered  to  hear 
what  would  be  said,  and  Owen  took 
his  stand  behind  Mr.  Yorke's  chair, 
and  looked  at  the  child  with  an  en- 
couraging smile. 

"  Were  the  family  you  lived  with 
Catholics,  my  dear  ?"  the  judge  be- 
gan. 

"  No,  sir.  Only  Mr.  Rowan  was 
when  he  was  a  little  boy." 

"  And  Mr.  Rowan  wished  to  make 
a  Catholic  of  you  ?"  Mr.  Yorke  said, 
his  lip  beginning  to  curl. 

The  child  lifted  her  head.  "  Mr. 
Rowan  had  nothing  to  say  about 
me,"  she  replied.  "  It  was  my  mo- 
ther." 

A  slight  smile  went  round  the  cir- 
cle. They  quite  approved  of  her  re- 
ply. 

"  But  you  cannot  recollect  your 
mother  ?"  Mr.  Yorke  continued. 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  Edith  said  with  anima- 
tion. "  I  remember  ho\v  she  looked, 
and  what  she  said.  She  made  me 
hold  up  my  hands,  and  promise  that 
I  would  be  a  Roman  Catholic  if  I 
had  to  die  for  it.  And  that  was  the 
last  word  she  ever  said." 

Mr.  Yorke  gave  a  short  nod.  To 
his  mind  the  matter  was  settled. 
"  N'est  ce pas  ?"  he  said  to  his  wife. 

She  bowed  gravely.  "  There  is  no 
other  way.  It  is  impossible  to  ask 
her  to  break  a  promise  so  given. 
When  she  is  older,  she  can  choose 
for  herself." 

"  Well,  you  hear,  girls  ?"  Mr.  Yorke 
said,  looking  at  his  daughters.  "  Now 
take  her,  and  make  her  feel  at 
home." 


Miss  Yorke  was  dignified  and  in- 
scrutable, Hester  unmistakably  cold, 
but  Clara  took  her  cousin's  hand 
with  the  utmost  cordiality,  and  was 
leading  her  from  the  room,  when 
Edith  stopped  short,  her  eyes  attract- 
ed by  a  cabinet  portrait  in  oils  that 
stood  on  a  shelf  near  the  door.  This 
portrait  represented  a  young  man, 
with  one  of  those  ugly,  beautiful 
faces  which  fascinate  us,  we  know 
not  why.  Careless,  profuse  locks  of 
golden  brown  clustered  around  his 
head,  steady,  agate-colored  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  beholder  wherever  he  went, 
and  seemed  at  once  defying  him  to 
escape  and  entreating  him  not  to  go, 
and  the  sunshine -of  a  hidden  smile 
softened  the  curves  of  the  mouth  and 
chin. 

Edith's  eyes  sparkled,  her  face  grew 
crimson,  and  she  clasped  her  hands 
tightly  on  her  breast. 

"  That  is  your  father's  portrait,  my 
dear,"  Mrs.  Yorke  said,  going  to  her. 
"  Do  you  recognize  it  ?" 

The  child  restrained  herself  one 
moment,  then  she  ran  to  the  picture, 
clasped  her  arms  around  it,  and  kiss- 
ed it  over  and  over,  weeping  passion- 
ately. "  It  is  mine !  It  is  mine !" 
she  cried  out,  when  her  aunt  tried 
to  soothe  her. 

"  You  are  right,  dear  !"  Mrs.  Yorke 
said,  much  affected.  "  I  am  sure  no 
one  will  object  to  your  having  the 
portrait.  You  may  take  it  to  your 
own  chamber,  if  you  wish." 

Edith  controlled  herself,  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  put  the  picture  down. 
"  Dear  Aunt  Amy,"  she  said,  "  you 
know  I  want  it;  but  I  won't  take  it 
unless  you  and  Uncle  Charles  are 
quite  willing." 

It  was  touching,  her  first  acknow- 
ledgment of  kinship,  and  expression 
of  trust  and  submission.  They  cor- 
dially assured  her  of  their  willingness, 
kissed  her  again  in  token  of  a  closer 
adoption,  and  smiled  after  her  as  she 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


187 


went  off   with   her   father's  portrait 
clasped  to  her  heart. 

Melicent  and  Hester  still  lingered. 
Melicent  remembered  faintly  her  Un- 
cle Robert's  marriage,  and  the  disa- 
greeable feeling  in  the  family  at  that 
time.  It  had  left  on  her  mind  a  pre- 
judice against  "  that  Polish  girl,"  and 
a  shade  of  disfavor  toward  her  daugh- 
ter. But  she  said  nothing. 

"  It  will  be  so  disagreeable  having 
a  Catholic  in  the  family!"  Hester 
complained. 

"  Hester,  listen  to  me !"  her  father 
said  severely.  "  I  want  no  bigotry 
nor  petty  persecutions  in  my  family. 
Your  Cousin  Edith  has  as  good  a 
right  to  her  religion  as  you  have  to 
yours ;  and  if  either  should  find  her- 
self disagreeably  situated,  it  is  she, 
for  she  is  alone.  Don't  forget  this ; 
and  don't  let  there  be  anything  offen- 
sive said,  or  hinted,  or  looked.  I 
mean  to  be  consistent,  and  allow  oth- 
ers the  same  freedom  which  I  claim 
myself.  Now,  let  me  hear  no  more 
of  this." 

Hester  took  refuge  in  tears.  It 
was  her  sole  argument.  She  was 
one  of  those  soft  creatures  who  re- 
qyire  to  be  petted,  and  have  a  talent 
for  being  abused.  Possibly,  too,  she 
was  a  little  jealous  of  this  new  mem- 
ber of  the  family. 

"  Melicent,  will  you  lead  away  this 
weeping  nymph,  and  dry  her  tears  ?" 
the  father  said  impatiently.  "  Com- 
mon sense  is  too  robust  for  her  con- 
stitution." 

The  sisters  went  up-stairs,  and 
Owen  followed  them  presently,  and 
climbed  to  the  cupola.  Leaning  on 
the  window-sill  there,  he  looked  off 
over  the  country.  The  horizon  was 
a  ring  of  low  blue  hills,  with  a  grand 
amethyst  glittering  to  tell  where  the 
sea  lay.  Through  the  centre  of  this 
vast  circle  glimmered  the  river,  silver, 
and  gold,  and  steel-blue,  and  the 
white  houses  of  the  town  lay  like  a 


heap  of  lilies  scattered  on  its  banks. 
Everywhere  else  was  forest. 

Shadows  of  varying  thought  swept 
over  the  young  man's  face  as  he 
looked  off,  and  drew  freer  breath 
from  the  distance.  "  Henceforth  my 
shield  must  bear  a  martlet,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  But  whither  shall  I  fly  ?" 

That  was  the  problem  he  was  stu- 
dying. He  had  come  to  this  place 
only  to  see  his  family  settled,  and 
collect  his  own  thoughts  after  their 
sudden  fall  from  prosperity ;  then  he 
would  go  out  into  the  world,  and 
work  his  own  way.  It  was  not  plea- 
sant, the  change  from  that  life  of 
noble  leisure  and  lofty  work  which 
he  had  planned,  to  one  where  com- 
pulsory labor  for  mere  bread  must 
occupy  the  greater  part  of  his  time ; 
but  it  was  inevitable.  And  as  he 
looked  abroad  now,  and  breathed 
the  fresh  air  that  came  frolicking  out 
of  the  northwest,  and  remembered 
how  wide  the  world  is  and  how  many 
veins  in  it  are  un wrought,  his  young 
courage  rose,  and  the  plans  he  had 
been  building  up  for  that  year  crum- 
bled and  ceased  to  excite  his  regret. 

Only  a  few  months  before  their 
change  of  circumstances,  his  mother 
had  been  won  to  consent  that  he 
might  visit  Asia.  He  had  meant  to 
go  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  in 
that  shabby,  glorious  old  land,  make 
himself  for  the  nonce  Tartar,  Chi- 
nese, Indian,  Persian,  what  not,  and 
get  a  look  at  creation  through  the 
eyes  of  each.  This  young  man's 
sympathies  were  by  no  means  nar- 
row. He  had  never  been  able  to 
believe  that  God  smiles  with  peculiar 
fondness  on  any  particular  continent, 
island,  peninsula,  or  part  of  either, 
and  is  but  a  stepfather  to  the  rest 
of  the  world.  He  was  born  with  a 
hatred  of  barriers.  He  sympathized 
with  Swift,  who  "  hated  all  nations, 
professions,  and  communities,  and 
gave  all  his  love  to  individuals."  Or, 


iSS 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


better  than  Swift,  he  had  at  least  a 
theoretical  love  for  mankind  unfenc- 
ed.  He  did  not  have  to  learn  to 
love,  that  came  naturally  to  him ;  he 
had  to  learn  to  hate.  But  he  was  a 
good  hater.  Take  him  all  in  all, 
Carl  Owen  Yorke  was  at  twenty-one 
a  noble,  generous  youth,  of  good 
mind  and  unstained  reputation;  and 
it  was  no  proof  of  excessive  vanity 
in  him  that  he  believed  himself  capa- 
ble of  taking  any  position  he  might 
strive  for. 

"  My  dear  Minerva  tells  me  that  I 
have  in  me  some  of  the  elements  of 
failure,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder  what 
they  are  ?" 

This  "  dear  Minerva "  was  Miss 
Alice  Mills,  Mr.  Robert  Yorke's  de- 
serted fiancfe.  She  and  Owen  were 
very  close  friends.  It  was  one  of 
those  friendships  which  sometimes 
grow  up  between  a  woman  whose 
youth  is  past  and  a  youth  whose 
manhood  has  scarcely  arrived.  Such 
a  friendship  may  effect  incalculable 
good  or  incalculable  harm,  as  the 
woman  shall  choose. 

"  Well,"  he  concluded,  not  caring 
to  puzzle  over  the  riddle,  "  she  will 
explain,  I  suppose,  when  she  writes. 
And  if  anybody  can  get  at  the  cube- 
root  of  the  difficulty,  she  can." 

Meantime,  while  the  son  was  mus- 
ing, and  the  daughters  were  selecting 
their  chambers,  and  making  up  a 
toilet  for  Edith,  Mr.  Yorke  had  sent 
for  Patrick  Chester  in  the  sitting-room, 
and  was  questioning  him  concerning 
Catholic  affairs  in  Seaton.  They  did 
not  seem  to  be  in  a  flourishing  con- 
dition. 

There  was  no  priest  settled  there, 
Patrick  said;  but  one  came  over 

from  B once  in  two  months,  and 

said  Mass  for  them.  They  had  no 
church  yet,  but  a  little  chapel,  what 
there  was  left  of  it. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  his 
master  asked. 


"Why,  sir,  some  of  the  Seaton 
rowdies  got  into  the  chapel,  one  night, 
not  long  ago,  and  smashed  the  win- 
dows, and  broke  up  the  tabernacle, 
and  destroyed  the  pictures  entirely. 
And  they  twisted  off  the  crucifix, 
though  it  was  of  iron,  two  inches 
wide  and  half  an  inch  thick.  The 
devil  must  have  helped  the  man  that 
did  it,  savin'  your  presence,  ma'am." 

"  Are  they  vandals  here?"  demand- 
ed Mr.  Yorke. 

"  There  are  some  fine  folks  in  Sea- 
ton,"  said  Pat,  who  did  not  know 
what  vandals  are.  "  But  the  rowdies 
have  everything  pretty  much  their 
own  way." 

"  And  is  there  no  law  in  the  town  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Yorke  wrathfully. 

"  There's  a  good  many  lawyers," 
said  Pat,  scratching  his  head. 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  there  was 
no  effort  made  to  discover  and  pun- 
ish the  perpetrators  of  such  an  out- 
rage ?"  exclaimed  his  master. 

"  Indeed  there  was  not,  sir !"  Pat 
answered.  "  People  knew  pretty  well 
who  did  the  mischief,  and  that  the 
fellow  that  broke  off  the  crucifix  was 
taken  bleeding  at  the  lungs  just  after ; 
but  nobody  molested  'em.  It  wouldn't 
be  well  for  the  one  who  would  lift 
his  voice  against  the  Seaton  rowdies. 
Why,  some  of  'em  belong  to  as  weal- 
thy families  as  there  are  in  town. 
They  began  with  a  cast-iron  band 
years  ago,  and  everybody  laughed  at 
'em.  All  the  harm  they  did  was  to 
wake  people  out  of  sleep.  Then 
they  broke  up  a  lecture.  It  was  a 
Mr.  Fowle  from  Boston,  who  was 
preaching  about  education.  And 
then  they  did  a  little  mischief  here 
and  there  to  people  they  didn't  like, 
and  now  they  are  too  strong  to  put 
down.  And,  indeed,  sir,  when  it's 
against  the  Catholics  they  are,  no- 
body wants  to  put  'em  down." 

Mr.  Yorke  glanced  at  his  wife. 
She  did  not  look  up  nor  deny  Pa- 


Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 


189 


trick's  charges.  She  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  the  character  of  her  na- 
tive town  in  this  respect;  for  at 
that  time  Seaton  was  notorious  for 
its  lawlessness,  and  was  even  proud 
of  its  reputation.  No  great  harm 
had  been  done,  they  said.  It  was 
only  the  boys'  fun.  They  were  sorry, 
it  is  true,  that  a  respectable  lecturer 
should  have  been  insulted;  but  that 
a  Catholic  chapel  should  be  dese- 


crated, that  was  nothing.     They  did 
not  give  it  a  second  thought. 

"  Well,  Patrick,"  Mr.  Yorke  resum- 
ed, "  my  niece,  Miss  Edith  Yorke,  is 
a.  Catholic,  and  I  wish  her  to  have 
proper  instruction,  and  to  attend  to 
the  services  of  her  church  when  there 
is  opportunity.  Let  me  know  the 
next  time  your  priest  comes  here,  and 
I  will  call  to  see  him.  Now  you 
may  go." 


TO   BK  CONTINUED. 


OUR   LADY   OF   GUADALUPE. 


THE  story  and  celebration  of  Our 
Lady  of  Guadalupe  are  not  so  fami- 
liar to  Catholics,  or  so  well  appre- 
ciated by  others,  as  to  render  useless 
or  uninteresting,  especially  in  this 
month  of  Mary,  an  account  of  her  ve- 
neration in  Mexico.  What  this  ac- 
tually, veritably  is,  no  writer,  so  far 
as  we  are  aware,  has  yet  undertaken 
to  show — at  least,  from  such  literary 
evidences  of  popular  conviction  as 
best  illustrate  the  subject.  How  any- 
thing supernatural  could  shine  or 
blossom  in  a  land  of  wars,  robbers, 
Indians,  is  an  old  doubt,  notwithstand- 
ing that  revelations  have  taken  place 
in  countries  which  needed  them  less 
than  did  the  once  idolatrous  Aztecs. 
Let  us  now  endeavor  to  make  clear 
what  the  true  nature  of  the  miracle 
of  Guadalupe  is;  to  exhibit  its  real 
veneration  by  means  of  testimonies 
borrowed  from  the  worthiest  Mexi- 
cans ;  and  to  prove  that  the  faith  of 
Guadalupe  is  not  shallow,  but  long 
and  well-established,  widespread,  and 
sincere. 

Here  follows  a  brief  history  of  the 


renowned  miracle  of  Tepeyac.  In 
1531,  ten  years  after  the  conquest, 
the  pious  and  simple  Indian,  Juan 
Diego,  was  on  his  way  to  the  village 
of  Guadalupe,  near  the  city  of  Mexi- 
co, there  to  receive  the  instructions 
of  some  reverend  fathers.  Suddenly, 
at  the  hill  of  Tepeyac  appeared  to 
him  the  Blessed  Virgin,  who  com- 
manded her  amazed  client  to  go  forth- 
with to  the  bishop,  and  make  known 
that  she  wished  a  church  to  be  built 
in  her  honor  upon  that  spot.  Next 
day  the  Blessed  Virgin  returned  to 
hear  the  regret  of  Juan  Diego  that 
he  could  not  obtain  the  ear  of  the 
bishop.  "  Go  back,"  said  the  Holy 
Lady,  "  and  announce  that  I,  Mary, 
Mother  of  God, 'send  thee."  The 
Indian  again  sought  his  bishop,  who 
this  time  required  that  he  should 
bring  some  token  of  the  presence  and 
command  of  his  patroness.  On  the 
1 2th  of  December,  Juan  Diego  again 
saw  Our  Lady,  who  ordered  him 
to  climb  to  the  top  of  the  barren 
rock  of  Tepeyac  and  there  gather 
roses  for  her.  To  his  great  astonish- 


190 


Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 


merit,  he  found  the  roses  flourishing 
on  the  rock,  and  brought  them  to  his 
patroness,  who  threw  them  into  his 
tilma  or  apron,  and  said  :  "  Go  back 
to  the  bishop  and  show  him  these 
credentials."  Again  came  the  Indian 
before  the  bishop,  and,  opening  his 
tilma  to  show  the  roses,  lo !  there  ap- 
peared impressed  upon  it  a  marvel- 
lous image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
The  bishop  was  awestruck  and  over- 
come. The  miraculous  occurrence 
was  made  known  and  proved.  Pro- 
cessions and  Masses  celebrated  it, 
and  its  fame  spread  far  and  wide. 
A  large  new  cathedral  was  erected 
on  the  hill  of  Guadalupe,  and  multi- 
tudes from  all  parts  flocked  thither. 
Specially  noteworthy  is  the  fact  that 
the  new  shrine  to  Our  Lady  was 
erected  in  the  place  where  once  the 
Indians  worshipped  their  goddess  To- 
tantzin,  mother  of  other  deities,  and 
protectress  of  fruits  and  fields.  The 
marvellous  picture  was  found  im- 
pressed upon  the  rudest  cloth,  that 
of  a  poor  Indian's  apron,  the  last 
upon  which  to  attempt  a  painter's  ar- 
tifice— and  hence  the  greater  won- 
der, the  artistic  testimony  regarding 
which  is  something  formidable  and 
wonderful  in  itself. 

What  is  known  in  Mexico  as  the 
Day  of  Guadalupe  is  extraordinary 
as  a  popular  manifestation.  On  the 
1 2th  of  December  every  year,  fif- 
teen or  twenty  thousand  Indians  con- 
gregate in  the  village  of  that  name 
to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the 
Marvellous  Apparition.  The  whole 
way  to  the  famous  suburb  is  crowd- 
ed with  cabs,  riders,  and  pedestrians 
of  the  poorest  sort,  a  great  number 
of  them  barefooted.  All  day  there  is 
an  ever-moving  multitude  to  and 
from  the  village,  and,  indeed,  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city 
of  Mexico  seem  to  be  included  in  the 
parties,  families,  and  caravans  of 
strangely  contrasted  people  that  wend 


their  way  to  the  shrines  on  the  hill. 
The  most  numerous  class  of  pilgrims 
ate  the  saddest  and  the  most  wretched 
— we  mean  the  ill-clad,  ill-featured, 
simple,  devoted  Indians.  On  them 
the  luxuries  of  the  rich,  the  passions 
of  the  fighters,  the  intrigues  of  politi- 
cians, have  borne  with  ruinous  effect 
Drudging  men  and  women ;  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  Avater ;  bare- 
breasted  peasants,  with  faces  dusky 
and  dusty,  the  same  who  any  day 
may  be  seen  on  Mexican  roads  car- 
rying burdens  of  all  sorts  strapped  to 
their  backs ;  children  in  plenty,  bare, 
unkempt,  untidy,  and  sometimes  swad- 
dled about  their  mothers'  shoulders ; 
numerous  babes  at  the  breast,  half- 
nude — these  are  some  of  the  features 
in  a  not  overdrawn  picture  of  the  pri- 
mitive poverty  which  assembles  at 
Guadalupe,  and,  in  fact,  in  every 
Mexican  multitude  whatsoever.  Per- 
haps nowhere  outside  of  Mexico  and 
the  race  of  Indians  can  such  a  prob- 
lem of  multitudinous  poverty  be  seen. 
Its  victims  are  those  over  whom  the 
desert-storms  of  wars  and  feuds  innu- 
merable have  passed,  and,  spite  of 
all  their  wanderings  as  a  race,  they 
yet  wear  the  guise  and  character  of 
tribes  who  are- still  trying  to  find  their 
way  out  of  a  wilderness  or  a  barren 
waste.  Let  enthusiasts  for  self-will- 
ed liberty  say  what  they  will,  wars 
of  fifty  years  are  anything  but  con- 
servative of  happiness,  cleanliness, 
good  morals,  and  that  true  liberty 
which  should  always  accompany 
them.  However  fondly  we  cherish 
our  ideals  of  freedom,  we  must  yet 
bear  in  mind  the  wholesome,  whole- 
sale truth  of  history,  that  no  actual 
liberty  is  reached  by  the  dagger  and 
guillotine,  or  by  massacre,  or  is 
founded  on  bad  blood  or  bad  faith. 
Those  who  lately  celebrated  the  exe- 
cution of  Louis  XVI.  and  the  intel- 
lectual system  of  murder  established 
by  Robespierre,  and  not  totally  dis- 


Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 


191 


approved  by  Mr.  Carlyle,  have  good 
reason  to  be  cautious  as  to  how  they 
offend  this  menacing  truth. 

A  cathedral  and  four  chapels  are 
the  principal  structures  of  the  pictu- 
resque hillside  village  of  Guadalupe. 
By  a  winding  ascent  among  steep, 
herbless  rocks,  tufted  here  and  there 
with  the  thorny  green  slabs  of  the  cac- 
tus, is  reached  at  some  distance  from 
the  cathedral  the  highest  of  the  cha- 
pels, which  contains  the  original  im- 
print of  the  figure  of  Our  Lady. 
Looking  up  to  the  chapel  from  the 
crowd  at  the  cathedral  may  be  seen 
a  striking  picture,  not  unlike  what 
Northern  travellers  have  been  taught 
to  fancy  of  the  middle  ages,  but  the 
elements  of  which  are  still  abundant 
in  the  civilization  of  Europe.  It  is 
simply  the  curious  crowd  of  pilgrims 
going  up  and  down  the  hill,  to  and 
from  the  quaint  old  chapel,  built  per- 
haps centuries  ago.  The  scene  from 
the  height  itself  is  charming  and  im- 
pressive. The  widespread  valley  of 
Mexico — including  lakes,  woods,  vil- 
lages, and  a  rich  and  substantial  city, 
with  towers  and  domes  that  take  en- 
chantment from  distance — is  all  be- 
fore the  eye  in  one  serene  view  of 
landscape.  In  the  village  there  is  a 
multitude  like  another  Israel,  sitting 
in  the  dust  or  standing'  near  the  pul- 
querias,  or  moving  about  near  the 
church  door.  As  Guadalupe  is  for 
the  most  part  composed  of  adobe 
houses,  and  as  its  mass  of  humble 
visitors  have  little  finery  to  distin- 
guish their  brown  personages  from 
the  dust  out  of  which  man  was  origi- 
nally created,  the  complexion  of  the 
general  scene  which  they  constitute 
can  only  be  described  as  earth-like 
and  earth-worn.  Elsewhere  than  in 
a  superficial  glance  at  the  poverty  of 
Guadalupe  we  must  seek  for  the 
meaning  of  its  spectacle.  Is  this 
swarming,  dull-colored  scene  but  an 
animated  ficiion  ?  No — it  is  the  na- 


tural seeking  the  supernatural.  And 
the  supernatural — what  is  it  ?  It  is 
redemption  and  immortality,  our  Lord 
and  Our  Lady,  the  angels  and  saints. 
I  The  cathedral  is  a  building  of  pic- 
turesque angles,  but,  except  that  it 
is  spacious,  as  so  many  of  the  Mexi- 
can churches  are,  makes  no  particu- 
lar boast  of  architecture.  A  copy 
of  the  marvellous  tilma,  over  the  al- 
tar, poetically  represents  Our  Lady 
in  a  blue  cloak  covered  with  stars, 
and  a  robe  said  to  be  of  crimson  and 
gold,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her 
foot  on  a  crescent  supported  by  a 
cherub.  This  is  the  substance  of  a 
description  of  it  given  by  a  traveller 
who  had  better  opportunities  for  see- 
ing it  closely  than  had  the  present 
writer  during  the  fiesta  of  Guadalupe 
in  1867.  Whether  the  original  picture  is 
rude  or  not,  from  being  impressed  upon 
a  blanket,  he  has  not  personal  know- 
ledge, though  aware  that  it  has  been 
described  as  rude.  Nevertheless,  its 
idea  and  design  are  beautiful  and 
tender.  Everywhere  in  Mexico  it  is 
the  favorite  and,,  indeed,  the  most 
lovely  presentment  of  Our  Lady. 
Like  a  compassionate  angel  of  the 
twilight,  it  looks  out  of  many  a 
shrine,  and,  among  all  the  images  for 
which  the  Mexican  Church  is  noted, 
none  is  perhaps  more  essentially 
ideal,  and,  in  that  point  of  view,  real. 
Where  it  appears  wrought  in  a  sculp- 
ture of  1686,  by  Francisco  Alberto, 
on  the  side  of  San  Agustin's  at  the 
capital,  it  is,  though  quaint,  very  ad- 
mirable for  its  purity  and  gentleness. 
Time  respects  it,  and  the  birds  have 
built  their  nests  near  it.  The  various 
chapels  in  and  about  the  city  dedi- 
cated to  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe 
are  recognized  by  the  star-mantled 
figure.  The  Baths  of  the  Penon, 
the  cathedral  at  the  Plaza,  the  suburb 
of  Tacubaya,  have  each  their  pictorial 
witnesses  of  the  faith  of  Guadalupe; 
and  to  say  that  its  manifestation 


192 


Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 


abounds  in  Mexico  is  but  to  state  a 
fact  of  commonplace.  Rich  and 
poor  venerate  the  tradition  of  the 
Marvellous  Appearance,  now  for 
three  centuries  celebrated,  and  always, 
it  seems,  by  multitudes. 

What  else  is  to  be  seen  at  Guada- 
lupe besides  its  crowd  and  its  altar 
is  not  worthy  of  extended  remark. 
The  organs  of  the  cathedral  are  high 
and  admirably  carved ;  over  the  al- 
tar's porphyry  columns  are  cherubim 
and  seraphim,  all  too  dazzling  with 
paint  and  gold.  Here,  as  in  other 
places  of  Spanish  worship,  the  figures 
of  the  crucifixion  have  been  designed 
with  a  painful  realism.  Outside  of 
the  church  a  party  of  Indians,  dis- 
playing gay  feathers,  danced  in  honor 
of  the  feast,  as  their  sires  must  have 
done  hundreds  of  years  ago.  Inside 
it  was  densely  crowded  with  visitors 
or  pilgrims,  and  far  too  uncomforta- 
ble at  times  to  make  possible  the 
most  accurate  observation  of  its  or- 
naments. But  it  may  be  well  to  re- 
peat that  the  church  is  divided  into 
three  naves  by  eight  columns,  and  is 
about  two  hundred  feet  long,  one 
hundred  and  twenty  feet  broad,  and 
one  hundred  high.  The  total  cost 
of  the  building,  and,  we  presume,  its 
altars,  is  reckoned  as  high  as  $800,- 
ooo,  most  of  it,  if  not  all,  contribut- 
ed by  alms.  The  altar  at  which  is 
placed  the  image  of  Our  Lady  is 
said  to  have  cost  $381,000,  its  taber- 
nacle containing  3,257  marks  of  silver, 
and  the  gold  frame  of  the  sacred  pic- 
ture 4,050  castellanos.  The  church's 
ornaments  are  calculated  to  be 
worth  more  than  $123,000.  Two  of 
its  candlesticks  alone  weighed  2,213 
castellanos  in  gold,  and  one  lamp 
750  marks  of  silver.  To  Cristobal 
de  Aguirre,  who,  in  1660,  built  a  her- 
mitage on  the  summit  of  Tepeyac, 
we  owe  the  foundation  of  the  cha- 
pel there.  It  was  not,  however,  un- 
til 1747  that  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe 


was  formally  declared  the  patroness 
of  the  whole  of  Mexico. 

Of  the  many  celebrations  of  Mex- 
ico, none  are  altogether  as  signifi- 
cant as  that  of  Guadalupe.  It  has 
become  national,  and,  in  a  certain 
sense,  religiously  patriotic.  Maximi- 
lian and  Carlota,  the  writer  was  in- 
formed, washed  the  feet  of  the  poor 
near  the  altar  of  Our  Lady,  accord- 
ing to  a  well-known  religious  custom. 
The  best  men  and  women  of  Mexico 
have  venerated  the  Marvellous  Ap- 
pearance— which,  however  amusing 
it  may  be  to  those  who  are  scarcely 
as  radical  in  their  belief  in  nature  as 
conservative  in  their  views  of  the 
supernatural,  is  but  a  circumstance 
to  the  older  traditions  which  have 
entered  into  the  mind  of  poetry  and 
filled  the  heart  of  worship.  What 
of  the  wonderful  happenings  to  the 
great  fathers  of  the  church  and  the 
mediaeval  saints,  all  worshippers  of 
unquestionable  sublimation  ?  Say 
what  you  please,  doubt  as  you  may, 
saints,  angels,  miracles,  abide,  and 
form  the  very  testament  of  belief. 
There  is  not  a  Catholic  in  the  world 
who  does  not  believe  in  miracle, 
whose  faith  is  not  to  unbelievers  a 
standing  miraele  of  belief  in  a  mira- 
cle the  most  prodigious,  the  most 
portentous;  and  yet  to  him  it  has 
only  become  natural  to  believe  in 
the  supernatural.  The  Mexicans  ve- 
nerate what  three  centuries  and  un- 
counted millions  have  affirmed,whence 
it  appears  that  their  veneration  is 
not  a  conceit  or  humbug,  but  at  root 
a  faith.  How  can  this  be  more  clear- 
ly illustrated  than  by  quoting  the 
following  very  interesting  poem  of 
Manuel  Carpio,  Mexico's  favorite,  if 
not  best  modern  poet : 

THE   VIRGIN   OF   GUADALUPE. 

The  good  Jehovah,  dread,  magnificent, 
Once  chose  a  people  whom  he  called  his  own. 
And  out  of  Egypt  in  a  wondrous  way 


Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 


193 


He  brought  them   in  a  daik    and    troublous 

night. 

And  Moses  touched  the  Red  Sea  with  a  rod, 
And  the  waves  parted,  offering  them  a  path. 
His  people  passed,  but  in  the  abyss  remained 
Egyptian  horse  and  rider  who  pursued. 
Marched  on  the  flock  of  Jacob,  and  the  Lord 
Spread  over  them  his  all-protecting  wings, 
As  the  lone  eagle  shields  her  unfledged  young. 
He  gave  them  lands,  and  victories,  and  spoils — 
Glad  nation  !  which  the  Master  of  the  heavens 
Loved  as  the  very  apple  of  his  eye. 
But  now  this  people,  seeing  themselves  blessed 
By  him  whose   slightest  glance  they  not  de- 
served, 

Erected  perishable  images 
In  homage  unto  strange  and  pagan  gods. 
The  Lord  in  indignation  said  :  "They  wished 
To  make  their  Maker  jealous  with  vain  gods. 
Bowing  in  dust  the  sacrilegious  knee 
Before  the  dumb  creation  of  their  hands. 
Well,  I  will  sting  their  hearts  with  jealousy, 
Showing  myself  to  all  unhappy  lands 
Without  employing  vail  or  mystery." 
He  said  it,  and  his  solemn  word  fulfilled. 
Convoking  from  the  farthest  ends  of  earth 
Nations  barbarian  and  civilized — 
The  Gaul,  the  Scandinavian,  Roman,  Greek, 
And  the  neglected  race  of  Mexico, 
Whom  the  Almighty  Sovereign  loved  so  well 
The  holy  truth  he  would  reveal  to  them — 
So  that  the  hard  hearts  of  his  people  should 
Be  softened.    Yet  his  mercy  was  not  full : 
Down  from  the  diamond  heavens  he  bade  de- 
scend 

The  Virgin,  who  with  mother's  sorrowing  care 
Nursed   him   in   Bethlehem  when   he  was  a 
child. 

Near  to  the  tremulous  Tezcoco  lake 
Rises  a  bare  and  solitary  hill. 
Where  never  cypress  tall  nor  cedar  grows, 
Nor  whispering  oak;    nor  cooling  fountain 

laves 

The  waste  of  herbless  rocks  and  sterile  sand— 
A  barren  country  'tis,  dry,  dusty,  sad, 
"Where  the  vile  worm  scarce  drags  its  length 

along. 

Here  is  the  place  where  Holy  Mary  comes 
Down  from  her  home  above  the  azure  heavens 
To  show  herself  to  Juan,  who,  comfortless, 
Petitioned  for  relief  from  troubles  sore. 
Sometimes  it  chances  that  a  fragrant  plant 
In  the  dense  forest  blooms  unseen,  unknown, 
Though  bright  its  virginal  buds  and  rare  its 

flowers  ; 

So  doth  the  modest  daughter  of  the  Lord 
Obscure  the  moon,  the  planets,  and  the  stats 
Which  all  adorn  her  forehead  and  her  feet, 
When  lends  she  the  poor  Indian  her  grace 
In  bounty  wonderful  to  all  his  kind. 
She  tenders  him  the  waters  and  the  dev.', 
Prosperity  of  fruits  and  animals, 
A  heart  of  sensible  humility, 
And  help  unfailing  in  his  future  need. 
The  Angel  of  America  resumes 
Her    radiant   flight.     With   grateful   ear   he 

heard, 
Twice    did   he  wondering  kneel,  and  twice 

again 
He  kissed  the  white  feet  of  the  holy  maid. 

But  did  not  end  God's  providence  benign  : 
The  Almighty  wished  to  leave  to  Mexicans 

VOL.  XIII. — 13 


His  Mother's  likeness  by  his  own  great  hand  , 
In  token  of  the  love  he  had  for  us. 
He  took  the  pencil,  saying :  "  We  will  make 
In  heaven's  own  image,  as  we  moulded  man. 
But  what  was  Adam  to  my  beauteous  one  ?" 
So  saying,  drew  he  with  serenest  face 
The  gentle  likeness  of  the  Mother-maid. 
He  saw  the  image,  and  pronounced  it  good. 

Since  then,  with  the  encircling  love  of  heaven, 
A  son  she  sees  in  every  Mexican. 
Mildly  the  wandering  incense  she  receives, 
Attending  to  his  vow  with  human  face ; 
For  her  the  teeming  vapors  yield  their  rain 
To  the  green  valley  and  the  mountain  side, 
Where  bend  and  wave  the  abundant  harvest 

fields, 

And  the  green  herbs  that  feed  the  lazy  kine. 
She  makes  the  purifying  breezes  pass, 
And  on  the  restless  and  unsounded  seas 
She  stills  the  rigor  of  the  hurricane. 
The  frighted  people  see  the  approach  of  death 
When  the  broad  earth  upon  its  axis  shakes, 
But  the  wild  elements  are  put  to  sleep 
With  but  a  smile  from  her  mild  countenance. 
And  she  has  moved  the  adamantine  heart 
Of  avarice,  who  saw  decrepit  age 
Creep  like  an  insect  on  the  dusty  earth, 
To  ope  his  close-shut  hand,  and  bless  the  poor. 
She  maketh  humbly  kneel  and  kiss  the  ground 
No  less  the  wise  than  simple.    She  the  great, 
Dazzled  by  their  own  glory,  doth  advise 
That  soon  their  gaudy  pageant  shall  be  o'er, 
And    heaven's  oblivion    shall   dissolve    their 

fame. 

How  often  has  the  timid,  trembling  maid 
Upon  the  verge  of  ruin  sought  thy  help, 
Shutting  her  eyes  to  pleasure  and  to  gold 
At  thought  of  thee,  O  Maiden  pure  and  meek  ! 
Centuries  and  ages  will  have  vanished  by, 
Within  their  currents  bearing  kings  and  men.; 
Great  monuments  shall  fall ;  the  pyramids 
Of  lonely  Egypt  moulder  in  decay  ; 
But  time  shall  never  place  its  fatal  hand 
Upon  the  image  of  the  Holy  Maid, 
Nor  on  the  pious  love  of  Mexico. 


Manuel  Carpio,  who  wrote  this, 
his  first  poetic  composition,  in  1831, 
when  forty  years  of  age,  was  a  scho- 
lar and  professor,  and  in  1824  a  con- 
gressman. He  made  the  Bible,  we 
are  told,  his  favorite  study ;  and  cer- 
tainly it  supplied  him  with  the  themes 
for  his  best  poems.  But  he  was  not 
the  only  poet  of  Mexieo  who  bore 
earnest  witness  to  the  faith  of  which 
we  speak.  Padre  Manuel  Sartorio, 
who  wrote  about  the  time  of  Itur- 
bide,  deprecates  the  idea  of  prefer- 
ring a  capricious  doubt  respect- 
ing "  la  Virgen  de  Guadalupe  "  to^ 
a  constant  belief  founded  in  tradi- 
tion. In  the  following  lines  the 


194 


Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe. 


nature  of  his  own  belief  is  fully  at- 
tested : 

"  Of  Guadalupe,  that  fair  image  pictured 
Unto  the  venerating  eye  of  Mexico ; 
With  stars  and  light  adorned,  the  figure  paint- 
ed 

Of  a  most  modest  Maiden,  full  of  grace  ; 
What  image  is  it  ?    Copy  'tis  divine 
Of  the  Mother  of  God. 

And  what  assures  me  this  ?  My  tender  thought. 
Who  the  design  conceived  ?  The  holiest  love. 
Who  then  portrayed  it  ?  The  eternal  God." 

In  other  lines  on  the  same  subject, 
Sartorio  speaks  of  the  Lady  of  Gua- 
dalupe as  "  the  purest  rose  of  the  ce- 
lestial field,"  and  pays  special  re- 
spect to  her  image  in  the  Portal  of 
Flowers,  of  which  there  is  a  tradition, 
not  vulgar,  of  having  spoken  (hay 
tradicion  no  vulgar  de  haber  habla- 
do)  to  the  Venerable  Padre  Zapa,  in 
order  to  instruct  the  Indians,  as  re- 
lates Cabrera,  "  Escudo  de  Armas  de 
Mexico,  numero  923."  Who  this 
Cabrera  may  be  we  are  not  aware, 
and  cannot  affirm  that  he  is  identical 
with  the  great  painter  Cabrera,  whose 
belief  in  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe  was 
so  distinct  and  positive. 

One  other  poet  of  Mexico  we  shall 
summon  to  give  testimony.  It  is 
Fray  Manuel  Navarrete,  who  wrote 
a  series  of  poems,  well-known  to  his 
countrymen,  called  "  Sad  Moments." 
He  was  also  the  author  of  a  number 
of  tributes  to  the  fame  of  Carlos  IV. 
and  Ferdinand  VII.,  and  seems  to 
have  possessed  more  influence,  if  not 
more  merit  as  a  poet,  than  Padre  Sar- 
torio. From  a  posthumous  volume, 
bearing  date  of  1823,  we  take  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  the  allusions  of  which 
sufficiently  explain  at  what  time  they 
were  written: 

TO  THE  MOST  HOLY  VIRGIN   UNDER 
THE    INVOCATION  OF  GUADALUPE. 

From  her  eternal  palace,  from  the  heavens, 

One  day  descended  to  America, 

When  in  its  worst  affliction,  the  great  Mary, 

Its  sorrows  to  maternally  console. 

Behold  in  Tepcyac  how  watchfully 

She  frustrates  the  designs  of  heresy, 


How  she  extinguishes  the  fire  that  flames 
From  the  far  French  unto  the  Indian  soil! 
What  matter,  then,  if  proud  Napoleon, 
With  his  infernal  hosts  the  world  appalling, 
Seeks  to  possess  the  land  of  Mexico  ? 
To  arms,  countrymen  :  war,  war ! 
For  the  sacred  palladium  of  Guadalupe 
Protects  our  native  land. 

The  deity  of  peace  have  painters  skilled 
Portrayed  with  bounteous  grace  and  elegance, 
Painting  a  virgin  who  with  fair  white  hands 
An  offering  of  tender  blossoms  bore. 
Thus  were  their  pencils'  finest  excellences 
A  promise  and  foreshadowing  of  this, 
The  image  of  Our  Lady,  which  in  heaven 
Received  its  colors.    Thus  beheld  it  he, 
The  fortunate  Indian,  at  Tepeyac, 
That  bare  and  desolate  hill,  a  miracle, 
That  unto  day  has  been  perpetuate. 
Now  while  the  world's  ablaze  with  lively  war, 
Seems  that  affrighted  peace  has  taken  refuge 
Within  the  happy  households  of  our  land. 

How  sadly,  how  oddly,  sounds  in 
modern  ears  this  felicitation  of  a  poet 
that  peace,  which  has  left  the  greater 
part  of  the  world,  has  taken  refuge  in 
Mexico !  Evidently  our  Fray  Nav- 
arrete did  not  foresee  the  results  of 
the  war  begun  by  the  clerical  revo- 
lutionist Hidalgo.  But  whatever 
may  have  been  the  political  bias  of 
this  religious  writer,  he  retains  the  es- 
teem of  his  countrymen  as  one  of  the 
fathers  of  their  fragmentary  literature. 

Our  last  witness  is  Miguel  Cabre- 
ra, the  great  Mexican  painter,  whose 
merits  have  with  reason  been  com- 
pared by  an  Italian  traveller,  the 
Count  Beltrami,  to  those  of  Correggio 
and  Murillo.  Altogether,  as  carver, 
architect,  and  painter,  the  New  World 
has  not  produced  the  equal  in  art  of 
this  extraordinary  man,  who  wrought 
almost  without  masters  or  models, 
without  emulation  or  fitting  aid  and 
recompense,  and  whose  worth  has 
yet  to  be  made  well  known  to  the 
continent  which  he  honored.  But 
our  object  now  is  to  lend  the  weight 
of  this  preface  to  the  following  state- 
ment of  the  Mexican  writer,  Seiior 
Orozco  y  Berra : 

"  Cabrera  wrote  a  short  treatise  dedi- 
cated to  his  protector  Sr.  Salinas  [Arch- 
bishop of  Mexico]  with  the  title  of  The 


Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States.  195 


American  Marvel,  and  Conjunction  of  Rare 
Marvels,  observed  -with  the  direction  of  the 
Rules  of  the  Art  of  Painting,  in  the  Miracu- 
lous linage  \prodigiosa  imagen\  of  Our  Lady 
of  Guadalupe  of  Mexico.  It  is  a  small 
book  in  quarto,  printed  in  1756  by  the 
press  of  the  college  of  San  Ildefonso, 
and  containing  thirty  pages,  with  dedi- 
cation, approbations,  and  license  at  the 
beginning,  and  the  opinions  of  various 
painters  at  the  end.  The  reason  given 


for  this  writing  was  the  invitation  made 
by  the  abbot  and  council  of  the  college 
to  the  best  known  painters  of  Mexico,  in 
order  that,  after  examining  the  painting 
on  cloth  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  they 
^might  declare  if  it  could  be  the  work 
of  human  hands.  Cabrera  was  one  of 
those  who  joined  in  the  examination,  and 
in  his  book  he  undertakes  to  show  that 
the  Virgin  is  not  painted  in  a  manner  arti- 
ficial and  human." 


STATISTICS  OF  PROTESTANTISM  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


UNDER  the  term  Protestantism,  it  is 
intended  to  comprise  all  persons 
of  any  religious  sect,  denomination, 
or  church  in  this  country,  except  Ca- 
tholics, Jews,  and  Chinese.  So  nu- 
merous are  the  divisions  and  subdi- 
visions that  our  limits  will  permit  us 
to  present  only  the  name  of  each, 
with  perhaps  a  word  as  to  its  distinc- 
tive features,  its  numbers  at  different 
periods,  and  its  average  annual  in- 
crease for  a  given  period.  The  giv- 
en period  thus  selected  is  the  twenty- 
five  years  and  upward  preceding 
the  year  1868;  because  the  statistics 
of  all  the  denominations  which  are 
accessible,  are  at  present  more  com- 
plete up  to  that  date  than  they  have 
yet  become  up  to  any  subsequent 
year,  or  even  up  to  the  present  date. 
The  statistics  are  taken  entirely  from 
Protestant  sources,  and  chiefly  from 
official  documents  published  by  the 
respective  denominations.  The  final 
results  are  then  brought  together,  and 
compared  with  the  results  presented 
by  the  Federal  census  of  the  popula- 
tion at  different  periods. 

i.  The  name  "Lutheran"  was 
given  to  the  first  Protestant  denomi- 
nation, in  order  to  designate  the  fol- 
lowers of  Martin  Luther.  A  part 


of  the  members  of  the  denomination 
in  this  country  have  recently  chang- 
ed their  name  to  "  Evangelical  Lu- 
theran Church." 

The  statistics,  chiefly  official,  of  the 
denomination  for  a  series  of  years 
have  been  as  follows : 

Ministers.     Churches.     Members. 

1823 175  900              40.000 

1833 240  1,000              60,000 

1841 418  1,371  145,408 

1842 424    '  1,371  166,300 

1850 663  1,604  163,000 

1859 IiI34  2,017  203,662 

1862 1,419  2,672  284,000 

1863 1,418  2,533  269,985 

1864 1,543  2,765  291,723 

1865..-. 1)627  2,856  312,415 

1866 1,644  2,915  323,825 

1867 1,750  3,112  332,155 

1868 1,792  3,182  350,088 

1869 2,016  3,33°  376,567 

1870 2,211  3,537  392,721 

The  average  annual  increase  during 
a  series  of  years  (ending  always  with 
1867)  has  been  as  follows: 

Ministers.  Churches.  Members. 

In  44  years 36  50  6,640 

In  26     "      51  67  7,182 

In   8      "     77  124  16,061 

2.  The  German  Reformed  deno- 
mination made  its  appearance,  soon 
after  the  Lutheran,  in  the  German 
part  of  Switzerland,  and  sprang  out 
of  a  dispute  between  Ulrich  Zwingli 
and  Martin  Luther  concerning  the 
import  of  the  words,  "This  is  my 
body,"  "  This  is  my  blood." 


196  Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


The   following   table   shows   their 
growth  in  this  country  since  1820  : 


1820  

Ministers.    Chi 
68 

irches.    Members. 
389             14,40° 
353             17,189 
416             17,760 
786            58,799 
,045            92,684 

,122                   00,691 
,1.14                  07,394 
,162                  09,258 
,152                   10,408 

,181              15,483 

I7.OIO 

1830  

84 

1840. 

1850  

231 

1860.    .  . 

391 

1862. 

1864  

460 

1866.    .  . 

1867..  .. 

1868. 

1860... 

.  .  .  521 

The  average  annual  increase  du- 
ring a  series  of  years  has  been  as  fol- 
lows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 

In  47  years 9  16  2.043 

In   7      "    14  15  2,532 

3.  The  "  United  Brethren  in  Christ " 
are  the  fruits  of  a  "  reformation  "  in 
the  German  Reformed  denomina- 
tion— a  sort  of  Methodistical  off- 
shoot. The  statements  of  their  num- 
bers are  as  follows  : 


1842. 
1866. 
1867. 


Ministers.  Societies.  Members. 
....500               i, 800  65,000 
—  789               3,297  91,57° 
•  •••837                3,445  98,983 
864                3,663  108,122 


The  average  annual  increase  du- 
ring twenty-five  years  has  been  as 
follows : 

Ministers.    Societies.    Members. 
In  25  years 13  66  i,3J9 

4.  The  "  Moravians,"  or  United 
Brethren,  are  a  distinct  denomination 
from  the  preceding  one.  As  known 
in  this  country,  they  descended  from  a 
colony  of  dissenters,  who  were  first 
gathered  on  his  estate  in  Upper  Alsa- 
tia,  in  1772,  by  Count  Zinzendorf. 

Their  numbers  have  been  stated 
as  follows  : 


1842. 
1867. 


Ministers. 
24 


Members. 
6,000 
6,655 
1868 —  6,768 

Their  annual  average  increase  of 
communicants  has  been  in  twenty- 
five  years  26. 

5.  The  "  Dutch  Reformed  Church," 
as  it  was  known  until  1867,  when  the 
name  was  changed  to  "  Reformed 


Church  in  America,"  is  a  descendant 
of  the  Dutch  Reformed  Church  of 
Holland. 

The 

following    table    shows    the 

growth 

of  this 

denomination 

since 

1820: 

1820. 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 

1830  

245 

1850  

292 

33,553 

1860  

387 

37° 

1862.  .. 

1863  

446 

1865  

436 

427 

54,286 

z866  

434 

1867  

57  846 

1868  

469 

1860... 

...4cn 

464 

61.44.1 

The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  denomination  at  different  periods 
has  been  as  follows  : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 

In  47  years 8}£  7  1,039 

In   7      "     ....10  io  i, 060 

6.  The  Mennonites  derive  their 
name  from  Menno  Simon,  born  in 
Friesland  A.D.  1495.  He  was  con- 
temporary with  Luther,  Bucer,  and 
Bullinger.  He  obtained  a  great  num- 
ber of  followers.  In  1683,  the  first 
oi  them  came  over  to  this  country, 
others  soon  followed. 

Their  number  has  been  estimat- 
ed as  follows : 


1843. 

1860. 

1862. 
1867. 


Ministers.  Churches.  Members. 

235                  260  30,000 

—                    —  35,ooo 

260                  312  37,360 


The  average  annual  increase  in 
members  in  twenty-four  years  has 
been  380. 

7.  The  Reformed  Mennonite  Socie- 
ty was  first  organized  in  1 8  i  i .  The 
members  ascribe  their  origin  to  the 
corruptions  of  the  Mennonites.  The 
reform  extended  into  several  coun* 
ties  of  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  and  New 
York,  but  their  doctrines  are  regarded 
as  too  rigid  for  general  acceptance. 

In  1860,  their  numbers  were  esti- 
mated at  about  11,000. 

The  average  annual  increase  has 
been  about  200. 


Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


8.  The  denomination  known  as 
the  "  German  Evangelical  Associa- 
tion" first  appeared  in  one  of  the 
Middle  States,  about  the  year  1800. 

This  denomination  is  now  regarded 
as  German  Methodists,  and  their 
numbers  have  been  as  follows  : 


1843.. 
1860.. 
1866.. 


Ministers.  Churches.  Members. 

83  125  10,000 

140  275  14,000 

—  360  32,000 


1843.. 
1859.. 
1862.. 
1863. . 
1865.. 
1866.. 
1867.. 


Ministers.        Members. 

250  15,000 

—  33.°°° 

—  46,000 

....386  47,388 

405  50,000 

473  54,875 

478  58,002 


The  average  annual  increase  of  the 
denomination  in  twenty-four  years 
has  been  1,791. 

9.  The  "  Christians,"  or  "  Christian 
Connection,"  profess  not  to  owe  their 
origin  to  the  labors  of  any  one  man, 
like  the  other  Protestant  sects.  They 
rose  almost  simultaneously  in  differ- 
ent and  remote  parts  of  this  country, 
without  knowledge  of  each  other's 
movements. 

The  new  organizations  of  this  de- 
nomination held  their  twenty-third 
annual  convention  in  June,  1868. 
The  number  of  organizations  was 
one  hundred  and  sixty. 

The  numbers  of  the  denomination 
have  been  stated  as  follows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 

1844 2,000  1,500  325,000 

1866 3,000  5,000  500,000 

The  average  annual  increase  of 
members  has  been  as  follows  : 

In  22  years 7,594  members. 

The  "  Church  of  God,"  as  it  exists 
by  that  name  in  the  United  States, 
is  a  religious  community,  who  profess 
to  have  come  out  from  all  human 
and  unscriptural  organizations,  and 
to  have  fallen  back  upon  original 
grounds,  and  who  wish,  therefore,  to 
be  known  and  called  by  no  other 
distinctive  name. 

This  denomination  exists  in  Ohio 
and  Pennsylvania  and  the  Western 
States,  and  their  numbers  have  been 
stated  as  follows : 


The  average  annual  increase  has 
been  as 


Churches. 
In  23  years 10 


Members. 
960 


ii.  The  denominations  thus  far 
noticed  are  chiefly  of  German  origin. 
The  next  class  contains  those  of  Scot- 
tish origin.  Among  these  the  Pres- 
byterian holds  the  first  place  in  age 
and  numbers.  The  first  organiza- 
tion here  was  made  in  1706,  and 
known  as  the  Presbytery  of  Phila- 
delphia. Their  first  synod  was  con- 
vened September  17,  1718. 

The  first  General  Assembly  met  in 
1789,  and  a  more  efficient  and  exten- 
sive development  ensued.  In  1810, 
a  division  arose,  and  the  formation 
of  the  "  Cumberland  Presbyterian  " 
organization.  But  the  most  exten- 
sive division  took  place  in  1838,  by 
which  a  body  was  organized  and 
known  as  the  "  New  School,"  while 
those  who  remained  were  designated 
as  "  Old  School  "-Presbyterians.  The 
split  thus  made  has  continued  for 
thirty  years,  but  is  now  ostensibly  re- 
moved by  measures  of  reunion. 

The  statistics  of  the  "  Old  School " 
Presbyterians  for  the  year  1863  first 
show  the  effect  of  the  separation  of 
the  Southern  portion  during  the  war. 
The  report  of  numbers  has  been  as 
follows  : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 

1843 *,434  2,°92  i59i'37 

1850 1,860  2,512  200,830 

1860 2,577  3,487  279,630 

1861 2,767  3,684  300,874 

1863 2205  2,541  227,575 

1865 2,201  2,629  232,450 

1866 2,294  2,608  239,306 

1867 2,302  2,622  246,330 

1868 2,330  2,737  252,555 

1869 2,381  2,740  258,903 

'1870 4,234  446,561 

The  statistics  of  the  Southern  divi- 
sion are  given  as  follows  : 

*  Old  and  New  School  united. 


198  Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


1865. 
1867. 
1868. 
1870. 


Ministers.  Churches.  Members. 

8n  1,277  83.821 

850  i,3°9  80,532 

837  1,298  76.949 

840  ',469  82,014 


The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  denomination  previous  to  the  di- 
vision caused  by  opposite  views  on 
political  questions  was  as  follows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  18  years 74  89  7,874 

The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  whole  denomination  (North  and 
South)  to  1868  has  been  as  follows: 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  25  years 70  78  6.958 

12.  The  division  of  the  Presbyte- 
rian Church  was  entirely  consummat- 
ed in  1840,  by  the  meeting  of  a  Ge- 
neral Assembly  representing  the  sece- 
ders,  or  "  New  School." 

Subsequently,  the  loss  of  the  South- 
ern churches  by  the  "  Old  School  " 
denomination,  and  the  increase  of  the 
anti-slavery  sentiment  in  the  North- 
ern portion,  suggested  a  reunion  with 
the  "  New  School "  soon  after  the 
outbreak  of  the  recent  war.  At 
length,  in  1868,  one  General  Assem- 
bly met  in  Albany,  while  the  other 
was  in  session  in  Harrisburg,  Pa.  A 
plan  of  union  was  mutually  prepared, 
which,  on  being  approved  by  the  local 
presbyteries,  went  into  effect  in  1870. 

The  statistics  of  the  "  New  School " 
Presbyterians  have  been  as  follows  : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 


1860  

,483 

1861  

Il558 

1862  

,466 

1863  

.      .I,6l6 

1865  

1866  

,528 

1867  

161  538 

1868  

I  8OO 

1860..., 

...1848      : 

1.631 

I72.<;63 

The  average  annual  increase  in 
twenty-eight  years  has  been  as  fol- 
lows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  28  years 24  J0  2,167 

13.  The  "  General  Synod  of  the 
Reformed  Presbyterian  Church "  is 


the  title  of  a  denomination  which 
claims  to  be  a  direct  descendant  of 
the  "  Reformed  Presbyterian  Church  " 
of  Scotland. 

The  statements  of  the  numbers  of 
this  denomination  have  been  as  fol- 
lows : 


1842. 

1861. 
1862 
1866. 
1867. 
1868. 
1870. 


Ministers.  Churches.  Members. 
.....  24                    44  4,S<» 

......  56  7,000 

......  56  9l 


.66 

•77 
.86 


91 


8,3*4 
8,487 
8,577 


The  average  annual  increase  in 
twenty-five  years  has  been  as  fol- 
lows : 

Ministers.    Churches.     Members. 
In  25  years i%  2  153 

14.  The  "  Synod  of  Reformed  Pres- 
byterians "  was  formed  by  certain 
persons  who  separated  from  the  Re- 
formed Presbyterians  (General  Synod), 
principally  on  the  ground  that  they 
were  of  opinion  that  the  constitution 
and  government  of  the  United  States 
are  essentially  infidel  and  immoral. 
The  separation  took  place  in  1833. 

The  few  statements  relative  to  the 
numbers  of  this  denomination  have 
been  as  follows  : 


1866. 


Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 

59  78  6,650 

60  —  6,000 


The  average  annual  decrease  dur- 
ing the  last  half-dozen  years  has 
been  108. 

15.  Another  division  is  the  "Asso- 
ciate Presbyterian  Church."  This  is 
located  chiefly  in  the  Middle  and 
Western  States.  The  members  of 
the  denomination  claim  to  be  a 
branch  of  the  Church  of  Scotland. 

In  1858,  the  Associate  Reformed 
and  the  Associate  churches  reunited 
under  the  name  of  "  United  Presby- 
terian Church  in  North  America." 

The  statistics  of  the  Associate 
Presbyterian  denomination  after  1859 
are  merged  in  those  of  the  United 


Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


199 


Presbyterians,  and  have  been  as  fol- 
lows : 


Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 


1844. 
1861. 
1863. 
1864. 
1865. 
1866. 
1867. 
1868. 
1869. 
1870. 


.106 
-444 
•47° 


-539 
.558 


2IO 
669 
683 
£98 
659 

686 
7'7 
735 
726 
729 


15,000 
57,567 
54,758 
57,691 
58.265 


63,489 
65,612 
65  ,624 
66,805 


Ministers. 
In  6  years 19 


1861. 
1867. 


Ministers. 
49 


The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  denomination  during  the  six  years 
subsequent  to  the  union,  ending  in 
1867,  has  been  as  follows  : 

Members. 

1,000 

The  statistics  of  the  "  Associate 
Synod  of  North  America"  above- 
mentioned  have  been  as  follows  : 

Members. 
1,130 
778 

1  6.  Another  order  of  Presbyterians 
in  this  country  is  known  as  the  "  As- 
sociate Reformed  Church."  Since 
1822,  the  denomination  has  existed 
in  three  independent  divisions,  the 
Northern,  the  Western,  and  the  South- 
ern. These  divisions  are  quite  small 
in  numbers,  and  their  growth  has 
been  insignificant.  They  have  been 
stated  as  follows  : 

The  Associate  Reformed  Synod  of 
New  York  in  1843  had  34  ministers 
and  43  congregations.  In  1867,  it 
had  1  6  ministers  and  1,631  members. 

The  Associate  Reformed  Synod  of 
the  South  in  1843  had  25  ministers 
and  40  congregations  ;  and  in  1867, 
estimated  at  1,500  members. 

The  Associate  Synod  of  North 
America  in  1867  had  n  ministers 
and  778  members. 

The  Free  Presbyterian  Synod,  con- 
sisting, in  1861,  of  41  ministers  and 
4,000  members,  had  previously  sepa- 
rated from  the  New  School  Presby- 
terian denomination,  but  was  reunit- 
ed and  absorbed  after  the  outbreak 
of  the  recent  war. 


17.  The  Independent  Presbyterian 
Church  in  South  and  North  Carolina 
consisted,  in  1861,  of  4  ministers  and 
about  1,000  members. 
)  1 8.  Another  denomination  of  Pres- 
byterians remains  to  be  noticed.  It 
is  called  the  "  Cumberland  Presby- 
terians "  and  first  appeared  in  Ken- 
tucky in  the  year  1800.  In  1829,  there 
were  four  synods  and  the  first  Gene- 
ral Assembly  of  the  denomination 
was  held.  During  the  recent  war 
the  Southern  churches  were  not  re- 
ported in  the  Assembly,  and  there  are 
no  complete  statistics  of  that  period. 

The  numbers  of  the  denomination 
have  been  stated  as  follows : 


Synods.    Presby.    Min.  Conversions. 

....i                              46  2,718 

1          .     —            80  3.305 

114  4,006 

—  5,977 


1822 

1826 1 

1827 i  — 

1833 6  32 

1843 13  57 

Ministers. 

1860 927 

1867 1,000 

1870 1,116 


Churches.     Members. 
i.iSS  84,249 

estimated  100.000 
—  87,727 


The  average  annual  increase  in 
55  years,  from  1812  to  1867,  has  been 
1,819. 

19.  Another  large  class  of  deno- 
minations is  known  by  the  name  of 
"  Baptists."  They  are  divided  in- 
to ten  separate  sects  :  Baptists  ;  Free- 
Will  Baptists  ;  Seventh-Day  Baptists  ; 
German  Baptists  or  Brethren;  Ger- 
man Seventh-  Day  Baptists  ;  Free 
Communion  Baptists  ;  Old  School 
Baptists  ;  Six-  Principle  Baptists  ;  Riv- 
er Brethren  ;  Disciples  of  Christ,  or 
Campbellites. 

An  estimate  of  the  numbers  of  the 
regular  Baptists  at  different  periods, 
made  by  themselves,  presents  the 
following  results  : 


Ministers.    Churches.    Communicants. 


1859. 
1862. 
1863. 
1865. 
1866. 


1870. 


.6,000 


•7.95* 
.7,867 

.8.346 
-8,695 
.8,787 


9,000 
11,606 


2,702 
2,675 
2-95S 

2,011 


750,000 
925,000 
966,000 
,039,400 
,040.303 
,043.641 
,094  806 
,121.988 

,221,349 


2OO           Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  denomination  during  twenty-five 
years  has  been  as  follows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  25  years 94  158  13,796 

20.  The  "  Free-will  Baptist  Connec- 
tion "  made  its  first  organized  ap- 
pearance in  this  country  in  1780.  In 
1827,  a  General  Conference  was  orga- 
nized to  represent  the  whole  connec- 
tion. The  statements  of  their  num- 
bers have  been  as  follows : 


-: 

Ministers.    Chu 

ches. 

Communicants. 

1842 

898 

057 

54,000 

1850. 

i,o8z 

252 

56,452 

i859- 

947 

170 

56,600 

1862. 

— 

— 

58,055 

1863 

1,049 

277 

57,007 

1865. 

— 

— 

56,783 

1866. 

1,063               * 

264 

56,288 

1867 

I,IOO 

276 

59,m 

1868. 

1,161 

279 

61,244 

1869. 

1,141 

375 

66,691 

The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  denomination  during  the  last 
twenty-five  years  has  been  as  follows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  25  years 8  9  204 

21.  The  "Seventh-Day  Baptists" 
are  so-called  because  they  differ  from 
all  other  Protestant  denominations  in 
their  views  of  the  Sabbath.  They 
have  gradually  spread  in  the  Eastern, 
the  Central,  and  some  Northwestern 
and  Southern  States. 

Little  is  known  of  their  numbers, 
but  they  have  been  stated  as  follows  : 


Ministers.    Churches.    Communicants. 


1850. 
1858. 
1863. 
1865. 
1866. 
1867. 
1869. 


50 
52 
56 
66 

68 
68 
75 


6  ooo 
6,243 
6,736 
6,686 
6,796 
7,014 
7,038 
7,129 


The  annual  average  increase  of 
the  denomination  has  been  as  fol- 
lows: 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  25  years 1%  %  41 

22.  There  is  a  denomination  of 
German  Baptists  which  has  assumed 
for  itself  the  name  of  "  Brethren," 


but  they  are  commonly  called  "  Dun- 
kers  "  or  "  Tunkers  "  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  Mennonists.  They 
have  also  been  called  "Tumblers" 
from  the  manner  in  which  they  per- 
form baptism,  which  is  by  putting  the 
person  head  forward  under  water 
(while  kneeling),  so  as  to  resemble 
the  motion  of  the  body  in  the  act 
of  tumbling. 

In  1843,  their  larger  congregations 
contained  from  two  to  three  hundred 
members ;  but  little  was  then  known 
among  themselves  of  their  numbers. 
Their  subsequent  statistics  have  been 
as  follows : 


Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 


1859. 
1862. 
1863. 
1866. 
1867. 


•  150 


1 60 


.100 
•  150 


8.700 
8,200 
20,000 
20,000 
20,000 


A  membership  of  20,000  has  been 
stated  for  this  denomination  during 
the  last  half-dozen  years  without  in- 
crease or  diminution. 

23.  The    "  German   Seventh-Day 
Baptists  "   first   made   their  appear- 
ance  in    Germany   in    1694.     From 
these,  after  their  organization  in  the 
United    States,  sprang  the  Seventh- 
Day  branch.     Their  numbers  in  1860 
were  estimated  at : 

Ministers.  Members. 

1860 187  1,800 

24.  A  society  designated  as"  Free- 
Communion  Baptists  "  arose  in  1858 
in  McDonough  Co.,  Illinois,  and  or- 
ganized a  quarterly  meeting  confer- 
ence.    At   the  quarterly  meeting  in 
1859,  one  preacher,  four  licentiates, 
a  few  small  churches,  and  104  mem- 
bers were  reported. 

25.  The  "  Old   School,"  or   Anti- 
mission,  Baptists  were  formerly  a  por- 
tion of  the  regular   Baptists,  above- 
mentioned.     They   are    opposed   to 
the  academical  or  theological  educa- 
tion of  their  ministers,  and  to  Bible, 
missionary,  and  all  other  voluntary 
societies  of  like  nature. 


Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  tJie    United  States.  201 


Their  numbers  have  been  stated  as 
follows : 


1860.. 
1862.  . 
1863-. 


1865. 
1867. 


Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
62,000 
60,000 
60,000 
63,000 

—  60,000 

1.800 


•475 
.850 


',75° 
1, 800 


105,000 


The  average  annual  increase  of  this 
denomination  during  seven  years  by 
these  statements  has  been  6,143. 

25.  The  denomination  called  "  Six- 
Principle  Baptists "  originated  in 
Rhode  Island  as  early  as  1665.  They 
are  distinguished  from  other  Baptists 
by  deducing  their  peculiarities  from 
the  first  three  verses  of  the  sixth  chap- 
ter of  Hebrews. 

Their  numbers  have  been  estimat- 
ed as  follows : 


1860. 


Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
16  18  3,000 


Recent  statements  put  their  num- 
bers about  the  same,  and  there  pro- 
bably has  been  no  important  increase. 

27.  The  "River  Brethren"  is  an 
organization  in  Pennsylvania  and 
other  states,  so-called  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  German  Baptists  or 
Brethren  above-mentioned. 

Their  meetings  are  generally  held 
in  dwelling-houses,  or  barns  fitted 
up  with  seats;  in  other  respects,  they 
are  similar  to  the  German  Brethren. 

Their  numbers  have  been  stated  as 
follows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
1860 65  80  7,000 


More  recent  statements  make  no 
important  alteration  in  these  num- 
bers. 

28.  The  "  Disciples  of  Christ,"  or, 
as  the  denomination  is  often  called, 
"  Baptists,"  "  Reformed  Baptists," 
"  Reformers,"  "  Campbellites,"  etc., 
originated  in  the  early  part  of  the 
present  century.  The  first  advocates 
were  Thomas  and  Alexander  Camp- 
bell in  Pennsylvania. 


The  statements  of  their   numbers 
have  been  as  follows  : 


1842. 

41850. 

1863. 

1867. 


Ministers.    Churches.     Members. 
200,000 
218,618 
300,000 
300,000 


.    848 

.1,500 


1,898 
i, 800 


The  average  annual  increase,  ac- 
cording to  these  statements,  has  been 
in  twenty-one  years,  in  members, 
4,762. 

29.  The  first  appearance  of  the 
Puritans,  since  known  as  "  Congre- 
gationalists,"  was  in  the  early  part 
of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign.  The 
first  church  formed  upon  Congrega- 
tional principles  was  that  established 
by  Robert  Browne  in  1583.  The  de- 
nomination is  the  largest  in  New  Eng- 
land, and  exists  in  small  bodies  in  a 
number  of  the  states. 

Their  numbers  are  stated  to  be  as 
follows  : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 


1742  

1,150 

1,300 

160,000 

1850  

1,687 

1,971 

147,196 

1858  .  .  .  . 

1,922 

2,369 

230,093 

1861  

— 

— 

259,119 

1862  

2,643 

2,884 

261,474 

1863  

•  ---2,594  . 

2,729 

253,200 

1864  

— 

2,856 

268,015 

1865  

2,761 

2,723 

263,206 

1866  

2.919 

2.780 

267,453 

1867 
1868  

2,971 

2,825 
2,951 

278,362 

300,362 


The  average  annual  increase  of 
this  denomination  during  the  last 
twenty-five  years  has  been  as  fol- 
lows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 
In  25  years 73  61  4,734 

30.  The  denomination  of  "  Unita- 
rians "  arose  in  this  country  from  a 
division  of  opinion  among  Congre- 
gationalists  on  the  divinity  of  Christ. 
Their  statistics  contain  no  report  of 
the  membership.  All  who  are  re- 
spectable and  orderly  members  of  the 
society  are  admitted  to  the  sacra- 
ments if  they  desire  to  be. 

Their  numbers  for  a  series  of  years 
have  been  estimated  at  30,000. 


2O2  Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


Ministers.    Societies.    Members. 


1830. 
1840. 
1850. 
1860. 
1863. 
1864.. 
1867., 


•343 
.326 

•  37° 


193 
200 

244 

260 
250 
300 


ing  the  last  nine  years  has  been  as 
follows : 


Ministers. 

78 


Churches. 
40 


Members. 
6,536 


The  average  annual  increase  has 
been  estimated  for  a  series  of  forty 
or  more  years  at  about  one  per  cent., 
or  300. 

31.  The  denomination  of  "  Uni- 
versalists  "  first  made  its  appearance 
in  England  about  1750.  In  Glou- 
cester, Massachusetts,  the  first  Uni- 
versalist  society  was  formed  in  1779. 
No  statistics  of  the  denomination 
contain  the  "  membership  "  like  those 
of  other  denominations,  as  to  believe 
is  to  become  a  member.  The  active 
members  have  been  estimated  in 
1850  at  60,000,  although  the  popu- 
lation among  which  Universalism 
exists  to  the  exclusion  of  other  deno- 
minations may  be  ten  tinies  greater. 


33.  Another  large  class  of  deno- 
minations is  embraced  under  the  ge- 
neral term  "  Methodism."  The  first 
denomination,  out  of  which  all  the 
others  have  sprung,  was  an  offshoot 
of  the  Church  of  England,  known 
in  this  country  as  the  Protestant  Epis- 
copal Church. 

The  statistics  of  the  denomination 
have  been  as  follows  : 


Preachers. 


1773- 
1783.. 
1793" 
1803.. 
1813.. 
1823., 


83 

269 

393 

700 

1,226 

1833 2,400 

1843 4,286 

1850 3,716 

1859 6,503 


Ministers.    Societies.    Members. 


1863... 
1864... 
1865... 


1850... 
1859... 
1865*  . 
1867.. 


..646 
.  .700 
..734 
.496 
•  •523 
-.588 
..520 


990 
918 
913 
68 1 

752 
792 
844 


60,000 


80,000 


1867 


•5,885 

.6,121 
.6,287 
.8,004 
.8,481 
.8,830 


Members. 

i,  160 

13,740 

67,643 

86,734 

312,540 

599,736 

1,068,525 

629 ,660* 
.971,498 
942,906 

928,320 

1,032, i84t 
1,146,081 
1,255, "5    i 
1,298.938 


The  average  annual  increase  since 

1869 520  844  the  separation  of  the  South,  and  dur- 

ing seventeen  years,  has  been  30,377. 
Since  the  close  of  the  war  conferen- 
ces have  been  organized  in  eight  of 
the  Southern  states,  and  100,000 
members  gained  from  the  church 
South. 

34.  A  secession  took  place  in  1830 
from  the  Methodists,  and  the  persons 
who  composed  it  assumed  the  name 
of  the  "  Methodist  Protestant  Church." 

Its  statistics  have  been  as  follows  : 

Travelling  preachers.  Members. 

154,118              1830 83  5,000 

161,224              1842 —  53,875 

178,102              1850 740  64,219 

194,692              1854 —  70,018 

200,000  1858 2,000  Q0,000 

The  average  annual  increase  dur-         In  1866,  a  convention  was  held 


Average  annual  increase  in  twenty 
years,  1,000. 

32.  The  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church  is  a  well-known  offshoot  of 
the  church  established  by  the  British 
Parliament  in  England. 

Their  numbers  and  growth  have 
been  as  follows : 

Ministers.    Churches.    Members. 


1859 2.030 

1862 2,270 

1863 1,772 

1864 1,895 

1865 2,467 

1866 2,530 

1867 2,600 

1868 2,736 

1869 2,763 


2,111 
2.327 
I,6l7 
1,741 
2,322 
2,305 
2,37" 
2,472 
2,512 


1.35,767 
l6o,6l2 


*  Incomplete. 

t  Southern  States  not  reported. 


*  Separation  of  South  in  1845. 
t  Centenary  year. 


Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States.  203 


in  Cincinnati  to  unite  the  Methodist 
Protestants,  the  Wesleyan  Connection, 
the  Free  Methodists,  the  Primitive  Me- 
thodists, and  some  independent  Me- 
thodist congregations,  under  the  name 
of  the  "  Methodist  Church."  The  un- 
ion was  joined  by  few  save  the  North- 
ern conferences  of  the  Methodist 
Protestant  body,  who  now  compose 
the  Methodist  Church;  the  South- 
ern conferences  retain  the  original 
name  of  .Methodist  Protestant.  Their 
numbers  in  1867  were  estimated  at 
50,000;  in  1869,  they  were  estimat- 
ed at  72,000. 

There  has  been  no  actual  increase 
in  those  now  indicated  by  this  name 
in  twenty^five  years  preceding  1868. 

35.  The  "  Methodist  Church "  is 
composed  of  the  Northern  conferen- 
ces of  the  Methodist  Protestant 
Church  which,  in  attempting  to  form 
a  union  with  others  in  1866,  caused 
a  split  among  themselves.  Their  re- 
port, made  in  1867,  states  as  follows  : 


1867. 
1869. 


Ministers. 

625 

624 


Members. 
50,000 
49i°3° 


This  is  strictly  an  increase  of  the 
Methodist  Protestants,  but  appears 
under  a  new  name.  It  is  an  average 
annual  increase  of  2,000. 

36.  Out  of  the  original  separation 
of  the  Methodist  Protestants  from 
the  Methodist  Episcopal  another  de- 
nomination sprang  up,  under  the 
name  of  the  "True  Wesleyan  Me- 
thodists." 

The  denomination  has  increased 
very  slowly  since  its  organization,  as 
appears  by  the  following  statements  : 


1843  

Ministers. 

Members. 

1850  

1860  

565 

1867  

' 

1860... 

.  ..220 

Average  annual  increase  in  twen- 
ty-five years,  200. 

37.  The  African  Methodist  Epis- 


copal Church  owes  its  origin  to  the 
prejudice  against  the  colored  mem- 
bers and  attendants  of  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church.  In  the  early  days 
of  the  latter,  this  prejudice  was  so 
deep  that  the  colored  persons  were 
not  unfrequently  pulled  from  their 
knees  while  at  prayer  in  the  church, 
and  ordered  to  the  back  seats. 

This  denomination  has  greatly  in- 
creased by  the  addition  of  emanci- 
pated slaves.  Its  statistics  are  as 
follows  : 


Ministers. 
1842  .......................  — 

i860  .......................  - 

1864  ......................  — 

1865 
1866 

1867  ......................  1,500 


405 


Members. 
15,000 

2D,OOO 

50,000 
50,000 
70,000 

200,000 
aOO,OOO 


The  average  annual  increase  in 
twenty-five  years  has  been  7,500. 

38.  The  operation  of  the  same 
prejudice  against  color  in  New  York 
gave  rise  to  the  "  Zion  African  Me- 
thodist Episcopal  Church."  Its  sta- 
tistics show  a  large  increase  recently 
at  the  South,  and  are  as  follows  : 


Ministers. 


1842. 
1860. 
1864. 
1866. 
1867. 
1869. 


Members. 

4.000 

6,000 

8,000 

42,000 

60,000 

164,000 


The  average  annual  increase  of 
the  denomination  has  been  2,008. 

39.  The  "  Methodist  Episcopal 
Church,  South,"  is  the  second  largest 
body  of  Methodists  in  the  United 
States.  It  arose  from  a  division  of 
the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  in 
accordance  with  resolutions  of  the 
General  Conference  in  1844. 

The  membership  of  this  denomi- 
nation has  been  reduced  by  the  war, 
by  the  invasion  of  its  territory  by 
the  Northern  Methodist  Episcopal, 
and  by  the  African  and  Zion  church- 
es. Its  statistics  are  as  follows: 


204          Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States. 


iSso. 
1860. 

1867 


Ministers. 
. . . 1,500 
...2.408 
...3,769 
•  3-952 


Members. 


1869  presents  no  important  change. 


699,164 


535,04° 


The  average  annual  increase  in 
seventeen  years  has  been  4,087. 

40.  The  "  Free  Methodist  Church  " 
originated  in  1859,  and  consisted  of 
a  few  congregations  in  New  York 
and  other  Northern  states.  Its  sta- 
tistics have  been  as  follows  : 


1864. 
1866. 


Preachers. 

66 

85 

94 


Members. 
3,555 
4,889 
6,000 


The    average   annual   increase  in 
two  years  has  been  617. 

41.  The  "  Western  Primitive  Me- 
thodist Church  "  held  its  twenty-se- 
cond annual  conference  in  New  Dig- 
gings, Wisconsin,  1866.     The  subject 
of  union   with   other   non-episcopal 
bodies    was     favorably    considered. 
Their  numbers  were  in  1865   as  fol- 
lows: Preachers,  20;  members,  2,000. 

42.  The  "  Independent  Methodist 
Church"  organized  its  first  congre- 
gation in  New  York  City  in   1860. 
The  third  annual  session  of  its  con- 
ference was   held    in    1864,   and   a 
movement  made  toward  union  with 
other  non-episcopal  bodies. 

43.  The  "  Friends,"  or  "  Quakers," 
arose  in  England  about  1647,  under 
the  preaching  of  Mr.   George  Fox. 
The  numbers  of  this  denomination 
are  estimated  at  100,000,  comprised 
in  eight  yearly  meetings. 

44.  A  division  took  place  during 
the  first  quarter  of  the  present  cen- 
tury among  the  Friends,  under  Mr. 
Elias  Hicks.     A  distinct  and  inde- 
pendent association  was  made  under 
his  name.     Their  numbers  are  esti- 
mated at  40,000. 

45.  The  "  Shakers,"  or  United  So- 
ciety of  Believers,  are  a  small  deno- 
mination which   first   made   its   ap- 
pearance in  this  country  in  1776. 


Their  statistics  have  been  as  fol- 
lows : 

Preachers.    M  embers. 

1828 45  4,5oo 

1860 —  4,7i3 

They  are  found  in  Maine,  Massa- 
chusetts, New  Hampshire,  New  York, 
Kentucky,  Connecticut. 

46.  The  "  Adventists,"  or  "  Second 
Adventists,"  owe   their  rise   in   the 
United  States  to  Mr.  Wm.  Miller,. of 
Low  Hampton,  New  York. 

In  1859,  they  were  estimated  to 
comprise  about  18,000  persons,  and 
in  1867  about  30,000,  exclusive  of 
members  of  other  denominations. 
Average  annual  increase  in  eight 
years,  1,500. 

47.  The  "  New  Church,"  or  "  Swe- 
denborgians,"  accept  as  their  rule  of 
faith  and  discipline  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures as  interpreted  by  Mr.  Emanuel 
Swedenborg. 

Their  numbers  in  the  United  States 
have  been  estimated  as  follows  : 


1850. 
1862. 


Ministers. 

42 

57 


Churches. 
30 
49 


Members. 
3,000 
5,000 


Average  annual  increase  in  twelve 
years,  166. 

48.  Modern  "  Spiritualism  "  made 
its  appearance  in  Western  New  York 
about  twenty  years  ago.     It  came  at 
first  in  the  form  of  rappings,  knock- 
ings,  table-tippings,  and  other  noisy 
demonstrations,  for  the  purpose  of  at- 
tracting general  attention.     The  be- 
lievers held  conventions  and  public 
meetings,  but  adopted  no  form  or  plan 
of  organization.     Great  numbers  in 
all  denominations  are  supposed  to  ap- 
prove more  or  less  of  their  views; 
but  the  number  of  separate  public 
adherents  is  estimated  at  165,000. 

49.  The   "  Mormon    Church,"   or 
"  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Latter- 
Day  Saints,"  was  first  organized  in 
the  town  of  Manchester,  New  York, 
on  April    6,    1830,   by    Mr.   Joseph 
Smith,  of    Vermont.     The   fortunes 


Statistics  of  Protestantism  in  the  United  States.          705 


of  the  church  thus  started  have  been 
variable  in  New  York,  Ohio,  Missou- 
ri, and  Illinois,  until  persecution  has 
compelled  her  to  withdraw  to  the 
wilderness  of  Utah.  Their  number 
is  stated  to  be  60,000.  The  average 
annual  increase  in  twenty-five  years, 
2,000. 

50.  Four  miles  from  Oneida,  Madi- 
son County,  New  York,  is  located  an 
organized   community  the  members 
of  which  call  themselves  "  Christian 
Perfectionists."      It   was   started   by 
Mr.  John  F.  Noyes,  a  native  of  Brat- 
tleboro,  Vermont, 

They  have  now  a  community  in 
Oneida,  Wallingford,  Conn.,  New 
Haven,  Conn.,  and  New  York,  which 
consisted  of  255  members  in  1867. 
This  is  an  average  annual  increase 
of  10. 

51.  The     "Catholic     Apostolic 
Church,"  or  "  Irvingites,"  originated 
from  the  views  of  Mr.  Edward  Irving, 
preached  in  London  in  1830. 

There  are  about  a  half-dozen  of 
these  congregations  in  this  country, 
estimated  to  contain  250  members. 

A  number  of  small  nuclei  of  per- 
haps future  denominations  exists  in 
different  states,  which  it  is  unnecessa- 
ry to  mention. 

A  recapitulation  of  the  preceding 
statistics  presents  the  following  re- 
sults : 

Church  Average 

Members  Annual 

in  Increase 

1867.  inzsy'rs. 

i.Lutherans 332,155  7,182 

2.  German  Reformed 110,408  3.431 

3.  United  Brethren 97,983  i,3'9 

4.  Moravians 6,655  26 

5.  Dutch  Reformed 57,846  1,261 

6.  Mennonites 39,n°  380 

7.  Reformed  Mennonites....      11,000  200 

8.  Evangelical  Association..     58,002  1,791 

9.  Christian  Connection 500,000  7,954 

10.  Church  of  God 32,000  960 

11.  O.  S.  Presbyterians 246,350  6,958 

12.  N.S.Presbyterians 161,538  2,167 

13.  Reformed    Presbyterians 

(General  Synod) 8,324  153 

14.  Synod  of  Reformed  Pres- 

byterians         6,000 

ij.  Associate     and     United 

Presbyterians 63,489  1,000 


Church 

Members 

in 

1867. 

Associate  Keformed  Pres- 
byterians         3.909 

Free  Presbyterians 1,000 

Cumberland  Presbytr'ns.    100,000 

Baptists 1,094,806 

Free-Will  Baptists 59,"i 

Seventh-Day  Baptists 7,038 

Dunkers 20,000 

German     Seventh  -  Day 

Baptists i, 800 

Free-Commun.  Baptists..  104 

Anti-Mission  Baptists 105,000 

Six-Principle  Baptists 3,000 

River  Brethren 7,000 

Disciples  (Campbellites). .    300,000 

Congregationalists 278,362 

Unitarians 30,000 

Universalists 80,000 

Protestant  Episcopal 194.692 

Methodist  Episcopal 1,146,081 

Methodist  Protestant 50,000 

Methodist  Church 50,000 

True  Wesleyan 25,000 

African  Methodist 200,000 

Zion  African  Methodist./    60,000 
Methodist  Epis.  (South). .    535,040 

Free  Methodist 4,889 

Western    Primitive    Me- 
thodist           2.000 

Independent  Methodists.  800 

Friends,  or  Quakers 100,000 

Hicksites 40,000 

Shakers 4,7'3 

Adventists 30,000 

Swedenborgians 5,°°o 

Spiritualism 165,000 

Mormon  Church 60,000 

Christian  Perfectionists..  255 

Catholic  Apost.  Church..  250 


Total 6,396,110 


Average 

Annual 

Increase 

in  25  y'rs. 

80 

1,819 

13,796 
204 
41 
500 

30 
6,143 

80 

4,762 

4,734 

300 

1,000 

6,536 

3°,377 

2,000 

200 

7-5°o 

2,008 

4,087 

617 

40 


400 

60 

1,500 

186 
8,000 
2,000 


134,802 


Thus  the  whole  number  of  mem- 
bers of  Protestant  churches  in  the 
United  States  in  1867  was  6,396,110. 
The  average  annual  increase  of  this 
membership  during  the  preceding 
twenty-five  years  has  been  134,802. 

The  population  of  the  United 
States  according  to  the  usual  census 
and  that  of  the  Bureau  of  Statistics 
for  1867,  has  been  as  follows  : 

1840 17,069,453 

1850 23,191,876 

1860 31,443.322 

1867 36.743,198 

1870  incomplete  officially. 

The  average  annual  increase  in 
twenty-seven  years  has  been  728,509. 

If  we  deduct  from  the  population 
of  the  United  States  in  1867  the 
number  of  persons  who  were  mem- 


2O6 


On  a  Great  Plagiarist, 


bers  of  Protestant  churches,  there 
will  remain  30,347,088  persons  in 
the  United  States  in  1867  who  were 
not  members  of  Protestant  churches, 
who  made  no  public  profession  of 
faith  in  their  doctrines,  and  who  did 
not  partake  of  their  sacraments. 

If  we  suppose  the  church-member- 
ship of  Protestant  denominations  to 
increase  at  the  same  average  annual 
rate  during  the  next  thirty  -  three 
years,  until  the  year  1900,  that  in- 
crease will  amount  to  4,448,466.  If 
this  increase  is  added  to  the  number 
of  church-members  in  1867,  the  mem- 
bership of  all  the  Protestant  churches 
in  the  year  1900  will  be  10,844,576. 

If  we  suppose  the  population  of 
the  United  States  to  increase  in  the 
same  average  annual  rate  during  the 
next  thirty-three  years,  until  the  year 


1900,  that  increase  will  amount  to 
24,040,797.  This  amount  added 
to  the  population  of  1867  will  make 
the  population  in  1900  reach  the 
number  60,784,945,  of  whom  49,- 
940,419  will  not  be  members  of 
any  Protestant  church,  nor  make  a 
public  profession  of  faith  in  their  doc- 
trines, nor  partake  of  their  sacra- 
ments. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  average 
annual  increase  of  Protestantism  for 
twenty-five  years  subsequent  to  1867 
will  be  numerically  greater  than  for 
the  previous  twenty-five  years.  So  will 
also  be  numerically  larger  the  aver- 
age annual  increase  of  the  popula- 
tion for  a  like  period,  but  the  relative 
proportion  of  the  denominations  to 
the  population  would  remain  un- 
changed. 


ON  A  GREAT  PLAGIARIST. 


PHCEBUS  drew  back  with  just  disdain 
The  wreath  :  the  Delphic  Temple  frowned : 

The  suppliant  fled  to  Hermes'  fane, 
That  stood  on  lower,  wealthier  ground. 


The  Thief-God  spake,  with  smile  star-bright : 

"  Go  thou  where  luckier  poets  browse, 
The  pastures  of  the  Lord  of  Light, 
And  do — what  I  did  with  his  cows."  * 


AUBREY  DE  VERE. 


*  He  stole,  killed,  and  ate  the  whole  of  Apollo's  herd,  before  he  was  a  day  old  !    See  Homer's 
Hymn  to  Mercury, 


Mary  Benedicta. 


207 


MARY    BENEDICTA. 


WE  were  at  school  together.  We 
little  dreamed,  either  of  us,  in  those 
mischief-loving  days  of  frolic  and  fun, 
that  she  was  one  day  to  be  a  saint, 
and  that  I  would  write  her  story. 

Yet  look  well  at  the  face.  Is  there 
not  something  like  a  promise  of 
sainthood  on  the  pure,  white  brow  ? 
And  the  eyes,  blue-gray  Irish  eyes, 
with  the  long,  dark  lashes  throwing 
a  shadow  underneath,  "  diamonds 
put  in  with  dirty  fingers,"  have  they 
not  a  spiritual  outlook  that  speaks  to 
you  with  a  promise — a  revelation  of 
some  vision  or  growth  of  some  beau- 
ty beyond  what  meets  your  gaze  ? 
Yet,  though  it  seems  so  clear  in  the 
retrospect,  this  prophetic  side  of  her 
beauty,  I  own  it,  never  struck  me 
then. 

I  am  going  to  tell  her  story  sim- 
ply, with  strict  accuracy  as  to  the 
traits  of  her  character — the  facts  of 
her  life  and  her  death.  I  shall  tell  the 
bad  with  the  good,  neither  striving  to 
varnish  her  faults  nor  to  heighten,  by 
any  dramatic  coloring,  the  beautiful 
reality  of  her  virtues.  The  story  is 
one  calculated,  it  seems  to  me,  to  be 
a  light  and  a  lesson  to  many.  The 
very  faults  and  follies,  the  strange 
beginning,  so  unlike  the  end,  all  taken 
as  parts  of  a  whole  in  the  true  expe- 
rience of  a  soul,  contain  a  teaching 
whose  sole  eloquence  must  be  its 
truth  and  its  simplicity. 

I  said  we  were  at  school  together, 
but,  though  in  the  same  convent,  we 
were  not  in  the  same  class.  Mary 
(this  was  her  real  Christian  name)  was 
a  few  years  older  than  I.  Her  ca- 
reer at  this  time  was  one  of  the  wildest 
that  ever  a  school-girl  lived  through. 
High-spirited,  reckless,  setting  all 


rules  at  defiance,  she  was  the  tor- 
ment of  her  mistresses  and  the  delight 
of  her  companions.  With  the  latter, 
her  good-nature  and  good  temper 
carried  her  serenely  above  all  the 
little  malices  and  jealousies  that  dis- 
play themselves  in  that  miniature 
world,  a  school;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  her  spirit  of  independence, 
while  it  was  constantly  getting  her 
into  "  scrapes,"  was  so  redeemed  by 
genuine  abhorrence  of  everything  ap- 
proaching to  meanness  or  deceit  that 
it  did  not  prevent  her  being  a  univer- 
sal favorite  with  the  nuns.  One  in 
particular,  who  from  her  rigorous 
disciplinarianism  was  the  terror  of  us 
all,  was  even  less  proof  than  the 
others  against  the  indomitable  sweet 
temper  and  lovableness  of  her  rebel- 
lious pupil.  They  were  in  a  state  of 
permanent  warfare,  but  occasionally, 
after  a  hot  skirmish  carried  on  before 
the  public,  viz.,  the  second  class, 
Mother  Benedicta  would  take  the 
rebel  aside,  and  try  privately  to  coax 
her  into  a  semblance  of  apology,  or 
mayhap  a  promise  of  amendment. 
Sometimes  she  succeeded,  for  the  re- 
fractory young  lady  was  always  more 
amenable  to  caresses  than  to  threats, 
and  was,  besides,  notwithstanding  the 
war  footing  on  which  they  stood, 
very  fondly  attached  to  Mother  Ben- 
edicta, but  she  never  pledged  herself 
unconditionally.  This  was  a  great 
grievance  with  the  mistress.  She 
used  to  argue,  and  threaten,  and 
plead  by  the  hour,  in  order  to  in- 
duce Mary  to  give  her  "  word  of 
honor,"  as  the  phrase  was  amongst 
us,  that  she  would  observe  such  and 
such  a  prohibition,  or  obey  such  and 
such  a  rule — silence  was  the  chronic 


208 


Mary  Benedicta. 


casus  belli— but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. 

"  No,  sister,  I  promise  you  to  try ; 
but  I  won't  promise  to  do  or  not  to 
do,"  she  would  answer,  undefiantly, 
but  quite  resolutely. 

It  was  a  common  thing  for  Mother 
Benedicta  to  say,  after  one  of  these 
conferences  which  ended,  as  usual, 
in  the  cautious,  "  I'll  try,  sister," 
that,  if  she  could  once  get  Mary  to 
promise  her  outright  to  mend  her 
ways,  she  would  never  take  any  more 
trouble  about  her.  "  If  she  pledged 
her  word  of  honor  to  be  a  saint,  I  be- 
lieve she  would  keep  it,"  observed  the 
nun,  with  a  sigh. 

I  mention  this  little  incident  ad- 
visedly, for,  though  at  the  time  we, 
in  our  wisdom,  thought  it  must  be 
pure  perversity  on  the  part  of  our 
mistress  that  made  her  so  pursue 
Mary  on  the  subject,  considering 
that  we  were  all  in  the  habit  .of 
pledging  our  words  of  honor  any  given 
number  of  times  a  week  with  no  par- 
ticular result,  I  lived  to  see  that  in 
this  individual  instance  she  was  guid- 
ed by  prophetic  insight. 

She  never  succeeded,  however,  in 
inducing  Mary  to  commit  herself 
during  the  four  years  that  she  was 
under  her  charge.  It  was  war  to  the 
end ;  not  to  the  bitter  end,  for  the  strife 
did  not  weaken,  nay,  it  probably 
strengthened  the  enduring  attach- 
ment that  had  sprung  up  between 
them.  By  way  of  sealing  irrevoca- 
bly and  publicly  this  attachment  on 
her  side,  Mary  added  the  nun's  name 
to  her  own,  and  even  after  she  left 
school  she  continued  to  sign  herself 
Mary  Benedicta.  When  the  time 
came  round  for  frequenting  the  sa- 
craments, it  was  the  sure  signal  for  a 
quarrel  between  the  two  belligerents. 
There  was  no  plea  or  stratagem  that 
Mary  would  not  have  recourse  to  in 
order  to  avoid  going  to  confession. 
Yet  withal  she  had  a  reputation  in  the 


school  for  piety — a  queer,  impulsive 
sort  of  piety  peculiar  to  herself,  that 
came  by  fits  and  starts.  We  had  an 
unaccountable  belief  in  the  efficacy  of 
her  prayers,  and  in  any  difficulty  she 
was  one  of  those  habitually  appealed 
to  to  pray  us  out  of  it ;  not,  indeed , 
that  we  were  actuated  by  any  precise 
view  as  to  the  spiritual  quality  of  the 
prayers,  only  impressed  vaguely  by 
her  general  character,  that  whatever 
she  did  she  put  her  heart  in  and  did 
thoroughly.  Mother  Benedicta  used 
to  say  that  her  devotion  to  the  Bless- 
ed Sacrament  would  save  her.  But 
this  devotion  consisted,  as  far  as  we 
could  see,  in  an  enthusiastic  love  for 
Benediction;  and  as  Mary  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  music,  and  confess- 
ed a  weakness  for  effective  ceremonial, 
Mother  Benedicta  herself  occasional- 
ly had  misgivings  as  to  how  much  of 
the  devotion  went  to  the  object  of 
the  ceremony  and  how  much  to  iis 
accessories,  the  lights,  the  music,  and 
the  incense.  At  any  rate,  once  over, 
it  exercised  no  apparent  control  over 
her  life.  The  rules  of  the  school  she 
systematically  ignored;  the  rule  of 
silence  she  looked  upon  with  special 
contempt  as  a  bondage  fit  for  fools, 
but  unworthy  of  rational  human  be- 
ings. To  the  last  day  of  her  sojourn 
in  the  school,  she  practically  illus- 
trated the  opinion  that  speech  was  of 
gold  and  silence  of  brass,  and  left  it 
with  the  reputation  of  being  the  most 
indefatigable  talker ;  the  most  unruly 
and  untidy  subject,  but  the  sweetest 
nature  that  ever  tried  the  patience  and 
won  the  hearts  of  the  community. 

When  she  was  about  eighteen,  her 
father  sent  her  to  the  Sacre  Coeur,  in 
Paris,  to  complete  her  education, 
which,  in  spite  of  considerable  ex- 
pense on  his  part,  and  masters  with- 
out end,  was  at  this  advanced  period 
in  a  sadly  retrograde  state,  the  little 
she  had  learned  at  school  in  Ireland 
having  been  assiduously  forgotten  in 


Mary  Bencdicta. 


209 


the  course  of  a  year's  anarchical 
holiday,  when  reading  of  every  sort 
and  even  her  favorite  music  were  set 
aside  for  the  more  congenial  pastimes 
ot  dancing,  and  skating,  and  flying 
across  country  after  the  hounds. 

I  was  then  living  in  Paris,  and 
Mary  was  placed  under  my  mother's 
wing.  We  went  to  see  her  on  the 
Jours  de  Parloir,  and  she  came  to  us 
on  the  Jours  de  Sortie.  But  it  did 
not  last  long.  As  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, the  sudden  change  from  a  life 
of  excitement  and  constant  out-door 
exercise  to  one  of  seclusion  and  se- 
dentary habits  proved  too  trying  to 
her  health,  and  after  a  few  months 
the  medical  man  of  the  convent  de- 
clared that  he  was  not  prepared  to 
accept  the  responsibility  of  taking 
charge  of  her,  and  strongly  advised 
that  she  should  be  sent  home. 

We  communicated  this  intelligence 
to  her  father,  begging  at  the  same 
time  that  before  he  came  to  remove 
her  she  might  be  allowed  to  spend 
a  month  with  us.  The  request  was 
granted  and  Mary  came  to  stay  with 
us. 

That  we  might  lose  as  little  as  pos- 
sible of  each  other's  company  while 
we  were  together,  she  shared  my 
room.  We  spent  the  mornings  at 
home ;  I  studying  or  taking  my  les- 
sons, she  reading,  or  lolling  about 
the  room,  watching  the  clock,  and 
longing  for  the  master  to  go  and  set 
me  free,  that  we  might  go  out. 

My  mother,  who  only  in  a  lesser 
degree  shared  my  affection  for  Mary, 
and  was  anxious  to  make  her  visit  as 
pleasant  as  possible,  took  her  about 
to  all  the  places  best  worth  seeing 
in  the  city — the  picture-galleries,  the 
palaces,  the  museums,  and-  the 
churches.  The  latter,  though  many 
of  them,  even  as  works  of  art,  were 
amongst  the  most  interesting  monu- 
ments for  a  stranger,  Mary  seemed 
thoroughly  indifferent  to.  When 

VOL.  XIII. — 14 


we  entered  one,  instead  of  kneeling 
a  moment  before  the  sanctuary,  as 
any  Catholic  does  from  mere  force 
of  habit  and  impulse,  she  would 
just  make  the  necessary  genuflex- 
i<$n,  and,  without  waiting  for  us, 
hurry  on  round  the  building,  exam- 
ine the  pictures  and  the  stained  glass, 
and  then  go  out  with  as  little  delay 
as  might  be.  This  did  not  strike 
my  mother,  who  was  apt  to  remain 
all  the  time  at  her  prayers,  while  I 
walked  about  doing  the  honors  of 
the  church  to  Mary;  but  it  struck 
me,  and  it  pained  and  puzzled  me. 

She  was  too  innately  honest  to  at- 
tempt the  shadow  of  prevarication 
or  pose  even  in  her  attitude,  and  her 
haste  in  despatching  the  inspection 
of  every  church  we  entered  was  so 
undisguised  that  I  saw  she  did  not 
care  whether  I  noticed  it  or  not. 
Once,  on  coming  out  of  the  little 
church  of  St.  Genevieve,  one  of  the 
loveliest  shrines  ever  raised  to  the 
worship  of  God  by  the  genius  of 
man,  I  said  rather  sharply  to  her, 
for  she  had  beaten  a  more  precipi- 
tate retreat  than  Usual,  and  cut  short 
my  mother's  devotions  at  the  tomb 
of  the  saint : 

"  Mary,"  I  said,  "  one  really  would 
think  the  devil  was  at  your  heels  the 
moment  you  enter  a  church,  you  are 
in  such  a  violent  hurry  to  get  out  of 
it." 

She  laughed,  not  mockingly,  with 
a  sort  of  half-ashamed  expression, 
and  turning  her  pure,  full  eyes  on 
me. 

"  I  hate  to  stay  anywhere  under 
false  appearances,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
always  feel  such  a  hypocrite  kneeling 
before  the  Blessed  Sacrament !  I  feel 
as  if  I  would  choke  if  I  stay  there 
over  five  minutes." 

I  felt  shocked,  and  I  suppose  I 
looked  it. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  as  if  I  were 
possessed  of  the  devil,"  she  said,  still 


2IO 


Mary  Benedicta. 


laughing,  though  there  was  a  touch 
of  sadness,  it  struck  me,  in  her  voice 
and  face.  "  I  mean  to  be  convert- 
ed by-and-by,  and  mend  my  ways ; 
but  meantime  let  me  have  my  fun, 
and,  above  all,  don't  preach  to 
me!" 

"  I  don't  feel  the  least  inclined,"  I 
replied. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I'm  gone  be- 
yond it.  Well,  you  can  pray  for  me. 
I'm  not  gone  beyond  the  reach  of 
that !" 

This  was  the  only  serious  conver- 
sation, if  it  deserves  the  name,  that 
we  had  during  the  first  week  of  her 
visit.  She  enjoyed  herself  thoroughly, 
throwing  all  the  zest  of  her  earnest 
nature  into  everything.  The  people 
and  their  odd  French  ways,  the  shops 
and  their  exquisite  wares,  the  opera, 
the  gay  Bois  with  the  brilliant  throng 
of  fashion  that  crowded  round  the 
lake  every  day  at  the  hour  of  prome- 
nade— the  novelty  of  the  scene  and 
the  place  altogether  enchanted  her, 
and  there  was  something  quite  re- 
freshing in  the  spirit  of  enjoyment 
she  threw  into  it  all. 

One  evening,  after  a  long  day  of 
sight-seeing,  we  were  invited  by  a 
friend  of  hers  to  dine  at  the  table 
d'hote  of  the  Louvre.  It  was  the 
grande  nouveaute"  just  then,  and 
Mary  was  consequently  wild  to  see 
it.  We  went,  and  during  dinner  the 
admiration  excited  by  her  beauty  was 
so  glaringly  expressed  by  the  persist- 
ent stare  of  every  eye  within  range 
of  her  at  the  table  that  my  mother 
was  provoked  at  having  brought  her 
and  exposed  her  to  such  an  ordeal. 
But  Mary  herself  was  blissfully  un- 
conscious of  the  effect  she  was  pro- 
ducing; indeed,  it  would  hardly  be 
an  exaggeration  to  say  she  was  un- 
conscious of  the  cause.  Certainly, 
no  woman  ever  had  less  internal 
perception  or  outward  complacency 
in  her  beauty  than  she  had.  This 


indifference  amounted  to  a  fault,  for 
it  pervaded  her  habits  of  dress,  which 
were  very  untidy,  and  betokened  a 
total  disregard  of  personal  appear- 
ance. The  old  fault  that  had  been 
one  of  Mother  Benedicta's  standing 
grievances  was  as  strong  as  ever, 
and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  get  her 
to  put  on  her  clothes  straight,  and  to 
tie  her  bonnet  under  her  chin  in- 
stead of  under  her  ear,  when  she 
came  out  with  us. 

But  to  return  to  the  Louvre.  It 
had  been  settled  that  after  dinner  we 
should  walk  across  to  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  let  Mary  see  the  dia- 
mond shops  illuminated,  and  all  the 
other  wonderful  shops;  but  during 
dinner  she  overheard  some  one  say- 
ing that  the  Emperor  and  Empress 
were  to  be  at  the  Grand  Opera  that 
night.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  take 
a  box  and  go  there.  But  my  mother 
objected  that  it  was  Saturday,  the 
opera  was  never  over  before  mid- 
night, and  consequently  we  could 
not  be  home  and  in  bed  before  one 
o'clock  on  Sunday  morning. 

With  evident  disappointment,  but, 
as  usual,  with  the  sweetest  good  tem- 
per, Mary  gave  way.  Her  friend  then 
proposed  that,  before  going  to  the 
Palais  Royal,  we  should  walk  on  to 
the  Rue  Lepelletier,  and  see  the  Em- 
peror and  Empress  going  in  to  the 
Opera.  There  was  no  difficulty  in 
the  way  of  this  amendment,  so  it  was 
adopted. 

On  coming  out  of  the  Louvre, 
however,  we  found,  to  our  surprise 
and  discomfiture,  that  the  weather 
had  been  plotting  against  our  little 
programme.  The  ground,  which  was 
frozen  dry  and  hard  when  we  drove 
down  from  the  Champs  Elyse"es  less 
than  two  hours  before,  had  become 
like  polished  glass  under  a  heavy 
fall  of  sleet;  the  horses  were  already 
slipping  about  in  a  very  uncomforta- 
ble way,  and  there  was  a  decided  dis- 


Mary  Bcncdicta. 


211 


inclination  on  the  part  of  pedestrians 
to  trust  themselves  to  cabs.  Fate 
had  decreed  that  Mary  was  not  to 
see  the  Emperor  on  any  terms  that 
night.  It  would  have  been  absurdly 
imprudent  to  venture  on  the  maca- 
dam of  the  boulevards,  and  increase 
the  risk  of  driving  at  all  by  waiting 
till  the  streets  were  so  slippery  that 
no  horse  could  keep  his  footing  on 
them.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  go  straight  home,  which  we  did, 
the  horse  snailing  at  a  foot-pace  all 
the  way. 

It  was  a  memorable  night  this  one 
of  which  I  am  chronicling  a  trivial 
recollection — trivial  in  itself,  but 
weighty  in  its  consequences. 

It  was  the  i4th  of  January, 
1858. 

We  went  to  bed,  and  slept,  no 
doubt,  soundly.  None  the  less 
soundly  for  the  thundering  crash 
that,  before  we  lay  down,  had  shaken 
the  Rue  Lepelletier  from  end  to  end, 
making  the  houses  rock  to  their 
foundations,  shattering  to  pieces 
every  window  from  garret  to  cellar, 
and  reverberating  along  the  bou- 
levards like  the  roar  of  a  hundred 
cannon.  The  noise  shook  half  Paris 
awake  for  that  long  night.  The  peo- 
ple, first  merely  terrified,  then  lashed 
to  a  frenzy  of  horror  and  of  enthusi- 
asm, rushed  from  their  houses,  and 
thronged  the  boulevards  and  the 
streets  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Opera. 
In  the  pitch  darkness  that  followed 
simultaneously  with  the  bursting  of 
Orsini's  bombs,  it  was  impossible  to 
know  how  many  were  murdered  or 
how  many  wounded.  There  had 
been  a  great  crowd  of  curieux  and 
strangers  as  usual  waiting  to  see  their 
majesties  alight — the  street  was  lined 
with  them.  Were  they  all  murdered, 
blown  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  in 
that  explosion  that  was  loud  enough 
to  have  blown  up  half  Paris  ?  Of 
course,  popular  fear  and  fury  exagge- 


rated the  number  of  the  victims  enor- 
mously, and  the  night  resounded 
with  the  shrieks  and  lamentations  of 
women,  the  plunging  and  moaning 
t»f  horses,  wounded  or  only  frantic 
with  terror,  and  the  passionate  cries 
of  Vive  V Empercur !  intermingled 
with  curses  on  the  fiends  who,  to 
secure  the  murder  of  one  man, 
had  sacrificed  the  lives  of  hun- 
dreds. 

While  this  ghastly  tumult  was 
scaring  sleep  and  silence  from  the 
city  close  to  us,  we  slept  on,  all  un- 
conscious of  the  cup  of  trembling  to 
which  we  had  stretched  out  our 
hand,  and  which  had  been  so  merci- 
fully snatched  away  from  us. 

It  was  only  next  morning,  on  go- 
ing out  to  Mass,  that  the  concierge 
stopped  us  to  tell  the  news  of  the  at- 
tempt on  the  Emperor's  life. 

And  we  had  been  vexed  and  felt 
aggrieved  with  the  rain  that  drove 
us  home,  and  prevented  our  going 
to  stand  amongst  those  curieux  in  the 
Rue  Lepelletier! 

Mary  did  not- hear  of  it  till  we 
met  at  breakfast.  I  never  shall  for- 
get the  look  of  blank  horror  on  her 
face  as  she  listened  to  the  account  of 
what  had  happened  on  the  very  spot 
where  we  had  been  so  bent  on 
going. 

Although  this  attack  of  Orsini's 
comes  into  my  narrative  simply  as  a 
datum,  I  cannot  resist  making  a  short 
digression  toward  it. 

Most  of  my  readers  will  remember 
the  singular  stoicism  displayed  by 
the  Emperor  at  the  moment  of  the 
explosion.  One  of  the  horses  was 
killed  under  his  carriage,  which  was 
violently  shaken  by  the  plunging  of 
the  terrified  animals,  and  a  splinter 
from  one  of  the  bombs,  flashing 
through  the  window,  grazed  him  on 
the  temple.  In  the  midst  of  the 
general  panic  and  confusion  of  the 
scene,  the  equerry  rushed  forward, 


212 


Mary  Bencdicta. 


and,  taking  the  Emperor  by  the  arm, 
cried  hurriedly : 

"  Come  out,  sire !     Come  out !" 
"Let  down  the  steps,"  observed 
his  master  with  unruffled  sang  froid, 
and  quietly  waited  till  it  was  done 
before  he  moved. 

He  entered  the  Opera  amidst  deaf- 
ening cheers,  and  sat  out  the  repre- 
sentation as  coolly,  and  to  all  ap- 
pearances with  as  much  attention,  as 
if  nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb 
him,  now  and  then  quietly  drawing 
his  handkerchief  across  the  splinter- 
mark  on  his  forehead,  from  which 
the  blood  was  oozing  slightly. 

Next  day  a  solemn  Te  Deum  was 
celebrated  at  the  Tuileries.  The 
Empress  wished  the  little  prince, 
then  a  baby  in  arms,  to  be  present  at 
the  thanksgiving  for  her  own  and  his 
father's  miraculous  preservation.  The 
child  was  carried  into  the  Salle  des 
Marechaux,  where  the  court  and  the 
Corps  Diplomatique  were  assembled, 
and  immediately  put  out  his  hands, 
clamoring  for  his  father  to  take  him. 
The  Emperor  took  him  in  his  arms, 
and  the  child,  looking  up  at  his  face, 
noticed  the  red  mark  on  the  tem- 
ple. 

"  Papa  bobo  /"*  he  lisped,  and 
put  up  his  little  hand  to  touch  it. 

The  hard,  sphynx-like  face  strug- 
gled for  a  moment;  but  the  child's 
touch  had  melted  the  strong  man. 
He  clasped  him  to  his  heart,  and 
literally  shook  with  sobs. 

These  details,  which  were  proba- 
bly never  written  before,  were  told 
to  me  by  one  who  was  present  at 
the  attempt  the  previous  night, 
and  at  the  Te  Deum  Mass  next 
day. 

That  night,  when  we  were  alone, 
Mary  and  I  talked  over  the  diaboli- 
cal crime  that  had  within  four  and 
twenty  hours  shaken  the  whole  coun- 

*A  French  child's  word  for  hurt. 


try  like  an  eartnquake,  and  over  the 
merciful  interposition  that  had  arrest- 
ed us  on  our  way  to  what  might 
have  been  for  us,  as  it  was  for  many, 
a  certain  and  horrible  death.  Mary, 
though  she  said  little  on  this  latter 
point,  was  evidently  very  deeply  im- 
pressed, and  what  she  did  say  carried 
in  it  a  depth  of  religious  emotion 
that  revealed  her  to  me  in  quite  a 
new  light. 

It  was  agreed  that  she  would  go 
to  confession  next  day,  and  that  we 
were  to  begin  a  novena  together  in 
thanksgiving  for  our  preservation. 

"  Mary,"  I  said  impulsively,  after 
we  had  been  silent  a  little  while, 
"  why  have  you  such  a  dislike  to  go 
to  the  sacraments  ?  I  can't  under- 
stand how,  believing  in  them  at  all, 
you  can  be  satisfied  to  approach  them 
so  seldom." 

"  It  isn't  dislike;  it  is  fear,"  she  an- 
swered. "  It's  precisely  because  I 
realize  so  awfully  the  power  and 
sanctity  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  that 
I  keep  away.  I  believe  so  intensely 
in  it  that,  if  I  went  often  to  holy 
communion,  I  should  have  to  divorce 
from  everything,  to  give  up  my  whole 
life  to  preparation  and  thanksgiving. 
I  know  I  should.  And  I  don't  want 
to  do  it.  Not  yet,  at  any  rate,"  she 
added,  half-unconsciously,  as  if  speak- 
ing to  herself. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  effect  her 
words  had  on  me,  nor  her  face  as 
she  uttered  them.  The  night  was  far 
spent.  The  emotions  of  the  day,  the 
long  watch,  and  perhaps  the  flicker- 
ing of  our  bedroom  candle  that  was 
burning  low,  all  conspired  to  give  an 
unwonted  pallor  to  her  features  that 
imbued  them  with  an  almost  ethereal 
beauty.  I  always  think  of  her  now 
as  she  sat  there,  in  her  girlish  white 
dressing-gown,  her  hands  locked 
resting  on  her  knees,  her  head  thrown 
back,  and  her  eyes  looking  up,  so 
still,  as  if  some  far  beyond  were 


Mary  Bencdicta. 


213 


breaking  on  her  gaze  and  holding  it 
transfixed. 

Nothing  broke  on  mine.  In  my 
dull  blindness  I  did  not  see  that  I 
was  assisting  at  the  beginning  of  a 
great  mystery,  a  spectacle  on  which 
the  gaze  of  angels  was  riveted — the 
wrestling  of  a  soul  with  God :  the 
soul  resisting;  the  Creator  pleading 
and  pursuing. 

She  left  us  at  the  end  of  January 
to  return  home.  We  parted  with 
many  tears,  and  a  promise  to  corre- 
spond often  and  pray  for  each  other 
daily. " 

For  a  time  we  did  correspond  very 
regularly — for  nearly  a  year.  Dur- 
ing this  period  her  life  was  an  un- 
pausing  whirl  of  dissipation.  Balls, 
visits,  operas,  and  concerts  during 
the  season  in  town  were  succeeded 
in  the  country  by  more  balls,  and 
hunting,  and  skating,  and  the  usual 
round  of  amusements  that  make  up 
a  gay  country  life.  Mary  was  every- 
where the  beauty  of  the  place,  the 
admired  of  all  admirers.  Strange  to 
say,  in  spite  of  her  acknowledged 
supremacy,  she  made  no  enemies. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  stranger 
'still  if  she  had.  Her  sweet,  artless 
manner  and  perfect  unconsciousness 
of  self  went  for  at  least  as  much  hi 
the  admiration  she  excited  as  her 
beauty.  If  she  danced  every  dance 
at  every  ball,  it  was  never  once  for 
the  pleasure  of  saying  she  did  it,  of 
triumphing  over  other  girls,  but  for 
the  genuine  pleasure  of  the  dance 
itself. 

Her  success  was  so  gratuitous,  so 
little  the  result  of  coquetry  on  her 
side,  that,  however  much  it  might  be 
envied,  it  was  impossible  to  resent  it. 

I  am  not  trying  to  make  out  a  case 
»or  Mary,  or  to  excuse,  still  less  justi- 
fy, the  levity  of  the  life  she  was  lead- 
ing at  this  time.  My  only  aim  is  to 
convey  a  true  idea  of  the  spirit  in 
which  she  was  leading  it — mere  exu- 


berance of  spirits,  the  zest  of  youth 
in  the  gay  opportunities  that  were 
showered  upon  her  path.  She  was 
revelling  like  a  butterfly  in  flowers 
^nd  sunshine.  The  spirit  of  worldli- 
ness  in  its  true  and  worst  sense  did 
not  possess  her ;  did  not  even  touch 
her.  Its  cankerous  breath  had  not 
blown  upon  her  soul  and  blighted  it ; 
the  worm  had  not  eaten  into  her 
heart  and  hardened  it.  Both  were 
still  sound — only  drunk ;  intoxicated 
with  the  wine  of  life.  She  went 
waltzing  through  flames,  like  a  moth 
round  a  candle ;  like  a  child  letting 
off  rockets,  and  clapping  hands  with 
delight  at  the  pretty  blue  blaze,  with- 
out fear  or  thought  of  danger.  There 
was  no  such  thing  as  premeditated 
infidelity  in  her  mind.  She  was  not 
playing  a  deliberate  game  with  God ; 
bidding  him  wait  till  she  was  ready, 
till  she  was  tired  of  the  world  and 
the  world  of  her.  No,  she  was  utterly 
incapable  of  such  a  base  and  guilty 
calculation.  She  had  simply  forgot- 
ten that  she  had  a  soul  to  save.  The 
still,  small  voice  that  had  spoken  to 
her  in  earlier  days,  especially «on  that 
night  of  the  i5th  of  January,  stirring 
the  sleeping  depths,  and  calling  out 
momentary  yearnings  toward  the  high- 
er life,  had  altogether  ceased  its  plead- 
ings. How  could  that  mysterious 
whisper  make  itself  heard  in  such  a 
din  and  clangor  of  unholy  music? 
There  was  no  silent  spot  in  her  soul 
where  it  could  enter  and  find  a  listen- 
er. But  Mary  did  not  think  about  it. 
She  was  inebriated  with  youth  and 
joy,  and  had  flung  herself  into  the 
vortex,  and  raced  round  with  it  till 
her  head  reeled.  On  the  surface,  all 
was  ripple  and  foam,  rings  running 
round  and  round ;  but  the  depths 
below  were  sleeping.  The  one,  the 
visible  hold  that  she  retained  on  God 
at  this  time  was  her  love  for  his  poor. 
Her  heart  was  always  tender  to  suf- 
fering in  every  form,  but  to  the  poor 


214 


Mary  Benedicta. 


especially.  As  an  instance  of  this,  I 
may  mention  her  taking  off  her  flan- 
nel petticoat,  on  a  bitter  winter's  day, 
to  give  it  to  a  poor  creature  whom 
she  met  shivering  at  the  road-side, 
and  then  running  nearly  a  mile  home 
in  the  cold  herself. 

After  about  a  year  our  correspon- 
dence slackened,  and  gradually  broke 
down  altogether.  I  heard  from  her 
once  in  six  months,  perhaps.  The 
tone  of  her  letters  struck  me  as 
altered.  I  could  not  exactly  say 
how,  except  that  it  had  grown  more 
serious.  She  said  nothing  of  triumphs 
at  archery  meetings  or  of  brushes 
carried  off  "  at  the  death ;"  there 
seemed  to  be  no  such  feats  to  chro- 
nicle. She  talked  of  her  family  and 
of  mine,  very  little  of  herself.  Once 
only,  in  answer  to  a  direct  question 
as  to  what  books  she  read,  she  told 
me  that  she  was  reading  Father  Fa- 
ber,  and  that  she  read  very  little  else. 
This  was  the  only  clue  I  gained  to 
the  nature  of  the  change  that  had 
come  over  her. 

At  the  expiration  of  about  two 
years,  a»  clergyman,  who  was  an  old 
friend  of  her  family,  and  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  house,  came  to  Paris, 
and  gave  me  a  detailed  account 
of  the  character  and  extent  of  the 
change. 

The  excitement  into  which  she 
had  launched  on  returning  home,  and 
which  she  had  kept  up  with  unflag- 
ging spirit,  had,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  told  on  her  health,  never 
very  strong.  A  cough  set  in  at  the 
beginning  of  the  winter  which  caus- 
ed her  family  some  alarm.  She  grew 
thin  to  emaciation,  lost  her  appetite, 
and  fell  into  a  state  of  general  ill- 
health.  Change  of  air  and  complete 
rest  were  prescribed  by  the  medical 
men.  She  was  accordingly  taken 
from  one  sea-side  place  to  another, 
and  condemned  to  a  regime  of  dul- 
ness  and  quiet.  In  a  few  months 


the  system  told  favorably,  and  she 
was  sufficiently  recovered  to  return 
home. 

But  the  monotony  of  an  inactive 
life  which  was  still  enforced,  after  the 
mad-cap  career  she  had  been  used 
to,  wearied  her  unspeakably.  For 
want  of  something  better  to  do,  she 
took  to  reading.  Novels,  of  course. 
Fortunately  for  her,  ten  years  ago 
young  ladies  had  not  taken  to  writ- 
ing novels  that  honest  men  blush  to 
review,  and  that  too  many  young 
ladies  do  not  blush  to  read.  Mary 
did  no  worse  than  waste  her  time 
without  active  detriment  to  her  mind. 
She  read  the  new  novels  of  the  day, 
and,  if  she  was  not  much  the  better, 
she  was  probably  none  the  worse  for 
it.  But  one  day — a  date  to  be  written 
in  gold — a  friend,  the  same  who  gave 
me  these  particulars,  made  her  a 
present  of  Father  Faber's  All  for  Je- 
sus. The  title  promised  very  little 
entertainment ;  reluctantly  enough, 
Mary  turned  over  the  pages  and  be- 
gan to  read.  How  long  she  read,  I 
cannot  tell.  It  might  be  true  to  say 
that  she  never  left  off.  Others  fol- 
lowed, all  from  the  same  pen,  through 
uninterrupted  days,  and  weeks,  and 
months.  She  told  me  afterward  that 
the  burning  words  of  those  books — 
the  first  especially,  and  The  Creator 
and  the  Creature — pursued  her  even  in 
her  dreams.  She  seemed  to  hear  a 
voice  crying  after  her  unceasingly  : 
"  Arise,  and  follow  !" 

Suddenly,  but  irrevocably,  the 
whole"  aspect  of  life  was  changed  to 
her.  She  began  to  look  back  upon  the 
near  past,  and  wonder  whether  it 
was  she  herself  who  had  so  enjoyed 
those  balls  and  gaieties,  or  whether 
she  had  not  been  mad,  and  imagined 
it,  and  was  only  now  in  her  right 
mind.  The  most  insuperable  disgust 
succeeded  to  her  love  of  worldly 
amusement.  She  cared  for  nothing 
but  prayer  and  meditation,  and  the 


Mary  Benedicta. 


215 


service  of  the  poor  and  suffering.  An 
ardent  longing  took  possession  of  her 
to  suffer  for  and  with  our  Divine 
Master.  Yielding  to  the  impulse  of 
her  new-born  fervor,  she  began  to 
practise  the  most  rigorous  austerities, 
fasting  much,  sleeping  little,  and 
praying  almost  incessantly.  This  was 
done  without  the  counsel  or  cogni- 
zance of  any  spiritual  guide.  She 
knew  of  no  one  to  consult.  Her 
life  had  been  spiritually  so  neglect- 
ed during  the  last  two  years  that  di- 
rection had  had  no  part  to  play  in  it. 
There  was  nothing  to  direct.  The 
current  was  setting  in  an  opposite  di- 
rection. The  supernatural  was  out 
of  sight. 

Under  cover  of  her  health,  which, 
though  it  was  fairly  recovered,  still 
rendered  quiet  and  great  prudence 
desirable,  Mary  contrived  to  avoid 
all  going  out,  and  secretly  laid  down 
for  herself  a  rule  of  life  that  she  ad- 
hered to  scrupulously. 

But  this  could  not  go  on  long.  As 
she  grew  in  the  ways  of  prayer,  the 
spirit  of  God  led  her  imperceptibly 
but  inevitably  into  the  sure  and  safe 
high-road  of  all  pilgrims  travelling  to- 
ward the  bourn  of  sanctity  and  aim- 
ing at  a  life  of  perfection. 

The  necessity  of  a  spiritual  direc- 
tor was  gradually  borne  in  upon  her, 
as  she  said  to  me,  while  at  the  same 
time  the  difficulty  of  meeting  with 
this  treasure,  whom  St.  Teresa  bids 
us  seek  amongst  ten  thousand,  grew 
more  and  more  apparent  and  dis- 
heartening. 

Her  father,  a  man  of  the  world 
and  very  little  versed  in  the  myste- 
ries of  the  interior  life,  but  a  good 
practical  Catholic  nevertheless,  saw 
the  transformation  that  had  taken 
place  in  his  daughter,  and  knew  not 
exactly  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry. 
He  acknowledged  to  her  long  after 
that  the  first  recognition  of  it  struck 
upon  his  heart  like  a  death-knell. 


He  felt  it  was  the  signal  for  a  great 
sacrifice. 

Mary  opened  her  heart  to  him  un- 
reservedly, seeking  more  at  his  hands 
nerhaps  than  any  mere  father  in 
flesh  and  blood  could  give,  asking 
him  to  point  out  to  her  the  turning- 
point  of  the  new  road  on  which  she 
had  entered,  and  to  help  her  to  tread 
it.  That  it  was  to  be  a  path  of 
thorns  in  which  she  would  need  all 
the  help  that  human  love  could  gath- 
er to  divine  grace,  she  felt  already 
convinced. 

Her  father,  with  the  honesty  of  an 
upright  heart,  confessed  himself  in- 
adequate to  the  solving  of  such  a 
problem,  and  bravely  proposed  tak- 
ing her  to  London  to  consult  Father 
Faber. 

Mary,  in  an  ecstasy  of  gratitude, 
threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
declared  it  was  what  she  had  been 
longing  for  for  months.  Father  Fa- 
ber had  been  her  guide  so  far;  his 
written  word  had  spoken  to  her  like 
a  voice  from  the  holy  mount,  mak- 
ing all  the  dumb  chords  of  her  soul 
to  vibrate.  What  would  he  not  do 
for  her  if  she  could  speak  to  him 
heart  to  heart,  and  hear  the  words 
of  prayer-inspired  wisdom  from  his 
own  lips ! 

They  set  out  in  a  few  days  for 
London;  but  they  were  not  to  get 
there.  The  promise  that  looked  so 
near  and  so  precious  in  its  accom- 
plishment was  never  to  be  fulfilled. 
They  had  no  sooner  reached  Dub- 
lin than  Mary  fell  ill.  For  some 
days  she  was  in  high  fever ;  the  me- 
dical men  assured  the  panic-stricken 
father  that  there  was  no  immediate 
cause  for  alarm;  no  remote  cause 
even,  as  the  case  then  stood;  the  pa-  - 
tient  was  delicate,  but  her  constitu- 
tion was  good,  the  nervous  system 
sound,  although  shaken  by  the  pres- 
ent attack,  and  apparently  by  previous 
mental  anxiety.  The  attack  itself 


2l6 


Mary  Bcnedicta. 


they  attributed  to  a  chill  which  had 
fallen  on  the  chest. 

The  event  justified  the  opinion  of 
the  physicians.  Mary  recovered 
speedily.  It  was  not  judged  advisa- 
ble, however,  to  let  her  proceed  to 
London.  She  relinquished  the  plan 
herself  with  a  facility  that  surprised 
her  father.  He  knew  how  ardently 
she  had  longed  to  see  the  spiritual 
guide  who  had  already  done  so  much 
for  her,  and  he  could  not  forbear 
asking  why  she  took  the  disappoint- 
ment so  coolly. 

"  It's  not  a  disappointment,  father. 
God  never  disappoints.  I  don't  know 
why,  only  I  feel  as  if  the  longing 
were  already  satisfied ;  as  if  I  were 
not  to  go  so  far  to  find  what  I'm 
looking  for,"  she  answered ;  and  quiet- 
ly set  about  preparing  to  go  back 
home. 

But  they  were  still  on  the  road  of 
Damascus.  On  the  way  home,  they 
rested  at  the  house  of  a  friend  near 
the  Monastery  of  Mount  Melleray. 
I  cannot  be  quite  sure  whether  the 
monks  were  giving  a  retreat  for  se- 
culars in  the  monastery,  or  whether 
it  was  being  preached  in  the  neigh- 
boring town.  As  well  as  I  remem- 
ber, it  was  the  latter.  Indeed,  I  doubt 
whether  women  would  be  admitted 
to  assist  at  a  retreat  within  the  mo- 
nastery, and,  if  not,  this  would  be  con- 
clusive. But  of  one  thing  I  am  sure, 
the  preacher  was  Father  Paul,  the 
superior  of  La  Trappe.  I  don't  know 
whether  his  eloquence,  judged  by  the 
standard  of  human  rhetoric,  was  any- 
thing very  remarkable,  but  many  wit- 
nesses go  to  prove  on  exhaustive 
evidence  that  it  was  of  that  kind 
whose  property  it  is  to  save  souls. 

To  Mary  it  came  like  a  summons 
straight  from  heaven.  She  felt  an 
imperative  desire  to  speak  to  him  at 
once  in  the  confessional. 

"  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the 
exquisite  sense  of  peace  and  security 


that  came  over  me  the  moment  I 
knelt  down  at  his  feet,"  she  said,  in 
relating  to  me  this  stage  of  her  voca- 
tion. "  I  felt  certain  that  I  had  found 
the  man  who  was  to  be  my  Father 
Faber." 

And  so  she  had. 

All  that  passes  between  a  director 
and  his  spiritual  child  is  of  so  solemn 
and  sacred  a  nature  that,  although 
many  things  which  Mary  confided  to 
me  concerning  her  intercourse  with 
the  saintly  abbot  of  La  Trappe  might 
prove  instructive  and  would  certainly 
prove  edifying  to  many  interior  souls, 
I  do  not  feel  justified  in  repeating 
them.  If  I  were  even  not  held  back 
by  this  fear  of  indiscretion,  I  should 
shrink  from  relating  these  confiden- 
ces, lest  I  should  mar  the  beauty  or 
convey  a  false  interpretation  of  their 
meaning.  While  she  was  speaking, 
*I  understood  her  perfectly.  While 
listening  to  the  wonderful  experien- 
ces of  divine  grace  with  what  she 
had  been  favored,  and  which  she  re- 
counted tome  with  the  confiding  sim- 
plicity of  a  child,  her  words  were  as 
clear  and  reflected  her  thoughts  as 
luminously  as  a  lake  reflects  the  stars 
looking  down  into  its  crystal  depths, 
making  the  mirror  below  a  faithful 
repetition  of  the  sky  above.  But 
when  I  tried  to  write  down  what  she 
had  said  while  it  was  quite  fresh  upon 
my  mind,  the  effort  baffled  me.  There 
was  so  little  to  write,  and  that  little 
was  so  delicate,  so  mysteriously  in- 
tangible, I  seemed  never  to  find 
the  right  word  that  had  come  so  na- 
turally, so  expressively,  to  her.  When 
she  spoke  of  prayer  especially,  there 
was  an  eloquence,  rising  almost  to 
sublimity,  in  her  language  that  alto- 
gether defied  my  coarse  translation, 
and  seemed  to  dissolve  like  a  rain- 
bow under  the  process  of  dissection. 
The  most  elevated  subjects  she  was 
at  home  with  as  if  they  had  been 
her  natural  theme,  'he  highest  spiri- 


Mary  Bcncdicta, 


217 


tuality  her  natural  element.  The  writ- 
ings of  St.  Teresa  and  St.  Bernard  had 
grown  familiar  to  her  as  her  cate- 
chism, and  she  seemed  to  have  caught 
the  note  of  their  inspired  teaching 
with  the  mastery  of  sainthood.  This 
was  the  more  extraordinary  to  me 
that  her  intellect  was  by  no  means 
of  a  high  order.  Quite  the  contrary. 
Her  taste,  the  whole  bent  of  her  na- 
ture, was  the  reverse  of  intellectual, 
and  what  intelligence  she  had  was, 
as  far  as  real  culture  went,  almost 
unreclaimed.  Her  reading  had  been 
always  of  the  most  superficial,  non- 
metaphysical  kind ;  indeed,  the  aver- 
sion to  what  she  called  "  hard  read- 
ing" made  her  turn  with  perverse 
dislike  from  any  book  whose  title 
threatened  to  be  at  all  instructive. 
She  had  never  taken  a  prize  at  school, 
partly  because  she  was  too  lazy  to 
try  for  it,  but  also  because  she  had 
not  brain  enough  to  cope  with  the 
clever  girls  of  her  class.  Mary  was 
quite  alive  to  her  shortcomings  in 
this  line,  indeed  she  exaggerated 
them,  as  she  was  prone  to  do  most 
of  her  delinquencies,  and  always  spoke 
of  herself  as  "  stupid."  This  she  de- 
cidedly was  not ;  but  her  intellectual 
powers  were  sufficiently  below  supe- 
riority to  make  her  sudden  awaken- 
ing to  the  sublime  language  of  mys- 
tical theology  and  her  intuitive  per- 
ception of  its  subtlest  doctrines  mat- 
ter of  great  wonder  to  those  who 
only  measure  man's  progress  in  the 
science  of  the  saints  by  the  shallow 
gauge  of  human  intellect. 

"  How  do  you  contrive  to  under- 
stand those  books,  Mary?"  I  asked 
her  once,  after  listening  to  her  quot- 
ing St.  Bernard  a  Vappui  of  some  re- 
marks on  the  Prayer  of  Union  that 
carried  me  miles  out  of  my  depth. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied  with 
her  sweet  simplicity,  quite  unconscious 
of  revealing  any  secrets  of  infused 
science  to  my  wondering  ears.  "  I 


used  not  to  understand  them  the 
least;  but  by  degrees  the  meaning 
of  the  words  began  to  dawn  on  me, 
and  the  more  I  read,  the  better  I  un- 
dfrstood.  When  I  come  to  anything 
very  difficult,  I  stop,  and  pray,  and 
meditate  till  the  meaning  comes  to 
me.  It  is  often  a  surprise  to  myself, 
considering  how  stupid  I  am  in  every- 
thing else,"  she  continued,  laughing, 
"  that  I  should  understand  spiritual 
books  even  as  well  as  I  do." 

Those  who  have  studied  the  ways 
of  God  with  his  saints  will  not  share 
her  surprise.  In  our  own  day,  the 
venerable  Cure  d'Ars  is  among  the 
most  marvellous  proofs  of  the  manner 
in  which  he  pours  out  his  wisdom  on 
those  who  are  accounted  and  who 
account  themselves  fools,  not  wor- 
thy to  pass  muster  amongst  men. 
But  I  am  anticipating. 

Her  meeting  with  Father  Paul  was 
the  first  goal  in  her  new  career,  and 
from  the  moment  Mary  had  reached 
it  she  felt  secure  of  being  led  safely  to 
the  end. 

Those  intervening  stages  were  none 
the  less  agitated  by  many  interior 
trials ;  doubts  as  to  the  sincerity  of 
her  vocation ;  heart-sinkings  as  to 
her  courage  in  bearing  on  under  the 
cross  that  she  had  taken  up ;  misgiv- 
ings, above  all,  as  to  the  direction  in 
which  that  cross  lay.  While  her 
life-boat  was  getting  ready,  filling 
its  sails,  and  making  out  of  port  for 
the  shoreless  sea  of  detachment  and 
universal  sacrifice,  she  sat  shivering; 
her  Jiand  on  the  helm;  the  deep 
waters  heaving  beneath  her;  the 
wind  blowing  bleak  and  cold ;  the 
near  waves  dashing  up  their  spray 
into  her  face,  and  the  breakers  fur- 
ther out  roaring  and  howling  like 
angry  floods.  There  were  rocks 
ahead,  and  all  round  under  those 
foaming  billows;  sad  havoc  had 
they  made  of  many  a  brave  little 
boat  that  had  put  out  to  sea  from 


2l8 


Mary  Bencdicta. 


that  same  port  where  she  was  still 
tossing — home,  with  its  sheltering  love 
and  care ;  piety  enough  to  save  any 
well-intentioned  soul ;  good  example 
to  give  and  to  take;  good  works  to 
do  in  plenty,  and  the  body  not  over- 
ridden by  austerities  against  nature ; 
not  starved  to  despondency ;  not  ex- 
asperated by  hunger,  and  cold,  and 
endless  vigils,  and  prayer  as  endless. 
It  was  a  goodly  port  and  safe,  this 
home  of  hers.  See  how  the  deep 
throws  up  its  prey  on  every  side  ! 
Wrecks  and  spars,  the  shattered 
remnants  of  bold  vessels,  and  the 
lifeless  bodies  of  the  rash  crew  are 
everywhere  strewn  over  the  waters. 
"  Take  heed !"  they  cry  to  her  as  she 
counts  the  records  one  by  one.  "  This 
is  an  awful  sea,  and  bold  must  be 
the  heart,  and  stout  and  iron-clad 
the  boat  that  tempts  the  stormy 
bosom.  We  came,  and  perished. 
Would  that  we  had  never  left  the 
port!" 

Mary  never  argued  with  the  storm. 
She  would  fall  at  the  feet  of  Him 
who  was  "  sleeping  below,"  and  wake 
him  with  the  loud  cry  of  trembling 
faith,  "  Help  me,  Master,  or  I  perish !" 
and  the  storm  subsided. 

But  when  the  wind  and  the  waves 
were  hushed,  there  rose  up  in  the 
calm  a  voice  sweet  and  low,  but 
more  ruthlessly  terrible  to  her  cour- 
age than  the  threatening  fury  of  ten 
thousand  storms.  She  was  her 
father's  oldest  and  darling  child ;  she 
had  a  brother,  too,  and  sisters,  all 
tenderly  loved,  and  cousins  and 
friends  only  less  dear ;  she  was  a  joy 
and  a  comfort  to  many.  Must  she 
go  from  them  ?  Must  she  leave  all 
this  love  and  all  the  loveliness  of  life 
for  ever  ? 

Mary's  vocation,  notwithstanding 
its  strongly  marked  supernatural  cha- 
racter, was  not  proof  against  these 
cruel  alternations  of  enthusiastic 
courage,  and  desolate  heart-sinkings, 


and  bewildering  doubts.  Nay,  they 
were  no  doubt  a  necessary  part  of 
its  perfection.  It  was  needful  that 
she  should  pass  through  the  dark 
watch  of  Gethsemani  before  setting 
out  to  climb  the  rugged  hill  of  Cal- 
vary. 

All  this  history  of  her  interior  life 
she  told  me  viva  voce  when  we  met.  In 
her  letters,  which  were  at  this  period 
very  rare  and  always  very  uncom- 
municative, she  said  nothing  what- 
ever of  these  strifes  and  victories. 

But  her  adversaries  were  not  all 
within.  A  hard  battle  remained  to 
be  fought  with  her  father.  His  op- 
position was  active  and  relentless. 
He  had  at  first  tacitly  acquiesced  in 
her  consecration  to  God  in  a  religious 
life  of  some  sort ;  but  he  believed,  as 
every  one  else  did,  that  to  let  her 
enter  La  Trappe  would  be  to  consign 
her  to  speedy  and  certain  death ;  and 
when  she  announced  to  him  that  this 
was  the  order  she  had  selected,  and 
the  one  which  drew  her  with  the 
power  of  attraction,  that  she  had 
struggled  in  vain  to  resist,  he  declared 
that  nothing  short  of  a  written  man- 
date from  God  would  induce  him  to 
consent  to  such  an  act  of  suicide.  In 
vain  Mary  pleaded  that  when  God 
called  a  soul  he  provided  all  that 
was  necessary  to  enable  her  to  an- 
swer the  call;  that  her  health,  for- 
merly so  delicate  when  she  was 
leading  a  life  of  self-indulgence,  was 
now  completely  restored;  that  she 
had  never  been  so  strong  as  since  she 
had  lived  in  almost  continual  absti- 
nence (she  did  not  eat  meat  on 
Wednesday,  Friday,  or  Saturday) ;  that 
the  weakness  of  nature  was  no  ob- 
stacle to  the  power  of  grace,  and 
there  are  graces  in  the  conventual  life 
that  seculars  did  not  dream  of,  nor 
receive  because  they  did  not  need 
them. 

In  answer  to  these  plausible  argu- 
ments, the  incredulous  father  brought 


Mary  Bencdicta. 


219 


out  the  laws  of  nature,  and  reason  and 
common  sense,  and  the  opinion  of 
the  medical  men  who  had  attended 
her  in  Dublin,  and  under  whose  care 
she  had  been  more  or  less  ever  since. 
These  men  of  natural  science  and 
human  sympathies  declared  positive- 
ly that  it  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  suicide  to  condemn  herself  to 
the  rule  of  St.  Bernard  in  the 
•cloister,  where  want  of  animal  food 
and  warmth  would  infallibly  kill  her 
before  the  novitiate  was  out.  They 
were  prepared  to  risk  their  reputa- 
tion on  the  issue  of  this  certificate. 

Mary's  exhaustive  answer  to  all 
this  was  that  grace  was  always  stronger 
than  nature ;  that  the  supernatural  ele- 
ment would  overrule  and  sustain  the 
human  one.  But  she  pleaded  in  vain. 
Her  father  was  resolute.  He  even  went 
so  far  as  to  insist  on  her  returning  to 
society  and  seeing  more  of  the  world 
before  she  was  divorced  from  it  irrevo- 
cably. This  check  was  as  severe  as  it 
was  unexpected.  Though  her  dis- 
gust to  the  vanities  of  her  former  life 
continued  as  strong  as  ever,  while 
her  longing  for  the  perfect  life  grew 
every  day  more  intense  and  more 
energizing,  her  humility  made  her 
tremble  for  her  own  weakness. 
Might  not  the  strength  that  had 
borne  her  bravely  so  far  break  down 
under  the  attack  of  all  her  old  tempt- 
ers let  loose  on  her  at  once  ?  Her 
love  of  pleasure,  that  fatal  enemy 
that  now  seemed  dead,  might  it  not 
rise  up  again  with  overmastering 
power,  aad,  aided  by  the  reaction 
prepared  by  her  new  life,  seize  her 
and  hold  her  more  successfully  than 
ever  ?  Yes,  all  this  was  only  too 
possible.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  brave  her  father,  to  defy  his 
authority,  and  to  save  her  soul  in 
spite  of  him.  She  must  run  away 
from  home. 

Before,  however,  putting  this  wise 
determination  into  practice,  it  was 


necessary  to  consult  Father  Paul. 
His  answer  was  what  most  of  our 
readers  will  suspect : 

"  Obedience  is  your  first' duty.  No 
blessing  could  come  from  such  a  vio- 
lation of  filial  piety.  Your  father  is  a 
Christian.  Do  as  he  bids  you ;  appeal 
to  his  love  for  your  soul  not  to  tax 
its  strength  unwisely  ;  then  trust  your 
soul  to  God  as  a  little  child  trusts  to 
its  mother.  He  sought  you,  and 
pursued  you,  and  brought  you  home 
when  you  were  flying  from  him.  Is 
it  likely  he  will  forsake  you  now, 
when  you  are  seeking  after  him  with 
all  your  heart  and  making  his  will 
the  one  object  of  your  life  ?  Mis- 
trust yourself,  my  child.  Never  mis- 
trust God."  Mary  felt  the  wisdom 
of  the  advice,  and  submitted  to  it  in 
a  spirit  of  docility,  of  humble  mis- 
trust and  brave  trust,  and  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  through  the  trial  as 
an  earnest  of  the  sincerity  of  her  de- 
sire to  seek  God's  will,  and  accom- 
plish it  in  whatever  way  he  appointed. 

She  had  so  completely  taken  leave 
of  the  gay  world  for  more  than  a 
year  that  her  reappearance  at  a  coun- 
ty ball  caused  quite  a  sensation. 

Rumor  and  romance  had  put  their 
heads  together,  and  explained  after 
their  own  fashion  the  motive  of  the 
change  in  her  life  and  her  total  se- 
clusion from  society.  Of  course,  it 
could  only  be  some  sentimental  rea- 
son, disappointed  affection,  perhaps 
inadequate  fortune  or  position  on 
one  side,  and  a  hard-hearted  father 
on  the  other,  etc.  Whispers  of  this 
idle  gossip  came  to  Mary's  ears  and 
amused  her  exceedingly.  She  could 
afford  to  laugh  at  it  as  there  was  not 
the  smallest  shadow  of  reality  under 
the  fiction. 

Her  father,  whose  parental  weak- 
ness sheltered  itself  behind  the  doc- 
tors and  common  sense,  did  not  ex- 
act undue  sacrifices  from  her.  He 
allowed  her  to  continue  her  ascetic 


22O 


Mary  Bencdicta. 


rule  of  life  unmolested,  to  abstain* 
from  meat  as  usual,  to  go  assiduous- 
ly amongst  the  poor,  and  to  devote 
as  much  time  as  she  liked  to  prayer. 
There  were  two  Masses  daily  in  the 
village  church,  one  at  half-past  six, 
another  at  half-past  seven.  He  made 
a  difficulty  at  first  about  her  assisting 
at  them.  The  church  was  nearly 
half  an  hour's  walk  from  the  house, 
and  the  cold  morning  or  night  air, 
as  it  really  was,  was  likely  to  try  her 
severely.  But  after  a  certain  amount 
of  arguing  and  coaxing  Mary  car- 
ried her  point,  and  every  morning 
long  before  daybreak  sallied  forth 
to  the  village.  Her  nurse,  who  was 
very  pious  and  passionately  attached 
to  her,  went  with  her.  Not  without 
hesitating,  though.  Every  day  as  re- 
gularly as  they  set  out  M  alone  enter- 
ed a  protest. 

"  It's  not  natural,  Miss  Mary,  to 
be  gadding  out  by  candle-light  in  this 
fashion,  walking  about  the  fields  like 
a  pair  of  ghosts.  Indeed,  darlin',  it 
isn't." 

The  nurse  was  right.  It  certainly 
was  not  natural,  and,  if  Mary  had 
been  so  minded,  she  might  have  re- 
plied that  it  was  not  meant  to  be; 
it  was  supernatural.  She  contented 
herself,  however,  by  deprecating  the 
good  soul's  reproof  and  proposing  to 
say  the  rosary,  a  proposal  to  which 
Malone  invariably  assented.  So, 
waking  up  the  larks  with  their  matin 
prayer,  the  two  would  walk  on  brisk- 
ly to  church. 

Once  set  an  Irish  nurse  to  pray,  and 
she'll  keep  pace  with  any  saint  in  the 
calendar.  Malone  was  not  behind 
with  the  best.  The  devout  old  soul, 
never  loath  to  begin,  when  once  on 
her  knees  and  fairly  wound  up  in  de- 
votion, would  go  on  for  ever,  and, 
when  the  two  Masses  were  over  and 
it  was  time  to  go,  Mary  had  general- 
ly to  break  her  off  in  the  full  tide  of  a 
litany  that  Malone  went  on  mutter- 


ing all  the  way  out  of  church  and 
sometimes  finished  on  the  road  home. 

But  if  she  was  ready  to  help  Mary 
in  her  praying  feats,  she  highly  dis- 
approved of  the  fasting  ones,  as  well 
as  of  the  short  rest  that  her  young 
mistress  imposed  on  herself.  Mary 
confessed  to  me  that  sleep  was  at  this 
period  her  greatest  difficulty.  She 
was  by  nature  a  great  sleeper,  and 
there  was  a  time  when  early  rising, 
even  comparatively  early,  seemed  to 
her  the  very  climax  of  heroic  mortifi- 
cation. By  degrees  she  brought  her- 
self to  rise  at  a  given  hour,  which  gra- 
dually, with  the  help  of  her  angel 
guardian  and  a  strong  resolve,  she 
advanced  to  five  o'clock. 

During  this  time  of  probation,  her 
father  took  her  constantly  into  so- 
ciety, to  archery  meetings,  and  regat- 
tas, and  concerts,  and  balls,  as  the 
season  went  on.  Mary  did  her  part 
bravely  and  cheerfully,  Sometimes 
a  panic  seized  her  that  her  old  spirit 
of  worldliness  was  coming  back — 
coming  back  with  seven  devils  to 
take  his  citadel  by  storm  and  hold  it 
more  firmly  than  ever.  But  she  had 
only  to  fix  her  eyes  steadily  on  the 
faithful  beacon  of  the  Light-house  out 
at  sea,  and  bend  her  ear  to  the  Life- 
bell  chiming  its  Sursum  Corda  far 
above  the  moaning  of  the  waves  and 
winds,  and  her  foolish  fears  gave 
way. 

No  one  who  saw  her  so  bright  and 
gracious,  so  gracefully  pleased  with 
everything  and  everybody,  suspected 
the  war  that  was  agitating  her  spirit 
within.  Her  father  wished  her  to 
take  part  in  the  dancing,  otherwise 
he  said  her  presence  in  the  midst  of 
it  would  be  considered  compulsory 
and  her  abstention  be  construed  into 
censure  or  gloom.  Mary  acquiesced 
with  regard  to  the  square  dances, 
but  resolutely  declined  to  waltz.  Her 
father,  satisfied  with  the  concession, 
did  not  coerce  her  further. 


Mary  Bcncdicta. 


221 


So  things  went  on  for  about  a 
year.  Father  Paul  meantime  had 
had  his  share  in  the  probationary  ac- 
tion. He  knew  that  his  patient's 
health  was  not  strong,  and  taking  in- 
to due  account  her  father's  vehement 
and  up  to  a  certain  point  just  repre- 
sentations on  the  physical  impossi- 
bility of  her  bearing  the  rule  of  St. 
Bernard,  he  endeavored  to' attract  her 
toward  an  active  order,  and  used  all 
his  influence  to  induce  her  to  try  at 
any  rate  a  less  austere  one  before  en- 
tering La  Trappe.  Animated  by  the 
purest  and  most  ardent  love  for  the 
soul  whose  precious  destinies  were 
placed  under  his  guidance,  he  left  no- 
thing undone  to  prevent  the  possi- 
bility of  mistake  or  ultimate  regret 
in  her  choice.  He  urged  her  to  go 
and  see  various  other  convents  and 
make  acquaintance  with  their  mode 
of  life.  Seeing  her  great  reluctance 
to  do  this,  he  had  recourse  to  strata- 
gem in  order  to  compel  her  uncon- 
sciously to  examine  into  the  spirit 
and  rule  of  several  monastic  houses 
that  he  held  in  high  esteem.  One 
in  particular,  a  community  of  Bene- 
dictines, I  think  it  was,  he  thought 
likely  to  prove  attractive  to  her  as 
uniting  a  great  deal  of  prayer  with  ac- 
tive duties  toward  the  poor,  teaching, 
etc.,  and  at  the  same  time  of  less  cru- 
cifying discipline  than  that  of  Citeaux. 
He  gave  her  a  commission  for  the 
superioress,  with  many  excuses  for 
troubling  her,  and  begging  that  she 
would  not  undertake  it  if  it  interfer- 
ed with  any  arrangement  of  her  own 
or  her  father's  just  then. 

Mary,  never  suspecting  the  trap 
that  was  laid  for  her,  made  a  point 
of  setting  out  to  the  convent  at  once. 
The  superioress,  previously  enlight- 
ened by  Father  Paul,  received  her 
with  more  than  kindness,  and,  after 
discussing  the  imaginary  subject  of 
the  visit,  invited  her  to  visit  the  cha- 
pel, then  the  house,  and  finally,  draw- 


ing her  into  confidential  discourse, 
explained  all  about  its  spirit  and  man- 
ner of  life. 

Mary,  in  relating  this  circumstance 
to  ^ne,  said  that,  though  the  superior- 
ess was  one  of  the  most  attractive 
persons  she  ever  met,  and  the  con- 
vent beautiful  in  its  appointments, 
rather  than  enter  it  she  would  have 
preferred  spending  the  rest  of  her 
days  in  the  dangers  of  the  most  worldly 
life.  Everything  but  La  Trappe  was 
unutterably  antagonistic  to  her.  Yet, 
with  the  exception  of  Mount  Melleray 
she  had  never  seen  even  the  outside 
walls  of  a  Cistercian  convent,  and 
the  fact  of  there  not  being  one  for 
women  in  Ireland  added  one  obsta- 
cle more  in  the  way  of  her  entering 
La  Trappe. 

When  Father  Paul  heard  the  re- 
sult of  this  last  ruse,  he  confessed  the 
truth  to  her.  Noways  discouraged, 
nevertheless  he  persisted  in  saying 
that  she  was  much  better  fitted  for  a 
life  of  mixed  activity  and  contempla- 
tion than  for  a  purely  contemplative 
one,  and  he  forbade  her  for  a  time 
to  let  her  mind  dwell  on  the  latter  as 
her  ultimate  vocation,  to  read  any 
books  that  treated  of  it,  even  to  pray 
specially  that  she  might  be  led  to  it. 
To  all  these  despotic  commands  Ma- 
ry yielded  a  prompt,  unquestioning 
obedience.  She  was  with  God  like 
a  child  with  a  schoolmaster.  What- 
ever lesson  he  set  her,  she  set  about 
learning  it.  Easy  or  difficult,  pleas- 
ant or  unpleasant,  it  was  all  one  to 
her  cheerful  good-will.  Why  do  we 
not  all  do  like  her  ?  We  are  all 
children  at  school,  but,  instead  of  put- 
ting our  minds  to  getting  our  lesson 
by  heart,  we  spend  the  study-hour 
chafing  at  the  hard  words,  dog-ear- 
ing our  book,  and  irreverently  grum< 
bling  at  the  master  who  has  set  us  the 
task.  Sometimes  we  think  in  our 
conceit  that  it  is  too  easy,  that  we 
should  do  better  something  difficult. 


222 


Mary  Benedict  a. 


When  the  bell  rings,  we  go  up  with- 
out knowing  a  word  of  it,  and  stand 
sulky  and  disrespectful  before  the 
desk.  We  are  chided,  and  turn  back, 
and  warned  to  do  better  to-morrow. 
And  so  we  go  on  from  year  to  year, 
from  childhood  to  youth,  from  youth 
to  age,  never  learning  our  lesson  pro- 
perly, but  dodging,  and  missing,  and 
beginning  over  and  over  again  at 
the  same  point.  Some  of  us  go  on 
being  dunces  to  the  end  of  our  lives, 
when  school  breaks  up,  and  we  are 
called  for  and  taken  home — to  the 
home  where  there  are  many  man- 
sions, but  none  assuredly  for  the 
drones  who  have  spent  their  school- 
days in  idleness  and  mutiny. 

To  Father  Paul,  the  childlike  sub- 
mission and  humility  with  which  Ma- 
ry met  every  effort  to  thwart  her  vo- 
cation were  no  doubt  more  conclu- 
sive proof  of  its  solidity  than  the 
most  marked  supernatural  favors 
would  have  been. 

At  last  her  gentle  perseverance  was 
rewarded,  grace  triumphed  over  her 
father's  heart,  and  he  expressed  his 
willingness  to  give  her  up  to 
God. 

In  the  summer  of  i86i,we  went 
to  stay  at  Versailles,  and  it  was  there 
that  I  received  from  Mary  the  first 
definite  announcement  of  her  voca- 
tion. She  wrote  to  me  saying  that, 
after  long  deliberation  and  much 
prayer  and  wise  direction,  she  had 
decided  on  entering  a  convent  of 
the  Cistercian  order.  As  there  was 
no  branch  of  it  in  Ireland,  she  was 
to  come  to  France,  and  she  begged 
me  to  make  inquiries  as  to  where  the 
novitiate  was,  and  to  let  her  know 
with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  I 
will  not  dwell  upon  my  own  feelings 
on  reading  this  letter.  I  had  expect- 
ed some  such  result,  though,  knowing 
the  state  of  her  health,  it  had  not  oc- 
curred to  me  she  could  have  joined, 
however  she  might  have  wished  it, 


so  severe  an  order  as  that  of  the 
founder  of  Citeaux. 

I  had  not  the  least  idea  where  the 
novitiate  in  France  was ;  and,  as  the 
few  persons  whom  I  was  able  to 
question  at  once  on  the  subject  seem- 
ed to  know  no  more  about  it  than  I 
did  myself,  the  hope  flashed  across 
my  mind  that  there  might  not  be  a 
convent  of  Trappistines  at  all  in 
France.  But  this  was  not  of  long 
duration. 

We  had  on  our  arrival  at  Versailles 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  young 
girl  whom  I  shall  call  Agnes.  My 
mother  was  already  acquainted  with 
her  parents  and  other  members  of 
the  family;  but  Agnes  had  either  been 
at  school  or  absent  visiting  relations, 
so  from  one  cause  or  another  we 
had  never  met  till  now.  She  was 
seventeen  years  of  age,  a  fair,  fragile- 
looking  girl,  who  reminded  most  peo- 
ple of  Schaeffer's  Marguerite. 

Agnes  had  a  younger  sister  at  the 
Convent  of  La  Sainte  Enfance,  not 
far  from  her  father's  residence,  and 
she  asked  me  one  day  to  come  and 
see  this  sister  and  a  nun  that  she  was 
very  fond  of.  I  went,  and,  being  full 
of  the  thought  of  my  sweet  friend  in 
Ireland,  I  immediately  opened  the 
subject  of  Citeaux  with  the  pretty 
talkative  little  nun  who  came  to  the 
parlor  with  Agnes's  sister. 

"  What  a  singular  chance  !"  she 
exclaimed,  when  I  had  told  as 
much  of  my  story  as  was  necessary. 
"  Why,  we  have  at  this  moment  a 
community  of  Cistercian  nuns  in  the 
house  here  !  Their  monastery  is  be- 
ing repaired,  and  in  the  meantime  we 
have  permission  from  the  bishop  to 
harbor  them.  See,"  she  went  on, 
pointing  to  a  row  of  windows  whose 
closed  Persiennes  were  visible  at  an 
angle  from  where  we  sat,  "  that  is 
where  our  mother  has  lodged  them. 
You  can  speak  to  the  prioress,  if  you 
like,  but  of  course  you  cannot  see  her." 


Mary  Dcucdicta. 


223 


I  was  more  struck  by  the  strange 
coincidence  than  overjoyed  at  being 
so  near  the  solution  of  my  difficulty. 
I  could  not,  however,  but  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity.  Sister 
Madeleine,  which  was  the  little  nun's 
name,  ran  off  to  ask  "  our  mother's  " 
permission  for  me  to  speak  with  their 
Cistercian  sister,  and  in  a  few  mi- 
nutes returned  with  an  affirmative. 

I  was  led  to  the  door  of  the  com- 
munity-room, and,  through  a  little 
extempore  grating  cut  through  the 
panel  and  veiled  on  the  inside,  I 
held  converse  with  the  mother  abbess. 

A  few  words  assured  me  that  Sis- 
ter Madeleine  had  been  mistaken  in 
supposing  her  guests  to  be  the  daugh- 
ters of  St.  Bernard.  They  were  Poor 
Clares  —  an  order  more  rigorous, 
even,  than  the  Trappistines ;  bare  feet, 
except  when  standing  on  a  stone 
pavement  or  in  the  open  air,  when 
the  rule  is  to  slip  the  feet  into  wooden 
sandals,  are  a*dded  to  the  fasting  and 
perpetual  silence  of  Citeaux.  Of 
this  latter  the  abbess  could  tell  me 
nothing — nothing,  at  least,  of  its  ac- 
tual existence  and  branches  in  France, 
though  she  broke  out  into  impulsive 
and  loving  praise  of  its  spirit  and  its 
saintly  founder,  and  the  rich  harvest 
of  souls  he  and  his  children  had 
reaped  for  our  Lord. 

Here,  then,  was  another  respite. 
It  really  seemed  probable  that,  if,  in 
a  quarter  so  likely  to  be  well  inform- 
ed on  the  point,  there  was  no  account 
to  be  had  of  a  Trappistine  convent, 
there  could  not  be  one  in  existence, 
and  Mary,  from  sheer  inability  to  en- 
ter La  Trappe,  might  be  driven  to 
choose  some  less  terrible  rule. 

Mary  meantime  had  set  other  in- 
quirers on  the  track  of  St.  Bernard, 
and  soon  learned  that  the  novitiate 
was  at  Lyons.  The  name  of  the 
monastery  is  Notre  Dame  de  toute 
Consolation. 

After  some  preliminary  correspon- 


dence with  the  abbess,  the  day  was 
fixed  for  her  to  leave  Ireland  and  set 
out  to  her  land  of  promise. 

She  came,  of  course,  through  Pa- 
ris. It  was  three  years  since  we  had 
met.  I  found  her  greatly  altered; 
her  beauty  not  gone,  but  changed. 
She  looked,  however,  in  much  better 
health  than  I  had  ever  seen  her. 
Her  spirits  were  gone,  but  there  had 
come  in  their  place  a  serenity  that 
radiated  from  her  like  sunshine.  We 
went  out  together  to  do  some  com- 
missions of  hers  and  the  better  to 
escape  interruption,  for  this  was  in 
all  human  probability  to  be  our  last 
meeting  on  earth,  and  we  had  much 
to  say  to  each  other. 

We  drove  first  to  Notre  Dame  des 
Victoires,  where,  at  her  constantly  re- 
curring desire,  I  had  been  in  the  ha- 
bit of  putting  her  name  down  for  the 
prayers  ot  the  confraternity,  and  we 
knelt  once  again  side  by  side  before 
the  altar  of  our  Blessed  Lady. 

From  this  we  went  to  the  Sacre 
Coeur,  where  Mary  was  anxious  to 
see  some  of  her  old  mistresses  and 
ask  their  prayers.  '  Perseverance  in 
her  vocation,  and  the  accomplish- 
ment of  God's  will  in  her  and  by  her, 
were  the  graces  she  was  never  weary 
asking  for  herself,  and  imploring  oth- 
ers to  ask  for  her.  Her  greediness 
for  prayers  was  only  equalled  by  her 
intense  faith  in  their  efficacy.  She 
could  not  resist  catering  for  them, 
and  used  to  laugh  herself  at  her  own 
importunity  on  this  point. 

The  sister  who  tended  the  gate 
gave  us  a  cordial  greeting ;  but,  when 
she  heard  that  Mary  was  on  her  way 
to  La  Trappe,  her  surprise  was  al- 
most ludicrous.  If  her  former  pupil 
had  said  she  was  going  to  be  a  Mo- 
hammedan, it  could  not  have  called 
up  more  blank  amazement  than  was 
depicted  in  the  good  sister's  face  on 
hearing  her  say  that  she  was  going 
to  be  a  Trappistine. 


224 


Mary  Benedicta. 


The  mistress  of  schools  and  anoth- 
er nun,  who  had  been  very  kind  to 
her  during  her  short  stay  at  the  Sa- 
cred Heart,  came  to  the  parlor.  I 
was  not  present  at  the  interview,  but 
Mary  told  me  they  were  quite  as 
much  amazed  as  the  sccur  portiere. 

"  It  only  shows  what  a  character  I 
left  behind  me,"  she  said,  laughing 
heartily  as  we  walked  arm  in  arm. 
"  My  turning  out  good  for  anything 
but  mischief  is  a  fact  so  miraculous 
that  my  best  friends  can  hardly  be- 
lieve in  it !" 

It  was  during  this  long  afternoon 
that  she  told  me  all  the  details  of 
her  vocation  which  I  have  already 
narrated.  She  seemed  transcendent- 
ly  happy,  and  so  lifted  by  grace  above 
all  the  falterings  of  nature  as  to  be 
quite  unconscious  that  she  was  about 
to  make  any  sacrifice.  She  was  ten- 
derly attached  to  her  family,  but  the 
pangs  of  separation  from  them  were 
momentarily  suspended.  Her  soul 
had  grown  strong  in  detachment.  It 
had  grown  to  the  hunger  of  divine 
love.  Like  the  Israelites,  she  had 
gone  out  into  the  desert  where  the 
manna  fell,  and  she  had  fed  upon  it 
till  all  other  bread  was  tasteless  to 
her. 

When  I  expressed  surprise  at  see- 
ing her  so  completely  lifted  above 
human  affections,  and  observed  that 
it  would  save  her  so  much  anguish, 
she  answered  quickly,  with  a  sudden 
look  of  pain: 

"  Oh !  no  it  will  save  me  none 
of  the  suffering.  That  will  all  come 
later,  when  the  sacrifice  is  made. 
But  I  always  seem  to  have  superna- 
tural strength  given  me  as  long  as  it 
remains  to  be  done.  I  took  leave 
of  Father  Paul  and  my  dear  old 
nurse,  and  all  the  friends  that  flocked 
to  say  good-by,  almost  without  a  tear. 
I  felt  it  so  little  that  I  was  disgusted 
with  myself  for  being  so  heartless 
while  they  were  all  so  tender  and 


distressed ;  but  when  it  was  all  over, 
and  the  carriage  had  driven  out  on 
the  road,  I  thought  my  heart  would 
burst.  I  didn't  dare  look  back  at 
the  house,  lest  I  should  cry  out  to 
them  to  take  me  home.  And  I  know 
this  is  how  it  will  be  to-morrow." 

"  And  have  you  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  having  to  come  home 
after  all  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  great  deal  of  it. 
It  is  possible  my  health  may  fail,  or 
that  I  may  have  mistaken  the  will 
of  God  altogether  in  entering  La 
Trappe,"  she  answered,  with  a  cool- 
ness that  astonished  me. 

"  What  a  trial  that  would  be !"  I 
exclaimed.  "  What  a  humiliation  to 
come  out,  after  making  such  a  stand 
about  entering !" 

She  laughed  quite  merrily. 

"  Humiliation !  And  what  if  it 
were !  I  don't  care  a  straw  if  I  go 
into  ten  convents,  and  come  out  of 
them  one  after  another,  ^o  long  as  I 
find  out  the  right  one  in  the  end. 
What  does  anything  signify  but  find- 
ing out  God's  will !" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  perfect 
sincerity  of  her  words.  It  was  as 
clear  as  sunlight — the  one  thing  ne- 
cessary, the  one  thing  she  cared  one 
straw  about,  was  finding  out  the  will 
of  God.  Human  respect  or  any 
petty  human  motive  had  simply  gone 
beyond  the  range  of  her  apprehen- 
sion. 

"  And  the  silence,  Mary  ?"  I  said, 
smiling,  as  the  memory  of  her  old 
school-day  troubles  came  back  on 
me.  "  How  will  you  ever  keep  it  ? 
To  me  it  would  be  the  most  appall- 
ing part  of  the  discipline  of  La 
Trappe." 

"  Well,  is  it  not  odd  ?"  she  replied. 
"  It  is  so  little  appalling  to  me  that  I 
quite  long  for  it.  Sometimes  I  keep 
repeating  the  words,  '  Perpetual  si- 
lence !'  over  and  over  to  myself,  as  if 
they  were  a  melody.  It  was  it,  I 


Mary  Benedict  a. 


225 


think,  that  decided  me  for  La  Trappe 
instead  of  Carmel,  where  the  rule  al- 
lows them  to  speak  during  recreation. 
It  seems  to  me  the  hush  of  tongues 
must  be  such  a  help  to  union  with 
God.  Our  tongues  are  so  apt  to 
scare  away  his  presence  from  our 
souls." 

We  came  home  to  dinner.  While 
we  were  alone  in  the  drawing-room, 
she  asked  me  to  play  something  to 
her.  She  had  been  passionately  fond 
of  the  harp,  and  stood  by  me  listen- 
ing with  evident  pleasure,  and  when 
I  was  done  began  to  draw  out  the 
chords  with  her  finger. 

"  Does  it  not  cost  you  the  least  lit- 
tle pang  to  give  it  up  for  ever — never 
to  hear  a  note  of  music  for  the  rest 
of  your  life,  Mary  ?"  I  said. 

"  No,  not  now.  I  felt  it  in  the 
beginning;  but  the  only  music  that 
has  a  charm  for  me  now  is  silence." 

We  parted,  never  to  meet  again, 
till  we  meet  at  the  judgment-seat. 

On  her  arrival  at  Lyons,  the  fa- 
tigue and  emotions  of  the  journey  told 
on  her.  An  agonizing  pain  in  the 
spine  to  which  she  was  subject  after 
any  undue  exertion  obliged  her  to  re- 
main at  the  hotel,  lying  down  on  the 
sofa  nearly  all  day. 

The  following  morning,  her  father 
took  her  to  the  monastery.  Like 
Abraham,  he  conducted  his  child  to 
the  mount  of  sacrifice,  and  with  his 
own  hand  laid  the  victim  on  the  al- 
tar; but  no  angel  came  to  snatch 
away  the  sacrificial  knife  and  substi- 
tute a  meaner  offering  for  the  holo- 
caust. He  left  her  at  the  inner 
gate  of  La  Trappe. 

She  wrote  to  me  some  weeks  after 
her  entrance. 

"  I  was  less  brave  at  parting  with 
my  beloved  ones  than  I  ought  to 
have  been,"  she  said;  "but,  on  ac- 
count of  the  pain  that  kept  me  lying 
down  in  the  midst  of  them  nearly  all 
the  previous  day,  I  had  not  been 
VOL.  xin. — 15 


able  to  pray  as  much  as  usual,  and 
so  I  had  not  got  up  strength  enough 
for  the  trial-time.  I  seemed  to  have 
let  go  my  hold  on  our  Lord  a  little 
anji  to  be  leaning  on  them  for  cour- 
age; but,  when  I  had  been  a  few 
hours  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 
the  pain  calmed  down,  and  I  began 
to  realize  how  happy  I  was.  I  am 
in  great  hopes  that  I  have  found  the 
will  of  God." 

One  trifling  incident  which  gave 
innocent  delight  to  Mary  I  must  not 
omit  to  mention. 

She  was  asked  on  entering  what 
name  she  wished  to  bear  in  religion, 
and  on  her  replying  that  she  had  not 
thought  of  one  and  would  rather  the 
prioress  chose  for  her,  "  Then  we 
shall  call  you  Mary  Benedicta,"  said 
the  mother.  "  The  saint  has  no  name- 
sake amongst  us  at  present." 

The  only  thing  that  disappointed 
her  in  the  new  life  was  the  mildness 
of  the  rule  and  the  short  time  it  al- 
lotted for  prayer ! 

It  may  interest  my  readers  and 
help  them  to  estimate  the  spirit  of 
the  novice  to  hear  some  details  of 
the  rule  that  struck  her  as  too  mild. 

The  Trappistines  rise  at  2  A.M. 
winter  and  summer,  and  proceed  to 
choir,  chanting  the  Little  Office  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Mass,  meditation,  the 
recital  of  the  divine  office,  and  house- 
hold work,  distributed  to  each  ac- 
cording to  her  strength  and  aptitude 
and  to  the  wants  of  the  community, 
fill  up  the  time  till  breakfast,  which, 
is  at  8.  The  rule  relents  in  favor 
of  those  who  are  unable  to  bear  the- 
long  early  fast,  and  they  are  allowed! 
a  small  portion  of  dry  bread  some 
hours  sooner.  I  think  the  novices  as 
a  rule  are  included  in  this  dispensa- 
tion. The  second  meal  is  at  2.  The 
food  is  frugal  but  wholesome,  good 
bread,  vegetables,  fish  occasionally, 
and  good,  pure  wine.  Fire  is  an  un- 
known luxury,  except  in  the  kitchen. 


226 


Mary  Benedict*. 


The  silence  is  perpetual,  but  the  nov- 
ices are  allowed  perfect  freedom  of 
converse  with  their  mistress,  and  the 
professed  nuns  with  the  abbess.  They 
converse  occasionally  during  the  day 
amongst  each  other  by  signs.  They 
take  open-air  exercise,  and  perform 
manual  labor  out-of-doors,  digging, 
etc.  In-doors,  they  are  constantly 
employed  in  embroidering  and  mount- 
ing vestments.  Some  of  the  most 
elaborately  wrought  benediction- 
veils,  copes,  chasubles,  etc.,  used  in 
the  large  churches  throughout  France, 
are  worked  by  the  Trappistines  of 
Lyons. 

They  retire  to  rest  at  8.  Their 
clothing  is  of  coarse  wool,  inside  and 
outside. 

Mary  described  the  material  life 
of  La  Trappe  as  in  every  sense  de- 
lightful; the  digging,  pealing  pota- 
toes, and  so  forth,  as  most  recreative 
and  not  at  all  fatiguing.  After  her 
first  Lent,  she  wrote  me  that  it  had 
passed  so  quickly,  she  "  hardly  knew 
it  had  begun  when  Easter  came." 

Her  only  complaint  was  that  it  had 
been  too  easy,  that  the  austerities, 
"  which  were  at  all  times  very  mild," 
had  not  been  more  increased  during 
the  penitential  season. 

My  third  letter  was  on  her  receiv- 
ing the  holy  habit. 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  me  in  it," 
she  said.  "  I  felt  rather  odd  at  first, 
but  I  soon  grew  accustomed  to  it, 
and  now  it  is  so  light  and  pleasant. 
I  am  so  happy  in  my  vocation  I  can- 
not help  being  almost  sure  that  I 
have  found  the  will  of  God." 

This  was  the  burden  of  her  song 
for  evermore  :  to  find  the  will  of  God ! 
And  so  in  prayer  and  expectation 
she  kept  her  watch  upon  the  tower, 
her  hands  uplifted,  her  ears  and  her 
eyes  straining  night  and  day  for  every 
sign  and  symbol  of  that  blessed  ma- 
nifestation. She  kept  her  watch, 
faithful,  ardent,  never  weary  of  watch- 


ing, rising  higher  and  higher  in  love, 
sinking  lower  and  lower  in  humility. 
She  had  set  her  soul  like  a  ladder 
against  the  sky,  and  the  angels  were 
for  ever  passing  up  and  down  the 
rungs,  carrying  up  the  incense  of  the 
prayer,  which,  as  soon  as  it  reached 
the  throne  of  the  Lamb,  dissolved  in 
graces,  and  sent  the  angels  flying 
down  earthward  again. 

The  world  went  on ;  the  wheel 
went  round;  pleasure  and  folly  and 
sin  kept  up  their  whirl  with  unabat- 
ing  force.  All  things  were  the  same 
as  when  Mary  Benedicta,  hearkening 
to  the  bell  from  the  sanctuary,  turned 
her  back  upon  the  vain  delusion,  and 
gave  up  the  gauds  of  time  for  the 
imperishable  treasures  of  eternity. 
Nothing  was  changed.  Was  it  so 
indeed  ?  To  our  eyes  it  was.  We 
could  not  see  what  changes  were  to 
come  of  it.  We  could  not  see  the 
work  her  sacrifice  was  doing,  nor 
measure  the  magnitude  of  the  glory 
it  was  bringing  to  God.  Poor  fools ! 
it  is  always  so  with  us.  We  see  with 
the  blind  eyes  of  our  body  the  things 
that  are  of  the  body.  What  do  we  see 
of  the  travail  of  humanity  in  God's 
creation  ?  The  darkness  and  the  pain. 
Little  else.  We  see  a  wicked  man 
or  a  miserable  man,  and  we  are  fill- 
ed with  horror  or  with  pity.  We  think 
the  world  irretrievably  darkened  and 
saddened  by  the  sin  and  the  misery 
that  we  see,  forgetting  the  counter- 
part that  we  do  not  see — the  sanctity 
and  the  beauty  born  of  repentance 
and  compassion.  We  see  the  bad 
publican  flaunting  his  evil  ways  in 
the  face  of  heaven,  brawling  in  the 
streets  and  the  market-place ;  we  do 
not  see  the  good  publican  who  goes 
up  to  the  temple  striking  his  breast, 
and  standing  afar  off,  and  sobbing 
out  the  prayer  that  justifies.  We  for- 
get that  fifty  such  climbing  up  to 
heaven  make  less  noise  than  one  sin- 
ner tearing  down  to  hell.  So  with 


Mary  Bcncdicta. 


227 


pain.  When  sorrow  crushes  a  man, 
turning  his  heart  bitter  and  his  wine 
sour,  we  find  it  hard  to  believe  that 
so  much  gall  can  yield  any  honey, 
so  much  dark  let  in  any  light.  We 
cannot  see — oh  !  how  it  would  startle 
us  if  we  did — how  many  acts  of  kind- 
ness, how  many  thoughts  and  deeds 
of  love,  are  evoked  by  the  sight  of  his 
distress.  They  may  not  be  address- 
ed to  him,  and  he  may  never  know 
of  them,  though  he  has  called  them 
into  life ;  they  may  all  be  spent  upon 
other  men,  strangers  perhaps,  to 
whom  he  has  brought  comfort  be- 
cause of  the  kindliness  his  sorrow  had 
stirred  in  many  hearts.  Some  miser 
has  been  touched  in  hearing  the  tale 
of  his  distress,  and  straightway  open- 
ed his  purse  to  help  the  Lazarus  at 
his  own  door.  A  selfish  woman  of 
the  world  has  foregone  some  bauble 
of  vanity  and  given  the  price  to  a 
charity  to  silence  the  twinge  that  pur- 
sued her  after  witnessing  his  patient 
courage  in  adversity.  There  is  no 
end  to  the  small  change  that  one 
golden  coin  of  love,  one  act  of  hero- 
ic faith,  one  chastened  attitude  of 
Christian  sorrow,  will  send  current 
through  the  world.  It  would  be 
easier  to  number  the  stars  than  to 
count  it  all  up.  But  the  bright  lit- 
tle silver  pieces  pass  through  our  fin- 
gers unnoticed.  We  do  not  watch 
for  them,  neither  do  we  hear  them 
chime  and  ring  as  they  drop  all  round 
us.  We  do  not  listen  for  them.  We 
listen  rather  to  the  wailing  and  the 
hissing,  hearkening  not  at  all  to  the 
rustle  of  angels'  wings  floating  above 
the  din,  nor  to  the  sound  of  their  crys- 
tal tears  falling  through  the  brine  of 
human  woe  and  lamentation. 

One  more  virgin  heart  is  given  up 
to  the  Crucified — one  more  victory 
won  over  nature  and  the  kingdom  of 
this  world.  One  more  life  is  being 
lived  away  to  God  in  the  silence  of 
the  sanctuary.  Who  heeds  it  ?  Who 


sees  the  great  things  that  are  com- 
ing of  it  ? — the  graces  obtained,  the 
blessings  granted,  the  temptations 
conquered,  the  miracle  of  compas- 
sio'n  won  for  some  life-long  sinner,  at 
whose  death-bed,  cut  off  from  priest 
or  sacrament,  the  midnight  watcher 
before  the  tabernacle  has  been  wres- 
tling in  spirit,  miles  away,  with 
mountains  and  seas  between  them. 
Only  when  the  seven  seals  are  brok- 
en of  the  Book  in  which  the  secrets 
of  many  hearts  are  written  shall  these 
things  be  made  manifest,  and  the 
wonders  of  sacrifice  revealed. 

Mary  Benedicta  was  drawing  to 
the  close  of  her  novitiate.  So  far  her 
health  had  stood  the  test  bravely. 
She  had  passed  the  winters  without  a 
cough,  a  thing  that  had  not  happen- 
ed to  her  for  years.  The  pain  in  her 
spine  that  had  constantly  annoyed 
her  at  home  had  entirely  disappear- 
ed. 

Every  day  convinced  her  more 
thoroughly  that  she  had  found  her 
true  vocation,  and  that  she  was  "  do- 
ing the  will  of  God."  Her  profession 
was  fixed  for  the  month  of  December. 
She  wrote  to  me  a  few  lines,  telling 
me  of  her  approaching  happiness, 
and  begging  me  to  get  all  the  pray- 
ers I  could  for  her.  Her  joy  seemed 
too  great  for  words.  It  was,  indeed, 
the  joy  that  passes  human  understand- 
ing. I  did  not  hear  from  her  again, 
nor  of  her,  till  one  evening  I  received 
a  letter  from  Ireland  announcing  to 
me  her  death. 

Till  within  a  few  days  of  the  date 
fixed  for  her  vows,  she  had  been  to 
all  appearance  in  perfect  health.  She 
followed  the  rule  in  its  unmitigated 
rigor,  never  asking  nor  seemingly 
needing  any  dispensation.  She  at- 
tended choir  during  the  seven  hours' 
prayer,  mental  and  vocal,  every  day. 
There  were  no  premonitory  symp- 
toms of  any  kind  to  herald  in  the 
messenger  that  was  at  hand.  Quite 


228 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


suddenly,  one  morning,  at  the  first 
matins,  she  fainted  away  at  her  place 
in  the  choir.  They  carried  her  to 
the  infirmary,  and  laid  her  on  a  bed. 
She  recovered  consciousness  after  a 
short  time,  but  on  attempting  to  rise 
fell  back  exhausted.  The  infirmarian, 
in  great  alarm,  asked  if  she  was 
suffering  much.  Mary  smiled  and 
shook  her  head.  Presently  she  whis- 
pered a  few  words  to  the  abbess, 
who  had  accompanied  her  from  the 
choir,  and  never  left  her  side  for  a 
moment.  It  was  to  ask  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  pronounce  her 
vows  at  once. 

Was  this,  then,  the  summons  ?  Yes. 
She  was  called  for  to  go  home.  The 
joy-bells  of  heaven  rang  out  a  merry 
peal.  The  golden  gates  turned  slow- 
ly on  their  hinges.  The  Bridegroom 
stood  knocking  at  the  door 


A  messenger  was  dispatched  in 
haste  to  the  archbishop  for  permis- 
sion to  solemnize  her  profession  at 
once.  Monseigneur  Bonald  granted 
it,  and  sent  at  the  same  time  a  spe- 
cial apostolic  benediction  to  the  dying 
child  of  St.  Bernard. 

That  afternoon  Mary  pronounc- 
ed her  vows  in  the  presence  of 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  surround- 
ed by  the  sisterhood,  weeping  and 
rejoicing. 

An  hour  later,  summoning  her  re- 
maining strength  for  a  last  act  of 
filial  tenderness,  she  dictated  a  few 
lines  of  loving  farewell  to  her  father. 
Then  she  was  silent,  calm,  and 
rapt  in  prayer.  Her  eyes  never 
left  the  crucifix.  The  day  past  and 
the  night.  She  was  still  waiting. 
At  daybreak  the  Bridegroom  entered, 
and  she  went  home  with  him. 


THE  LORD  CHANCELLORS  OF   IRELAND.* 


THE  most  indefatigable  student  of 
the  history  of  Ireland  is,  at  some 
time  or  another,  sure  to  become 
wearied  of,  if  not  positively  disgusted 
at,  the  interminable  series  of  foreign 
and  domestic  wars,  base  treachery, 
and  wholesale  massacre  which  un- 
fortunately stain  the  annals  of  that 
unhappy  country  for  nearly  one  thou- 
sand years;  and  were  it  not  that  the 
study  of  profane  history  is  a  duty 
imposed  upon  us  not  only  as  an  es- 


*  The  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors  and  the 
Keepers  of  the  Great  Seal  of  Ireland,  from  the 
Earliest  Times  to  the  Reign  of  Queen  Victoria. 
By  J.  Roderick  O'Flanagan,  M.R.I.A.  Two 
vols.  pp.  555,  621.  London  :  Longmans  Green 
&  Co.  New  York :  The  Catholic  Publication 
Society. 


sential  part  of  our  education,  but  as 
a  source  rich  in  the  philosophy  of 
human  nature,  there  are  few,  we  be- 
lieve, even  among  the  most  enthusi- 
astic lovers  of  their  race  or  the  most 
industrious  of  book-worms,  who  would 
patiently  peruse  the  long  and  dreary 
record  of  persistent  oppression  and 
unfaltering  but  unavailing  resistance. 
The  few  centuries  of  pagan  great- 
ness preceding  the  arrival  of  St. 
Patrick,  seen  through  the  dim  mist 
of  antiquity,  appear  to  have  been 
periods  of  comparative  national  pros- 
perity ;  and  the  earlier  ages  of  Chris- 
tianity in  the  island  were  not  only  in 
themselves  resplendent  with  the  ef- 
fulgence of  piety  and  learning  which 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


229 


enshrouded  the  land  and  illumined 
far  and  near  the  then  eclipsed  nations 
of  Europe,  but  were  doubly  brilliant 
by  contrast  with  the  darkness  that 
subsequently  followed  the  repeated 
incursions  of  the  merciless  northern 
Vikings,  to  whom  war  was  a  trade, 
and  murder  and  rapine  the  highest 
of  human  pursuits. 

The  ultimate  defeat  of  those  bar- 
barians in  the  early  part  of  the 
eleventh  century  brought  little  or  no 
cessation  of  misery  to  the  afflicted 
people;  for,  with  the  death  of  the  Con- 
queror, the  illustrious  King  Brian,  in 
the  moment  of  victory,  no  man  of 
sufficient  statesmanship  or  military 
ability  appeared  who  was  capable 
of  uniting  the  disorganized  people 
under  a  general  system  of  govern- 
ment, or  of  compelling  the  obedience 
of  the  disaffected  and  semi-indepen- 
dent chiefs.  The  evils  of  the  pre- 
ceding wars  were  numerous  and 
grievous.  The  husbandman  was 
impoverished,  commerce  had  fled 
the  sea-ports  before  the  dreaded 
standard  of  the  carrion  Raven,  learn- 
ing had  forsaken  her  wonted  abodes 
for  other  climes  and  more  peaceful 
Scenes,  and  even  the  religious  estab- 
lishments which  had  escaped  the  de- 
stroyer no  longer  harbored  those 
throngs  of  holy  men  and  women 
formerly  the  glory  and  benefactors  of 
the  island.  It  was  in  this  disinte- 
grated and  demoralized  condition 
that  the  enterprising  Anglo-Normans 
of  the  following  century  found  the 
once  warlike  *and  learned  Celtic 
people  ;  and  as  the  new-comers  were 
hungry  for  land  and  not  overscru- 
pulous as  to  how  it  was  to  be  ob- 
tained, the  possession  of  the  soil  on 
one  side,  and  its  desperate  but  unor- 
ganized defence  on  the  other,  gave 
rise  to  those  desultory  conflicts,  cruel 
reprisals,  and  horrible  butcheries 
which  only  ended,  after  nearly  five 
hundred  years  of  strife,  in  the  almost 


utter     extirpation     of    the    original 
owners. 

Had  the  Norman  invasion  ended 
with  Strongbovv  and  Henry  II.,  or 
h#d  it  been  more  general  and  suc- 
cessful, as  in  England,  the  evil  would 
have  been  limited;  but  as  every  de- 
cade poured  into  Ireland  its  hordes 
of  ambitious,  subtle,  and  landless  ad- 
venturers, who  looked  upon  Ireland 
as  the  most  fitting  place  to  carve 
their  way  to  fame  and  fortune,  new 
wars  of  extermination  were  foment- 
ed, and  the  wounds  that  afflicted  the 
country  were  kept  constantly  open. 
To  facilitate  the  designs  of  the  new- 
comers, the  mass  of  the  people  were 
outlawed,  and  the  punishment  for 
killing  a  native,  when  inflicted,  which 
was  seldom,  was  a  small  pecuniary 
fine.  The  efforts  of  the  "  Reform- 
ers "  to  convert  by  force  or  fraud 
the  ancient  race  and  the  bulk  of  the 
descendants  of  the  original  Anglo- 
Normans,  who  vied  with  each  other 
in  their  attachment  to  the  church,  per-  X 
petuated  even  in  a  worse  form  the  ci- 
vil strife  which  had  so  long  existed  be- 
tween the  races,  and  terminated,  at  the 
surrender  of  Limerick,  in  the  complete 
prostration  of  the  nation.  But  it  was 
only  for  a  while.  The  extraordinary 
revival  of  the  faith  in  Ireland,  and 
its  substantial  triumphs  in  recent 
years,  almost  make  us  forget  and 
forgive  the  persecutions  of  "  the  penal 
days,"  and  not  the  least  of  these  aus- 
picious results  is  the  appearance  of 
the  noble  book  before  us,  written 
by  a  distinguished  gentleman  of  the 
legal  profession  of  the  ancient  race 
and  religion. 

In  his  voluminous  work,  Mr. 
O'Flanagan,  avoiding  all  matter  for- 
eign to  his  subject,  and  touching  as 
lightly  on  wars  and  confiscations  as 
possible,  while  relating  succinctly  and 
carefully  the  lives  of  the  numerous 
lord  chancellors  of  Ireland,  neces- 
sarily gives  us  a  history  of  English 


230 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland, 


policy  and  legislation  in  that  country 
in  an  entirely  new  form,  and  fills  up 
in  its  historical  and  legal  records 
a  hiatus  long  recognized  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic.  In  ordinary 
histories,  we  see  broadly  depicted  the 
effects  of  foreign  invasion  and  do- 
mestic broils :  in  the  Lives,  we  are  per- 
mitted to  have  a  view  of  the  most 
secret  workings  of  the  viceregal  gov- 
ernment and  of  the  managers  of  the 
so-called  Irish  Parliament;  of  the 
causes  which  governed  British  states- 
men in  their  treatment  of  the  sister 
kingdom,  and  the  motive  of  every 
step  taken  by  the  dominant  faction 
of  the  Pale,  supported  by  the  wealth 
and  power  of  a  great  nation,  to  sub- 
due a  weak  neighboring  people,  who, 
though  few  in  numbers,  isolated  and 
disorganized,  possessed  a  high  degree 
of  civilization  and  a  vitality  that 
rose  superior  to  all  defeat.  The 
book  has  also  this  advantage,  that, 
while  it  supplies  the  links  that  bind 
v  causes  with  effects  and  develops  in 
a  critical  spirit  the  true  philosophy 
of  history,  it  neither  shocks  our  sen- 
sibilities uselessly  with  the  perpetual 
narration  of  mental  and  physical  suf- 
fering, nor  tires  us  with  vain  specula- 
tions on  what  might  have  been  had 
circumstances  been  different.  The 
author  is  content  to  accept  the  inev- 
itable, and  deals  exclusively  with  the 
subject  in  hand. 

The  partial  success  of  Strongbow 
in  conjunction  with  the  Leinster 
troops  induced  Henry  II.  to  project 
a  visit  to  Ireland,  partly  from  a  fear 
that  his  ambitious  subject  might  be 
induced  by  the  allurements  of  his 
newly  acquired  greatness  to  forget 
his  pledge  of  fealty  and  allegiance, 
and  partly  in  the  hope  that  his  pres- 
.  ence  with  an  armed  retinue  would  so 
overawe  the  native  princes  that  their 
entire  submission  would  follow  as  a 
matter  of  course.  He  therefore 
landed  at  Waterford,  in  1172,  and 


after  visiting  Lismore,  where  a  pro- 
vincial synod  was  being  held,  entered 
Dublin  on  the  nth  of  November  of 
that  year.  But  though  he  remained 
in  that  city  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  winter,  surrounded  by  all  the 
pomp  of  mediaeval  royalty,  his  blan- 
dishments were  only  partly  success- 
ful in  winning  any  of  the  prominent 
chieftains  to  acknowledge  his  as- 
sumed title  of  Lord  of  Ireland.  He 
rested  long  enough,  however,  to  es- 
tablish a  form  of  provincial  govern- 
ment for  the  guidance  and  protection 
of  the  Anglo-Normans,  and  such  of 
the  Irish  of  Dublin,  Kildare,  Meath, 
Wexford,  and  of  the  surrounding 
counties  as  acknowledged  his  ju- 
risdiction, and  these  became  what 
was  long  afterwards  known  as  the 
English  Pale.  The  head  of  this  sys- 
tem was  the  personal  representative 
of  the  monarch,  appointed  and  re- 
moved at  his  pleasure,  and  called  at 
various  times  lord  deputy,  viceroy, 
chief  governor,  and  lord-lieutenant, 
and  in  case  of  his  absence  or  death 
a  temporary  successor  was  to  be 
chosen  by  the  principal  nobles  of  the 
Pale,  until  his  return  or  the  appoint- 
ment of  his  successor  by  the  king. 
In  the  year  1219,  during  the  reign  of 
Henry  III.,  the  laws  of  England 
were  extended  to  the  Anglo-Norman 
colony,  and  a  chancellor  in  the  person 
of  John  de  Worchely  was  appointed 
to  assist  the  viceroy  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  laws  and  public  affairs. 
The  office  of  chancellor,  or,  as  he 
was  afterwards  styted,  lord  high 
chancellor,  was  known  to  the  Ro- 
mans, and  many  of  its  peculiar  duties 
and  powers  are  directly  derived  from 
the  civil  law.  In  England,  its  estab- 
lishment may  be  considered  as  con- 
temporary with  the  Norman  conquest, 
and  from  the  first  it  assumed  the 
highest  importance  in  the  state.  "The 
office  of  chancellor  or  lord  keeper," 
says  Blackstone,  "  is  created  by  the 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


231 


mere  delivery  of  the  great  seal  into  his 
custody,  whereby  he  becomes  the 
first  officer  in  the  kingdom  and  takes 
precedence  of  every  temporal  peer. 
He  is  a  privy  counsellor  by  virtue  of 
his  office,  and,  according  to  Lord 
Ellismore,  prolocutor  of  the  House 
of  Lords  by  prescription.  To  him 
belongs  the  appointment  of  all  the 
justices  of  the  peace  throughout  the 
kingdom.  Being  formerly,  usual- 
ly, an  ecclesiastic  presiding  over  the 
king's  chapel,  he  became  keeper  of 
his  conscience,  visitor  in  his  right  of 
all  hospitals  and  colleges  of  royal 
foundation,  and  patron  of  all  his  liv- 
ings under  the  annual  value  of  twenty 
pounds,  etc.  All  this  exclusive  of  his 
judicial  capacity  in  the  Court  of 
Chancery,  wherein,  as  in  the  Exche- 
quer, is  a  common  law  court  and  a 
court  of  equity."*  In  Ireland,  while 
the  chancellor  exercised  the  same 
functions  within  a  more  contracted 
sphere,  his  political  power  and  duties 
were  more  directly  and  frequently  felt. 
The  viceroys,  particularly  those  of 
the  early  periods,  were  generally 
soldiers  expressly  deputed  to  hold 
the  conquests  already  gained,  and  to 
enlarge  by  force  of  arms  the  posses- 
sions of  the  Anglo-Norman  adven- 
turers. They  were  little  skilled  in 
the  arts  of  government,  and,  from 
their  short  terms  and  frequent  remov- 
als, knew  little  of  and  cared  less  for 
the  people  they  were  temporarily 
sent  to  govern.*  The  chancellors, 
on  the  contrary,  were  the  reverse, 
being  from  the  first  up  to  the  reign 
of  Henry  VIII.,  with  a  few  excep- 
tions, ecclesiastics,  generally  men 
well  versed  in  law  and  letters,  and 


*  Com.  on  the  Laws  of  England,  p.  425  et  seq. 

t  Between  1172  and  1200,  Ireland  had  no  fewer 
than  seventeen  chief  governors.  In  the  thir- 
teenth century,  they  numbered  forty-six: 
in  the  fourteenth,  ninety-three ;  in  the  fifteenth, 
eighty-five :  in  the  sixteenth,  seventy-six;  in  the 
seventeenth,  seventy-nine  ;  and  in  the  eighteenth, 
ninety-Jour. — O '  Flanagan^  vol.  i.  p.  293. 


having  been  usually  at  an  early  age 
selected  from  the  inferior  ranks  of 
the  English  clergy  and  promoted  to 
the  highest  positions  in  the  church  in 
Ipeland,  as  a  preliminary  step  to  their 
appointment  to  the  most  important 
judicial  and  legislative  office  in  the 
'colony,  they  had  every  inducement  to 
become  familiar  with  its  affairs  and 
with  the  dispositions  and  influence 
of  the  people  among  whom  their  lot 
in  life  was  cast.  "  Learned  men 
were  those  chancellors,"  says  O'Flan- 
agan,  "  for  the  most  part  prelates  of 
highly  cultivated  minds,  attached  to 
the  land  of  their  birth,  while  exercis- 
ing important  sway  over  the  destinies 
of  Ireland." 

For  the  first  two  hundred  years 
after  the  creation  of  the  office  of 
chancellor,  very  little  can  be  gleaned 
by  the  author  of  the  Lives,  except 
the  mere  names,  date  of  patents,  and 
a  few  dry  facts  usually  connected 
with  well-known  historical  events. 
The  destruction  by  fire  of  St.  Mary's 
Abbey  in  Dublin,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  and  of  the 
Castle  of  Trim,  in  both  of  which  val- 
uable public  records  were  kept,  ac- 
counts to  some  extent  for  this  pauci- 
ty of  materials,  while,  as  he  says, 
"  others  were  carried  out  of  the  coun- 
try, and  are  met  with  in  the  State 
Paper  Office,  the  Rolls  Chapel,  Re- 
cord Office,  and  British  Museum,  in 
London  ;  others  are  at  Oxford.  Se- 
veral cities  on  the  Continent  possess 
valuable  Irish  documents,  while  many 
are  stored  in  private  houses,  which 
the  recent  commission  will  no  doubt 
render  available" — a  sad  commentary 
upon  the  way  in  which  everything 
relating  to  the  history  of  the  country 
has  been  neglected  by  that  govern- 
ment which  so  frequently  parades  its 
paternal  inclinations. 

The  want  of  judicial  business  dur 
ing  this  period  was  amply  compensat- 
ed for  by  reoeated  but  vain  efforts 


232 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


jo  reconcile  the  different  factions  into 
which  the  colonists  of  the  Pale  were 
divided,  and  to  prevent  the  followers 
of  the  rival  houses  of  Ormond  and 
Kildare  from  open  warfare  whenever 
the  slightest  provocation  was  offered 
by  either  side.  While  the  power  of 
England  was  expended  in  foreign 
wars  or  in  the  internecine  struggles 
of  the  Roses,  her  grasp  on  the  do- 
minion of  Ireland  was  becoming 
every  day  more  relaxed,  and  it  was 
only  by  the  judicious  pitting  of  one 
party  against  another,  by  alternate 
threats  and  bribes,  that  even  the  sem- 
blance of  authority  could  be  maintain- 
ed at  all  times.  Thus,  in  1355,  Ed- 
ward III.,  writing  to  the  Earl  of  Kil- 
dare, uses  the  following  emphatic 
words : 

"  Although  you  know  of  these  invasions, 
destructions,  or  dangers,  and.  have  been 
often  urged  to  defend  these  marches 
jointly  with  others,  you  have  neither  sped 
thither  nor  sent  that  force  of  men  which 
you  were  strongly  bound  to  have  done 
for  the  honor  of  an  earl,  and  for  the  safe- 
ty of  those  lordships,  castles,  lands,  and 
tenaments,  which,  given  and  granted  to 
your  grandfather  by  our  grandfather,  have 
thus  descended  to  you.  Since  you  neither 
endeavor  to  prevent  the  perils,  ruin,  and 
destruction  threatening  these  parts,  in 
consequence  of  your  neglect,  nor  attend 
to  the  orders  of  ourselves  or  our  council, 
we  shall  no  longer  be  trifled  with,"  etc. 

This  was  strong  language,  but  fully 
justified  by  the  unsettled  condition 
of  affairs  in  and  outside  the  Pale. 
Chancellor  de  Wickford,  Archbishop 
of  Dublin,  who  was  appointed  in 
1375,  found  that  his  sacred  calling 
and  official  dignity  were  no  protec- 
tion to  him  even  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  capital,  and  was  therefore  allow- 
ed a  guard  of  six  men-at-arms  and 
twelve  archers,  while  the  lord  treas- 
urer had  the  same  number.  Nor 
was  this  precaution  taken  against  the 
Irish  enemy  alone,  for  we  find  that 
Thomas  de  Burel,  Prior  of  Kilmain- 


ham,  when  chancellor,  while  holding 
a  parley  with  De  Bermingham  at 
Kildare,  was,  with  his  attendant  lords, 
taken  prisoner.  The  lay  noblemen 
were  ransomed,  but  the  prior  was  kept 
a  prisoner  only  to  be  exchanged  for 
one  of  the  De  Berminghams  then 
confined  in  Dublin  Castle.  This  fa- 
mily seem  to  have  held  the  judicial 
officers  somewhat  in  contempt,  for 
we  read  at  another  time  that  Adam 
Veldom,  Chief  Chancery  Clerk,  was 
captured  by  them  and  the  O'Connors, 
and  obliged  to  pay  ten  pounds  in  sil- 
ver for  his  release.  When  John  Cot- 
ton, Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  was  appoint- 
ed chancellor  in  1379,  an^  com- 
menced his  tour,  accompanied  by  the 
viceroy,  from  Dublin  to  Cork,  he 
was  allowed  for  his  personal  retinue, 
independent  of  his  servants  and 
clerks,  not  very  formidable  oppo- 
nents, it  is  to  be  presumed,  "  four 
men-at-arms  armed  at  all  points,  and 
eight  mounted  archers,"  a  circum- 
stance which  shows  that  the  Irish 
and  many  of  the  Anglo-Irish  of  the 
country  had  very  little  reverence  for 
the  person  of  even  an  English  chan- 
cellor. 

In  1398,  Dr.  Thomas  Cranley  was 
sent  over  to  Dublin  as  its  archbi- 
shop and  chancellor  of  the  colony, 
and  from  his  high  position  and  known 
ability  it  was  expected  that  he  would 
not  only  remedy  the  disorders  of  the 
Pale,  but  bring  back  the  great  lords  to 
a  sense  of  their  duty  to  the  king,  and 
devise  measures  for  the  collection  of 
his  revenues,  which  these  noblemen1 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  pay  with 
the  alacrity  befitting  obedient  sub- 
jects. After  several  years  of  fruit- 
less endeavors  to  effect  these  objects, 
he  was  obliged  to  write  to  King  Hen- 
ry IV.  for  funds  to  support  his  son, 
who  was  then  acting  as  viceroy. 
"  With  heavy  hearts,"  says  the  chan- 
cellor, speaking  for  the  privy  council, 
"  we  testify  anew  to  your  highness  that 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


233 


our  lord,  your  son,  is  so  destitute  of 
money  that  he  has  not  a  penny  in  the 
world,  nor  can  borrow  a  single  pen- 
ny, because  all  his  jewels  and  his 
plate  that  he  can  spare  of  those  that 
he  must  of  necessity  have,  are  pledg- 
ed and  be  in  pawn.  All  his  soldiers 
have  departed  from  him,  and  the  peo- 
ple of  his  household  are  on  the  point 
of  leaving  him."  And  he  further  signi- 
ficantly adds,  "  For  the  more  full  de- 
claring of  these  matters  to  your  high- 
ness, three  or  two  of  us  should  have 
come  to  your  high  presence,  but  such 
is  the  danger  on  this  side  that  not 
one  of  us  dare  depart  from  the  person 
of  our  lord."  This  was  indeed  a  sad 
condition  for  the  son  of  the  reigning 
monarch  and  his  council  to  find 
themselves  in,  while  the  Talbots, 
Butlers,  and  Fitzgeralds  were  feasting 
on  the  fat  of  the  land  surrounded  by 
thousands  of  their  well-paid  followers. 
Again,  in  1435,  wnen  Archbishop 
Talbot  was  chancellor,  the  council 
through  that  prelate  addressed  a 
memorial  to  the  king,  in  which  the 
following  remarkable  passage  occurs : 

"  First,  that  it  please  our  sovereign 
lord  graciously  to  consider  how  this  land 
of  Ireland  is  well-nigh  destroyed  and  in- 
habited with  his  enemies  and  rebels,  in- 
somuch that  there  is  not  left  in  the  north- 
ern parts  of  the  counties  of  Dublin, 
Meath,  Louth,  and  Kildare,  that  join  to- 
gether out  of  subjection  of  the  said  ene- 
mies and  rebels,  scarcely  thirty  miles  in 
length  and  twenty  miles  in  breadth,  as  a 
man  may  surely  ride  or  go,  in  the  said 
counties,  to  answer  to  the  king's  writs 
and  to  his  commandments." 

This  extraordinary  admission,  made 
two  hundred  and  sixty-six  years  after 
the  landing  of  the  Normans,  would 
be  almost  incredible  did  it  rest  on 
less  weighty  authority.  This  was  the 
time  for  the  Irish  people  to  have  re- 
gained their  freedom,  and,  had  they 
had  half  as  much  of  the  spirit  of  na- 
tionality and  organization  as  they 


possessed  of  valor  and  endurance, 
a  decisive  blow  might  easily  have 
been  struck  that  would  have  for  ever 
ended  the  English  power  in  their 
irtand.  But  the  propitious  moment 
was  allowed  to  pass,  and  dearly  did 
they  pay  in  aftertimes  for  their  su- 
pineness  and  folly. 

The  dissensions  were  not  confined 
to  the  natives.  The  quarrels  and 
bickerings  of  the  nobles  and  officials 
of  the  Pale  seemed  to  invite  destruc- 
tion. Rival  parliaments  were  held ; 
viceroys  who  were  attached  by  poli- 
cy or  affection  to  the  houses  of  York 
and  Lancaster  contended  in  the  Cas- 
tle of  Dublin  for  the  legitimacy  of 
their  respective  factions ;  and  even  the 
Lord  Chancellor  Sherwood,  Bishop 
of  Meath,  and  the  members  of  the  pri- 
vy council,  whose  office  and  duty  it 
was  to  preserve  the  peace  between  all 
parties,  were  found  the  most  turbu- 
lent ;  "  the  chancellor  and  chief- 
justice  of  the  king's  bench  requiring 
the  interposition  of  the  king  to  keep 
them  quiet,  while  the  Irish  so  press- 
ed upon  the  narrow  limits  of  the 
English  settlements  that  the  statute  re- 
quiring cities  and  boroughs  to  be  re- 
presented by  inhabitants  of  the  same 
was  obliged  to  be  repealed  upon  the 
express  ground  that  representatives 
could  not  be  expected  to  encounter,  on 
their  journeys  to  parliament,  the  great 
perils  incident  from  the  king's  Irish 
enemies  and  English  rebels,  for  it  is 
openly  known  how  great  and  fre- 
quent mischiefs  have  been  done  on 
the  ways  both  in  the  south,  north, 
east,  and  west  parts,  by  reason  where- 
of they  may  not  send  proctors, 
knights,  nor  burgesses."  *  Such  was 
the  condition  of  Ireland  in  A.D.  1480, 
just  three  centuries  after  the  advent 
of  Henry  II.  to  her  shores. 

One  of  the  principal  duties  of  the 
Irish  lord  chancellors,  even  to  the 

*  O'Flanagan,  vol.  i.  p.  130. 


234 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


very  moment  of  its  extinction,  was 
the  management  of  the  Irish  parlia- 
ment. The  body  that  for  so  many 
centuries  bore  that  pretentious  title, 
but  which  never  spoke  the  voice  of 
even  a  respectable  minority  of  the 
people,  is  said  to  have  owed  its  ori- 
gin to  the  second  Henry,  though  ac- 
cording to  Whiteside,  who  follows 
the  authority  of  Sir  John  Davies,  no 
parliament  was  held  in  the  country 
for  one  hundred  and  forty  years  after 
that  king's  visit.  *  Except  in  an 
antiquarian  point  of  view,  the  matter 
is  of  little  importance,  as  such  gath- 
erings in  Ireland,  even  more  so  than 
those  of  England,  could  not  at  that 
time  be  called  either  representative 
or  deliberative  bodies,  for  their  mem- 
bers were  not  chosen  by  even  a 
moiety  of  the  people,  and  they  were 
mere  instruments  in  the  hands  of 
the  governing  powers,  who  moulded 
them  at  will  when  they  desired  to 
impose  new  taxes  or  unjust  laws  on 
the  people,  ostensibly  with  their  own 
sanction.  From  the  days  of  Simon 
de  Montfort  to  those  of  George  IV., 
the  English  parliamentary  system 
has  been  an  ingeniously  devised  en- 
gine of  general  oppression  under  the 
garb  of  popular  government. 

Of  the  ancient  parliaments,  the 
most  famous  was  that  held  at  Kil- 
kenny during  the  chancellorship  of 
John  Trowyk,  Prior  of  St.  John,  in 
1367,  at  which  was  passed  the  statute 
bearing  the  name  of  that  beautiful 
city.  Though  the  name  only  of  the 
chancellor,  who  doubtless  was  the 
author  ex  officio,  has  come  down  to 
us,  that  delectable  specimen  of  Eng- 
lish legislation  is  doubtless  destined 
to  survive  the  changes  of  time,  and 
expire  only  with  the  language  itself. 
It  prohibited  marriage,  gossipred,  and 
fostering  between  the  natives  and 


*  Life  and  Death  of  the  Irish  Parliament.    By 
the  Right  Hon.  James  Whiteside,  CJ. 


the  Anglo-Irish  under  penalty  of 
treason,  also  selling  to  the  former 
upon  any  condition  horses,  armor, 
or  victuals,  under  a  like  penalty.  All 
persons  of  either  nationality  living 
in  the  Pale  were  to  use  the  English 
language,  names,  customs,  dress,  and 
manner  of  riding.  No  Irishman  was 
to  be  admitted  to  holy  orders,  nor 
was  any  minstrel,  story-teller,  or 
rhymer  to  be  harbored.  English  on 
the  borders  should  hold  no  parley 
with  their  Irish  neighbors,  except  by 
special  permission,  nor  employ  them 
in  their  domestic  wars.  Irish  games 
were  not  to  be  indulged  in,  but  should 
give  place  to  those  of  the  English, 
as  being  more  "  gentlemanlike 
sports."  Any  infraction  of  these  pro- 
visions was  to  be  punished  with  ri- 
gor, for,  says  the  preamble  to  the 
act,  "  many  of  the  English  of  Ire- 
land, discarding  the  English  tongue, 
manners,  style  of  riding,  laws,  and 
usages,  lived  and  governed  them- 
selves according  to  the  mode,  fash- 
ion, and  language  of  the  Irish  ene- 
mies," etc.,  whereby  the  said  "  Irish 
enemies  were  exalted  and  raised  up 
contrary  to  reason."  This  enactment 
is  perhaps  without  a  parallel  in  the 
history  of  semi-civilized  legislation, 
if  we  except  that  passed  at  a  parlia- 
ment held  at  Trim  in  1447,  and  for 
which  we  are  indebted  to  no  less  a 
person  than  the  Archbishop  of  Dub- 
lin, lord  chancellor  at  that  period. 
It  enacts  "  that  those  who  would  be 
taken  for  Englishmen  (that  is,  within 
the  protection  of  law)  should  not 
wear  a  beard  on  the  upper  lip ;  that 
the  said  lip  should  be  shaved  once  at 
least  in  every  two  weeks,  and  that 
offenders  therein  should  be  treated 
as  Irish  enemies."  As  no  provision 
was  inserted  in  the  statute  providing 
for  the  supply  of  razors,  or  mention 
made  of  the  appointment  of  state 
barbers,  we  presume  it  soon  became 
inoperative. 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


By  such  penal  legislation  it  was 
weakly  supposed  the  evils  of  the 
country  could  be  cured  most  effec- 
tually, but,  unfortunately  for  the  law- 
makers, it  was  easier  to  pass  statutes 
than  to  enforce  them.  On  the  mass  of 
the  people  they  had  no  effect  what- 
ever, except,  perhaps,  to  bind  them 
faster  to  their  ancient  laws  and  cus- 
toms, and  he  would  have  been  a  bold 
officer  indeed  who  would  have  at- 
tempted to  carry  them  out,even  among 
the  Anglo-Irish  families  outside  of 
the  Pale ;  for  we  find  that,  at  a  parlia- 
ment held  in  Dublin  in  1441,  under 
the  supervision  of  Archbishop  Talbot, 
a  strong  request  was  made  to  the 
king  to  furnish  troops  for  the  defence 
of  the  colony,  the  privy  council 
having  some  time  previously  repre- 
sented "  that  the  king  should  ordain 
that  the  Admiral  of  England  should, 
in  summer  season,  visit  the  coasts  of 
Ireland  to  protect  the  merchants 
from  the  Scots,  Bretons,  and  Spa- 
niards, who  came  thither  with  their 
ships  stuffed  with  men  of  war  in 
great  numbers,  seizing  the  merchants 
of  Ireland,  Wales,  and  England,  and 
'holding  them  to  ransom."  * 
"  The  selfish  but  sagacious  policy 
of  Henry  VII.  had  done  so  much 
to  remedy  the  evils  inflicted  on  Eng- 
land by  the  wars  of  the  Roses  that 
when  his  son,  Henry  VIII.,  ascend- 
ed the  throne  in  1509,  he  found  a 
united  and  contented  people,  a  well- 
filled  treasury,  and  a  subservient  par- 
liament. The  character  of  this  no- 
torious ruler  is  too  well  known  to 
need  comment,  and  the  effects  of  his 
crimes  are  still  perceptibly  felt  by 
the  country  that  had  the  misfortune 
to  have  given  him  birth.  His  influ- 
ence on  Irish  affairs,  though  more 
disastrous  in  its  immediate  results, 
has  happily  long  since  been  oblite- 
rated. Dr.  Rokeby,  Bishop  of  Meath, 


and  afterward  Archbishop  of  Dublin, 
first  appointed  chancellor  in  1498, 
was  retained  in  his  office  by  the  new 
king.  He  is  represented  as  a  man 
of>  marked  piety  and  learning,  but 
he  would  have  been  unfitted  to  fill 
an  office  under  the  English  crown 
had  he  allowed  any  scruples  of  con- 
science to  stand  between  him  and 
the  behests  of  his  royal  master. 
What  these  were  may  be  judged  from 
a  passage  in  a  private  letter  from 
Henry  to  his  viceroy.  "  Now,"  he 
writes,  "  at  the  beginning,  political 
practices  may  do  more  good  than 
exploits  of  war,  till  such  time  as  the 
strength  of  the  Irish  enemy  shall  be 
enfeebled  and  diminished ;  as  well  by 
getting  their  captains  from  them,  as 
by  putting  division  among  them,  so 
that  they  join  not  together  "  * — an 
advice  eminently  suggestive,  but  by 
no  means  new,  for  the  policy  of  ar- 
raying the  Irish  •  against  each  other 
had  been  practised  long  before  with 
fatal  effect.  Rokeby  held  the  great 
seal  for  twenty-one  years,  and  his 
long  term  was  marked  by  his  suc- 
cessful efforts  to  reconcile  the  hostile 
Anglo-Irish  factions,  his  negotiations 
with  the  native  chiefs,  for  the  purpose 
of  inducing  them  to  acknowledge  the 
sovereignty  of  Henry,  and  the  con- 
sequent extension  of  the  functions 
of  the  courts  over  the  greater  part 
of  the  island.  The  success  of  the 
first  and  last  of  these  measures  was 
mainly  due  to  the  personal  efforts  of 
the  lord  chancellor,  and  the  sub- 
mission of  the  Irish  party  resulted 
from  the  loss  of  the  battle  of  Knock- 
tough,  in  1504,  and  the  favorable 
promises  held  out  by  the  chancellor 
and  viceroy,  inducements,  it  is  need- 
less to  say,  which  were  never  fulfilled. 
He  was  succeeded  by  the  two  St.  Law- 
rences, father  and  son,  of  whom  no- 
thing notable  is  recorded,  but  that 


*  Gilbert's  Viceroys  of  Ireland. 


*  State  Pafers,  temp.  Henry  VIII. 


236 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


they  were  laymen  and  natives  of  the 
soil ;  and  by  Archbishop  Ingle,  who, 
however,  held  office  for  but  one 
year. 

The  next  ecclesiastical  chancellor 
was  Dr.  Alan,  commissioned  in  1528. 
This  distinguished  official  was  re- 
markable not  only  for  his  great  men- 
tal capacity,  but  as  a  not  unfavorable 
sample  of  the  English  political  church- 
men of  the  era  immediately  preced- 
ing the  so-called  "  Reformation  " — 
men  who,  by  their  laxity  of  faith 
and  worldly  ambition,  paved  the  way 
for  the  subsequent  grand  march  of 
heresy  and  immorality.  Born  in 
England  in  1476,  he  studied  with 
credit  both  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
and  at  an  early  age  entered  the 
priesthood.  His  varied  acquirements 
and  experience  of  mankind  gained 
him,  in  1515,  the  degree  of  doctor 
of  laws  and  the  confidence  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  then  Lord 
Chancellor  of  England,  by  whom  he 
was  sent  to  Rome  on  a  special  mis- 
sion. On  his  return,  he  was  appoint- 
ed chaplain  to  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and 
judge  of  his  legantine  court.  In 
both  capacities  he  appears  to  have 
given  satisfaction,  particularly  in  the 
latter,  in  which  he  materially  assisted 
the  ambitious  cardinal  in  suppressing 
certain  monasteries,  and  appropriat- 
ing the  revenues,  it  is  more  than  sus- 
pected, to  his  own  and  his  patron's 
use.  For  these  services  he  was  re- 
warded with  the  archbishopric  of 
Dublin  and  the  Irish  chancellor- 
ship. His  two  great  vices,  avarice 
and  the  love  of  intrigue,  became 
now  fully  developed.  When  not 
begging  for  increase  of  salary  or 
emoluments,  he  was  writing  scanda- 
lous letters  to  his  friends  at  the  Eng- 
lish court,  complaining  of  the  con- 
duct of  the  viceroy,  the  unfortunate 
Earl  of  Kildare,  and  it  was  mainly 
through  his  instrumentality,  supported 
by  Wolsey,  that  that  nobleman  was 


called  to  England  and  committed 
to  the  Tower  of  London.  His  next 
step  was  to  circulate  a  false  report 
that  the  earl  had  been  executed.  This 
led,  as  he  anticipated,  to  the  rebel- 
lion of  Kildare's  son  and  deputy, 
better  known  as  Silken  Thomas,  and 
a  number  of  Irish  chiefs  with  whom 
the  Fitzgeralds  were  allied,  and,  upon 
its  suppression,  to  the  confiscation  of 
vast  estates  in-  Leinster  and  Munster. 
But  Alan  did  not  live  long  enough 
to  behold  the  result  of  his  sanguinary 
policy.  Alarmed  at  the  storm  he 
had  raised,  he  endeavored  to  escape 
from  the  country,  but  the  elements 
seem  to  have  conspired  against  him, 
for  he  was  cast  ashore  near  Clontarf, 
and,  on  being  discovered  by  some  of 
Thomas's  followers,  he  was  put  to 
death.  He  was  succeeded  as  chan- 
cellor by  Cromer,  Archbishop  of 
Armagh,  who  was,  however,  shortly 
after  deprived  of  his  office  for  his 
unflinching  opposition  to  Henry's  ab- 
surd pretensions  of  being  considered 
"  Head  of  the  Church."  It  was  of 
this  prelate  that  Browne,  the  king's 
Archbishop  of  Dublin,  wrote  to  Lord 
Henry  Cromwell,  in  1635,  "  that  he 
had  endeavored,  almost  to  the  haz- 
zard  and  danger  of  his  temporal  life, 
to  procure  the  nobility  and  gentry  of 
this  nation  to  due  obedience  in  own- 
ing his  highness  their  supreme  head, 
as  well  spiritual  as  temporal ;  and  do 
find  much  oppugning  therein,  espe- 
cially by  his  brother  Armagh,  who 
hath  beene  the  main  oppugner,  and 
so  hath  withdrawn  most  of  his  suf- 
ragans  and  clergy  within  his  see  and 
diocese."  * 

Unable  to  coerce  or  cajole  the 
Pope,  Henry  at  length  threw  down 
the  gauntlet  to  the  Holy  Father,  and, 
emboldened  doubtless  by  the  ready 
submission  of  the  English,  resolved 
to  enforce  his  new  ideas  of  religion 

*  Ware's  Life  of  Browne. 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


237 


on  the  people  of  Ireland.  The  par- 
liament of  that  country,  pliant  as 
ever,  voted  him  king  of  Ireland  and 
head  of  the  church,  and  would  as 
willingly  have  conferred  on  him  any 
other  title,  no  matter  ho\v  far-fetched 
or  absurd,  had  he  desired  it.  Arch- 
bishop Browne,  of  Dublin,  was  a 
Christian  after  the  king's  own  heart, 
and,  in  his  way,  as  consistent  and  as 
zealous  a  reformer;  and  with  the 
chancellor,  Lord  Trimblestown,  at 
the  laboring-oar,  the  task  of  convert- 
ing the  Irish  to  the  new  faith  was 
considered  quite  easy.  Here  and 
there  a  stubborn  recusant  was  an- 
ticipated, but  were  there  not  monas- 
teries and  nunneries  enough  to  be 
confiscated,  and  lands  and  revenues 
to  be  given  away,  to  satisfy  those  be- 
nighted adherents  to  the  old  faith  ? 
A  grand  tour  of  proselytism  through- 
out the  country  was  therefore  pro- 
jected, and  the  lord  chancellor,  the 
archbishop,  and  the  other  members 
of  the  privy  council  sallied  out,  ac- 
companied by  their  men-at-arms, 
procurants,  clerks,  and  retainers,  to 
expound  the  Gospel  according  to 
King  Henry,  and  to  enforce  their 
doctrines,  if  all  else  failed,  by  the 
carnal  weapons  of  the  lash  and 
halter.  They  visited  in  succession 
Carlow,  Kilkenny,  Ross,  Wexford, 
and  Waterford,  where  they  are  mind- 
ful to  acknowledge  "  they  were  well 
entertained."  The  archbishop  on 
Sundays  "  preached  the  word  of  God, 
having  very  good  audience,  and  pub- 
lished the  king's  injunctions  and  the 
king's  translation  of  the  Pater  Noster, 
Ave  Maria,  the  Articles  of  Faith,  and 
the  Ten  Commandments  in  English," 
while  on  week-days  the  chancellor 
took  his  share  of  the  good  work ;  for, 
continues  the  report,  "  the  day  fol- 
lowing we  kept  the  sessions  there 
(Waterford)  both  for  the  city  and  the 
shire,  where  was  put  to  execution 
four  felons,  accompanied  by  another. 


a  friar,  whom,  among  the  residue,  we 
commanded  to  be  hanged  in  his 
habit,  and  so  to  remain  upon  the 
gallows  for  a  mirror  to  all  his  breth- 
reft  to  live  truly."  *  This  judicious 
mixture  of  preaching  and  hanging, 
the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  statute  of 
Kilkenny,  it  was  thought,  would 
have  a  salutary  effect  on  the  souls 
and  bodies  of  unbelievers,  and  was  a 
fitting  form  of  introducing  the  Refor- 
mation to  the  consideration  of  the 
Irish  people. 

The  war  on  the  faith  of  the  nation 
having  been  thus  openly  and  auspi- 
ciously inaugurated,  we  must  hence- 
forth look  upon  the  chancellors  of 
Ireland  not  only  as  the  persistent 
defenders  of  the  English  interest  in 
that  country,  but  as  the  most  danger- 
ous because  the  most  insidious  and 
influential  enemies  of  Catholicity. 

Sir  John  Alan  was  appointed  chan- 
cellor in  1539,  and  in  the  following 
year  we  find  him  at  the  head  of  a 
royal  commission  for  the  suppression 
of  religious  houses.  The  authority 
to  the  commissioners  sets  forth,  with 
a  mendacity  never  surpassed  in  a 
state  paper,  and  rarely  paralleled, 
even  in  the  worst  days  of  anti-Catho- 
lic persecution,  the  following  pre- 
texts for  striking  a  deadly  blow  at 
the  bulwarks  of  charity,  religion,  and 
learning : 

"That  from  information  of  trustworthy 
persons,  it  being  manifestly  apparent 
that  the  monasteries,  abbies,  priories,  and 
other  places  of  religious  or  regulars  in 
Ireland  are,  at  present,  in  such  a  state 
that  in  them  the  praise  of  God  and  the 
welfare  of  man  are  next  to  nothing  re- 
garded, the  regulars  and  others  dwelling 
there  being  addicted,  partly  to  their  own 
superstitious  ceremonies,  partly  to  the 
pernicious  worship  of  idols,  and  to  the 
pestiferous  doctrines  of  the  Roman  Pon- 
tiff, that  unless  an  effectual  remedy  be 
promptly  provided,  not  only  the  weak 

*  State  Papers,  vol.  iii.  p.  108. 


238 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


lower  order,  but  the  whole  Irish  people, 
may  be  speedily  infected  to  their  total 
destruction  by  the  example  of  these  per- 
sons. To  prevent,  therefore,  the  longer 
continuance  of  such  religious  men  and 
nuns  in  so  damnable  a  state,  the  king, 
having  resolved  to  resume  into  his  own 
hands  all  the  monasteries  and  religious 
houses,  for  their  better  reformation,  to  re- 
move from  them  the  religious  men  and 
women,  and  cause  them  to  return  to  some 
honest  mode  of  living,  and  to  true 
religion,  directs  the  commissioners  to 
signify  this  his  intention  to  the  heads  of 
religious  houses,"  etc.* 


It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  this 
measure  of  wholesale  spoliation  was 
promptly  and  thoroughly  carried  out. 
The  thousand  ruins  that  dot  the 
island  attest  it,  and  the  title-deeds  of 
many  a  nobleman's  broad  acres  bear 
date  no  earlier  than  this  edict  of  the 
greatest  monster  that  ever  disgraced 
the  British  throne. 

From  this  time  forth,  the  lord 
chancellors  found  their  best  passport 
to  royal  favor  in  devising  measures 
for  the  destruction  of  the  popular 
faith.  Being  generally  needy  adven- 
turers, with  nothing  but  their  legal 
knowledge  and  facile  consciences  to 
begin  the  world  with,  they  neither 
loved  the  country  nor  respected  the 
people,  and  their  titles  and  wealth 
depended  simply  on  their  zeal  for 
Protestantism.  Of  the  hundreds  of 
penal  laws  which  disgrace  the  sta- 
tute-book of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  every  one  of  them 
owes  its  inception  and  enactment  to 
one  or  another  of  those  subtle-mind- 
ed officials  who,  as  the  head  of  the 
lords,  president  of  the  privy  council, 
and  the  dispenser  of  vast  judicial 
and  executive  patronage,  had  a  po- 
tent influence  in  all  public  affairs. 
They  continued  industriously  to  car- 
ry out  the  designs  of  Henry  during 


*  Morrin's  Cal.  vol.  i.  p.  55. 


the  successive  reigns  of  his  worthy 
daughter  Elizabeth,  the  Stuarts,  Wil- 
liam, Anne,  and  the  House  of  Bruns- 
wick. Even  when  the  fears  of  foreign 
invasion  in  1760,  and  the  noble  re- 
s'stance  of  the  fathers  of  our  repub- 
lic some  years  later,  had  awakened 
the  fears  of  the  British  authorities 
and  induced  them  to  relax  somewhat 
the  chains  of  the  Catholics,  the  voice 
of  the  lord  chancellors  was  still  for 
war.  Apart,  however,  from  this  spi- 
rit of  intolerance  which  seemed  to 
be  naturally  attached  to  the  office,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  from  the  days 
of  Henry  the  great  seal  was  held  by 
many  able  lawyers  and  distinguished 
statesmen,  some  of  whom  were  not 
unknown  in  the  world  of  letters  as 
authors  and  liberal  patrons  of  learn- 
ing and  science.  The  names  of 
Curwan,  Loftus  (who  founded  Tri- 
nity College  University),  Boyle,  Por- 
ter, Butler,  Cox,  Broderick,  Bowles, 
and  many  others,  occupy  honored 
positions  in  the  legal  annals  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  and  their  lives, 
full  of  incident  and  variety,  are  fully 
and  fairly  placed  before  us  by  Mr. 
O'Flanagan. 

The  treaty  of  union  in  1800,  by 
which  Ireland  lost  her  parliament, 
and  legislatively  became  a  province, 
deprived  the  Irish  chancellors  of 
much  of  their  original  political  pow- 
er ;  though,  strange  as  it  may  appear, 
this  object  was  effected  mainly  through 
the  exertions  of  Lord  Clare,  who  at 
that  time  held  the  office.  In  this 
man's  character,  distinguished  as  it 
was  for  many  private  virtues,  and 
for  every  public  vice  that  it  is  possi- 
ble to  conceive,  were  united  the  good 
and  bad  qualities  of  all  his  predeces- 
sors, joined  to  a  wonderful  mental 
capacity  which  far  surpassed  them 
all.  Born  in  Ireland,  he  was  of  Eng- 
lish extraction  and  more  than  Eng- 
lish in  feeling,  and,  though  of  an  ex- 
emplary Catholic  stock,  he  was  the 


The  Lord  Chancellors  of  Ireland. 


239 


son  of  an  apostate  clerical  student,  a 
most  violent  Protestant  and  a  rancor- 
ous proscriptionist.  A  profound  ju- 
rist and  an  upright  judge  in  pure- 
ly legal  matters,  his  anti-Catholic  pre- 
judices seemed  totally  to  have  warp- 
ed his  judgment  whenever  the  ques- 
tion of  religion  presented  itself,  and, 
though  a  steadfast  friend  in  private 
of  those  who  agreed  with  or  did  not 
care  to  differ  from  him,  he  never  fail- 
ed to  carry  into  official  life  the  ha- 
treds and  animosities  engendered  in 
political  struggles  or  domestic  inter- 
course. A  powerful  orator,  full  of 
strong  legal  points,  logical  proposi- 
tions, and  keen,  and  sometimes  coarse, 
sarcasm,  he  ruled  his  party  with  a 
rod  of  iron,  and,  when  persuasion 
and  threats  failed,  he  hesitated  not 
to  use  bribes  and  cajolery.  His  men- 
tal energy  was  equal  to  any  amount 
of  labor,  and  his  physical  courage 
was  beyond  question,  even  in  a 
country  and  age  where  bravery  was 
ranked  among  the  highest  of  virtues. 
Such  was  John  Fitzgibbon,  first  Earl 
of  Clare,  born  near  Dublin  in  1749, 
a  man  pre-eminently  fitted  by  Provi- 
dence to  adorn  his  country  and  bene- 
fit mankind,  but  who  perverted  his 
great  gifts  and  employed  them  with 
too  much  success  in  destroying  that 
country's  remnant  of  independence, 
and  in  devising  new  methods  of  per- 
secution for  his  Catholic  relatives 
and  countrymen.  He  died  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  power  in  1802  ;  his 
name  when  mentioned  is  reprobated 
by  all  good  men  in  the  nation  he  be- 
trayed ;  his  title,  so  ingloriously  won, 
is  extinct ;  and  his  bench  in  Chancery 
and  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords 
are  filled  by  one  of  that  race  and 
creed  which  he  so  cordially  detested 


and  so  ruthlessly  persecuted.  *      Sic 
transit  gloria  mundi. 

Mr.  O'Flanagan  brings  down  his 
Lives  to  the  time  of  George  IV.,  but 
thft  latter  portion  of  his  valuable  col- 
lection of  biographies  belongs  more 
to  the  domain  of  law  than  of  history. 
Indeed,  the  entire  work  is  full  of  cu- 
rious and  interesting  information 
which  will  be  highly  prized  by  the 
legal  profession.  What  the  late  Lord 
Campbell  has  done  so  well  for  the 
English  chancellors,  the  author  has 
endeavored  to  do  for  those  of  Ire- 
land, and  with  equal  success,  not- 
withstanding the  scarcity  of  materials 
and  the  loose  manner  in  which  the 
Irish  records  have  been  kept.  One 
of  the  most  attractive  features  of  this 
book  is  the  total  absence  of  passion 
or  prejudice  in  the  narrative  of  events 
and  estimation  of  character;  but  every 
necessary  circumstance  is  detailed  in 
a  plain,  lucid,  and  intelligible  style, 
and  with  something  of  judicial  gravi- 
ty and  impartiality  befitting  so  impor- 
tant a  subject.  As  far  as  the  au- 
thor's own  political  predilections  are 
concerned — and  we  suspect  that  they 
are  by  no  means  intensely  national — 
the  tone  of  the  book  may  be  said  to 
be  colorless,  a  peculiarity  in  modern 
biography  which,  while  it  may  de- 
tract from  its  vivacity,  will  certain- 
ly add  much  weight  to  its  value 
as  an  authority.  We  are  promised 
a  sequel  to  the  chancellors,  contain- 
ing the  lives  of  the  lord  chief-justices, 
which  we  hope  will  soon  appear,  for 
the  more  light  that  is  shed  on  those 
darkened  pages  of  Ireland's  history, 
the  better  for  the  cause  of  truth,  jus- 
tice, and  humanity. 

*John  O'Hagan,  the  present  Lord  High  Chan- 
cellor of  Ireland. 


240     Gottfried  -von  Strassburgs  Great  Hymn  to  the   Virgin. 


GOTTFRIED    VON    STRASSBURG'S    GREAT    HYMN    TO 
THE    VIRGIN. 


THE  period  of  the  German  Minne- 
singer, dating  from  about  the  middle 
of  the  thirteenth  to  the  middle  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  witnessed 
probably  the  intensest  and  sin- 
cerest  devotion  to  the  worship  of 
the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  whole  history 
of  the  Catholic  Church.  Intense 
and  sincere  pre-eminently,  because 
so  expressed  in  the  vast  number  of 
paintings  and  poems  in  her  glorifica- 
tion whereof  we  have  record.  That 
whole  period,  indeed,  was  one  of  fer- 
vent religious  feeling,  stimulated  by 
the  Crusades,  and  naturally  choosing 
the  Virgin  for  the  chief  object  of 
worship,  as  the  whole  knightly  spir- 
it of  that  age  was  one  of  devotion 
to  woman.  The  pure  love — for 
Minne  is  pure  love — of  woman  has 
never,  in  the  history  of  literature, 
been  so  exclusively  made  the  topic 
of  poetry  as  it  was  during  that  cen- 
tury of  the  Minnesinger;  it  is  the 
absorbing  theme  of  the  almost  two 
hundred  poets  of  that  time,  of  whom 
we  have  poems  handed  down  to  us, 
and  its  highest  expression  was  at- 
tained in  those  poems  that  were  ad- 
dressed to  the  woman  of  all  women, 
Mary,  the  mother  of  Jesus. 

The  German  language  in  the  thir- 
teenth century  had  attained  a  devel- 
opment which  fitted  it  pre-eminent- 
ly for  lyric  poetry  in  all  its  branches. 
What  it  has  since  gained  in  other 
respects  it  has  lost  in  sweet  music  of 
sound.  Furthermore,  the  true  laws 
of  rhythm,  metre,  and  verse  for 
modern  languages,  as  distinguished 
from  the  rules  that  governed  classic 
poetry,  had  been  discovered  and 
fixed ;  rules  and  laws  the  knowledge 


whereof  subsequently  was  lost,  and 
which  it  gave  Goethe  so  much  trou- 
ble, as  he  tells  us  in  his  autobiogra- 
phy, to  find  again.  The  purity  of 
rhyme  has  never  since  in  German 
poetry  attained  the  same  degree  of 
perfection,  not  even  under  the  skil- 
ful hand  of  Rueckert  and  Platen, 
which  the  Minnesinger  gave  to  it; 
and  thus  altogether  those  matters, 
which  constitute  the  mechanism  of 
poetry,  were  in  fullest  bloom. 

Now  this  mechanism  and  the  won- 
derful language  which  it  operated 
upon  being  in  the  possession  and 
under  the  full  control  of  such  men  as 
were  the  poets  of  that  day,  the  re- 
sult could  be  only  poems  of  perfect 
form,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  na'ive, 
earnest,  intense,  a.:d  enthusiastic  in 
their  character.  For  those  poets 
were  not — like  those  of  our  modern 
poets  who  have  completest  control  of 
the  mechanism  of  poetry,  as  Tenny- 
son, Swinburne,  etc. — poets  of  a  cold, 
reflective  bent  of  mind,  but  they 
were  simple  knights,  with  great  en- 
thusiasm in  the  cause  of  the  Crusades 
and  of  ladies ;  at  the  same  time  gifted 
with  a  wondrous  power  of  versifica- 
tion. A  considerable  number  of 
them,  some  of  the  best,  as  Wolfram 
von  Eschenbach,  Ulrich  von  Lich- 
tenstein,  etc.,  could  not  even  write 
and  read,  and  had  to  dictate  their 
poems  to  their  Singerlein,  or  sing  it 
to  him — for  these  poets  invented  a 
melody  for  each  of  iheir  poems — 
which  Singerlein  again  transmitted 
it  in  the  same  manner  until,  in 
the  course  of  time,  these  unwritten 
Minnelieder  were,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, gathered  together  by  the  noble 


Gottfried  von  Strassburg  s  Great  Hymn  to  the   Virgin.     241 


knight,  Ruediger  von  Manasse,  his 
son,  and  the  Minnesinger,  Johann 
Hadlaub,  put  into  manuscript,  and 
thus  happily  preserved  for  future  gen- 
erations. 

The  songs  that  these  Minnesingers 
sang  are  of  a  threefold  character: 
either  in  praise  of  the  ladies,  usually 
coupled  with  references  to  the  sea- 
sons of  the  year ;  or  of  a  didactic 
character ;  or,  finally,  in  praise  of  the 
Virgin. 

Their  form  is  only  twofold :  either 
they  are  lays  or  songs  proper.  The 
song  or  Minnelied  proper  has  inva- 
riably a  triplicity  of  form  in  each  stan- 
za, that  is,  each  stanza  has  three  parts, 
whereof  the  first  two  correspond  with 
each  other  exactly,  whereas  the  third 
has  an  independent,  though  of  course 
rhythmically  connected,  flow  of  its 
own.  The  lay,  on  the  contrary, 
is  of  irregular  construction,  and  per- 
mits the  widest  rhythmical  liberties. 

Of  the  many  Minnelieder  address- 
ed to  the  Virgin  we  have  presented 
to  us  examples  of  both  kinds,  lays 
and  songs.  Chief  among  them  are 
a  lay  by  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide, 
and  the  Great  Hymn  by  Gottfried 
•von  Strassburg. 

The  latter  is  probably  the  finest 
of  all  the  Minnelieder — worldly  and 
sacred — of  that  period.  Ranking 
next  to  these  two  there  is,  however, 
another  poem  to  the  Virgin,  not  to 
be  classified  strictly  under  the  gene- 
ral title  of  Minnelieder,  but  still  the 
production  of  a  famous  Minnesinger, 
and  withal  a  poem  of  wondrous  beau- 
ty, which  for  two  centuries  kept  its 
hold  upon  the  people.  This  is  Kon- 
rad  vonWuerzburg's  Golden  Smithy- — 
a  poem  that  is  written  in  the  metre 
•jf  the  narrative  poem  of  that  age, 
namely,  in  lines  wherein  every  line 
ending  in  a  masculine  rhyme  has 
four  accentuations  and  every  line 
ending  in  a  female  rhyme  has  three 
accentuations,  the  syllables  not  being 

VOL.  XIII. — 16 


counted — a  metre  that  Coleridge  has 
adopted  in  his  poem  Christabel. 

In  this  Golden  Smithy  the  poet  re- 
presents himself  as  a  goldsmith,  work- 
ing all  manner  of  precious  stones  and 
gold  into  a  glorious  ornament  for  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  by  gathering  into 
his  poem  all  possible  images  and  si- 
miles from  the  world  of  nature,  from 
sacred  and  profane  history  and  fable, 
and  from  all  the  virtues  and  graces 
of  mankind.  It  is  a  poem  of  won- 
derful splendor,  and  has  a  great 
smoothness  of  diction.  "  If,"  says 
the  poet  in  the  opening  of  the  poem, 
"in  the  depth  of  the  smithy  of  my 
heart  I  could  melt  a  poem  out  of 
gold  and  could  enamel  the  gold  with 
the  glowing  ruby  of  pure  devotion,  I 
would  forge  a  transparent,  shining, 
and  sparkling  praise  of  thy  worth, 
thou  glorious  empress  of  heaven. 
Yet,  though  my  speech  should  fly 
upward  like  a  noble  eagle,  the  wings 
of  my  words  could  not  carry  me  be- 
yond thy  praise ;  marble  and  ada- 
mant shall  be  sooner  penetrated  by  a 
straw,  and  the  diamond  by  molten 
lead,  than  I  attain  the  height  of  the 
praise  that  belongs  to  thee.  Not  un- 
til all  the  stars  have  been  counted 
and  the  dust  of  the  sun  and  the  sand 
of  the  sea  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees, 
can  thy  praise  be  properly  sung." 

But  even  this  poem  is  far  surpass- 
ed in  beauty  every  way  by  Gottfried 
von  Strassburg's  Great  Hymn.  In- 
deed, Konrad  himself  modestly  con- 
fesses this  in  his  Golden  Smithy,  when 
he  regrets  that  he  does  not  "  sit  upon 
the  green  clover  bedewed  with  sweet 
speech,  on  which  sat  worthily  Gott- 
fried von  Strassburg,  who,  as  a  most 
artistic  smith,  worked  a  golden  poem, 
and  praised  and  glorified  the  Holy 
Virgin  in  much  better  strain." 

There  is,  indeed,  a  wondrous  beau- 
ty in  this  hymn  of  Gottfried  von 
Strassburg,  a  beauty  much  akin  to 
that  of  his  own  Strassburg  Cathedral, 


242     Gottfried  von  Strassburgs  Great  Hymn  to  tJie   Virgin. 


which  was  begun  about  the  same 
time. 

"  It  is,"  says  Van  der  Hagen,  "  the 
very  glorification  of  love  (Minne) 
and  of  Minnesong ;  it  is  the  heaven- 
ly bridal  song,  the  mysterious  Solo- 
mon's Song,  which  mirrors  its  miracu- 
lous object  in  a  stream  of  deep  and 
lovely  images,  linking  them  all  to- 
gether into  an  imperishable  wreath ; 
yet  even  here  in  its  profundity  and 
significance  of  an  artistic  and  numer- 
ously-rhymed construction ;  always 
clear  as  crystal,  smooth  and  grace- 
ful." 

The  poem  separates  into  three 
parts :  in  the  first  whereof  the  poet 
exhorts  all  those  who  desire  to  listen 
to  his  song  of  God's  great  love  to 
endeavor  to  gain  it  by  unremitting 
exertion ;  and  furthermore  to  pray 
for  him,  the  poet,  who  has  so  little 
striven  to  attain  it  for  himself.  In 
the  second  part,  the  poet  calls  upon 
the  heavens  and  Christ  to  bend  down 
and  listen  to  his  truthful  lays  in  praise 
of  Christ's  sweet  mother.  Then  in 
the  third  part  begins  the  praise  of 
the  Virgin,  followed  by  that  of  her 
Son,  and  the  poem  reaches  its  su- 
preme fervor  when  it  breaks  out  final- 
ly in  praise  of  God  himself.  Thence 
it  gradually  lowers  its  tone,  and  final- 
ly expires  in  a  sigh, 

I  suppose  it  is  impossible  to  give 
an  adequate  idea  by  translation  of 
the  melodious  sound  of  words,  the 
perfect  rhythm,  and  the  artistic  gra- 


dation of  effect  which  this  poem  has 
parts  of  the  poem,  and  so  selected 
as  to  give  a  general  idea  of  both  the 
manner  and  the  matter  of  the  poem. 
The  selection  opens  with  the  first 
and  ends  with  the  last  verses  of 
the  whole  poem;  but  the  whole 
itself  being  composed  of  ninety-four 
stanzas,  it  was  necessary  to  take  from 
in  the  original.  I  can  say  only  that 
I  have  done  my  best  in  the  following 
stanzas,  selected  from  the  various 
the  intermediate  ones  only  speci- 
mens. The  imagery  may  often  seem 
far-fetched,  but  it  must  be  remember- 
ed that  the  men  of  that  period  liken- 
ed God  and  the  God-begotten  unto 
everything  on  earth  and  in  heaven, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  they  deem- 
ed it  irreverent  and  impossible  to 
characterize  them  by  any  single  pre- 
dicate or  word. 

Of  the  poet  himself  we  know  very 
little.  His  name  indicates  him  to 
have  been  a  citizen  of  Strassburg. 
His  title  Meister  (master)  shows  that 
his  station  in  life  was  that  of  a  citi- 
zen and  not  of  a  noble  or  knight, 
their  title  being  Herr.  He  was  un- 
doubtedly the  foremost  poet  of  his 
age,  and  —  together  with  Wolfram 
von  Eschenbach — was  then  and  is 
still  so  considered.  His  greatest 
work  is  the  narrative  poem,  Tristan 
und  Isolde  ;  but  that  he  left  unfinish- 
ed. We  have  no  other  work  of  his 
handed  down  to  us  except  three  or 
four  small  Minnesongs. 


HYMN   TO    THE    VIRGIN. 


YE,  who  your  life  would  glorify 

And  float  in  bliss  with  God  on  high, 

There  to  dwell  nigh 

His  peace  and  love's  salvation  ; 

Who  fain  would  learn  how  to  enroll 

All  evils  under  your  control, 

And  rid  your  soul 

Of  many  a  sore  temptation  : 


Gottfried  i'on  Strassburgs  Great  Hymn  to  the   Virgin.    243 

Give  heed  unto  this  song  of  love 
And  follow  its  sweet  story ; 
Then  will  its  passing  sweetness  prove 
Unto  your  hearts  a  peaceful  dove, 

And  upward  move 
Your  souls  to  realms  of  glory. 


Ye,  who  would  hear  what  you  have  ne'er 

Heard  spoken,  now  incline  your  ear 

And  listen  here 

To  what  my  tongue  unfoldeth. 

Yea,  list  to  the  sweet  praise  arid  worth 

Of  her  who  to  God's  child  gave  birth  ; 

Wherefore  on  earth 

God  as  in  heaven  her  holdeth. 

E'en  as  the  air  when  fresh  bedewed 

Bears  fruitful  growth,  so  to  man 

She  bears  an  ever-fruitful  mood : 

Never  so  chaste  and  sweet  heart's  blood, 

So  true  and  good, 
Was  born  by  mortal  woman. 

I  speak  of  thee  in  my  best  strain : 

No  mother  e'er  such  child  may  gain, 

Or  child  attain 

So  pure  a  mother  ever. 

He  chose  what  his  own  nature  was ;  • 

His  glorious  Godhead  chose  as  case 

The  purest  vase 

Of  flesh  and  bone's  endeavor 

That  woman  ever  to  her  heart 

'Tween  earth  and  heaven  gave  pressure. 

In  thee  lay  hidden  every  part, 

That  ever  did  from  virtue  start ; 

Of  bliss  thou  art 
The  sweetest,  chosen  treasure. 

Thou  gem,  thou  gold,  thou  diamond-glow, 

Thou  creamy  milk,  white  ivory,  oh ! 

Thou  honey-flow 

In  heart  and  mouth  dissolving  ; 

Of  fruitful  virtue  a  noble  grove, 

The  lovely  bride  of  God  above — 

Thou  sweet,  sweet  love, 

Thou  hour  with  bliss  revolving  ! 

Of  chastity  thou  whitest  snow, 

A  grape  of  chaste  and  sure  love, 

A  clover-field  of  true  love's  glow, 


244     Gottfried  von  Strassburgs  Great  Hymn  to  the  Virgin. 

Of  grace  a  bottomless  ocean's  flow : 

Yea  more,  I  trow : 
A  turtle-dove  of  pure  love. 


God  thee  hath  clothed  with  raiments  seven, 

On  thy  pure  body,  brought  from  heaven, 

Hath  put  them  even 

When  thou  wast  first  created. 

The  first  dress  Chastity  is  named, 

The  second  is  as  Virtue  famed, 

The  third  is  claimed 

And  as  sweet  Courtesy  rated. 

The  fourth  dress  is  Humility, 

The  fifth  is  Mercy's  beauty, 

The  sixth  one,  Faith,  clings  close  to  thee, 

The  seventh,  humble  Modesty, 

Keepeth  thee  free 
To  follow  simple  duty. 

To  worship,  Lady,  thee  doth  teach 

Pray'r  to  drenched  courage  and  numbed  speech, 

Yea,  and  fires  each 

Cold  heart  with  heavenly  rapture. 

To  worship  thee,  O  Lady !  can 

Teach  many  an  erring,  sinful  man, 

How  from  sin's  ban 

His  soul  he  still  may  capture. 

To  worship  thee  is  e'en  a  branch 

On  which  the  soul's  life  bloometh ; 

To  worship  thee  makes  bold  and  stanch 

The  weakest  soul  on  sin's  hard  bench ; 

God  it  doth  wrench 
From  hell  and  in  heaven  roometh. 

Then  let  both  men  and  women  proclaim, 
And  what  of  mother's  womb  e'er  came, 
Both  wild  and  tame, 
The  grace  of  thy  devotion. 
Then  praise  thee  now  what  living  lives, 
Whatever  heaven's  dew  receives, 
Runs,  floats,  or  cleaves 
Through  forest  or  through  ocean. 
Then  praise  thee  now  the  fair  star-shine, 
The  sun  and  the  moon  gold-glowing, 
Then  praise  thee  the  four  elements  thine; 
Yea,  blessedness  around  thee  twine, 

Thou  cheering  wine, 
Thou  stream  with  grace  o'erflowing. 


Gottfried  von  Strassburgs  Great  Hymn  to  the  Virgin.     245 

Rejoice,  then,  Lady  of  the  skies, 

Rejoice,  thou  God-love's  paradise, 

Rejoice,  thou  prize 

Of  sweetest  roses  growing ! 

Rejoice,  thou  blessecf  maiden,  then, 

Rejoice,  that  every  race  and  clan, 

Woman  and  man, 

Pray  to  thy  love  o'erflowing. 

Rejoice,  that  thou  with  God  dost  show 

So  many  things  in  common : 

His  yea  thy  yea,  his  no  thy  no ; 

Endless  ye  mingle  in  one  flow ; 

Small  and  great,  lo  ! 
He  shares  with  thee,  sweet  woman. 

Now  have  I  praised  the  mother  thine, 

O  sweet,  fair  Christ  and  Lord  of  mine  1 

That  honor's  shrine 

Wherein  thou  wast  created. 

And  loud  I'll  now  praise  thee,  O  Lord  ! 

Yea,  did  I  not,  'twould  check  my  word ; 

Thy  praise  has  soared, 

And  with  all  things  been  mated. 

Seven  hours  each  day  thy  praise  shall  now 

By  me  in  pray'r  be  chanted ; 

This  well  belongs  to  thee,  I  trow, 

For  with  all  virtues  thou  dost  glow ; 

From  all  grief  thou 
Relief  to  us  hast  granted. 

Thou  of  so  many  pure  hearts  the  hold, 
So  many  a  pure  maid's  sweetheart  bold, 
All  thee  enfold 

With  love  bright,  loud,  and  yearning. 
Thou  art  caressed  by  many  a  mood, 
Caressed  by  many  a  heart's  warm  blood ; 
Thou  art  so  good, 
So  truthful  and  love-burning. 
Caressed  by  all  the  stars  that  soar, 
By  moon  and  sun,  thou  blessing ! 
Caressed  by  the  great  elements  four ; 
Oh  !  ne'er  caressed  so  was  afore, 

Nor  will  be  more, 
Sweetheart  by  love's  caressing ! 

Yea,  thou  art  named  the  God  of  grace, 
Without  whose  special  power,  no  phase 
Of  life  in  space 
Had  ever  gained  existence. 


246     Gottfried  von  Strassburgs  Great  Hymn  to  the   Virgin. 

What  runneth,  climbeth,  sneaketh,  or  striveth, 

What  crawleth,  twineth,  flieth,  or  diveth, 

Yea,  all  that  thriveth 

In  earth  and  heaven's  subsistence : 

Of  all,  the  life  to  thee  is  known, 

Thou  art  their  food  and  banner, 

The  lives  of  all  are  held  alone 

By  thee,  O  Lord  !  and  on  thy  throne ; 

Thus  is  well  known 
Thy  grace  in  every  manner. 

God  of  thee  speaking,  God  of  thee  saying, 

Teareth  the  heart  its  passions  flaying, 

And  stay  waylaying 

The  ever-watchful  devil. 

God  of  thee  speaking,  God  of  thee  saying, 

Much  strength  and  comfort  keeps  displaying ; 

And  hearts  thus  staying, 

Are  saved  from  every  evil. 

God  of  thee  speaking,  God  of  thee  saying, 

Is  pleasure  beyond  all  pleasure. 

It  moves  our  hearts,  thy  grace  surveying, 

To  keep  with  love  thy  love  repaying ; 

O'er  all  things  swaying 
Thus  shines  thy  love's  great  treasure. 

God  of  thee  speaking  repentance  raises 

When  they,  who  chant  thy  wondrous  praises. 

Use  lying  phrases : 

So  purely  thy  word  gloweth. 

It  suffers  less  a  lying  mood 

Than  suffers  waves  the  ocean's  flood, 

So  pure  and  good 

Its  changeless  current  floweth. 

God  of  thee  speaking  doth  attest 

Pure  heart  and  chaste  endeavor, 

It  driveth  the  devil  from  our  breast. 

Oh  !  well  I  know  its  soothing  rest, 

It  is  the  zest 
Of  thy  vast  mercy's  flavor. 

Ah  virtue  pure,  ah  purest  vase  ! 

Ah  of  chaste  eyes  thou  mirror-glass  1 

Ah  diamond-case, 

With  fruitful  virtues  glowing  ! 

Ah  festive  day  to  pleasure  lent ! 

Ah  rapture  without  discontent ! 

Ah  sweet  musk-scent ! 

Ah  flower  gayly  blooming  ! 

Ah  heavenly  kingdom  where  thou  art ! 

On  earth,  in  hell,  or  heaven  ! 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


247 


Ah  cunning  o'er  all  cunning's  art ! 
Ah  thou,  that  knoweth  every  part ! 

Ah  sweet  Christ's  heart ! 
Ah  sweetness  without  leaven  ! 

Ah  virtue  there,  ah  virtue  here  ! 

Ah  virtue  on  many  a  dark  and  drear 

Path,  far  and  near ! 

Ah  virtue  e'er  befriending  ! 

Ah  thou  self-conscious  purity ! 

Ah  goodness,  those  that  cling  to  thee 

So  many  be 

Their  number  has  no  ending. 

Ah  father,  mother  thou,  and  son  ! 

Ah  brother  both  and  sister ! 

Ah  strong  of  faith  as  Jacob's  son  ! 

Ah  king  of  earth's  and  heaven's  throne 

Ah  thou  alone 
Our  friend  to-day  as  yester ! 


A    WORD    TO    THE    INDEPENDENT. 


"A   WORD   TO    FATHER.   HECKER. 

"  We  address  you,  Reverend  Dr.  Heck- 
er,  in  this  public  way  because  we  recog- 
'  nize  in  you  not  only  the  ablest  defender 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  in  the 
United  States,  but  also  the  most  progres- 
sive and  enlightened  leader  of  thought  in 
that  church.  In  the  words  we  have  to 
speak,  we  wish  to  speak  not  to  Dr.  Heck 
er,  the  antagonist  of  Protestantism,  but  to 
Father  Hecker,  a  leader  of  Catholicism. 
We  write  in  no  polemical  spirit.  We  have 
many  things  against  the  Church  of  Rome, 
and  have  spoken  severely  of  Catholicism 
as  you  have  of  Protestantism.  But  we  Have 
also  much  veneration  for  many  things  in 
that  church,  and  a  Very  great  admiration 
for  some  passages  in  its  history.  Enthu- 
siastic as  you  are,  sir,  you  cannot  revere 
more  sincerely  than  we  the  self-sacrificing 
benevolence  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  the 
zeal  of  St.  Francis  Xavier,  the  piety  of 
Fenelon  and  of  Lacordaire,  the  eloquence 
of  Bossuet  and  Massillon,  or  the  courage 
of  Pascal  and  Hyacinthe. 

"  We  come  to  you  for  help.  In  all  our 
great  cities  there  are  sections  inhabited 


almost  wholly  by  Roman  Catholic  peo- 
ple. It  is  a  fact,  as  well  known  to  you 
as  it  is  to  us,  that  Catholic  sections  of  the 
cities  abound  in  destitution,  in  ignorance, 
in  vice,  in  crime.  Children  are  here 
trained  by  all  their  surroundings  to  a  life 
of  wickedness.  In  many  homes  they 
learn  profanity  from  the  lips  of  their 
mothers,  and  they  are  .familiar  with 
drunkenness  from  their  cradle,  if  they  are 
so  fortunate  as  to  have  one  left  not  pawn- 
ed to  buy  the  means  of  drunkenness.  We 
know  how  many  honest  and  hard-work- 
ing Catholics  there  are  in  these  sections, 
and  we  know  how  many  villanous  non- 
Catholics  there  are.  But  you  know  as 
well  as  any  one  knows  that  the  Catholic 
population  furnishes  vastly  more  than  its 
proportion  of  paupers  and  criminals.  The 
reform  schools,  the  prisons,  the  alms- 
houses,  are  nearly  full  of  Catholics.  In 
the  Catholic  sections  of  the  cities  there 
are  drinking-saloons,  dog-pits,  and  broth- 
els in  abundance.  The  men  who  keep 
these  places  are,  in  undue  proportion, 
Catholics.  They  receive  extreme  unction 
on  their  death-beds,  and  are  buried  in 
consecrated  cemeteries  with  the  rites  of 


248 


A    Word  to  ihc  Independent. 


the  church.  We  say  these  things  not  to 
wound  your  Catholic  pride,  nor  to  injure 
that  church,  but  to  ask  one  question: 
Cannot  the  Catholic  Church  herself  do 
something  to  mitigate  these  evils? 

"  Protestants  plant  missions  in  some  of 
these  Catholic  quarters.  We  are  not  sure 
that  these  missions  are  always  conducted 
as  they,  should  be.  Perhaps  there  may 
be  too  much  of  a  spirit  of  proselytism  in 
some  of  them  ;  but,  at  any  rate,  there  is 
a  sincere  desire  to  make  men  better. 
Drunkards  have  been  reformed  by  these 
missions.  Women  of  evil  life  have  been 
reclaimed.  Children  have  been  taken 
from  vile  homes  and  taught  the  ways  of 
virtue.  Sunday-schools  and  reading- 
rooms  have  been  established,  and  have 
contributed  to  the  culture  and  elevation 
of  adults  and  children. 

"  But  you  know,  sir,  how  strong  is  the 
Catholic  prejudice  against  Protestants. 
Broken  windows,  and  sometimes  broken 
heads,  have  testified  to  the  appreciation 
the  Catholic  population  has  of  such 
efforts  on  the  part  of  Protestants.  There 
are  whole  districts  from  which  Protes- 
tants are  practically  excluded.  For  the 
worse  the  lives  of  these  people  are,  the 
more  combatively  devoted  are  they  to  the 
Catholic  Church.  Of  course,  we  believe 
that  Protestantism  is  better  than  Roman 
Catholicism  ;  but  since  the  reaching  of 
these  people  with  Protestant  missions  is 
not  possible,  we  come  to  you  and  ask 
you  whether  you,  who  have  done  so  much 
for  the  enlightenment  of  the  Catholic 
Church  through  its  literature,  will  not  lift 
up  your  powerful  voice  to  plead  with  the 
church  to  use  her  almost  unlimited  in- 
fluence for  the  regeneration  of  her  peo- 
ple. 

"  We  are  never  tired  of  praising  Cath- 
olic charities.  But  Catholic  charities, 
like  many  Protestant  ones,  are  only  half- 
charities.  Of  what  avail  is  it  that  you 
build  a  House  of  the  Good  Shepherd  for 
abandoned  women,  if  you  do  not  also  take 
means  to  mitigate  the  ignorance  and  the 
wickedness  of  the  children  who  are  quick- 
ly to  supply  the  places  of  those  whom  you 
have  recovered  ? 

"We  point  you  to  no  Protestant  exam- 
ple. We  know  of  none  so  good  as  that 
of  the  illustrious  St.  Charles  Borromeo. 
If  the  great  Cathedral  of  Milan  were  the 
rudest  chapel  in  Europe,  it  would  yet  be 
one  of  the  most  glorious  of  temples.  We 
need  not  point  the  application  of  his  ex- 
ample to  the  present  subject.  If  the 


Catholic  Church  in  America  had  one  ec- 
clesiastic of  ability  who  possessed  half  the 
zeal  of  the  illustrious  successor  of  St. 
Ambrose,  this  stain  upon  American 
Catholicism  might  soon  be  wiped  away. 
We  need  not  remind  one  so  learned  in 
church  history  as  yourself  of  his  toilsome 
labor  in  the  cause  of  education,  and  of 
his  endeavors,  which  ceased  only  with  his 
life,  to  remove  ignorance  and  vice  from 
his  diocese.  In  suggesting  to  you,  whose 
parish  has  already  so  admirable  a  Sunday- 
school,  the  good  that  might  be  accom- 
plished by  a  thoroughly  organized  Sun- 
day school  system,  we  do  not  need  to  sug- 
gest that  in  Sunday-school  work  Catho- 
lics are  not  imitators  of  Protestants.  We 
are  proud  to  trace  the  history  of  Sunday- 
schools  to  St.  Charles  Borromeo. 

"  By  helping  to  improve  the  moral,  in- 
tellectual, and  religious  character  of  the 
lower  class  of  American  Catholics,  you 
can  do  more  than  by  all  your  eloquent  ar 
guments  to  make  Protestants  think  well  oi 
the  mother  church.  Americans  are  very 
practical,  and  a  good  chapter  of  present 
church  history  enacted  before  their  eyes 
will  have  more  weight  with  them  than  all 
the  old  church  history  your  learning  can 
dig  from  the  folios  of  eighteen  centuries." 

We  depart  from  our  usual  course 
to  reprint  the  above  rather  long  ar- 
ticle, which  appeared  some  time  ago 
in  the  Independent,  one  of  the  lead- 
ing Protestant  papers  of  the  coun- 
try, not  because  of  its  intrinsic  merits 
or  special  untruthfulness,  nor  yet  for 
its  assumed  knowledge  of  the  views 
and  duties  of  the  reverend  gentle- 
man to  whom  it  is  so  pointedly  ad- 
dressed, but  because  we  consider  this 
a  fitting  time  and  place  to  answer 
the  invidious  attacks  which,  under 
one  guise  or  another,  are  so  constant- 
ly being  made  on  the  church  in 
America  by  those  who  are  neither 
able  to  »ieet  openly  our  arguments, 
nor  to  arrest  covertly  the  astonishing 
progress  which  our  holy  religion  is 
happily  making  in  every  part  of  this 
republic.  These  assaults  sometimes 
take  the  form  of  wholesale  and  men- 
dacious assertion  and  passionate  ap- 
peal to  blind  prejudice  and  unreason; 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


249 


while  sometimes,  like  the  one  before 
us,  they  assume  the  thin  disguise  of 
personal  courtesy  and  general  charity 
to  all  men.  The  former  aps  perhaps 
the  more  manly,  the  latter  have  the 
merit  of  permitting  us,  without  loss  of 
self-respect,  to  reply  to  them.  The  ob- 
ject in  either  case  is  the  same  :  a  vain 
endeavor  to  stem  the  tide  of  Catho- 
licity which,  in  a  succession  of  great 
waves,  as  it  were,  is  fast  spreading 
over  the  land,  and  an  attempt  to  make 
our  faith  an  object  of  aversion  to  those 
of  our  countrymen  not  yet  in  the 
church,  by  associating  it  with  all  that 
is  impoverished,  illiterate,  and  im- 
moral. 

It  is  true,  as  the  writer  says,  that 
the  Americans  are  a  practical  people ; 
but  we  are  not  by  any  means  a  very 
reflective  people,  and  are  very  apt  to 
judge  hastily  of  others  without  suffi- 
ciently considering  the  various  caus- 
es which  underlie  the  surface  of 
society,  or  the  effects  which  may  be 
produced  on  a  people  less  fortunate 
than  ourselves  by  ages  of  misrule  and 
persecution.  Knowing  this  national 
failing  very  well,  the  writer  in  the 
Independent  adroitly  seeks  to  hold  the 
Catholic  Church  responsible  for  the 
faults  and  vices  of  a  certain  class  of 
nominal  Catholics  in  our  midst,  when 
he  is  fully  aware  that  these  very 
vices,  so  far  from  being  the  growth 
of  Catholic  teaching,  are  not  only  in 
absolute  contradiction  to  it,  but  are 
the  direct  and  logical  results  of  an 
elaborate  system  of  penal  legislation, 
designed  to  produce  the  very  degra- 
dation of  which  he  complains,  and 
persistently  carried  out  to  its  furthest 
limit  by  the  leading  Protestant  pow- 
er of  Europe. 

Take  New  York,  for  instance. 
Here  the  church  is  practically  the 
growth  of  but  half  a  century.  There 
are  some  among  us  whose  Catholic 
ancestors  came  to  this  country  in  the 
last  or  even  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 


tury ;  others  who  have  sought  refuge 
from  the  doubts  and  uncertainties  of 
Protestantism  in  the  peaceful  bosom 
of  mother  church ;  but  by  far  the  great- 
er number  are  immigrants  of  this  cen- 
tury, and  their  children,  who,  glad  to 
flee  from  famine  and  persecution  with 
nothing  but  their  lives  and  faith,  have 
sought  refuge  on  our  shores  from  the 
tyranny  of  a  hostile  government, 
which  the  world  has  long  recognized 
as  both  insincere,  oppressive,  and  illib- 
eral, but  which,  by  virtue  of  its  as- 
sumed leadership  in  the  Protestant 
revolt  called  the  Reformation,  wanton- 
ly and  tenaciously  continued  to  per- 
secute its  subjects  who  dared  to  pro- 
fess their  devotion  to  the  faith  of  their 
fathers.  Any  one,  be  he  lawyer  or 
laymen,  who  reads  the  penal  acts  of 
the  parliaments  of  England,  Scotland, 
and  Ireland  from  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.  downward,  must  be  satisfied 
that  a  more  complete  network  of  laws 
for  the  purpose  of  beggaring,  degrad- 
ing, and  corrupting  human  nature 
has  never  been  devised.  Some  of 
them,  in  fact,  are  almost  preternatural 
in  their  ingenuity ;  and  the  wonder  is 
how  any  class  of  people  coming  un- 
der their  operation  could,  for  any 
length  of  time,  retain  even  the  sem- 
blance of  civilization.  Everything 
that  it  was  possible  to  take  by  legisla- 
tion from  the  Catholics  of  Great  Bri- 
tain and  Ireland  was  taken,  every  ad- 
vantage arising  from  the  possession 
of  land  or  the  acquisition  of  commer- 
cial wealth  was  denied  them,  and  the 
avenues  to  honor  and  distinction 
were,  and  are  partially  so  to  this  day, 
closed  against  them,  generation  after 
generation.  That  many  of  the  de- 
scendants of  these  persecuted  people 
who  have  come  among  us  are  unedu- 
cated is  true,  that  they  are  generally 
poor  is  a  fact  patent  to  every  one; 
but  it  ill  becomes  the  Independent  to 
taunt  them  with  their  ignorance  and 
their  poverty,  knowing,  as  it  does,  that 


250 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


it  was  Protestantism,  of  which  it  is 
the  expounder  and  the  eulogist,  that 
has  robbed  them  of  their  birthright, 
and  striven,  with  some  success,  it 
seems,  to  plunge  their  souls  in  dark- 
ness. Is  it  fair  or  generous  to  hold 
these  people  up  to  public  contumely 
because  of  the  scars  they  have  re- 
ceived in  their  unequalled  struggle 
for  the  freedom  of  conscience  and 
nationality  ;  is  it  just  or  American  to 
try  to  steal  from  those  who  seek  an 
asylum  on  our  soil  that  for  which  they 
have  imperilled  and  lost  all  else — 
their  faith,  which  is  to  them  dearer 
than  life  itself?  Or  is  it  more  in 
keeping  with  all  our  ideas  of  true 
manhood  and  republican  liberty  that 
while  we  extend  one  arm  to  shield 
the  victim  of  oppression,  the  other 
should  be  stretched  forth  in  reproba- 
tion of  his  plunderer  and  persecu- 
tor ?  If  they  have  vices — and  what 
people  have  not  ? — let  a  share  of  the 
blame  at  least  be  laid  at  the  doors 
of  those  who  designedly  and  contin- 
ually debarred  them  from  all  means 
of  enlightenment  and  every  incen- 
tive to  virtue,  instead  of  being  attri- 
buted to  the  influence  of  the  church. 
And  yet,  in  view  of  the  gloomy  his- 
tory of  these  people — a  chapter  in  the 
annals  of  England  which  the  best  of 
her  Protestant  statesmen  are  endeav- 
oring to  efface  from  the  popular  mem- 
ory—  the  writer  in  the  Independent 
appears  to  be  surprised  at  what  he 
calls  Catholic  prejudice  against  Prot- 
estant missions.  No  man,  we  are 
safe  in  saying,  has  less  prejudice 
against  his  fellow-man  than  the 
American  Catholic,  in  all  the  usual 
intercourse  of  life  ;  but  when  a  per- 
son under  the  garb  of  charity  in- 
vades the  sanctity  of  his  home  simply 
to  abuse  his  religion,  or  waylays  his 
children  in  the  streets  and  inveigles 
them  into  mission-houses  and  Sunday- 
schools  by  the  proffer  of  a  loaf  or  a 
jacket,  for  the  purpose  of  telling  them 


that  their  fathers'  faith  is  rank  idola- 
try, is  it  not  too  much  to  expect  that 
he  will  remain  unmoved  and  uncom- 
plaining ?  The  writer  should  recollect 
that  the  class  of  so-called  missionaries 
who  infest  the  quarters  of  our  poorer 
fellow-Catholics  are  not  new  to  those 
people.  They  have  seen  their  coun- 
terparts long  ago  in  Bantry  and  Con- 
nemara,  in  the  fertile  valleys  of 
Munster  and  on  the  bleak  hills  of 
Connaught,  in  the  dark  days  of  the 
great  famine,  when  the  tract  dis- 
tributer followed  hard  on  the  heels 
of  the  tithe-proctor  and  the  bailiff, 
tendering  a  meal  or  a  shilling  as 
the  price  of  apostasy.  If  heads 
are  occasionally  broken,  they  are 
not  the  heads  of  those  who  attend 
to  their  own  affairs  and  let  their 
neighbors  attend  to  theirs,  but  of  some 
intermeddling  tract-scatterer,  whose 
salary  depends  upon  the  number  of 
copies  he  can  force  into  the  hands 
of  Catholics  without  regard  to  their 
wishes  or  feelings.  The  provocation 
emanates  from  them,  and  they  must 
take  the  consequences.  If  the  law 
permits  us  to  inflict  summary  chastise- 
ment on  the  burglar  who  enters  our 
house  to  take  our  goods,  shall  we 
have  no  remedy  against  him  who 
prowls  about  our  doors  to  steal  our 
children  and  abuse  our  faith  ? 

If  Protestant  missions  were  prop- 
erly conducted,  they  would  have  none 
of  these  difficulties  to  contend  with. 
But  are  they  properly  conducted  ? 
The  writer  in  the  Independent  seems 
to  have  some  doubts  on  this  point. 
We  have  none.  Whoever  will  take 
the  trouble  to  attend  the  Bible-class- 
es, prayer-meetings,  day-schools,  and 
Sunday-schools  of  the  Howard  Mis- 
sion and  its  adjuncts,  will  be  satisfied 
that  they  are  nothing  but  ingeniously 
contrived  machines  for  the  purpose  of 
proselytizing  Catholic  children.  Abuse 
of  Catholicity  of  the  most  unqualified 
and  vulgar  kind  forms  the  staple  of  the 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


251 


instructions  there  from  beginning  to 
end.  Even  the  material  relief  is  di- 
verted to  this  purpose.  The  poor 
naif-starved  lad,  as  he  eats  his  food, 
swallows  it  down  with  a  draught  of 
no-popery  cant,  and  the  ragged  little 
girl,  as  she  dons  some  cast-off  gar- 
ment, has  her  young  mind  polluted  by 
aspersions  on  the  name  of  her  whom 
Holy  Writ  declared  should  be  called 
blessed  by  all  nations.  We  have 
before  us  a  periodical  issued  from  the 
Howard  Mission,  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  a  Rev.  W.  C.  Van  Me- 
ter, which  is  as  full  of  that  canting, 
snivelling,  anti-Catholic  spirit  as  ever 
characterized  the  days  of  God-save- 
Barebones  or  of  John  Wesley's  un- 
lettered disciples.  As  a  specimen  of 
the  veracity  of  this  modem  apostle  to 
the  Fourth  Ward,  and  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Independent,  which  has  some 
doubts  as  to  whether  Protestant  mis- 
sions are  properly  conducted,  we  ex- 
tract the  following  prominent  article 
from  its  pages : 

"  PROTESTANTOM  vs.  ROMANISM. — In 
the  Protestant  countries  of  Great  Britain 
and  Prussia,  where  20  can  read  and  write, 
there  are  but  13  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
countries  of  France  and  Austria.  In 
European  countries,  i  in  every  10  are  in 
schools  in  the  Protestant  countries,  and 
but  I  in  124  in  the  Roman  Catholic.  In 
six  leading  Protestant  countries  in  Eu- 
rope, i  newspaper  or  magazine  is  pub- 
lished to  every  315  inhabitants  ;  while  in 
six  Roman  Catholic  there  is  but  i  to 
every  2,715.  The  value  of  what  is  pro- 
duced a  year  by  industry  in  Spain  is  $6 
to  each  inhabitant ;  in  France,  $7%  ;  Prus- 
sia, $8  ;  and  in  Great  Britain,  $31.  There 
are  about  a  third  more  paupers  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  countries  of  Europe 
than  in  the  Protestant,  owing  mainly  to 
their  numerous  holidays  and  prevailing 
ignorance,  idleness,  and  vice.  Three 
times  as  many  crimes  are  committed  in 
Ireland  as  in  Great  Britain,  though  the 
population  is  but  a  third.  There  are  six 
times  as  many  homicides,  four  times  as 
many  assassinations,  and  from  three  to 
four  times  as  many  thefts  in  Ireland  as 


in  Scotland.  In  Catholic  Austria,  there 
are  four  times  as  many  crimes  committed 
as  in  the  adjoining  Protestant  kingdom 
of  Prussia."  * 

Now,  we  ask,  is  the  man  or  men 
who  penned  and  circulated  this  atro- 
cious calumny  likely  to  command 
the  respect  of  any  class  of  Catholics, 
learned  or  ignorant?  He  or  they 
knew,  or  ought  to  have  known,  that 
it  contains  several  deliberate  false- 
hoods. Take,  for  example,  the  por- 
tion of  the  extract  relating  to  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland.  By  referring 
to  the  report  of  "  Her  Majesty's  In- 
spector of  Schools,  August  31, 1868," 
we  find  that  in  England  and  Wales 
the  average  attendance  at  all  the 
schools  in  the  kingdom  was  1,050,120, 
in  Scotland  191,860,  and  in  Ireland, 
at  the  model  schools  alone,  354,853, 
or  nearly  twice  as  many  as  in  Scot- 
land, and,  in  proportion  to  the  popu- 
lation, one-seventh  more  than  in 
England.  From  the  official  report 
of  the  statistics  of  crime  in  the  same 
year  (the  latest  published  reports  that 
have  reached  us),  there  were  convict- 
ed of  crime  in  England  15,003,  in 
Scotland  2,490,  and  in  Ireland  2,394. 
Of  those  sentenced  in  England,  21 
were  condemned  to  death,  18  to  pe- 
nal servitude  for  life,  and  1,921  for  a 
term  of  years.  In  Scotland,  one  was 
condemned  to  death,  and  243  to  pe- 
nal servitude,  while  in  Ireland  none 
were  condemned  to  death,  and  but 
238  to  penal  servitude.  We  find 
also  that  in  England  alone  118,390 
persons  are  reported  as  belonging  to  the 
criminal  classes  known  to  the  autho- 
rities, and  but  23,041  in  Ireland;  and 
while  the  former  country  has  20,000 
houses  of  bad  character,  the  latter 
has  5,876.  The  number  of  paupers 
in  each  of  the  three  countries  shows 
even  a  greater  disparity.  England 

*  The    Little     Wanderer's   Friend,    January, 
1871. 


252 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


in  1868  had,  exclusive  of  vagrants, 
1,039,549,  or  one  in  every  twenty 
of  the  population;  Scotland,  158,372, 
or  one  in  every  19;  and  Ireland, 
74,254,  or  one  in  every  80 !  * 

If  it  were  not  foreign  to  our  pre- 
sent purpose,  we  could  prove  that  the 
managers  of  the  Protestant  missions 
are  equally  untruthful  in  their  invidi- 
ous comparisons  instituted  between 
other  countries,t  but  we  have  shown 
enough  to  convince  any  impartial 
person  that  they  are  not  fit  to  be  en- 
trusted with  the  care  of  youth  of 
any  class,  much  less  of  Catholic  chil- 
dren. If  the  supporters  of  the  In- 
dependent are  sincere  in  their  desire 
to  benefit  the  destitute,  the  needy, 
and  the  vicious,  let  them  first  remove 
all  suspicion  of  proselytism  from  their 
charities  by  appointing  proper  per- 
sons to  administer  them.  If  they 
have  conscientious  scruples  against 
co-operating  with  the  various  Ca- 
tholic charitable  societies,  who  know 
the  poor  and  are  trusted  by  them, 
there  are  other  ways  of  dispensing 
their  bounty  judiciously  than  by 
tampering  with  the  poor  people's 
faith,  and  their  charity  will  then  be- 
come a  blessing  to  the  giver  as  well 
as  to  the  receiver.  Then  let  them, 
above  all  things,  advocate  a  fair  and 
impartial  distribution  of  the  public 
school  funds.  It  is  well  known  that 
the  Catholics  as  a  body  are  far  from 
being  rich,  and  that  while  they  are 
struggling  hard  to  sustain  their  own 
schools,  they  are  heavily  taxed  for 
the  support  of  those  to  which  they 
cannot  consistently  send  their  chil- 
dren, and  from  which,  in  many  instan- 
ces, the  offspring  of  the  rich  alone 
receive  any  benefit.  Can  we  not 
in  this  free  democracy  have  laws  re- 
gulating education  at  least  as  equita- 


*  Thoins  Directory  of  the  United  Kingdom  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland ',  for  1870,  pp.  713-721. 

t  See  CATHOLIC  WORLD  for  April.  September, 
and  October,  1869,  and  April,  1870. 


ble  as  those  of  Austria  and  Prussia — 
countries  which  we  are  pleased  to 
call  despotic  ?  Help  us  to  the  means 
to  educate  our  children  in  our  own 
way,  as  we  have  a  right  to  do,  and 
you  will  see  how  the  stigma  of  igno- 
rance and  its  consequences  will  be 
removed  from  the  fair  forehead  of 
this  great  metropolis.  We  ask  not 
charity,  we  simply  want  our  fair  share 
of  that  public  money  which  is  con- 
tributed by  Catholic  and  Protestant 
alike  for  educational  purposes,  and 
the  liberty  to  apply  it  with  as  much 
freedom  from  state  interference  as  is 
enjoyed  in  the  monarchies  of  Europe. 
The  writer  in  the  Independent  as- 
sumes, with  a  coolness  approaching  im- 
pertinence, that  the  clergyman  whom 
he  addresses  knows  that  the  Catholic 
population  "  furnishes  more,  vastly 
more,  than  its  proportion  of  paupers 
and  criminals."  He  knows  no  such 
thing,  nor  does  any  right-minded  man 
in  the  community  know  it.  That 
there  are  many  and  grave  crimes  com- 
mitted by  nominal  Catholics  is,  alas  ! 
too  true,  but  that  many  such  are 
perpetrated,  to  any  appreciable  ex- 
tent, by  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
practical  Catholics  in  this  city,  no 
sane  man  believes.  Poor  and  ignor- 
ant, if  you  will,  without  capital,  bus- 
iness training,  or  mechanical  skill, 
many  thousands  of  our  immigrants 
are  from  necessity  obliged  to  make 
their  homes  in  the  purlieus  of  our 
great  cities.  Disappointed  in  their  too 
sanguine  expectation  of  fortune  in 
the  New  World,  some  seek  solace  in 
intoxication,  and  in  that  condition 
commit  acts  of  lawlessness  which  their 
better  nature  abhors.  But  much  as 
the  commission  of  crime  in  any  shape 
is  to  be  regretted  and  reprehended, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  most  of  the 
offences  are  comparatively  trivial  in 
their  nature  and  consequences,  and 
few,  even  of  the  darkest,  are  the  re- 
sult of  premeditated  villany.  In 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


253 


searching  over  the  criminal  records 
of  our  state  and  country,  we  seldom 
find  a  contrived  infraction  of  the  law 
by  the  class  to  which  the  writer  so 
ungraciously  alludes.  A  gigantic 
swindle,  a  scientific  burglary,  a  nicely 
planned  larceny,  an  adroit  forgery,  a 
diabolical  seduction,  or  a  deliberate 
and  long-contemplated  murder  by 
poison  or  the  knife,  is  seldom  commit- 
ted by  that  class,  but  by  those  who 
were  reared  in  as  much  hostility  to  Ca- 
tholicity as  the  writer  of  the  Independ- 
ent himself.  This  higher  grade  of 
crime,  this  "  bad  pre-eminence,"  we 
might  with  some  show  of  justice  as- 
cribe to  the  effects  of  the  laxity  of  Pro- 
testant morals,  but  we  have  no  desire 
to  do  so  here  ;  and  with  even  much 
more  truthfulness  might  we  charge 
the  sects  who  teach  that  marriage  is 
merely  a  civil  contract  with  the 
responsibility  of  those  other  vices 
which,  striking  at  the  very  founda- 
tions of  society  and  the  sanctity  of 
the  family,  are  more  lasting  in  their 
consequences  and  more  demoralizing 
in  their  immediate  effects,  than  all  the 
others  put  together.  The  columns 
of,  this  same  virtuous  Independent 
have  obtained  an  unenviable  notor- 
iety by  spreading  the  most  shameful 
and  corrupting  doctrines  on  this  vital 
subject.  But  we  have  no  wish  to 
retort:  the  records  of  our  divorce 
courts  will  prove  that  this  class  of 
criminals  is  made  up  almost  exclusive- 
ly of  non-Catholics. 

The  writer  in  the  Independent, 
throughout  his  appeal,  assumes  a 
tone  of  superior  knowledge  and  a 
lofty  contempt  for  details  that  might 
mislead  some  into  the  belief  that  the 
Catholic  body  of  this  city  was  an 
inert  and  helpless  mass.  He  asks, 
"  Will  you  not  lift  up  your  powerful 
voice  to  plead  with  the  church  to  use 
her  almost  unlimited  influence  for  the 
regeneration  of  her  people  ?"  Does 
the  writer  know,  or  has  he  attempted 
to  ascertain,  all  that  the  church  has 


done  and  is  doing  in  this  city,  as  in 
every  other,  for  the  "  regeneration  of 
her  people"  ?  If  he  does  not,  by 
what  right  does  he  assume  that  the 
voice  of  any  one  man  or  any  number 
of  men  is  required  to  plead  with  the 
church  to  do  her  duty  ?  If  he  be 
ignorant  of  his  subject,  then  by  what 
authority  does  he  take  upon  himself 
the  office  of  mediator  between  the 
church  and  the  people?  If  he  be 
not  in.  ignorance,  then  his  carefully 
worded  sentences  and  smoothly  turn- 
ed compliments  merely  cover,  without 
concealing,  a  tissue  of  base  insinua- 
tions, beside  which  downright  false- 
hood were  rank  flattery. 

Let  him  look  at  what  the  church 
has  done  in  New  York  in  the  past 
generation !  Forty  churches  and 
chapels  have  been  built,  with  a  capa- 
city, it  is  said,  to  seat  fifty-six  thousand 
persons,  but  really  equal  to  the  ac- 
commodation of  five  times  that  num- 
ber, as  in  every  church  the  divine 
service  is  offered  up  at  least  three  times 
each  Sunday,  and  all  are  attended 
beyond  the  greatest  capacity  of  the 
building.  To  many  of  our  churches 
is  attached  a  free  day-school  for  boys 
and  girls,  and  invariably  a  Sunday- 
school —  thronged  weekly  by  the 
youth  of  both  sexes,  to  listen  to  the 
instruction  and  counsel  of  competent 
teachers.  Every  parish  has  its  St.  Vin- 
cent de  Paul  society,  counting  hun- 
dreds and  in  some  cases  thousands  of 
members,  whose  aim  it  is  to  visit  the 
sick,  the  afflicted,  and  the  needy ;  and 
its  temperance  society,  the  strength 
of  which  may  be  judged  by  the  long 
line  of  stahvorth  men  we  see  parad- 
ing our  streets  on  festal  occasions. 
Colleges,  schools,  and  convents  there 
are  in  great  numbers  for  the  teaching 
of  the  higher  branches  of  education. 
Hospitals  for  the  sick  and  afflicted, 
asylums  for  the  blind,  the  orphan, 
the  foundling,  and  the  repentant  sin- 
ner, a  reformatory  for  erring  youth, 
and  a  shelter  for  old  age.  Almost 


254 


A    Word  to  the  Independent. 


every  conceivable  want  of  weak  hu- 
manity has  its  appropriate  place  of 
supply  among  our  charitable  institu- 
tions. 

All  this  grand  system  of  charities 
is,  however,  lost  on  the  writer  in  the 
Independent.  His  special  attention  is 
directed  to  the  "  dense  Catholic  sec- 
tions." Well,  we  will  take  the  Fourth 
Ward,  which  is  blessed  with  the 
Howard  Mission  and  the  beneficent 
supervision  of  Mr.  Van  Meter.  St. 
James's  Church  is  situated  in  this  ward, 
and  its  parish  embraces  all  the  Pro- 
testant missions  so-called,  and  most 
of  their  offshoots.  Upon  personal 
inquiry,  we  find  that  there  is  erect- 
ed in  this  parish  a  magnificent  and 
spacious  school-house,  at  a  cost  of 
one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars, attended  daily  during  week-days 
by  upwards  of  fourteen  hundred  boys 
and.  girls,  taught  by  twenty-two 
teachers  of  both  sexes.  The  tuition 
is  entirely  free,  the  expenses  amount- 
ing to  about  twelve  thousand  dollars 
annually,  being  sustained  by  the  volun- 
tary contributions  of  the  parishioners. 
The  Sunday-schools  of  this  church 
are  attended  by  twenty-Jive  hundred 
children,  about  one-half  of  whom,  be- 
ing employed  during  the  week,  are 
imable  to  attend  the  day-schools. 
Then  there  is  an  industrial  school, 
attended  by  between  one  and  two 
hundred  poor  children,  mostly  half- 
«<rphans,  who  are  provided  with 
dinner  every  day,  and  to  whom  are 
given  two  entire  suits  of  new  cloth- 
ing every  year,  on  July  4th  and 
Christmas  Day.  In  addition  to  these 
there  is  a  branch  of  the  St.  Vincent  do 
Paul  Society,  numbering  several  hun- 
dred members,  forty  of  whom  are  con- 
stantly on  duty,  visiting  the  sick, 
counselling  the  erring,  helping  the 
needy,  and  performing  other  works  of 
charity.  This  society  alone  expends 
annually  at  least  five  thousand  dol- 
lars. Besides,  there  are  two  temper- 
ance societies,  numbering  nearly  nine 


hundred  men,  who  not  only  discour- 
age intemperance  by  their  example, 
but  seek  by  weekly  meetings,  lectures, 
and  other  popular  attractions  to  win 
others  to  follow  in  their  footsteps. 
Now,  these-are  facts  easily  verified  by 
any  one  who  may  wish  to  do  so,  and 
may  be  taken  as  a  fair  specimen  of  the 
gigantic  efforts  which  the  church  is 
making  in  every  parish  in  this  city 
for  the  conservation  of  the  morals 
and  the  education  of  her  people.  St. 
James's  Parish  may  be  said  to  contain 
the  largest  proportionate  number  of 
our  poorer  brethren,  who,  though 
heavily  taxed  as  tenement  holders 
and  retail  purchasers  of  all  the  neces- 
saries of  life,  contributing  of  course 
their  quota  to  the  public  school  fund, 
can  yet  afford,  out  of  their  scanty  and 
often  precarious  means,  to  educate 
and  partly  feed  and  clothe  over  fif- 
teen hundred  children.  Can  the 
Independent  show  any  similar  ef- 
fort on  the  part  of  any  of  the 
sects  ? 

The  writer  in  the  Independent  says, 
"  We  come  to  you  for  help."  What 
sort  of  help  ?  If  it  is  assistance  to 
prop  up  the  decaying  Protestant  mis- 
sions which  have  so  long  been  sources 
of  discord  and  bad  feeling  among 
our  Catholic  fellow-citizens,  profit- 
able only  to  their  employees,  we  re- 
spectfully decline  :  if  he  is  in  truth  and 
all  sincerity  desirous  to  devote  a  part 
of  his  leisure  time  and  means  to  im- 
prove the  condition  of  his  less  for- 
tunate fellow-beings  in  the  denser 
populated  portions  of  the  city,  we 
cannot  advise  him  to  do  better  than 
to  consult  the  pastor  of  St.  James's 
or  of  any  of  the  churches  in  the 
lower  wards,  who  will  give  him  all 
the  help  required  for  the  proper 
disposal  of  both.  And,  in  conclu- 
sion, let  us  suggest  to  him  that  no 
amount  of  politeness  will  justify  the 
violation  of  the  commandment  which 
says,  "  Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  wit- 
ness against  thy  neighbor." 


Our  Lady  of  Lonrdcs. 


255 


OUR    LADY     OF    LOURDES. 


FROM   THE   FRENCH    OF   HENRI   LASSERRE. 


VI. 

THE  press  of  Paris  and  of  the 
provinces  was  beginning  to  discuss 
the  events  at  Lourdes  ;  and  public 
attention  far  outside  the  region  of  the 
Pyrenees  was  gradually  being  attract- 
ed to  the  Grotto  of  Massabielle. 

The  measures  of  .the  prefect  were 
loudly  applauded  by  the  infidel  papers 
and  as  vehemently  condemned  by  the 
Catholic  ones.  The  latter,  while 
maintaining  a  due  reserve  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  reality  of  the  apparitions 
and  miracles,  held  that  a  question  of 
this  nature  should  be  decided  by  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities,  and  not 
summarily  settled  according  to  the 
will  of  the  prefect. 

The  innumerable  cures  which 
were  taking  place  at  the  grotto,  or 
even  at  distant  places,  continually 
drew  an  immense  number  of  inva- 
lids and  pilgrims  to  Lourdes.  The 
Latour  de  Trie  analysis,  and  the  min- 
is eral  properties  claimed  for  the  new- 
spring  by  the  official  representative  of 
science,  added  yet  more  to  the  repu- 
i  tation  of  the  grotto,  and  made  it  at- 
tractive even  to  those  who  depended 
for  their  cure  only  on  the  unaided 
powers  of  nature.  Also,  the  discus- 
sion, by  exciting  men's  minds,  added 
>  to  the  throng  of  the  faithful  there  as- 
sembled another  of  the  curious.  All 
the  means  adopted  by  the  unbeliev- 
ers turned  directly  against  the  end 
which  they  had  proposed  to  them- 
selves. 

By  the  irresistible  course  of  events, 
then — a  course  fatal  in  the  eyes  of 
some,  but  providential  in  those  of 
Others — the  crowd  which  the  authori- 


ties had  been  trying  to  disperse  was 
continually  assuming  larger  and  larg- 
er proportions.  And  it  increased  the 
more,  because,  as  ill  luck  would  have 
it,  the  material  obstacles  which  the 
frosts  of  winter  had  produced  had 
gradually  disappeared.  The  month 
of  May  had  returned ;  and  the  beau- 
tiful spring  weather  seemed  to  invite 
pilgrims  to  come  to  the  grotto  by  all 
the  flowery  roads  which  traverse  the 
woods,  meadows,  and  vineyards  in 
this  region  of  lofty  mountains,  green 
hills,  and  shady  valleys. 

The  provoked  but  powerless  pre- 
fect watched  the  growth  and  spread 
of  this  peaceable  and  wonderful 
movement,  which  was  bringing  the 
Christian  multitudes  to  kneel  and 
drink  at  the  foot  of  a  desolate 
rock. 

The  measures  already  taken  had, 
it  is  true,  prevented  the  grotto  from 
looking  like  an  oratory,  but,  substan- 
tially, the  state  of  things  remained 
the  same.  From  all  sides  people 
were  coming  to  the  scene  of  a  mira- 
cle. Contrary  to  the  hope  of  the 
free-thinkers,  the  fear  of  the  faithful, 
and  the  expectations  of  all,  absolute- 
ly no  disturbance  or  breach  of  the 
peace  occurred  in  this  extraordi- 
nary concourse  of  men  and  women, 
old  and  young,  believers  and  infidels, 
the  curious  and  the  indifferent.  An 
invisible  hand  seemed  to  protect 
these  crowds  from  mutual  collision  as 
they  daily  throXiged  by  thousands  to 
the  miraculous  fountain. 

The  magistracy,  represented  by 
M.  Dutour,  and  the  police,  personi- 
fied in  M.  Jacomet,  looked  at  this 
strange  phenomenon  with  astonish- 


256 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


ment.  Was  their  irritation  all  the 
greater  on  his  account  ?  We  cannot 
say  ;  but  for  some  dispositions  ex- 
tremely fond  of  authority,  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  multitude  so  wonderfully 
orderly  and  peaceable,  is  certainly 
anomalous  and  revolutionary,  if  not 
even  insulting.  When  order  preserves 
itself,  all  those  functionaries  whose 
only  business  is  to  preserve  it  feel  a 
vague  uneasiness.  Being  accustomed 
to  have  a  hand  in  everything  in  the 
name  of  the  law,  to  regulate,  to 
command,  to  punish,  to  pardon,  to 
see  everything  and  everybody  depend 
on  their  person  and  office,  they  feel 
out  of  place  in  the  presence  of  a 
crowd  which  does  not  need  theif  ser- . 
vices,  and  which  gives  them  no  pre- 
text for  interfering,  showing  their  im- 
portance, and  restraining  its  move- 
ments. An  order  which  excludes 
them  is  the  worst  of  all  disorders. 
If  such  a  fatal  example  should  be 
generally  followed,  the  procttreurs 
impjriaux  would  no  longer  have  a 
sufficient  reason  for  their  existence, 
the  commissaries  of  police  would 
disappear,  and  even  the  prefectoral 
splendor  would  begin  to  wane. 

Baron  Massy  had  indeed  been 
able  to  order  the  seizure  of  every 
object  deposited  at  the  grotto;  but 
there  was  no  law  recognizing  such 
deposits  as  criminal,  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  forbid  or  punish  them. 
Hence,  in  spite  of  the  spoliations  of 
the  prefect,  the  grotto  was  often  bril- 
liantly lighted  by  candles,  and  fill- 
ed with  flowers  and  votive  offerings, 
and  even  with  silver  and  gold  coins 
contributed  for  the  building  of  the 
chapel  which  the  Blessed  Virgin  had 
required.  The  pious  faithful  wished 
in  this  way — though  it  were  an  inef- 
fectual one — to  show  the  Queen  of 
Heaven  their  good-will,  zeal,  and 
love.  "  What  matter  is  it  if  they  do 
take  the  money  ?  It  will  have  been 
offered  all  the  same.  The  candle 


will  have  given  its  light  for  a  time  in 
honor  of  our  Mother,  and  the  bou- 
quet will  for  an  instant  have  perfum- 
ed the  sacred  spot  where  her  feet 
rested."  Such  were  the  thoughts 
of  those  Christian  souls. 

Jacomet  and  his  agents  continued 
to  come  and  carry  everything  off. 
The  commissary,  much  encouraged 
after  having  escaped  the  dangers  of 
the  4th  of  May,  had  become  very 
scornful  and  brutal  in  his  proceedings, 
sometimes  throwing  the  object  seized 
into  the  Gave  before  the  scandalized 
eyes  of  the  faithful.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, he  was  obliged  in  spite  of  him- 
self to  leave  a  festal  appearance  at 
the  holy  place.  This  was  when  the 
ingenious  piety  of  its  visitors  had 
strewn  the  Grotto  with  innumerable 
rose-leaves,  and  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  pick  up  the  thousand  remains 
of  flowers  which  formed  its  brilliant 
and  perfumed  carpet. 

The  kneeling  crowds  continued 
meanwhile  to  pray,  without  making 
any  reply  to  this  provoking  conduct, 
and  let  matters  take  their  course  ; 
showing  an  extraordinary  patience, 
such  as  God  alone  can  give  to  an  in- 
dignant multitude. 

One  evening,  the  report  was  spread 
that  the  emperor  or  his  minister  had 
asked  for  the  prayers  of  Bernadette. 
M.  Dutour  raised  a  shout  of  tri- 
umph, and  prepared  to  save  the  state. 
Three  good  women,  who,  as  it 
seems,  had  made  such  a  statement, 
were  brought  before  the  court,  and 
the  procureur  demanded  that  they 
should  be  treated  according  to  all  the 
rigor  of  the  French  law.  Notwith- 
standing his  indignant  eloquence, 
the  judges  acquitted  two  and  con- 
demned the  other  only  to  a  fine  of  five 
francs.  The  procureur,  dissatisfied 
with  this  small  amount,  insisted  upon 
his  suit,  and  made  a  desperate  appeal 
to  the  imperial  court  at  Pan,  which, 
smiling  at  his  anger,  not  only  confirm- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


257 


ed  the  acquittal  of  the  two,  but  also 
refused  to  sustain  the  very  small 
judgment  pronounced  against  the 
third  culprit,  and  dismissed  the  charge 
altogether. 

We  mention  this  little  occurrence, 
though  an  insignificant  one  in  itself, 
to  show  how  keenly  the  judges  were 
upon  the  watch,  and  how  carefully 
they  searched  for  some  offence,  for 
some  opportunity  to  be  severe,  since 
they  employed  their  time  in  prosecu- 
ting poor  simple  women  whose  inno- 
cence was  soon  after  declared  by  the 
imperial  court. 

The  people  still  continued  quiet, 
and  afforded  no  pretext  to  the  autho- 
rities for  making  an  attack  upon  them 
in  the  name  of  the  law. 

One  night,  under  cover  of  the 
darkness,  unknown  hands  tore  up  the 
conduits  of  the  miraculous  spring, 
and  covered  its  waters  with  heaps  of 
stone,  earth,  and  sand.  Who  had 
raised  this  vile  monument  against  the 
work  of  God,  what  impious  and 
cowardly  hands  had  secretly  com- 
mitted such  profanation,  were  not 
known.  But  when  the  day  broke, 
and  the  sacrilege  became  known,  a 
sullen  indignation,  as  might  have  been 
foreseen,  pervaded  the  multitudes  who 
were  collected  at  the  place,  and  that 
day  the  people  filled  the  streets  and 
roads  in  agitation  like  that  of  the 
sea  when  it  foams  and  roars  under  a 
violent  wind.  The  police,  magistra- 
cy, and  sergcnts-de--ville  were  on  the 
watch,  spying  and  listening,  but  they 
could  not  report  a  single  lawless  ac- 
tion or  seditious  word.  The  divine 
influence  which  maintained  order 
among  these  enraged  multitudes  was 
evidently  invincible. 

But  who,  then,  was  the  author  of 
this  outrage?  The  judges  and  police, 
in  spite  of  their  active  and  zealous 
endeavors,  did  not  succeed  in  detect- 
ing him.  Hence  it  happened  that 
some  evil-minded  persons  dared  to 
VOL.  XIIL — 17 


suspect  the  police  and  judiciary  them- 
selves (though  evidently  with  great  in- 
justice) of  having  tried  by  this  means 
to  produce  some  disorders,  in  order  to 
have  an  occasion  to  proceed  with 
rigor. 

The  municipal  authority  most  ear- 
nestly exculpated  itself  from  all 
connivance  in  the  affair.  That  very 
evening,  or  the  next  day,  the  mayor 
gave  orders  to  replace  the  conduits, 
and  to  clear  the  floor  of  the  grotto 
of  all  the  rubbish  with  which  the 
fountain  had  been  obstructed.  The 
mayor's  policy  was  to  not  assume 
personally  any  decided  position,  but 
to  keep  things  as  they  were.  He 
was  ready  to  act,  but  always  as  a 
subordinate,  upon  the  prefect's  or- 
ders and  responsibility. 

Sometimes  the  people,  fearing  that 
they  would  not  be  able  to  control 
their  feelings,  took  precautions  against 
themselves.  The  association  of  stone- 
cutters, numbering  some  four  or  five 
hundred,  had  planned  to  make  a 
great  but  peaceful  demonstration  at 
the  grotto,  and  to  go  there  in  pro- 
cession singing  canticles  in  honor  of 
their  patron  feast  of  the  Ascension, 
which  came  that  year  on  the  ijth  of 
May.  But,  feeling  their  hearts  indig- 
nant and  their  hands  unsteady  under 
these  proceedings  of  the  authorities, 
they  distrusted  themselves,  and  gave 
up  the  idea.  They  contented  them- 
selves with  relinquishing  on  that  day 
in  honor  of  our  Lady  of  Lourdes  the 
ball  they  were  accustomed  to  give 
every  year  to  conclude  their  festival. 

"We  intend,"  said  they,  "that  no 
disturbance,  even  though  unintention- 
al, and  no  entertainment  not  approv- 
ed by  the  church,  shall  occur  to  offend 
the  eyes  of  the  Holy  Virgin  who  has 
deigned  to  visit  us." 


THE  prefect  perceived  all  the  time, 
more  and  more,  that  coercion  of  any 


258 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes, 


ordinary  kind  was  impossible  for  him 
on  account  of  this  surprising  quiet- 
ness, this  peace  as  irritating  as  it  was 
wonderful,  which  maintained  itself 
without  exterior  force  in  these  great 
collections  of  people.  There  was 
not  even  an  accident  to  disturb  it. 
He  was  therefore  obliged  either  to  re- 
trace his  steps  in  the  course  which  he 
had  thus  far  pursued,  and  to  leave 
the  people  quite  alone,  or  to  come 
to  open  violence  and  persecution  by 
finding'  some  pretext  for  the  imposi- 
tion of  arbitrary  restraints  upon  them. 
It  was  necessary  either  to  recede  or 
to  advance. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  variety  and 
suddenness  of  the  cures  which  had 
been  worked  seemed  to  many  good 
people  rather  poorly  explained  by  the 
therapeutic  and  mineral  properties 
ascribed  to  the  new  spring.  Doubts 
were  raised  as  to  the  strict  accuracy 
of  the  scientific  decision  which  had 
been  given  by  M.  Latour  de  Trie. 
A  chemist  of  the  vicinity,  M.  Thomas 
Pugo,  claimed  that  this  water  was  in 
no  way  extraordinary,  and  had  not  of 
itself  any  healing  properties  whatso- 
ever ;  and  in  this  he  was  sustained  by 
several  other  very  capable  professors 
in  the  province.  Science  was  begin- 
ning to  assert  the  entire  incorrectness 
of  the  De  Trie  analysis  ;  and  the  ru- 
mors to  this  effect  had  become  so 
strong  that  the  municipal  council  of 
Lourdes  took  cognizance  of  them. 
The  mayor  could  not  refuse  to  grati- 
fy the  general  desire  to  have  a  second 
analysis  made  of  the  water  from  the 
grotto.  He,  therefore,  without  con- 
sulting the  prefect  (which  seemed  to 
him  useless  on  account  of  the  convic- 
tion entertained  by  the  latter  of  the 
accuracy  of  the  results  of  M.  Latour), 
procured  from  the  municipal  council 
a  vote  authorizing  him  to  obtain  a 
new  and  definitive  analysis  from  Prof. 
Filhol,  one  of  the  principal  chemists 
of  our  day.  The  council  at  the  same 


time  voted  the  funds  required  for  the 
due  compensation  of  the  celebrated 
savant. 

M.  Filhol  was  a  man  of  authority 
in  modern  science,  and  his  decision 
would  evidently  not  be  open  to  ap- 
peal. 

What  would  be  the  result  of  his 
analysis  ?  The  prefect  was  not 
chemist  enough  to  tell  ;  but  we  think 
we  cannot  be  much  mistaken  in 
thinking  that  he  must  have  been 
somewhat  uneasy.  The  verdict  of 
the  eminent  professor  of  chemistry 
of  the  faculty  of  Toulouse  might,  in 
fact,  disturb  the  combinations  and 
plans  of  M.  Massy.  Haste  was  be- 
coming imperative,  and  on  this 
ground  especially  it  was  necessary 
to  fall  back  or  press  forward. 

In  the  midst  of  such  various  pas- 
sions and  complicated  calculations, 
people  had  not  failed  to  subject  Ber- 
nadette  to  some  new  trials  as  useless 
as  the  preceding  ones. 

She  had  been  preparing  to  make 
her  first  communion,  and  made  it  on 
Corpus  Christi,  the  3d  of  June.  This 
was  the  very  day  on  which  the  muni- 
cipal council  of  Lourdes  requested 
M.  Filhol  to  analyze  the  mysterious 
water.  Almighty  God,  entering  into 
the  heart  of  this  child,  made  also 
the  analysis  of  a  pure  fount,  and  we 
may  well  believe  that  he  must  have 
admired  and  blessed,  in  this  virginal 
soul,  a  most  pure  spring  and  a  most 
transparent  crystal. 

Notwithstanding  the  retirement  in 
which  she  preferred  to  hide  herself, 
people  continued  to  visit  her.  She 
was  always  the  innocent  and  simple 
child  whose  portrait  we  have  endea- 
vored to  present.  She  charmed  all 
those  who  conversed  with  her  by  her 
candor  and  manifest  good  faith. 

One  day,  a  lady,  after  an  interview 
with  her,  wished,  in  a  moment  of  en- 
thusiastic veneration  easily  conceiv- 
able by  those  who  have  seen  Berna- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


259 


dette,   to  exchange   her  chaplet  of 
precious  stones  for  that  of  the  child. 

"  Keep  your  own,  madam,"  said 
she,  showing  her  modest  implement 
of  prayer.  "  You  see  what  mine  is, 
and  I  had  rather  not  change.  It  is 
poor,  like  myself,  and  agrees  better 
with  my  poverty." 

An  ecclesiastic  tried  to  make  her 
accept  some  money;  she  refused. 
He  insisted,  only  to  be  met  by  a 
refusal  so  formal  that  a  longer  re- 
sistance seemed  useless.  The  priest, 
however,  did  not  yet  consider  his 
case  as  lost. 

"  Take  it,"  said  he ;  "  not  for  your- 
self, but  for  the  poor,  and  then  you 
will  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  an 
alms." 

"  Do  you,  then,  make  it  yourself 
for  my  intention,  M.  1'Abbe,  and  that 
will  do  better  than  if  I  should  make 
it  myself,"  answered  the  child. 

Poor  Bernadette  intended  to  serve 
God  gratuitously,  and  to  fulfil  the 
mission  with  which  she  had  been  en- 
trusted without  leaving  her  honora- 
ble poverty.  And  yet  she  and  the 
family  were  sometimes  in  want  of 
bread. 

At  this  time  the  salary  of  the  pre- 
fect, Baron  Massy,  was  raised  to 
25,000  francs.  Jacomet  also  received 
a  gratuity.  The  Minister  of  Public 
Worship,  in  a  letter  which  was  com- 
municated to  several  functionaries, 
assured  the  prefect  of  his  perfect  sat- 
isfaction, and,  while  commending  all 
that  he  had  so  far  done,  he  urged 
him  to  take  energetic  measures,  add- 
ing that,  at  all  costs,  the  grotto  and 
miracles  of  Lourdes  must  be  put  an 
end  to.* 

On  this  ground,  as  well  as  on  all 


*  This  letter  of  M.  Rouland,  the  text  of  which,  in 
spite  of  all  our  efforts,  we  have  not  been  able  to 
procure,  was  communicated  to  several  persons, 
and  all  the  correspondence  before  us  mentions  it, 
giving  it  in  the  same  terms  which  we  have  just 
used. 


the  others,  it  was  necessary  either  to 
retreat  or  to  advance. 

But  what  could  be  done  ? 


VIII. 


THE  plan  of  the  divine  work  was 
gradually  being  developed  with  its  ad- 
mirable and  convincing  logic.  But  at 
that  time  no  one  fully  recognized  the 
invisible  hand  of  God  directing  ail 
the  events,  manifest  as  it  was,  and 
M.  Massy  least  of  all.  The  midst 
of  the  melee  is  not  the  best  position 
from  which  to  judge  the  order  of  bat- 
tle. The  unfortunate  prefect,  who 
had  set  out  upon  the  wrong  track, 
saw  in  what  occurred  only  a  provok- 
ing series  of  unpleasant  incidents  and 
an  inexplicable  fatality.  If  we  remove 
God  from  certain  questions,  we  are 
very  likely  to  find  in  them  something 
inexplicable. 

The  progress  of  events,  slow  but 
irresistible,  was  overthrowing  succes- 
sively all  the  theses  of  unbelief,  and 
forcing  this  miserable  human  philoso- 
phy to  beat  a  retreat  and  to  abandon 
one  by  one  all  its  intrenchments. 

First,  the  apparitions  had  occurred. 
Free  thought  had  at  the  outset  de- 
nied them  out-and-out,  accusing  the 
seer  of  being  only  a  tool,  and  of  hav- 
ing lent  herself  to  carry  out  a  decep- 
tion. This  thesis  had  not  stood  be- 
fore the  examination  of  the  child, 
whose  veracity  was  evident. 

Unbelief,  dislodged  from  this  first 
position,  fell  back  on  the  theory  of 
hallucination  or  catalepsy.  "  She 
thinks  she  sees  something;  but  she 
does  not.  It  is  all  a  mistake." 

Providence  meanwhile  had  brought 
together  from  the  four  winds  its 
thousands  and  thousands  of  witness- 
es to  the  ecstatic  states  of  the  child, 
and  in  due  time  had  given  a  solemn 
confirmation  to  the  truth  of  Berna- 
dette's  story  by  producing  a  miracu- 
lous fountain  before  the  astonished 
eyes  of  the  assembled  multitudes. 


26o 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


"  There  is  no  fountain,"  was  then 
the  word  of  unbelief.  "  It  is  an  infil- 
tration, a  pool,  a  puddle ;  anything 
that  you  please,  except  a  fountain." 

But  the  more  they  publicly  and 
solemnly  denied  it,  the  more  did  the 
stream  increase,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  living  being,  until  it  acquired  pro- 
digious proportions.  More  than  a 
hundred  thousand  litres  (twenty-two 
thousand  gallons)  issued  daily  from 
this  strange  rock. 

"It  is  an  accident ;  it  is  a  freak  of 
chance,"  stammered  the  infidels,  con- 
founded and  recoiling. 

Next,  events  following  their  inev- 
itable course,  the  most  remarkable 
cures  had  immediately  attested  the 
miraculous  nature  of  the  fountain, 
and  giyen  a  new  and  decisive  proof 
of  the  divine  reality  of  the  all-power- 
ful apparition  whose  mere  gesture 
had  brought  forth  this  fountain  of  life 
under  a  mortal  hand. 

The  first  move  of  the  philosophers 
was  to  deny  the  cures,  as  they  had 
before  denied  Bernadette's  sincerity 
and  the  existence  of  the  fountain. 

But  suddenly  these  had  become  so 
numerous  and  indubitable  that  their 
opponents  were  obliged  to  take  yet 
another  step  in  retreat,  and  admit 
them. 

"  Well,  granted ;  there  are  some 
cures  certainly,  but  they  are  natural ; 
the  spring  has  some  therapeutic  in- 
gredients," cried  the  unbelievers,  hold- 
ing in  their  hands  some  sort  of  a 
semblance  of  chemical  analysis.  And 
then  instantaneous  cures,  absolutely 
unaccountable  upon  such  a  hypothe- 
sis, were  multiplied  ;  and  at  the  same 
time,  in  various  places,  conscientious 
and  skilful  chemists  declared  dis- 
tinctly that  the  Massabielle  water  had 
not  any  mineral  properties,  that  it 
was  common  water,  and  that  the 
official  analysis  of  M.  Latour  de  Trie 
was  meant  simply  to  please  the  pre- 
fect. 


Driven  in  this  way  from  all  the  in- 
trenchments  in  which,  after  their  suc- 
cessive defeats,  they  had  taken  re- 
fuge ;  pursued  by  the  dazzling  evi- 
dence of  the  fact;  crushed  by  the 
weight  of  their  own  avowals;  and 
not  being  able  to  take  back  these 
successive  and  compulsory  avowals, 
publicly  registered  in  their  own  news- 
papers, what  remained  for  the  phi- 
losophers and  free-thinkers  to  do  ? 
Only  to  surrender  humbly  to  truth. 
Only  to  bow  the  head,  bend  the  knee, 
and  believe ;  only  to  do  that  which 
the  ripe  grain  does  when  its  cells  be- 
gin to  fill. 

"  The  same  change  has  taken 
place,"  says  Montaigne,  "  in  the  truly 
wise,  as  in  the  stalks  of  wheat,  which 
rise  up  and  hold  up  their  heads  erect 
and  proud  as  long  as  they  are  emp- 
ty, but,  when  they  are  full  and  dis- 
tended with  the  ripe  grain,  begin  to 
humble  themselves,  to  bend  toward 
the  ground.  So  men,  when  they 
have  tried  and  sounded  all  things, 
.  .  .  renounce  their  presumption 
and  recognize  their  natural  con- 
dition." 

Perhaps  the  philosophers  of  Lou  rdes 
had  not  an  intellect  open  or  strong 
enough  to  receive  and  hold  the  good 
grain.  Perhaps  pride  made  them  in- 
flexible and  rebellious  to  manifest  evi- 
dence. At  any  rate,  with  the  happy  ex- 
ception of  some  who  were  converted, 
that  change  did  not  come  to  them 
which  has  come  to  those  who  are  truly 
wise,  and  they  continued  to  keep  the 
lofty  and  proud  attitude  of  the  empty 
stalks. 

Not  only  did  their  attitude  remain 
thus,  but  their  impiety,  after  being 
disgracefully  pursued  from  one  quib- 
ble, sophism,  or  falsehood  to  anoth- 
er, and  finally  driven  against  the 
wall,  suddenly  unmasked  itself  and 
showed  its  real  face.  It  passed,  as 
we  may  say,  from  the  domain  cf 
discussion  and  reasoning,  which  it 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


261 


had  been  trying  to  usurp,  to  that  of 
intolerance  and  violence,  which  was 
its  proper  home. 

Baron  Massy,  who  was  perfectly 
informed  as  to  the  state  of  public 
feeling,  understood  with  his  rare  sa- 
gacity that,  if  he  took  arbitrary  mea- 
sures and  resorted  to  persecution,  he 
would  have  a  considerable  moral 
support  in  the  exasperation  of  the 
unbelievers,  who  were  defeated,  hu- 
miliated, and  furious. 

He  also  had  been  defeated  as  yet  in 
the  contest  similar  to,  if  not  exactly 
the  same  as,  theirs,  which  he  had  been 
carrying  on  against  the  supernatural. 
All  his  efforts  had  come  to  nothing. 

The  supernatural,  beginning  at  the 
base  of  a  desolate  rock  and  announc- 
ed only  by -the  voice  of  a  child,  had 
entered  upon  its  course,  overthrowing 
all  obstacles,  drawing  the  people  with 
it,  and  gaining  to  itself  on  the  way 
enthusiastic  acclamations,  prayers, 
and  the  cries  of  gratitude  from  the 
popular  faith. 

Once  more,  what  remained  to  be 
done? 

One  course  yet  remained :  to  re- 
sist evidence,  and  to  make  an  attack 
upon  the  multitude. 

IX. 

IN  the  midst  of  all  these  turns  of 
fortune,  the  question  of  the  prefecto- 
ral  stables  had  become  more  and 
more  exciting,  and  greatly  increased 
the  prefect's  exasperation.  The 
month  of  June  had  come.  The  sea- 
son at  the  watering-places  was  be- 
ginning, and  would  soon  bring  to 
the  Pyrenees  bathers  and  tourists 
from  all  parts  of  Europe,  and  show 
them  the  disturbance  which  the  su- 
pernatural was  making  in  the  depart- 
ment governed  by  Baron  Massy.  The 
instructions  of  M.  Rouland  were  be- 
coming most  urgent,  and  pointed  to 
summary  proceedings.  On  the  6th 


of  June,  M.  Fould,  the  Minister  of 
Finance,  stopped  at  Tarbes  on  his 
way  to  his  summer  residence,  and 
had  a  long  interview  with  M.  Massy. 
It  was  rumored  that  this  conference 
related  to  the  events  at  the  grotto. 

The  act  of  drinking  at  a  spring 
upon  the  common  land  of  the  town 
could  not  be  considered  as  in  itself 
an  offence  against  the  law.  The  first 
thing  to  be  done  by  the  opponents 
of  superstition  was  therefore  to  find 
a  pretext  for  so  regarding  it.  Arbi- 
trary proceedings  have  not  in  France 
the  official  right  which  they  enjoy  in 
Russia  or  Turkey,  but  need  a  cover 
of  law. 

The  able  prefect  had  an  idea  on 
this  subject  as  ingenious  as  it  was 
simple.  The  site  of  the  Massabielle 
Cliffs  belonging  to  the  town  of 
Lourdes,  the  mayor,  as  its  adminis- 
trator, could  prohibit  any  one  from 
visiting  them,  for  or  even  without  any 
reason  whatever,  in  the  same  way  as 
any  private  owner  of  land  forbids  at 
his  pleasure  the  trespass  of  others 
upon  it.  Such  a  prohibition,  public- 
ly announced,  would  turn  each  visit 
to  the  grotto  into  a  formal  crime. 

The  plan  of  the  baron  hinged  upon 
this  idea ;  and,  having  hit  upon  it,  he 
decided  to  act  it  out  and  play  the 
despot. 

Accordingly,  on  the  following  day, 
the  mayor  of  Lourdes  was  instruct- 
ed to  issue  the  following  order  : 

"  The  mayor  of  the  town  of  Lourdes, 
acting  under  the  instructions  address- 
ed to  him  by  the  superior  authorities, 
and  under  the  laws  of  the  i4th  and 
aad  of  December,  1789,  of  the  i6th 
and  24th  of  August,  1790,  of  the 
igth  and  22d  of  July,  1791,  and  of 
the  i8th  of  July,  1837,  on  Municipal 
Administration ; 

"  And  considering  that  it  is  very 
desirable,  in  the  interest  of  religion,  to 
put  an  end  to  the  deplorable  scenes 
now  presented  at  the  Grotto  of  Mas- 


262 


Our  Lady  of 


sabielle,  at  Lourdes,  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Gave; 

"  Also,  that  the  care  of  the  local  pub- 
lic health  devolves  upon  the  mayor,  and 
that  a  great  number,  both  of  citizens 
and  strangers,  come  to  draw  water 
from  a  spring  in  the  aforesaid  grotto, 
the  water  of  which  is  suspected  on  good 
grounds  to  contain  mineral  ingredients, 
making  it  prudent,  before  permitting 
its  use,  to  wait  for  a  scientific  analy- 
sis to  determine  the  application  which 
may  be  made  of  it  in  medicine  ;  and, 

"  Also,  that  the  laws  subject  the 
working  of  mineral  springs  to  a  prelimi- 
nary authorization  by  government : 

•'  Issues  the  following 

DECREE. 

"i.  It  is  forbidden  to  draw  water 
at  the  aforesaid  spring. 

"2.  It  is  also  forbidden  to  pass 
through  the  common  land  known  as 
the  bank  of  Massabielle. 

"  3.  A  barrier  will  be  put  up  at  the 
entrance  to  the  grotto  to  prevent  ac- 
cess ;  and 

"  Posts  will  be  set  bearing  these 
words :  '  It  is  forbidden  to  enter  this 
property.1 

"  4.  All  transgressions  of  this  decree 
will  be  prosecuted  according  to  law. 

"  5.  The  Commissary  of  Police, 

"  The  Gendarmerie, 

"  The  Gardes  Champetres, 

"  And  the  authorities  of  the  com- 
mune, 

"  Are  entrusted  with  the  execution 
of  this  decree. 

"  Signed  in  the  mayor's  office  at 
Lourdes,  on  the  8th  of  June,  1858. 

"  The  Mayor,  A.  LACADE. 
"  Approved : 

"  The  Prefect,  O.  MASSY  " 


IT  was  not  without  some  hesitation 
that  M.  Lacade  consented  to  sign 
and  undertake  to  execute  this  decree. 


His  character,  somewhat  wanting  n 
decision  and  inclined  to  compromise, 
necessarily  disinclined  him  to  such  a 
manifest  act  of  hostility  against  the 
mysterious  power  which  hovered  in- 
visibly over  the  events  which  had 
centred  round  the  grotto  at  Lourdes. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  mayor,  as 
was  very  proper,  enjoyed  the  exer- 
cise of  his  office,  and  perhaps  had 
even  a  little  undue  fondness  for  it ; 
and  his  alternative  was  either  to  be- 
come the  instrument  of  the  prefec- 
toral  violence  or  to  resign  the  honors 
of  the  mayoralty.  Although  per- 
haps not  really  trying,  the  situa- 
tion was  certainly  embarrassing  for 
the  chief-magistrate  of  Lourdes.  M. 
Lacade  hoped,  however,  to  conciliate 
all  parties  by  requiring  M.  Massy,  as 
a  condition  of  his  signature,  to  insert 
at  the  head  of  the  decree,  at  the  very 
outset,  the  words,  "  Acting  under  the 
instructions  addressed  to  him  by  the 
superior  authorities,"  as  above. 

"  In  this  way,"  said  the  mayor  to 
himself,  "  I  assume  no  responsibility 
before  the  public  or  in  my  own  eyes. 
I  have  not  taken  the  initiative,  but 
remain  neutral.  I  do  not  command, 
but  only  obey.  I  do  not  give  this 
order,  but  receive  it.  I  am  not  the 
author  of  this  decree,  I  only  execute 
it.  All  the  blame  rests  upon  my  im- 
mediate superior,  the  prefect." 

Coming  from  a  soldier  in  a  regi- 
ment drawn  up  for  battle,  such  rea- 
soning would  have  been  irreproach- 
able. 

Having  reassured  himself  on  this 
principle,  M.  Lacade  took  measures 
for  the  execution  of  the  prefectoral 
edict,  having  it  published  and  put  on 
the  walls  in  all  parts  of  the  town.  At 
the  same  time,  under  the  protection 
of  an  armed  force  and  the  direction 
of  Jacomet,  barriers  were  put  up 
around  the  Massabielle  rocks,  so  that 
no  one,  except  by  breaking  through 
or  climbing  over  them,  could  reach 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


263 


the  grotto  and  the  miraculous  foun- 
tain. Posts  with  notices,  as  pre- 
scribed by  the  decree,  were  also  set  up 
here  and  there  at  all  points  of  en- 
trance to  the  common  land  which 
surrounded  the  venerable  spot.  They 
prohibited  trespass  under  pain  of 
prosecution.  Some  sergents-de-vilk 
and  gardes  kept  watch  day  and  night, 
being  relieved  hourly,  to  prepare  pro- 
ces-verbaux  against  all  who  should 
pass  these  posts  to  kneel  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  grotto. 

XI. 

THERE  was  at  Lourdes  a  judge  of 
the  name  of  Duprat,  who  was  as 
violently  opposed  to  the  supernatur- 
al as  Jacomet,  Massy,  Dutour,  and 
others  of  the  constituted  authorities. 
This  judge,  not  being  able  under  the 
circumstances  to  sentence  the  delin- 
quents to  anything  more  than  a  very 
small  fine,  contrived  an  indirect 
method  to  make  the  fine  enormous 
and  truly  formidable  for  the  poor 
people  who  came  to  pray  before  the 
grotto,  and  to  beg  from  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  one  the  restoration  of  health, 
another  the  cure  of  a  darling  child, 
a  third  some  spiritual  favor  or  con- 
solation under  some  great  affliction. 

M.  Duprat  then  imposed  upon 
each  offender  a  fine  of  five  francs. 
But,  by  a  conception  worthy  of  his 
genius,  he  united  under  a  single  sen- 
tence all  who  disregarded  the  prefec- 
toral  prohibition,  either  by  forming  a 
party  together,  or  even,  as  it  would 
seem,  by  visiting  the  grotto  in  the 
course  of  the  same  day ;  and  he 
made  each  liable  to  the  whole 
amount  of  the  fine.  Thus,  if  one  or 
two  hundred  persons  came  in  this 
way  to  the  rocks  of  Massabielle,  each 
one  of  them  was  responsible  not  only 
for  himself,  but  also  for  the  others, 
that  is,  to  the  extent  of  five  hundred 
or  a  thousand  francs.  And  as  the 


individual  and  original  fine  was  only 
five  francs,  the  decision  of  this  ma- 
gistrate was  without  appeal,  and 
there  was  no  way  to  correct  it. 
Judge  Duprat  was  all-powerful,  and 
it  was  thus  that  he  used  his  power. 


XII. 

SUCH  an  outrageous  interference  in 
Jhe  important  question  which  had 
for  some  months  been  pending  on 
the  banks  of  the  Gave  implied  on 
the  part  of  the  authorities  not  only 
the  denial  of  the  supernatural  in  this 
particular  case,  but  also  that  of  its 
possibility.  If  this  had  been  admit- 
ted for  an  instant,  the  measures  of 
the  administration  would  have  been 
entirely  different;  they  would  have 
had  for  their  object  the  examination, 
not  the  suppression,  of  the  contro- 
versy. 

One  thing  had  been  absolutely  cer- 
tain, namely,  the  cures;  whether  they 
had  been  brought  about  by  the  min- 
eral qualities  of  the  water,  by  the 
imagination  of  the  patients,  or  by 
miraculous  intervention,  these  cures 
were  indubitable,  and  officially  re- 
cognized by  the  infidels  themselves, 
who,  not  being  able  to  deny  them, 
merely  tried  to  explain  them  on  some 
natural  principle. 

The  faithful  and  perfectly  trustwor- 
thy witnesses  to  the  efficacy  of  the 
water  in  their  own  cases  could  be 
counted  by  hundreds.  There  was 
not  a  single  one  who  reported  that 
its  effects  had  been  prejudicial.  Why, 
then,  all  these  prohibitory  measures, 
these  barriers  put  up,  this  menacing 
armed  force,  these  persecutions  ? 
And  why,  if  such  measures  were 
proper,  should  not  the  principle  be 
carried  out  further  ?  Why  not  close 
every  place  of  pilgrimage  where  a 
sick  person  has  been  restored  to 
health,  every  church  where  any  one. 


264 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


has  received  an  answer  to  prayer? 
This  question  was  in  every  mouth. 

"  If  Bernadette,"  said  one,  "  with- 
out saying  anything  about  visions  and 
apparitions,  had  simply  found  a  min- 
eral spring  possessing  powerful  heal- 
ing virtues,  what  government  would 
ever  have  forbidden  sick  people  to 
drink  of  it  ?  Nero  himself  would  not 
have  gone  so  far ;  in  all  countries,  a 
reward  would  have  been  given  to  the 
child.  But  here  the  sick  people 
kneel  and  pray,  and  these  liveried 
subalterns,  who  crouch  before  their 
masters,  do  not  like  to  have  any  one 
prostrate  himself  before  God.  This 
is  the  real  reason.  It  is  prayer  which 
is  persecuted." 

"  But  shall  we  allow  superstition  ?" 
said  the  free-thinkers. 

"  Is  not  the  church  able  to  take 
care  of  that  and  to  guard  the  faithful 
against  error?  Let  her  act  in  her 
own  province,  and  do  not  make  an 
oecumenical  council  out  of  the  pre- 


fecture, and  an  infallible  pope  out  of 
a  prefect  or  a  minister.  What  dis- 
order has  been  caused  by  these 
events  ?  None  whatever.  What 
evil  has  occurred  to  justify  your  pre- 
cautionary measures  ?  Absolutely 
none.  The  mysterious  fountain  has 
only  done  good.  Let  the  believing 
people  go  and  drink  of  it,  if  they 
please.  Leave  them  their  liberty  to 
believe,  to  pray,  to  be  healed;  the 
liberty  to  turn  to  God  and  to  ask 
from  heaven  consolation  in  their 
grief.  You  who  demand  free  thought, 
let  prayer  also  be  free." 

But  neither  the  antichristian  phi- 
losophy nor  the  pious  prefect  of 
Hautes  Pyrenees  would  consent  to 
notice  this  unanimous  protest,  and 
the  severe  measures  were  continued. 

The  intolerance  of  which  the  ene- 
mies of  Christianity  so  unjustly  accuse 
the  Catholic  Church  is  their  own 
ruling  passion.  They  are  essentially 
tyrants  and  persecutors. 


TO    BE   CONTINUED. 


THE  SHAMROCK   GONE   WEST. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CHARTER  OAK." 


ABOUT  a  generation  ago,  there 
might  have  been  seen  moving  across 
the  Wabash  Valley,  Indiana,  one  of 
those  heavy-built  wagons,  with  broad 
canvas  tops,  known  in  the  West  as 
prairie  schooners.  The  wheels,  which 
had  not  been  greased  since  they  left 
New  Hampshire,  were  creaking  dole- 
fully, and  the  youth  who  urged  on 
the  jaded  team  declared  that  the 
sound  reminded  him  of  the  frogs  in 
his  father's  mill-pond.  Attached  to 
the  rear  of  the  wagon  was  a  coop, 


containing  a  rooster  and  half  a  dozen 
hens,  evidently  suffering  from  their 
long  confinement ;  while  underneath 
the  coop,  swinging  to  and  fro,  as  if 
keeping  time  to  the  music  of  the 
wheels,  was  a  bucket. 

Nat  Putnam  held  the  reins  with  a 
tight  grip,  his  eyes  were  fixed  straight 
in  front  of  him,  and  his  steeple  crown- 
ed hat,  which  looked  as  if  it  might 
have  been  a  legacy  from  one  of  his 
Puritan  forefathers,  was  placed  as  far 
on  the  back  of  his  head  as  possible, 


Shamrock  Gone   West. 


265 


so  as  not  to  obstruct  the  view.  He 
was  perhaps  twenty-one  or  two  years 
of  age ;  but  it  would  have  been  rash 
to  gauge  his  wisdom  by  the  date  of 
his  birth.  If  ever  there  was  a  Yankee 
hard  to  outw.it,  it  was  our  friend,  and 
his  mother  had  often  declared  that 
her  boy  could  see  through  a  stone 
wall.  The  very  shape  of  his  nose, 
which  was  not  unlike  an  eagle's  beak, 
warned  you  to  be  on  your  guard 
when  you  were  making  a  trade  with 
him  ;  while  his  face,  spotted  all  over 
with  freckles,  could  readily  assume 
every  expression  from  highest  glee 
to  deepest  melancholy ;  thus  enabling 
him  to  fill  whatever  post  in  life  might 
be  most  congenial,  were  it  circus 
clown  or  ruling  elder. 

"  Mr.  Putnam,  when  are  we  going 
to  halt  ?"  inquired  a  female  voice, 
which  seemed  to  come  from  the  in- 
terior of  the  wagon.  Before  the 
youth  answered,  the  speaker  had 
placed  herself  at  his  side  and  was 
gazing  at  him  with  a  woeful  look. 
Poor  thing !  well  might  she  ask  the 
question.  Ever  since  he  had  picked 
her  up  in  the  State  of  New  York,  he 
had  kept  travelling  on  and  on,  until 
Mary  O'Brien  thought  he  was  never 
going  to  stop.  Her  father,  who  had 
been  with  them  the  first  week  of  the 
journey,  had  died,  and  Nat  had  only 
tarried  long  enough  to  bury  the  old 
man,  and  let  the  daughter  say  a  few 
prayers  over  his  grave. 

"  Don't  find  fault,"  he  replied. 
"  The  spirit  moves  me  to  keep  push- 
ing West ;  the  further  I  go,  the  better 
I  feel.  This  everlasting  woods  must 
come  to  an  end  by-and-by,  and  when 
we  reach  the  open  country  you'll  not 
grumble." 

"  But  I'm  quite  worn  out,"  pursu- 
ed Mary  ;  "  and  my  shamrock  is  tired 
too.  If  you'd  only  rest  and  make  a 
home,  and  let  me  plant  it !  The  jolting 
of  the  wagon  and  the  want  of  sunlight 
is  killing  it.  Poor  shamrock  !"  Here 


she  left  the  seat,  but  presently  re- 
turned, carrying  a  box  filled  with 
earth,  in  which  was  a  little  three-leaf- 
ed clover. 

"  See,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how  differ- 
ent it  looks  from  a  month  ago.  'Tis 
drooping  fast."  As  she  spoke  she 
gave  the  plant  a  kiss.  Her  compa- 
nion glanced  at  her  a  moment,  then 
with  a  smile  of  pity,  "  How  old  are 
you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Eighteen." 

"  Humph  !  I  guess  you're  out  of 
your  reckoning.  If  you  were  that 
old,  you'd  chuck  that  piece  of  grass 
away  and  take  to  something  serious. 
There's  my  Bible,  why  don't  you  read 
a  chapter  now  and  then  ?  'Twould 
instruct  you,  and  keep  me  from  get- 
ting rusty — a  thing  I'd  deeply  regret, 
for  I  may  take  to  exhorting  if  farm- 
ing don't  pay." 

"  Throw  my  shamrock  out  of  the 
wagon  !  Why,  Mr.  Putnam,  'twas  fa- 
ther's, and  he  brought  it  all  the  way 
from  Tipperary.  I'm  going  to  keep 
it — as  long  as  I  live,  I  am.  It  may 
wither,  but  I'll  never  throw  it  away. " 

"Well,  well,  as  you  like.  But  I 
repeat — why  can't  you  read  the  Bible 
once  in  a  while,  instead  of  wasting 
your  time  playing  with  a  lot  of  dried 
peas  ?  Do  they  come  from  Tippe- 
rary, too  ?" 

"  Oh  !  these  are  my  beads,"  she  re- 
plied, taking  her  Rosary  from  her 
pocket ;  "  and  it's  praying  I  am,  when 
you  see  me  slipping  these  little  round 
things  through  my  fingers." 

"  Praying  !  Then  you  must  have 
prayed  a  heap.  Are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Well,  can't  your  spirit  be  moved 
without  using  them  peas,  or  beads 
as  you  call  them  ?  It  seems  to  me 
they  must  bother  you." 

"  I  use  'em,  sir,  to  keep  count,  or 
I  mightn't  say  all  the  Hail  Marys  and 
Our  Fathers."  Here  Nat  started,  and 
lifting  his  sandy  eyebrows,  "Aha!" 


266 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


he  exclaimed.  "So!  Indeed!  Then 
'twas  keeping  a  tally  of  your  prayers  ? 
Well,  now,  there's  something  in  that. 
I  really  didn't  believe  you  were  so 
'cute.  The  devil  couldn't  say  that 
you  hadn't  been  square  on  your  de- 
votions when  you'd  kept  a  strict  tal- 
ly." 

The  girl  smiled,  then,  bowing  her 
head,  seemed  to  be  whispering  some- 
thing to  the  shamrock. 

"  Different  from  other  gals !" 
thought  Putnam,  as  he  glanced  at 
the  pale  face  and  long,  raven  hair, 
which  without  braid  or  ribbon  flowed 
down  until  it  rested  on  the  bottom  of 
the  wagon.  "  Yes,  different  from 
other  gals !  Can't  quite  make  her 
out.  She  ain't  a  child,  yet  seems  like 
one.  Keeping  a  tally  of  her  prayers 
is  the  first  sign  of  her  being  'cute. 
But  that's  a  beginning  anyhow.  I'll 
educate  her  little  by  little.  Oh !  if 
she'd  only  take  to  the  Bible."  Here 
he  gave  the  reins  a  jerk,  then  asked 
Mary  to  read  him  a  chapter  from  the 
Book  of  Proverbs. 

"  I  can't  read,"  she  frankly  replied. 

"  Can't  read !  Can't  read  !  That 
I  won't  believe.  Why,  there's  Jemi- 
ma Hopkins,  in  Conway,  where  I 
come  from,  that  not  only  reads,  but 
has  started  on  a  lecturing  tour ;  and 
she  ain't — let  me  see  ;  she  was  born 
the  year  of  the  comet — no  she  ain't  a- 
day  over  fourteen." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  Jemima  Hopkins." 

"  No,  that  you  ain't ;  Jemima  is  a 
prodigy." 

"  And  I'm  a  goose." 

"  But  don't  own  it,"  said  the  youth. 
"  Talk  as  little  as  possible,  and  then 
the  world  may  not  find  it  out.  Why, 
I  know  a  chap  in  Conway  that  passes 
for  '  lamed,'  and  all  'cause  he  has  the 
toothache  every  time  he's  asked  to 
make  a  speech.  You  see,  he  puts 
on  a  wise  look,  holds  his  tongue,  and 
has  so  humbugged  the  folks  that  they 
call  him  Uncle  Solomon." 


"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  taken 
for  what  I'm  not,"  rejoined  Mary,  a 
tear  trickling  down  her  cheek. 

"  What  ails  you  now  ?"  exclaimed 
Nat.  "  Oh !  how  different  you  are  from 
Jemima  Hopkins !"  The  girl  made 
no  response,  but  sighed,  "  Father,  fa- 
ther." 

"  The  old  man's  underground," 
pursued  the  youth,  in  as  soft  a  voice 
as  he  could  assume.  "  Crying  won't 
bring  him  back.  Dry  your  eyes,  and 
vow  to  smash  to  atoms  every  whis- 
key-bottle that  ever  comes  within 
your  reach.  I  suspect  his  constitution 
was  undermined  by  habits  of  intem- 
perance. 

"  Father  didn't  drink  in  Ireland," 
sobbed  the  girl.  "  'Twas  at  that  hor- 
rid grog-shop  in  New  York  he  got  the 
habit." 

"  Pure  fountain  water,"  murmured 
Nat,  rolling  his  eyes  toward  the  hea- 
vens, "  what  a  blessed  thing  thou  art ! 
Those  who  give  thee  up  for  alcohol 
make  a  poor  swap."  Then  suddenly 
fixing  his  gaze  on  the  young  wo- 
man, "  Mary,"  said  he,  "  I  never  but 
once  tasted  liquor.  'Twas  at  a  cattle 
show  year  afore  last ;  and  do  you 
know  what  happened  ?  I  paid  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  a  horse 
that  was  foundered  and  kicked  so  bad 
I  couldn't  drive  him  home.  Now 
that's  something  I'd  never  have  done 
if  my  head  had  been  clear ;  but  'twas 
a  lesson — a  good  lesson,  and  I  told 
Jemima  Hopkins  (who  got  wind  of 
it — women  find  out  everything)  to 
make  her  first  lecture  on  temper- 
ance." 

The  young  woman,  who  seemed 
not  to  have  been  listening  to  this  epi- 
sode in  his  history,  was  now  moaning 
piteously  for  her  father,  nor  did  she 
cease  until  her  companion  in  an  agi- 
tated tone  bade  her  keep  quiet. 
"  Your  lamentations,"  he  said,  "  are 
horrible  to  listen  to." 

"  Don't   you   love    your   father  ?" 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


267 


spoke  Mary,  gazing  at  him  through 
her  tears.  "  Wouldn't  you  cry  if  he 
were  dead  ?" 

"  Cry  if  he  were  dead !"  repeated 
the  youth  with  a  shudder.  "  Oh ! 
why  did  you  ask  me  that  question  ? 
You're  a  strange  being.  Who  gave  you 
power  to  look  into  my  heart  ?  Do 
you  know  that  I  quarrelled  with  the 
old  man,  and  left  without  saying  good- 
by,  and  every  mile  I've  travelled  his 
last  look  has  haunted  me  ?  '  I  am 
near  the  grave,'  he  said,  '  don't  aban- 
don me.  Attend  the  mill,  'twill  soon 
belong  to  you.'  But  I  laughed  in 
his  face.  '  The  mill,'  said  I,  '  is  out 
of  repair,  and  only  fit  to  shelter  rats 
and  swallows;  while  the  soil  won't 
yield  more  than  fourteen  bushels  of 
corn  to  the  acre.'  And  then  I  turn- 
ed my  back  on  him." 

"  When  he's  dead,  you'll  be  sorry 
for  that,"  said  the  girl.  "  Write  home 
and  ask  his  forgiveness.  Do,  before 
it's  too  late." 

"  Home  !"  murmured  the  youth  as 
he  drove  along.  "  Home !"  Oh !  what 
memories  were  awakened  at  the  sound 
of  that  word  which  spoke  in  a  thou- 
sand magic  whispers !  He  was  again 
a  little  boy  seated  on  his  father's 
knee,  in  the  old  house  at  the  foot  of 
Mount  Kearsarge,  listening  to  stories 
of  the  Revolution.  The  wind  was 
howling — the  snow  coming  in  through 
the  key-hole  and  under  the  door — a. 
fearful  night  to  be  out.  But  what 
did  he  care  about  the  tempest  ?  He 
was  safe  on  his  father's  knee. 

"  Mary,"  said  Putnam,  just  as  they 
reached  the  foot  of  a  hill,  "  I'll  take 
your  advice,  and  write  home  the  first 
chance  I  get.  And  I'll  tell  the  old 
man  that  I'm  sorry  for  the  hard 
words  I  used.  I'll  ask  him,  too,  to 
follow  me — for  I'm  going  to  halt  by- 
and-by;  and  I'll  make  him  as  com- 
fortable as  if  he  were  in  New  Hamp- 
shire." 

"  Do,"    said    the   young  woman ; 


"  'twill     bring     God's     blessing    on 
you." 

Here  he  placed  the  reins  in  her 
hands,  then,  telling  her  that  he  was 
going  to  reconnoitre  and  find  which 
was  the  best  way  to  get  over  the  hill, 
he  left  the  wagon  with  a  lighter  heart 
than  he  had  known  in  many  a  day. 

A  little  climbing  brought  him  to  a 
spot  where  the  ground  was  again 
level,  but  where  the  timber  was  thick- 
er and  the  wagon  would  have  hard 
work  to  get  along  j  and  he  was  won- 
dering if  the  everlasting  forest  was 
never  coming  to  an  end,  when  he 
was  startled  by  a  rustling  noise,  and, 
looking  round,  saw  a  wild  turkey  dart 
off  her  nest,  while  at  the  same 
instant  ever  so  many  young  ones, 
which  appeared  as  if  only  just  hatch- 
ed, began  scattering  in  every  direc- 
tion. "  I'll  catch  this  fellow,"  said 
Nat,  running  after  the  nearest  bird, 
"  and  make  him  a  present  to  Ma- 
ry." But,  young  as  it  was,  the  little 
thing  managed  to  reach  a  clump  of 
hazel-bushes  about  thirty  yards  dis- 
tant, into  which,  its  pursuer  dashed 
only  a  step  behind,  and  in  his  excite- 
ment Nat  kept  straight  on,  nor  did 
he  stop  until  he  found  himself  clear 
of  the  thicket.  But  there  he  came 
to  a  sudden  halt,  and  for  almost  a 
minute  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the 
earth.  Was  the  scene  which  had 
burst  upon  him  a  vision  of  paradise  ? 
The  forest  had  ended,  the  hill  sloped 
gently  to  the  west,  and  before  him 
like  a  boundless  sea,  fired  by  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  lay  the  prairie  of 
Illinois.  Then  he  shouted  for  Mary, 
who  with  impatient  step  hastened  up 
the  hill,  wondering  what  was  the 
matter,  and  who  arrived  just  as  he 
was  beginning  to  sing  Old  Hundred. 
The  glorious  view  brought  tears  of 
joy  to  her  eyes,  for  she  felt  sure  Nat 
had  at  length  found  a  spot  where  he 
would  be  willing  to  settle  down  and 
make  a  home,  and,  clasping  her  hands, 


268 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


she  likewise  offered  up  a  prayer  of 
thanksgiving. 

"  Isn't  this  ahead  of  anything  you 
ever  dreamed  of  ?"  exclaimed  the 
youth,  when  he  had  finished  the 
hymn.  "  I've  heerd  Parson  Job 
at  camp-meeting  trying  to  picture 
heaven  ;  but,  although  I'd  not  have 
dared  say  it  aloud,  yet  really  I  never 
felt  as  if  I'd  care  a  straw  about  such 
a  place  as  he  described — fellows  with 
wings  and  harps  skipping  around,  and 
singing  hallelujahs  for  all  eternity 
without  ever  getting  out  of  breath. 
But  here  is  a  country  I  can  imagine 
like  the  home  of  the  blest." 

"  Heaven  is  more  beautiful  than 
this,"  rejoined  his  companion.  "  Yet 
'tis  a  glorious  country.  Oh  !  settle 
here,  do,  and  give  my  shamrock 
rest." 

"  As  you  say,"  continued  Nat,  pat- 
ting her  cheek,  and  at  the  same  time 
piercing  her  through  with  his  sharp 
gray  eyes.  "  You're  my  '  Blessing.' 
I  owe  you  more  than  I  ever  can  pay. 
When  you  made  me  promise  to  write 
home  and  ask  the  old  man's  forgive- 
ness, a  load  heavier  than  a  millstone 
was  taken  off  my  heart.  You  ain't 
as  larned  as  Jemima  Hopkins,  and 
you  ain't  'cute — though  keeping  a  tal- 
ly of  your  prayers  is  something,  and 
shows  what  you  may  become  by  pro- 
per education — but,  ignorant  as  you 
are,  there's  still  a  great  deal  in  you." 
Here  he  left  her,  and  went  back  for 
the  wagon,  which,  after  not  a  little 
difficulty,  he  managed  to  bring  across 
the  hill ;  then,  having  chosen  a  spot 
near  a  spring  of  water,  he  unhitched 
the  horses,  while  Mary  let  out  the 
fowls,  who  clapped  their  wings  as  if 
they  were  mad ;  nor  did  the  rooster 
stop  crowing  until  the  hens — anxious 
to  make  their  nests — gathered  round 
him,  and  forced  him  to  hold  his  tongue 
and  be  serious. 

As  it  was  sunset,  Putnam  could  do 
little  more  than  reconnoitre  the  vici- 


nity of  the  camping-ground,  so,  shoul- 
dering his  rifle,  he  walked  off,  leaving 
the  girl  to  prepare  the  evening  meal. 

But  Mary  had  scarcely  lit  the  fire 
when  he  came  running  back,  and 
pointed  out  to  her  a  figure  on  horse- 
back, advancing  along  the  prairie. 
"  It  may  be  an  Indian,"  said  he.  "  If 
he's  peaceful,  I'll  read  him  a  chapter 
in  the  Bible ;  if  he's  ugly,  I'll 
shoot." 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
stranger  had  approached  near  enough 
for  them  to  discover  that  he  was  a 
person  of  their  own  race,  with  long, 
white  hair,  and  a  cross  hanging  at 
his  side ;  so,  throwing  down  the  gun, 
Nat  shouted  welcome.  The  travel- 
ler, although  astonished  to  hear  a 
human  voice,  did  not  draw  rein,  but 
kept  on  up  the  hill,  and  in  another 
moment  the  youth  had  grasped  his 
hand  and  was  giving  it  a  hearty 
shake. 

"  So  soon  !"  exclaimed  the  Jesuit 
missionary — for  such  was  the  charac- 
ter of  the  new-comer.  "  Already  !  Oh ! 
you  Americans  are  a  great  people. 
In  a  few  years  you  will  be  across  the 
continent." 

"  Well,  I've  fetched  up  here,"  said 
Putnam,  grinning.  "  Not  that  the 
spirit  didn't  move  me  to  push  further 
West ;  but  yonder  gal — my  '  Bless- 
ing,' as  I  call  her — urged  me  to 
stop." 

Here  the  priest  glanced  at  Mary, 
then  remarked : 

"  Your  sister,  I  suppose,  or 
wife  ?" 

"  I  haven't  any  sister,"  replied  the 
youth,  "  and  ain't '  spliced  '  yet.  She's 
a  gal  I  picked  up  as  I  was  coming 
through  York  State.  Her  father  was 
with  her,  and  I  took  him  along  too  ; 
but  he  died  in  a  few  days,  and  I  bu- 
ried him  on  the  roadside,  and  as  she 
had  no  home  I  told  her  she'd  better 
stick  to  me.  She's  awful  green,  but 
for  all  that  she  has  her  good  points, 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


269 


and  has  made  me  happier  than  I've 
been  in  a  long  time." 

With  this  Nat  beckoned  to  Mary, 
who,  as  soon  as  she  discovered  in 
whose  presence  she  was  standing, 
fell  on  her  knees,  while  the  missiona- 
ry gave  her  his  blessing. 

That  evening  the  youth,  true  to 
his  promise,  wrote  an  affectionate  let- 
ter to  his  father,  which  the  Jesuit  as- 
sured him  he  would  deliver  with  his 
own  hand.  "  And  I  will  bring  you 
an  answer,"  said  the  latter,  "  for  I 
shall  pass  this  way  on  my  return  to 
the  mission,  which  I  hope  to  reach 
before  winter  sets  in." 

The  next  morning,  when  Putnam 
awoke,  he  found  that  the  priest  had 
already  departed. 

"  That,"  said  the  youth,  "  is  a  point 
in  his  favor.  The  early  bird  catches 
the  worms.  So,  Mary,  he  was  one  of 
your  preachers  ?  First  I  ever  saw." 

"  I  hope  you  liked  him,"  rejoined 
the  girl. 

"  Well,  his  coming  so  handy  to 
take  my  letter  did  bend  me  toward 
him ;  yet  I  don't  think  I  ever  could 
sit  still  under  his  preaching." 

"  And  why  not  ?" 

"  'Cause  he's  a  papist.   I've    heerd 
enough  about  'em." 

To  this  the  young  woman  made 
no  response,  but  gazed  sorrowfully 
at  her  companion  a  moment,  then 
turned  her  eyes  toward  the  West. 
The  scene  was  enchanting.  The  breeze, 
which  had  risen  with  the  dawn,  was 
coming  joyously  over  the  prairie, 
brushing  aside  the  mist,  gathering  up 
the  perfume  of  ten  thousand  flowers, 
and  touched  Mary's  lips  like  a  breath 
from  the  Garden  of  Eden.  And  as 
it  played  with  her  raven  hair,  and 
brought  the  roses  to  her  cheeks,  Nat 
could  not  help  thinking  she  was  as 
fair  as  any  lass  he  had  ever  met  in 
New  Hampshire. 

"  Yet  she  don't  seem  to  know  it," 
he  said.  "  She's  very  green  about 


her  beauty."  A  herd  of  deer  were 
feeding  only  a  short  distance  away — 
in  every  direction  the  grouse  dotted 
the  plain — while  circling  round  and 
round,  in  bold  relief  against  the  azure 
sky,  was  an  eagle. 

The  whole  of  this  day  and  the 
next,  Putnam  kept  hard  at  work  fell- 
ing trees  to  build  a  log-house,  while 
the  girl  remained  near  the  wagon, 
plying  her  needle,  watching  her 
shamrock,  which  already  showed 
signs  of  renewed  life,  and  gathering 
the  eggs,  which  the  hens  insisted  on 
laying  every  hour,  so  as  to  make  up 
for  lost  time. 

At  length,  when  he  had  cut  down 
trees  enough,  he  bade  Mary  follow 
him  out  on  the  plain,  having  first 
filled  her  apron  with  stakes — for  what 
purpose  she  could  not  imagine. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  doing  ?" 
she  exclaimed,  after  having  walked 
by  his  side  almost  an  hour. 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?"  he  said,  halt- 
ing abruptly.  "  Are  you  so  green  as 
all  that  ?" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  replied  the  girl, 
"  your  conduct  is  distressing ;  yes,  it 
frightens  me  to  see  you  turning  and 
twisting  in  every  direction,  driving 
these  pieces  of  wood  into  the  ground, 
and  counting  on  your  fingers.  Oh  ! 
what'll  become  of  me  if  you've  gone 
mad  ?" 

"  Mad  !  Ha !  Jemima  Hopkins 
wouldn't  have  said  that.  Jemima — " 

"  Was  born  the  year  of  the  comet," 
interrupted  his  companion,  laughing, 
"and  I'm  only  a  goose." 

"  Well,  don't  own  it  if  you  are ;  I'll 
educate  you.  And  now  here  goes  the 
first  lesson."  With  this  he  lifted  his 
forefinger,  then  shutting  one  eye, 
"  You  must  know  we  won't  be  long  in 
such  a  beautiful  spot  without  company. 
My  wagon-tracks  will  lead  many  to 
Illinois  who  wouldn't  have  stirred 
from  the  shadow  of  Mount  Kearsarge 
if  I  hadn't  set  the  example.  Me- 


270 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


thinks  even  now  I  hear  'em  cracking 
their  whips  and  bidding  good-by  to 
the  old  folks  in  Conway.  They'll 
come,  too,  from  other  parts  of  New 
Hampshire;  ay,  by  the  score  and 
hundred  they'll  come.  Now,  such 
being  the  case,  why  not  have  a  town 
laid  out  by  the  time  they  arrive  ? 
And  right  here  where  we  stand  shall 
be  our  mansion :  'cause,  you  perceive, 
it's  a  corner-lot.  While  yonder,  on 
t'other  corner — so  as  to  be  handy  in 
case  of  rain — I'll  get  'em  to  build  the 
meeting-house ;  and  oh  !  won't  I  be 
proud  when  it's  finished !  And  what 
a  fine  rooster  I'll  put  on  the  steeple  !" 

"  No,  put  a  cross,"  said  the  young 
woman,  "  or  I'll  not  go  inside  of  it." 

"  What !  a  cross,  emblem  of  popery, 
on  this  virgin  soil,  where  there's 
never  been  one  seen,  unless  'twas 
that  which  your  preacher  carried 
yesterday  ?  No,  indeed !  I've  heerd 
enough  about  popery." 

"  I'll  pray  God  to  enlighten  you," 
said  the  girl,  at  the  same  time  heav- 
ing a  sigh. 

"  Well,  the  more  light  I  get,  the 
less  I'll  want  a  popish  emblem  on 
top  of  the  meeting-house."  Here 
Nat  struck  his  forehead,  then 
gazing  at  Mary  with  an  expression 
of  anger,  "  Have  you  come  so  far 
with  me,"  he  said,  "  to  quarrel  at 
last  ?  Bah !  you  are  a  goose."  With 
this  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
off,  muttering  to  himself  and  evident- 
ly very  much  excited. 

Poor  Mary  did  not  open  her  lips 
again  that  day,  but  helped  build  the 
log-house  with  the  greatest  good- will. 
Nor  did  Putnam  address  her  a  single 
word.  In  fact,  it  was  not  until  a  week 
had  gone  by  and  the  dwelling  was 
almost  finished  that  he  so  far  recov- 
ered from  his  ill  humor  as  to  speak  to 
her  in  a  friendly  way. 

"  Mary,"  said  he,  looking  proudly 
up  at  the  mud-plastered  chimney, 
"  this  is  a  good  beginning.  The  first 


house  is  always  the  hardest  to  erect ; 
and  you've  worked  like  a  beaver. 
Tell  me,  now,  are  you  still  of  the  same 
mind  about  the  cross  ?  Will  you 
stay  away  from  meeting  unless  I  give 
up  my  point  ?" 

"  I  will,"  replied  the  girl  firmly.  "  I 
want  a  Catholic  Church,  or  none  at 
all." 

"  Is  my  '  Blessing '  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  praying  hard  that  God 
may  open  your  eyes  to  the  truth." 

"  Open  my  eyes !  Well,  you're 
the  first  mortal  ever  insinuated  that 
Nat  Putnam  wasn't  wide-awake. 
But  enough ;  there's  a  split  between 
us  nothing  can  mend.  Alas  !"  Here 
he  walked  off  to  the  hill  muttering, 
"  What  a  pity !  what  a  pity  !  Ignor- 
ant as  she  is,  there's  yet  something 
about  her  which  goes  to  my  heart. 
I  love  Mary  O'Brien.  I  might  even 
ask  her  to  become  my  wife,  if  she 
hadn't  such  foolish  notions  about  re- 
ligion. But  not  content  with  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross  afore  every 
meal,  she  actually  wants  one  put  on 
top  of  the  meeting-house.  What  an 
idea !  A  cross  !  A  thing  never  seen 
on  this  virgin  soil  till  that  old  preach- 
er came  along." 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  youth 
wandered  about  the  hillside,  lament- 
ing Mary's  obstinacy  and  supersti- 
tion, until  at  length  he  heard  her 
blowing  the  horn  for  dinner. 

"  Let  her  blow,"  he  said,  "  I'm  in 
no  humor  to  eat  anything.  I'll  just 
lay  down  and  take  a  nap."  With 
this  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
and  was  about  settling  his  head  on  a 
comfortable  spot,  which  seemed  as  if 
intended  by  nature  for  a  pillow,  when 
he  gave  a  start  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
"As  I  live,"  he  cried,  "this  is  a 
grave  !  And  if  there  isn't  a  cross 
at  one  end  of  it ! — and  some  thing 
carved  upon  the  wood — what  can 
it  be  ?"  Here  he  stooped,  and,  after 
brushing  away  a  little  moss  which 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


271 


partly  covered   the   knife-cuts,  spelt 
out  the  words, 

"  Ma}-  his  soul  rest  in  peace  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  this  does  beat  all,"  he 
continued.  "  Who'd  'ave  believed  a 
cross  had  got  to  this  place  ahead  of 
me?  And  there's  something  about 
the  epitaph  which  makes  me  feel 
solemn.  I  wonder  how  long  since 
these  words  were  cut.  Perhaps  for 
years  and  years  only  the  deer  and 
eagles  have  gazed  upon  them.  Per- 
haps since  the  day  the  corpse  was 
buried,  no  lips  but  .mine  have  spoken 
over  this  lonely  grave,  '  May  his  soul 
rest  in  peace !'  " 

For  a  few  minutes  the  youth  lin- 
gered by  the  mound,  wrestling  with 
himself — for  he  was  conscious  that  a 
change  was  coming  over  him — then 
wended  his  way  back  to  the  cabin, 
resolved  to  be  frank  with  Mary,  and 
confess  that  a  cross  had  got  here  be- 
fore Nat  Putnam. 

He  had  arrived  within  a  couple  of 
paces  of  the  door,  which  was  half- 
open,  when,  hearing  her  speaking, 
he  stopped.  "  She  is  praying,"  he 
said.  "  What  a  fine  voice  she  has ! 
Better  than  Jemima's."  Then,  softly 
advancing,  he  discovered  her  kneel- 
ing on  the  floor,  her  hands  clasped, 
and  her  cheek  wet  with  tears.  In 
an  earnest  tone  she  was  asking  God 
to  pardon  her  father  his  many  sins  of 
intemperance;  then  with  equal  fervor, 
she  began  to  pray  for  the  speedy  re- 
turn of  the  missionary,  bringing  Put- 
nam a  blessing  and  forgiveness  from 
his  aged  parent. 

At  these  words  the  youth  trembled 
with  emotion,  and  bursting  into  the 
room,  "  Mary,  Mary,"  he  cried,  "  I 
take  back  all  I  said.  I  laughed 
when  you  made  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
and  I  called  you  ignorant.  But 
you're  more  larned  than  Nat  Put- 
nam. Your  prayer,  a  moment  ago, 
stirred  me  up  as  I  never  was  stirred 


at  camp-meeting.  It  made  me  feel 
as  when  through  the  dark  clouds  I 
see  blue  sky  peeping  out.  Praying 
for  the  dead!  O  God!  if  your 
preacher  comes  back  and  tells  me 
father  is  dead,  I  can  do  one  act  of 
reparation — pray  for  his  soul.  And 
but  for  you,  I'd  not  have  written 
home;  but  for  you,  black  remorse 
would  have  gone  on  eating  deeper 
and  deeper  into  my  soul — and  re- 
morse is  hell." 

"  Mr.  Putnam,"  said  the  young 
woman,  who,  startled  by  his  wild 
look,  had  risen  to  her  feet,  "  my 
prayers  have  been  heard." 

"  Yes,  they  have.  I  am  a  Catho- 
lic, and  vow  that  our  first  meeting- 
house shall  have  a  cross  upon  it.  O 
my  '  Blessing!'  never  can  I  be  grate- 
ful enough  to  the  Almighty  for  throw- 
ing you  in  my  path !" 

"  It  seemed  an  accident,"  pursued 
the  girl,  "  yet  it  may  indeed  have  been 
God's  work.  If  it  has  proved  for  the 
good  of  your  soul,  it,  perhaps,  has 
saved  mine.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
I  was  tempted  when  I  lived  in  the 
city  of  New  York.  Why,  one  night, 
when  I  was  out  looking  for  father, 
somebody  whispered  in  my  ear  that 
I  might  live  in  splendor  if  I  chose. 
The  tenement-house  where  we  lodged 
seemed  to  hold  as  many  people  as 
there  are  in  the  whole  of  Tipperary. 
Father  and  I,  with  a  score  of  others, 
slept  in  a  damp  room  underground. 
Oh!  when  I  think  of  those  days,  it  is 
like  a  horrid  dream." 

"  Well,  why  don't  them  people  fol- 
low my  tracks  ?  There's  land  enough 
here,  dear  knows.  Yes,  let  'em  all 
come;  only  they  must  leave  whiskey 
behind.  I  want  this  to  be  a  tempe- 
rance settlement."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  But,  Mary,  I  wonder  if 
amongst  them  I'd  find  another  like 
you,  my  '  Blessing '  ?"  With  this,  he 
rose,  and  was  about  to  throw  his  arms 
round  her  neck,  when  he  checked 


272 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West, 


himself;  then,  after  fumbling  a  mo- 
ment in  his  pocket,  went  out  to 
where  her  shamrock  was  blooming, 
and,  close  by  it,  he  put  in  the  ground 
a  pumpkin-seed.  Happy  were  the 
June  days  which  followed.  With 
what  a  light  heart  did  Mary  watch 
the  youth  at  work ! 

"  He's  a  strange  being,"  she  would 
say ;  "  different  from  any  I  ever  met 
in  the  Old  Country.  But,  for  all  that, 
he  is  good;  and  when  Father  De 
Smet  returns  I'll  have  him  baptized, 
and  then  there'll  be  no  firmer  Catho- 
lic than  Nat  Putnam." 

And  the  young  man — how  shall 
we  describe  his  feelings  as,  hour  after 
hour,  he  follows  the  plough  ? 

"  I'm  making  a  home,"  he  would 
say,  "  for  my  '  Blessing.'  How  she 
leans  upon  me !  If  I  were  to  die, 
what  would  become  of  her  ?  She 
don't  know  enough  to  give  lectures, 
like  Miss  Hopkins.  Oh  !  if  I  could 
only  mix  her  and  Jemima  together. 
Yet  she's  pretty  handy  at  the  needle, 
and  since  she's  overhauled  my  things 
I  ain't  lost  a  button.  And  yet  my 
suspenders,  darn  'em,  do  give  awful 
jerks  once  in  a  while." 

One  morning,  while  he  was  thus 
silently  praising  Mary's  skill  in  the 
art  of  sewing,  he  stopped,  gave  a 
groan,  then,  letting  go  the  handle  of 
the  plough,  "Wrong!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  There  goes  one !  Rip  !  whew !" 
and,  as  he  spoke,  he  grabbed  a 
button  out  of  the  furrow.  For  more 
than  a  minute  the  youth  examined  it 
thoughtfully,  turned  it  over  and  over, 
put  it  to  his  eye ;  then,  with  a  grin, 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  Mary  didn't  sew 
this  on;  the  thread  sticking  to  it  ain't 
the  kind  she  uses.  Ah  !  Jemima  Hop- 
kins! Jemima  Hopkins!  'tis  some  of 
your  work.  Yes,  I  remember ;  'twas 
just  afore  you  started  off  lecturing, 
and  when  your  head  was  full  of  big 
words.  O  Jemima  Hopkins !" 

And  so  the  summer  passed  away. 


The  corn  came  up  magnificently, 
and  when  it  was  in  all  its  glory,  with 
the  west  wind  shaking  the  tassels, 
Putnam  would  call  Mary  out  to  ad- 
mire it.  "  It  looks,"  he  would  say, 
"  like  a  regiment  of  militia  on  parade." 
The  pumpkin-seed  which  he  had 
planted  was  now  well  above  ground, 
and  creeping  slowly  but  steadily 
round  and  round  the  shamrock. 
Once  the  girl  was  tempted  to  pull 
the  vine  up,  but,  on  reflection,  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  had  better  not. 
And  she  was  right;  for  under  its 
broad  leaves  her  little  plant  found 
shelter  from  the  scorching  rays  of  the 
sun;  and  when  the  thunder-storms 
burst  over  the  prairie,  the  shamrock 
would  have  been  crushed  by  the 
great  rain-drops,  which  fell  thicker 
and  faster  than  ever  she  had  known 
them  fall  in  Ireland,  but  for  the  same 
kindly  protector. 

One  evening,  toward  the  middle 
of  September,  Nat  came  home  from 
work  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual. 
He  appeared  troubled;  there  was 
evidently  something  on  his  mind; 
and,  when  the  girl  asked  what  was 
the  matter,  he  scratched  his  head, 
devoured  her  a  moment  with  his 
sharp,  gray  eyes,  then,  turning  on  his 
heel,  walked  off  to  a  log  near  the 
door.  There  he  seated  himself,  and, 
after  musing  awhile,  beckoned  her 
to  approach. 

The  young  woman  obeyed,  not, 
however,  without  some  misgiving. 
"  Mr.  Putnam,"  she  thought,  "  has 
got  tired  of  living  so  long  in  one 
place,  and  is  anxious  to  move  fur- 
ther west.  Alas !" 

In  another  moment  she  was  seated 
near  him  and  gazing  anxiously  in  his 
face.  He  returned  her  look  only  for 
an  instant,  then  coughed,  and,  roll- 
ing up  his  eyes,  "  Tis  a  solemn  thing 
to  do,"  he  murmured.  "  But  I  can't 
help  it,  and  wouldn't  if  I  could.  I've 
felt  it  coming  over  me  ever  since  the 


The  Shamrock  Gone   West. 


273 


day  she  persuaded  me  to  write  home 
to  father.  Jemima  Hopkins  would 
giab  at  me  like  a  sunfish  at  a  worm  in 
April  if  I  gave  her  a  chance ;  but  this 
girl  is  so  innocent-like  that  really  I 
don't  know  how  to  begin.  And  then 
her  very  dependence  on  me,  the  soli- 
tude of  this  spot,  makes  her  kind  of 
sacred,  and  I  dread  lest  even  words 
of  purest  love  might  give  her  of- 
fence." 

"Well,  Mr.  Putnam,"  said  Mary, 
interrupting  his  soliloquy,  "you're  not 
going  to  move  away  ?  Don't  make 
my  shamrock  travel  any  further. 
Speak !  Oh !  I  feel  so  anxious." 

At  these  words,  Nat  cleared  his 
throat,  cracked  his  knuckles,  then, 
in  a  voice  singularly  agitated  for 
one  of  his  temperament,  "  Mary," 
he  began,  "  I  am  never  going  to 
move  from  this  spot.  You  are  fond 
of  it,  and  that's  enough."  At  this 
unexpected  announcement  the  girl 
clapped  her  hands.  "  But,"  he  went 
on,  "I  arn  not  contented;  there  is 
yet  something  wanting  to  make  me 
perfectly  happy." 

"  And,  pray,  what  is  it,  sir  ?  I 
know  I  am  very  green,  but  tell  me 
if  the  fault  be  mine ;  tell  me,  and  I 
promise  to  do  all  I  can  to  please 
you." 

"  Well,"  he  pursued,  raising  his 
hand  and  pointing  at  the  pumpkin- 
vine  which  circled  round  the  sham- 
rock, "  do  you  see  yonder  plant  al- 
most hiding,  and  at  the  same  time 
protecting,  the  smaller  one  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Well,  now.  Mary,  suppose  you  be 
the  shamrock,  and  let  me  be  the 
vine  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  gazed  earnestly 
at  her.  A  faint  blush  crimsoned  the 
girl's  cheek.  She  seemed  a  little 
startled ;  and  when  she  replied,  "  Yes, 
I  will  be  your  shamrock !"  it  was  in 
a  voice  low  and  scarce  above  a  whis- 
per. 

VOL.  XIII. —  1 8 


"  Well  done !"  cried  Nat,  tossing 
his  hat  in  the  air.  "  Well  done ! 
As  soon  as  the  priest  comes,  we'll 
have  the  knot  tied." 

That  very  evening,  the  missionary 
arrived,  bringing  Putnam  news  from 
home,  which,  although  sad  indeed, 
was  yet  not  unmingled  with  consola- 
tion. His  father  was  dead,  but  the 
last  words  he  had  spoken  were 
words  of  forgiveness  to  the  youth 
who  had  abandoned  him  in  his  old 
age.  The  Jesuit  remained  at  the  log- 
house  almost  a  fortnight,  instructing 
the  convert  in  the  faith,  and,  before 
he  departed,  the  latter  had  the  hap- 
piness of  serving  a  Mass  offered  for 
the  repose  of  his  father's  soul. 

"  This  never  would  have  happened 
but  for  you,  my  '  Blessing,' "  said  Nat, 
pressing  Mary's  hand.  "  Those  who 
will  follow  me  to  this  enchanting  spot 
may  laugh  at  my  becoming  a  Catho- 
lic, but  'twill  be  because  they  are  ig- 
norant. Your  religion  has  in  it  some- 
thing sublime;  it  reaches  across  the 
grave,  and,  by  our  prayers,  gives 
us  a  hold  upon  those  who  have 
gone  before  us.  Father!  father!" 
Here  his  voice  failed,  and  for  a  min- 
ute or  two  he  wept.  At  length,  mas- 
tering his  grief,  he  turned  to  the  priest 
and  signified  that  he  was  ready  for 
the  marriage  ceremony  to  begin.  It 
was  short ;  but  while  it  lasted,  a  song- 
sparrow  (the  first  the  youth  had  heard 
since  he  arrived  in  Illinois)  alighted 
upon  the  window-sill  and  piped  a  joy- 
ous carol.  Often  had  he  heard  the 
bird  at  his  home  near  the  foot  of  Mount 
Kearsarge,  and  now  its  sweet  notes 
fell  on  his  ear  like  the  voice  of  a  spirit 
come  all  the  way  from  the  Saco  Val- 
ley to  wish  him  happiness  on  his 
wedding-day. 

That  evening,  he  took  his  wife  and 
the  priest  to  visit  the  mound  on  the 
hillside,  and  around  it  they  knelt  and 
offered  a  prayer  for  the  unknown 
whose  dust  lay  beneath. 


Sayings  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Desert. 


As  they  sauntered  back  to  the 
cabin,  Putnam  expressed  a  lively 
hope  that  all  his  friends  in  New 
Hampshire  would  emigrate  to  the 
West.  "And  when  Jemima  arrives," 
he  said,  closing  one  eye  and  looking 
at  his  wife  with  the  other,  "  you'll  see 
something  worth  seeing;  for  she's 
awful  smart,  and  when  we  get  argu- 
ing together  it's  diamond  cut  dia- 
mond. But  I'll  convert  her;  oh!  I 
will." 

"  No  doubt,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Put- 
nam, "  the  discussion  will  be  ani- 
mated and  interesting,  for  you  have 
a  clear  head  and  a  ready  tongue, 
while  Miss  Hopkins  was  born  the 
year  of  the  comet;  but  believe  me, 
husband  dear,  it  is  praying,  not  argu- 


ing, brings  into  the  fold  those  who 
are  out  of  it." 

"  That  must  be  so,"  he  continued, 
"  for  you  never  argued  with  me,  and 
yet  now  I'm  a  Catholic.  O  happy 
day  when  Nat  Putnam  met  Mary 
O'Brien !  And  while  I  will  strive  by 
every  honest  means  to  improve  my 
worldly  condition,  I  will  remain  true 
to  the  faith.  Illinois  is  a  wilderness 
now,  but  they're  coming,  Mary, 
they're  coming;  and,  before  your 
raven  hair  turns  gray,  a  city  will 
stand  on  this  prairie;  and  opposite 
our  corner-lot  shall  be  a  church  with 
a  cross  upon  it — a  Catholic  church. 
And  'twill  be  thanks  to  you,  my 
'  Blessing ;'  yes,  thanks  to  the  sham- 
rock gone  West." 


SAYINGS   OF   THE    FATHERS    OF   THE    DESERT. 


AN  aged  monk  said  to  a  brother 
who  was  tempted  by  evil  spirits : 
When  the  evil  spirits  begin  to  talk  to 
thee  in  thy  heart,  do  not  reply  to 
them ;  but  arise,  pray,  and  do 
penance,  saying  :  Son  of  God,  have 
mercy  on  me.  But  the  brother  said 
to  him :  Behold,  O  father,  I  do 
meditate,  and  there  is  no  compunc- 
tion in  my  heart,  because  I  do  not 
understand  the  meaning  of  my  words. 
And  he  replied :  Yet  do  thou  medi- 
tate ;  for  I  have  heard  that  Abbot 
Pastor  and  other  fathers  have  spoken 
this  proverb :  The  charmer  knows 
not  the  meaning  of  the  words  which 
he  says,  but  the  serpent  hears,  and 
knows  the  virtue  of  the  charm,  and 
is  humbled  and  subjected  to  the  en- 
chanter. So  also  with  us,  even 


though  we  be  ignorant  of  the  mean- 
ing of  what  we  say,  yet  the  evil  spirits, 
hearing,  tremble  and  depart. 

Abbot  Pastor  said  :  The  beginning 
of  evils  is  to  distract  the  mind. 

Abbot  Ellas  said :  I  fear  three 
things.  One,  when  my  soul  shall  de- 
part from  the  body ;  the  second, 
when  I  shall  come  before  God ;  the 
third,  when  sentence  shall  be  pro- 
nounced upon  me. 

Archbishop  Theophilus,  of  holy 
memory,  when  he  was  about  to  die, 
said :  Blessed  art  thou,  Abbot  Arse- 
nius,  because  thou  hast  ever  had  this 
hour  before  thy  eyes. 


Vespers.  275 


VESPERS. 

[THE  term  Vespers  is  derived  from  Vesper,  the  star  that  appears  toward  sunset,  the  time  appointed 
by  ancient  usage  for  the  recital  of  the  Evening  Song. — Hierugia,} 

EVENING  quiet  overspreads  the  sky  : 
Vesper  rises  clear  and  liquidly. 
Star  of  prayer !  whose  ray 

Brings  spirit-whispers, 
Brings  the  saintly  hour 
Of  holy  vespers. 

Not  a  bell,  perchance,  of  prayerful  cry, 
Yet  the  pious  foot  comes  mindfully  ! 
O'er  the  flinty  street, 

Or  daisied  meadow, 
Glides,  from  near  or  far, 
The  Christian  shadow ! 

Evening  quiet  overspreads  the  soul : 
Restful  rites  the  restless  pulse  control. 
Now  the  tuneful  waves 

Of  organ  tremble ; 
Now  the  tuneful  prayers 
God's  choir  resemble ! 

Words  of  ancient  plaint,  flung  long  ago 
From  a  kingly  harp's  melodious  throe ; 
Words  to  her,  who  oped 

Of  Christ  the  vision, 

Gabriel  words — still  serve 

Their  music-mission ! 

Now  the  censer's  aromatic  breath 
Wreathes  th'  abode  of  One  who  smiles  on  death  ! 
Now  the  portals  ope — 

Ah !  dread  appearing  ! 
Christian,  veil  thy  glance, 
A  God  revering ! 

— Changed  to  flesh  and  blood  my  daily  food : 
Changed  the  bread  and  wine  to  flesh  and  blood ! 
Yet,  my  God,  forgive 

If  reason  falter : 
Faith,  alone,  sustains  me 
At  thine  altar ! 

RICHARD  STORRS  WILLIS. 


The  Legend  of  Santa  Restituta. 


THE   LEGEND    OF   SANTA   RESTITUTA. 


ISCHIA  is  one  of  the  gems  of  the 
Bay  of  Naples,  and  fortunately  one 
of  the  least  known  and  least  visited 
of  the  tourist-haunted  island  group. 

The  Monte  Epomeo  rises  in  its 
midst,  a  mass  of  tufa  rock,  perforat- 
ed here  and  there  by  fumarole,  that 
is,  openings  through  which  volca- 
nic exhalations  are  constantly  send- 
ing forth  their  thin  blue  threads  of 
hazy  smoke  to  mingle  with  the  blue 
and  hazy  atmosphere  that  veils  the 
whole  island  in  a  fairy  and  gossamer 
robe.  Two  or  three  villages  are 
built  upon  the  low  girdle  of  sand 
that  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain ; 
on  one  side  of  the  island  are  ledges 
of  rock  where  the  vine  grows,  on  the 
other  is  a  projection,  or  rather  a  se- 
parate rock,  on  which  is  built  a  state- 
prison.  Only  one  road  passes  through 
Ischia,  and  no  wheels  ever  leave  their 
marks  there,  save  when  a  royal  visi- 
tor brings  a  modern  carriage  with 
him.  The  inhabitants  walk  barefoot, 
and  the  strangers  ride  donkeys,  or 
are  carried  in  open  sedan-chairs,  call- 
ed "  portantine."  The  women  lounge 
about  at  their  cottage-doors,  spindle 
in  hand,  their  heads  curiously  bound 
up  in  silken  handkerchiefs,  and  their 
ears  Aveighed  down  by  huge  ear-rings. 
There  is  a  wonderful  and  unspeakable 
charm  hanging  over  the  place ;  the 
beauties  that  elsewhere  in  Italy 
hardly  surprise  you,  seem  to  hold 
you  spell-bound  here.  The  sea  is 
now  blue,  now  green,  now  purple,  al- 
ways of  an  intense  color,  and  seem- 
ingly an  inverted  firmament,  where 
the  white  fishing-smack  sails  stand 
for  clouds,  and  the  little  silver-crest- 
ed wavelets  for  stars.  The  air  is  very 
pure,  yet  warm  and  balmy,  and,  when 


the  storm  visits  the  island,  even  the 
lightning  must  make  itself  more 
softly  beautiful  than  elsewhere,  for  it 
is  often  seen  in  rose  and  violet  color- 
ed flashes,  making  the.  heavens  like 
to  a  vault  of  opal.  The  myrtle 
grows  on  the  mountain-side,  and  the 
oleander  blooms  lower  down,  the 
vines  climb  from  the  water's  edge  to 
the  roofs  of  the  few  rustic  hotels  the 
island  boasts,  and  among  all  these 
beauties  are  hidden  springs  of  medi- 
cinal water  and  hot  sea-sands,  all  of 
them  much  used  by  Italians  chiefly 
in  the  shape  of  baths.  The  sand- 
bath  is  a  hole  within  four  shanty-like 
plank  walls,  and  the  patient  has  him- 
self buried  in  it  up  to  his  neck  for 
the  time  prescribed. 

Of  course,  much  is  said  to  stran- 
gers concerning  the  beauty  of  the 
sunrise  from  the  top  of  Epomeo. 
But,  as  usual,  when  you  go  to  see 
the  sun,  you  find  him  behind  sulky 
curtains  of  gray-white  clouds  that 
roll  like  another  sea  between  the  blue 
unseen  Mediterranean  and  the  bright 
purple  heaven  above.  Still,  this,  too, 
is  beautiful,  though  coldly  so,  and 
very  unlike  the  lovely  western  sun- 
rise over  the  Atlantic.  But  the  glory 
of  Italy  is  in  her  sunsets,  and  toward 
evening  sea  and  mountain,  tufa  rock 
and  yellow  sand,  put  on  a  marvellous 
robe,  a  veritable  "  coat  of  divers  co- 
lors," and  life  seems  to  breathe  and 
sigh  in  things  that  before  seemed 
lifeless. 

Ischia,  like  all  Italian  localities, 
has  its  patron  saint;  they  call  her 
Santa  Restituta. 

When  persecution  was  raging  in 
Egypt,  in  the  third  century,  says  the 
simple  legend,  the  body  of  a  young 


The  Legend  of  Santa  Restituta. 


2/7 


maiden,  with  a  millstone  tied  round 
her  neck,  floated  across  the  sea  and 
rested  in  a  creek  on  the  south  side  of 
the  island.  The  creek  is  called  after 
the  martyr  to  this  day,  and  above  it 
are  rocks  whose  black  mass  literally 
overhangs  and  roofs  in  part  of  the 
bay.  Just  where  her  body  rested,  in 
a  sandy,  barren  place,  lilies  grew  up 
and  continued  to  bloom ;  they  are 
there  now,  and  are  very  peculiar  as 
well  as  very  lovely,  a  sort  of  cross 
between  the  lily  and  the  iris,  with  de- 
licate pointed  petals,  five  in  number, 
and  a  tall  smooth  stem  with  very 
little  verdure.  Not  only  do  these 
flowers  grow  nowhere  else  in  the  is- 
land or  out  of  it,  but  they  will  not 
even  grow  in  a  land  of  their  own 
sandy  soil  if  transplanted  with  a 
quantity  of  it  elsewhere.  The  mill- 
stone that  was  round  the  saint's 
neck  is  said  to  be  embedded  in  a 
wall  in  the  neighborhood  of  her 
church  :  there  is  such  a  stone,  wheth- 
er the  same  or  not  no  one  can  tell. 
Later  on,  a  church  was  erected  over 
the  remains  of  the  martyr,  and  she 
was  chosen  patroness  of  the  island. 
A  very  curious  Byzantine  figure,  gilt 
all  over  and  nearly  life-size,  was  made 
in  wood  and  placed  over  the  altar. 
In  one  hand,  she  was  pictured  as  hold- 
ing a  book  of  the  Gospels,  and,  in 
the  other,  a  full-rigged  vessel.  When 
the  south  of  Italy  was  invested  by 
Saracen  hordes,  Ischia  did  not  escape 
pillage,  and  of  course,  judging  the 
most  precious  things  to  be  in  the 
church,  as  they  always  were  in  Ca- 
tholic times,  the  marauders  rushed 
to  Santa  Restituta's  shrine,  and  at- 
tempted to  carry  off  the  golden  sta- 
tue, as  they  believed  it  to  be.  The 
statue,  naturally,  was  a  movable 
one,  and  used  to  be  carried  in  pro- 
cession on  certain  stated  occasions. 
But  now  it  remained  rooted  to  the 
spot,  and  no  effort  of  the  stalwart  in- 
fidels could  move  it  a  hair's-breadth 


from  its  pedestal.  In  rage  and  dis- 
appointment, one  of  them  struck  at 
it  savagely  with  his  scimetar,  and  a 
mark  upon  its  knee  still  attests  this 
outrage.  The  sacrilege  was  prompt- 
ly punished,  for  the  men  themselves 
now  found  they  were  unable  to  move, 
and  remained  invisibly  chained  at 
the  foot  of  the  miraculous  image. 
If  they  were  released,  the  legend 
does  not  say ;  let  us  hope  that  they 
were  freed  by  faith,  and  that  conver- 
sion followed  this  strange  sign.  The 
statue  remained  immovable  ever 
since,  and  another  image  was  made 
to  be  carried  in  procession,  with  the 
addition  of  the  miraculously  riveted 
Saracens,  in  a  small  painted  group 
on  the  same  stand  as  the  figure  itself. 
Whether  the  legend  be  absolutely 
true  or  only  partly  so,  whether  fact 
and  figure  be  mixed  together,  and 
things  spiritual  typified  under  tangi- 
ble forms,  it  is  not  for  us  to  decide, 
but  the  simple  faith  of  the  happy 
islanders  is  certainly  to  be  admired, 
and  even  to  be  envied.  They  have 
yearly  rejoicings,  fireworks,  proces- 
sions, songs,  and  services,  and  a  mili- 
tary parade  of  what  national  guards 
they  can  muster,  to  celebrate  their 
saint's  anniversary;  they  are  proud 
of  her,  and  point  out  her  statue  and 
tell  her  history  to  strangers  with  the 
same  enthusiasm  with  which  soldiers 
speak  of  a  favorite  general. 

And,  if  my  surmise  be  true,  they 
have  had  her  celebrated  in  art  by  no 
less  a  painter  than  Paul  de  la 
Roche,  whose  "  Mar  tyre "  is  well 
known  all  over  Europe  as  one  of  the 
chastest,  truest,  and  most  reverent 
as  well  as  most  beautiful  representa- 
tions of  martyrdom.  He  has  paint- 
ed a  fair  maiden  in  a  white  robe,  and 
her  hands  tied  with  a  cruel  rope  in 
front.  The  long,  golden  hair  is 
gently  moved,  like  a  strange  and  new 
sea-weed,  by  the  rippling  water  that 
flows  over  it ;  the  cord  cuts  into  the  flesh 


278 


The  Legend  of  Santa  Restituta. 


of  the  white,  delicate  hand,  and  the 
water  seems  reverently  eager  to  pour 
its  coolness  into  the  wounds  and  to 
stay  the  cruel  fever  in  them  ;  the  face 
is  that  of  an  angel  that  is  looking  on 
the  Father's  countenance  in  highest 
heaven  ;  a  coronal  of  light  rests,  like 
a  sun-touched  cloud,  just  above  her 
head,  and  in  the  dark  background  a 
large  mass,  of  overhanging  rock,  just 
like  the  rocks  of  Ischia,  frown  down 
upon  the  sea-green  bay,  and  shadows 
of  muffled,  lurking  figures  are  seen 
watching  the  floating  wonder  from 
above. 

If  the  painter  had  not  Santa 
Restituta  in  his  mind,  the  coinci- 
dence, at  least,  is  curious.  Yet  it  is 
true  that  so  many  blessed  saints  died 
this  death  that  he  may  have  meant 
to  portray  a  typical  rather  than  an  in- 
dividual representation  in  this  pic- 
ture, which  is  one  of  his  master- 
pieces. 

There  is  another  floating  figure, 
with  golden  hair  and  folded  hands, 
which  is  more  familiar  to  most  peo- 
ple than  this  one,  and,  though  the 
comparison  is  strange,  I  cannot  help 
introducing  it  here.  I  mean  the  figure 
of  Tennyson's  Elaine,  whom  Gustave 
Dore  has  made  his  own  in  his  unap- 
proachable illustration  of  the  Idyls 
of  the  King,  but  whose  history  and 
especially  whose  death  has  been  the 
source  of  many  a  painter's  inspira- 
tion. I  hardly  know  one  more  touch- 
ing object  in  all  modern  poetry,  save 
that  more  solemn  and  more  dignified 
one  that  closes  the  idyl  of  Guine- 
vere, and  whose  calm  sublimity  al- 
most touches  the  divine.  But  though 
the  analogy  of  the  "  Lily  Maid  of 
Astolat "  borne  down  the  river  to  the 
oriel  -  windowed  palace  of  Arthur's 
Queen  to  that  other  lily  maid,  the  vir- 
gin-martyr of  Egypt,  be  brought  to 
mind  by  the  likeness  in  both  cases 
of  the  floating  waters  and  the  unbound 
hair ;  yet  here  the  analogy  ends,  for 


we  see  that  as  far  as  heaven  is  from 
earth,  so  far  a»e  these  two  beautiful 
figures  removed  one  from  the  other. 
Both  died  for  love,  both  died  pure ; 
but  the  love  of  the  one  was  such  as, 
once  quenched  in  death,  would  never 
live  again,  for  she  would  be  "  even  as 
the  angels;"  while  the  love  of  the 
other  not  only  did  death  not  quench, 
but  would  make  tenfold  more  ardent, 
as  she  would  "  follow  the  Lamb 
whithersoever  he  goeth,"  and  sing 
"  the  new  canticle  "  no  man  could  sing 
but  those  "  who  were  purchased  from 
the  earth." 

Tennyson's  Elaine  is  a  figure  of 
earth  in  earth's  most  sinless  form 
and  most  innocent  meaning,  yet  still 
earthly,  still  imperfect,  still  embody- 
ing the  idea  of  man's  natural  weak- 
ness and  inherent  decay.  Paul  de  la 
Roche's  "  Martyre,"  or  Ischia's  San- 
ta Restituta,  is  a  figure  of  heaven,  an 
already  glorified  soul,  who,  having 
conquered  the  flesh,  the  world,  and 
the  devil,  having  offered  her  body 
to  God  "  a  living  sacrifice,"  and  hav- 
ing "  put  on  immortality,"  has  passed 
beyond  our  understanding  and  be- 
yond our  criticism  into  that  region 
of  bliss  whose  very  dimmest  ray  would 
be  unbearable  glare  to  our  eyes,  and 
the  full  vision  of  which  would  bring 
a  blessed  and  a  painless  death  in  its 
inevitable  train. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  of  our  days 
to  think  lightly  of  legends  and  tradi- 
tions of  saints,  to  ridicule  their  so- 
called  inventors,  and  pity  their  sup- 
posed victims.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  see  families  clinging  to  certain  ver- 
sions of  certain  facts  relative  to  their 
long  descent  and  the  doughty  deeds 
of  their  world-famed  forefathers ;  we 
see  nations  dwelling  complacendy 
on  marvellous  explanations  concern- 
ing their  origin,  and  proudly  point- 
ing to  distant  feats  of  knightly  prow- 
ess performed  by  northern  Viking 
and  Frank  or  Vandal  chief;  we  see 


The  Legend  of  Santa  Restituta. 


279 


tradition  already  growing  up  like 
irrepressible  vines  around  the  memo- 
ry of  great  men  buried  perchance 
but  yesterday,  and  even  around  the 
persons  of  living  men  to  whom  the 
wheel  of  fortune  or  the  rarer  gift  of 
genius  has  given  a  temporary  pro- 
minence ;  and  is  it  strange  that  Ca- 
tholics should  love  to  repeat  similar 
legends  concerning  their  forefathers, 
the  founders  of  their  spiritual  nation, 
their  forerunners  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  ?  We,  too,  have  in  our  faith 
a  family  pride,  a  national  pride,  and 
a  pride  born  of  personal  friendship  and 
attachment  for  some  of  God's  living 
saints,  his  yet  uncrowned  champions. 
We  are  all  one  family,  we  all  call  to 
God  "  Abba,"  that  is,  Father ;  we  are 
"  the  sons  of  God  "  and  the  "  joint 
heirs  with  Christ."  We  cannot  help 
rejoicing  over  the  glory  of  one  of 
our  brethren  or  sisters;  we  cannot 
help  being  proud  of  their  virtues  and 
seeking  to  perpetuate  and  honor  their 
memory.  We  are  all  one  nation, 
too,  for  there  is  but  one  Head,  one 
Lord,  one  Christ;  and  in  the  history 
of  the  saints  we  learn  the  history  of 
the  church,  our  state,  our  country, 
our  kingdom.  And  among  our  great 
men,  whom  no  wheel  of  fortune  but 
the  divine  decree  of  Providence  has 
lifted  to  pre-eminence  among  us,  and 
with  whom,  for  the  most  part,  holi- 
ness and  humility  take  the  place  of 
genius — is  it  strange  we  should  single 
out  some  of  whom,  having  known 
them,  we  willingly  speak  and  hear 
little  details  told,  and  treasure  them 
up,  and  weave  them  into  heart- 
poems  for  our  children's  children  ? 
So  grows  tradition,  and  a  mind  that 
has  no  place  in  it  for  tradition's  ever- 
green vines  to  spread  their  beautiful 
network  is  but  a  misshapen  likeness 
of  the  mind  that  God  created  in 
Adam,  and  endowed  with  sympa- 
thetic tenderness  and  appreciative 
discrimination. 


Some  among  us  have  had  the 
happiness  to  be  brought  into  contact 
with  men  greatly  favored  by  God. 
And  who  that  had  daily  seen  his  hum- 
ble, hidden  convent-life,  that  sweet 
soul-poet  and  child-like  priest,  Fred- 
erick Faber,  could  fail  to  accumu- 
late concerning  him  loving  tradi- 
tions, and  what  our  descendants  may 
hereafter  call  fond  and  vain  legends  ? 
And  who  that  had  once  heard  the 
voice  of  Henry  Newman,  the  leader 
of  the  school  of  thought  of  our  days 
in  the  simple  converse  he  loves  best, 
or  in  the  plain  instructions  to  his 
school-children  at  catechism,  could 
help  treasuring  up  such  a  recollec- 
tion as  more  precious  by  far  than  a 
token  of  royal  friendship,  or  the  me- 
mory of  some  unexampled  inter- 
course with  state  minister  or  power- 
ful diplomat  ?  There  are  others  who 
have  lived  or  are  living  in  the  same 
cold,  beliefless  days  as  ourselves,  and 
whose  presence,  either  tangible 
through  personal  acquaintance  or  re- 
flected through  their  sermons  or  their 
books,  is  a  perpetual  fragrance,  which 
we  seek  ever  to  keep  alive  in  the  gar- 
den of  our  hearts  by  heaping  up  and 
stowing  away  in  our  minds  all  man- 
ner of  details  belonging  to  their 
useful  and  everyday  lives. 

Pius  IX.  and  Montalembert,  and 
the  Cure  d'Ars,  and  Father  Ignatius 
Spencer,  and  the  Pere  de  Ravignan ; 
Lacordaire  and  the  convert  Jew, 
Hermann,  the  musician  and  Carmel- 
ite who  has  but  lately  passed  away, 
and  will  be  remembered,  let  us  trust, 
even  as  the  Fra  Angelico  of  the  nine- 
teenth century;  Mother  Seton  and 
the  Sceur  Rosalie ;  Thomas  Grant,  the 
saintly  Bishop  of  Southwark,  who 
meekly  laid  down  his  burden  in  the 
City  of  the  Catacombs  when  his  Lord 
called  him  from  the  Council  of  the 
Vatican  to  the  foot  of  the  throne ; 
and  Henry  Manning,  and  John 
Hughes,  and  others  yet  whose  names 


The  Legend  of  Santa  Restitute.. 


are  known  only  to  a  few  friends  on 
earth,  but  widely  known  among  the 
hosts  of  heaven,  sons  of  Benedict  and 
daughters  of  Scholastica,  all  these 
are  among  the  chosen  ones  whose 
names  cannot  but  be  speedily  wreath- 
ed in  legendary  and  traditional  his- 
tory. And  even  if  it  happens  that  some 
detail  lovingly  told  comes  to  be  ex- 
aggerated, and  have  accessories  link- 
ed to  it  by  earnest — if  indiscreet — 
zeal,  shall  that  be  accounted  as  a 
crime  and  a  malicious  distortion  of 
truth  ?  An  error  of  love  can  be 
surely  forgiven  by  mothers  who  are 
proud  of  their  battle-stained  sons; 
by  children  who  worship  the  mother 
that  taught  them,  and  the  father  who 
guided  and  corrected  them;  by  sol- 
diers who  tell  round  the  camp-fire 
of  the  iron  men  who  led  them  to 
victory,  or  who  bore  with  them  and 
for  them  an  equally  glorious  cap- 
tivity and  defeat ;  by  sick  men  who 
do  not  forget  the  "  Sister's  "  care ;  by 
all,  in  a  word,  who  have  a  heart 
wherewith  to  be  grateful,  a  mind 
wherewith  to  admire,  a  memory 
wherewith  to  give  honor. 

What  is  true  of  the  saints  of  to- 
day is  so,  and  was  so  from  the  be- 
ginning, of  the  saints  of  long  ages 
ago.  And  if  their  history  has  come 
down  to  us  woven  of  fact  and  le- 
gend both,  it  is  thus  only  the  more 
historical  to  us,  for  it  tells  us  the  his- 
tory of  the  church's  love  for  her  glo- 
rified children,  as  well  as  the  record 
of  the  real  life  of  those  children 


themselves.  Santa  Restituta  has  thus 
led  us  far  from  Ischia's  scarcely 
known  beauties  and  simple  island 
shrine,  but  she  now  leads  us  back  to 
her  own  sanctuary  by  the  thought 
here  suggested,  that,  even  as  many 
hidden  saints  walk  among  us  now, 
so  there  are  many  hidden  nooks  of 
the  earth,  like  her  sea-girt  home, 
where  faith  is  still  the  daily  bread  of 
the  people,  and  where  an  almost 
primeval  innocence  reigns  under  the 
protection  of  that  happy,  childlike 
ignorance  which,  according  to  mod- 
ern civilization,  is  the  root  of  all 
evil. 

Hidden  saints  are  like  to  these 
little  inclosed  gardens  of  faith ;  their 
hearts  are  valleys  sequestered  from  the 
glare  of  the  world's  unbelief  and  the 
world's  selfishness  ;  their  souls  are  as 
rock-bound  creeks  where  lilies  grow 
and  wavelets  ripple  over  golden 
sands ;  with  them,  too,  the  sunset  of 
life  is  ever  the  most  glorious  hour,  as 
it  is  with  Ischia's  myrtle-clad  rocks 
and  vine-crowned  cottages. 

Santa  Restituta,  pray  for  us,  and, 
if  we  are  not  worthy  to  be  of  the 
number  of  the  saints  ourselves,  suffer 
us  to  be  the  historians,  the  biograph- 
ers, the  poets  of  such  saints  as  those 
who  are  known  only  by  name  in  one 
remote  corner  of  God's  universe,  or 
of  such  other  saints  of  whom  glimp- 
ses are  now  and  then  revealed  to  us 
by  the  very  simplicity  and  utter  un- 
guardedness  of  their  sweet  and  unde- 
filed  nature. 


A  Letter  from  the  President  of  a  College. 


281 


A   LETTER   FROM  THE   PRESIDENT   OF  A  COLLEGE. 


[\\"E  have  received  and  publish  the 
following  letter  with  great  pleasure, 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  others  will 
take  up  the  same  subject,  and  express 
their  views  upon  it.  Perhaps  we 
may  even  venture  to  suggest  the  pro- 
ject of  a  convention  or  congress  of 
heads  of  colleges  under  the  auspices 
of  the  prelates,  in  order  to  discuss 
and  resolve  on  useful  measures  con- 
nected with  Catholic  education.] 

DEAR  MR.  WORLD  : 

You  have  a  talent  for  evoking 
thought.  The  excellent  paper  on 
higher  education,  which  you  publish- 
ed in  your  issue  for  March,  has  set 
me  a-thinking;  and  as  I  hold  you  to 
be  a  wise  counsellor,  I  hope  you 
will  allow  me  to  communicate  my 
poor  thoughts  to  you.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about  some  of  the  diffi- 
culties of  Catholic  education  in  the 
United  States. 

By  the  way,  the  subject  of  your 
article  was  working  at  the  same  time 
in  several  minds.  I  read  in  the  Ga- 
laxy for  March  a  long  dissertation, 
full  of  idolatry  for  Germany,  on  high- 
er education ;  and  the  students  of  St. 
John's  College,  Fordham,  New  York, 
celebrated  Washington's  birthday  by 
a  series  of  splendid  speeches  on  the 
same  theme.  Would  you,  Mr.  WORLD, 
feel  complimented  if  I  should  ex- 
claim, "  Les  beaux  esprits  se  rencon- 
trent "  ? 

Well,  then,  in  the  matter  of  col- 
lege education — for  that  is  what  I 
have  been  thinking  on — as  in  a  mul- 
titude of  other  matters,  Catholics  in 
this  country  owe  eternal  gratitude 
to  their  clergy.  If  we  have  any  col- 
leges at  all,  to  whom  do  we  owe 


them  ?  To  the  zeal  and  self-sac 
rifice  of  our  Christian  Brothers,  of 
our  priests  and  our  bishops.  I  think 
that  all  our  colleges  were  established 
by  churchmen,  whether  secular  or 
regular.  It  were,  perhaps,  invidious 
to  mention  names — but  we  ought  not 
to  withhold  a  deserved  and  willing 
tribute  of  praise  from  the  heroic  men 
who  gave  us  our  colleges.  We  say 
heroic,  for  these  men  were  truly  such. 
Lengthy  reflection  is  not  necessary  in 
order  to  justify  the  epithet.  What  a 
mountain  of  obstacles  had  to  be 
cleared  away  to  purchase  the  site  of 
these  colleges,  to  build  them,  to  man 
them,  to  govern  and  carry  them  on ! 
Education  is  a  noble  and  fertile  sub- 
ject to  speak  about.  It  is  an  immense 
blessing  to  be  really  educated.  But 
what  an  amount  of  toil  and  anxiety 
does  not  this  delicious  fruit  cost  those 
who  seek  to  bestow  it  on  our  chil- 
dren! How  many  harassing  days 
and  nights  have  not  the  faithful  su- 
perior, professors,  and  prefects  of  a 
college  to  spend  in  the  exercise  of 
their  several  functions !  All  the 
world  knows  that  boys  are  not  a  very 
inviting  material  to  work  on.  They 
are  unreasoning,  ungrateful,  thought- 
less, inconstant;  often  weak,  lazy, 
perverse,  and  incorrigible.  Many  of 
them  act  in  college  as  though  they 
went  there  to  torment  everybody — 
or,  at  most,  for  the  benefit  of  the  offi- 
cers, and  not  at  all  for  their  own  good. 
Of  course,  if  boys  were  merely  to  be 
taught  lessons,  much  of  the  trouble 
connected  with  their  education  could 
be  avoided.  But  Catholic  colleges 
mast  make  moral  men  and  Christians 
— and  that,  as  we  all  know,  is  a  diffi- 
cult task,  for  the  young  heart  is  very 


282 


A  Letter  from  tin*  President  of  a  College. 


wayward.  Then,  too,  what  heart- 
burns with  fathers  and  mothers  and 
guardians !  How  little  pecuniary  com- 
pensation for  the  educator!  Yet 
our  clergy,  be  it  said  to  their  undy- 
ing honor,  have  nobly  braved,  out- 
faced, all  these  privations  and  humilia- 
tions. They  are  doing  so  even  at 
this  day.  Let  them  refuse  to  sacri- 
fice their  time,  talents,  health,  and 
temporal  weal,  and  we  ask  whether 
there  is  in  the  United  States  a  single 
Catholic  college  which  would  not 
have  to  suspend  operation  to-mor- 
row ?  We  must  remember  that  our 
colleges  are  not  endowed.  In  a  finan- 
cial point  of  view,  they  depend  almost 
entirely  o,n  the  fees  of  their  students. 
Commonly,  too,  they  have  more  or 
less  of  standing  debts,  for  which  year- 
ly interest  must  be  paid.  Were  the 
presidents,  professors,  and  prefects  of 
such  houses  to  exact  fat  salaries  in 
return  for  their  sublime  abnegation, 
what,  Catholic  Americans,  would  be 
the  fate  of  all  your  colleges?  Do 
you  often  think  of  this  when,  amid 
the  ease  and  luxury  of  your  drawing- 
rooms  and  dinner-tables,  you  run 
down  this  college,  sneer  at  that  oth- 
er, and  wonder  why  a  third  does  not 
do  this,  that,  and  the  other  thing  in 
the  shape  of  improvement  ?  You 
have  colleges  because  your  clergy 
are  willing  to  sacrifice  their  time 
and  tastes,  to  submit  to  drudgery,  to 
wear  out  their  very  lives,  and  live 
and  die  in  poverty.  All  praise  to 
you,  Catholic  priests  and  bishops,  to 
you  religious  orders  of  these  United 
States. 

These  remarks  go  to  prove  that 
our  first  difficulty  in  the  walks  of 
higher  education  is  the  slender  means 
of  our  colleges. 

In  the  next  place,  it  appears  to  your 
unworthy  correspondent  that  very 
little  is  done  to  put  an  end  to  this 
precarious  and  from-hand-to-mouth 
existence.  What  generosity  does  the 


laity  show  to  our  colleges  ?  People 
contribute  munificently  to  convents, 
asylums,  churches,  etc. ;  but  how  ma- 
ny make  donations  to  colleges ;  how 
many  found  prizes,  medals,  or  scho- 
larships in  them  ?  Very  few,  at  least 
so  far  as  my  knowledge  goes.  Col- 
leges, like  poor  bears  in  winter,  are 
supposed  to  live  on  their  own  fat. 
No  one  asks  them  whether  they 
are  in  debt,  in  need  of  money, 
would  not  accept  of  a  collection  of 
books,  minerals,  philosophical  appa- 
ratus, or  anything  of  that  kind.  No 
one  says  :  Wouldn't  you  allow  me  to 
build  you  a  good  gymnasium,  an  ex- 
hibition hall,  give  you  an  organ  for 
your  chapel,  or  transfer  to  you  some 
of  my  shares  in  this  or  that  lucrative 
business  ?  No,  dear  colleges,  be  com- 
forted. Live  on  as  best  you  can.  The 
result  is  that  these  institutions  can 
never  fully  shake  off  their  debt,  they 
can  make  but  little  material  improve- 
ment, or,  if  they  attempt  improve- 
ments, it  must  be  at  a  snail's  pace. 
Even  graduates  will  forget  the  wants 
of  Alma  Mater,  and  despise  her  for 
her  blameless  penury,  just  as  some 
gross-natured  upstarts  scorn  their 
poor  parents  and  friends.  What  a 
different  spectacle  we  should  soon 
witness  in  our  colleges  were  gentle- 
men of  means  to  show  their  zeal  for 
education,  and  follow  the  wholesome 
example  of  Protestants  by  bestowing 
upon  our  seats  of  learning  a  portion 
of  their  wealth !  Progress  would  then 
be  possible,  college  bills  could  be 
lightened  entirely  or  at  least  partial- 
ly, gratuitous  education  might  be 
granted  to  deserving  young  men. 
As  things  now  stand,  charity  is  out 
of  the  question  for  most  of  our  col- 
leges. We  must  endeavor  to  beget 
and  promote  in  our  people  this  en- 
lightened and  patriotic  spirit  toward 
our  colleges. 

Difficulty  number    three :     Many 
persons  take  a  narrow  view  of  edu- 


A  Letter  from  the  President  of  a  College. 


283 


cation.  Some  act  upon  what  may 
be  called  the  system  of  the  three 
R's,  that  is  readin1,  'ritin',  and  'rith- 
metic.  They  fancy  their  sons  edu- 
cated when  they  can  read,  write,  and 
cast  up  accounts.  Others  may  raise 
their  eyes  a  little  higher,  but  in  the 
end,  like  the  old  Romans  laughed 
at  by  Horace,  they  value  education 
only  in  so  far  forth  as  it  is  a  money- 
making  machine.  Few  are  broad- 
minded  enough  to  see  in  education 
a  development  of  the  entire  man, 
and,  as  a  necessary  inference,  a  slow 
and  gradual  process.  In  consequence 
of  the  errors  afloat  on  this  head,  pa- 
rents will  not  allow  time  sufficient 
for  the  education  of  their  children. 
They  force  colleges  to  crowd  an  im- 
mense circle  of  studies  into  a  short 
space.  The  consequences  are  not 
flattering.  The  mind  cannot  be  tho- 
roughly developed,  and  education  de- 
generates into  ill-digested  instruction. 
Depth  is  lost.  Your  paper,  which 
led  me  to  think  upon  all  these  to- 
pics, speaks  very  sensibly  about  phi- 
losophy. But  how,  I  ask,  can  any- 
thing like  a  deep,  serious,  thorough 
course  of  philosophy  be  taught  in 
one  year  ?  Still,  that  is  all  our  young 
men  get,  and  that  is  all  the  generali- 
ty of  parents  will  concede.  Look  at 
our  colleges — how  many  graduates 
of  the  first  year  return  to  study  a 
second  ?  Were  it  not  better  to  give 
no  degree  until  the  close  of  the  se- 
cond year  ?  The  diploma  once  ob- 
tained, though  it  is  only  a  cowardly 
sheepskin,  fills  our  young  graduates 
with  valor,  and  makes  them  fancy 
that  they  are  fit  to  play  roaring  lion 
all  the  country  over.  Every  college 
should  devote  at  least  two  years  of 
its  course  to  the  study  of  philosophy. 
Education  without  a  sound  philoso- 
phy must  always  be  a  mere  broken 
shaft,  a  truncate  cone,  an  abortion. 
We  ought  to  organize  a  crusade  for 
the  welfare  of  philosophy  in  our  col- 


leges. I  was  right  glad,  Mr.  WORLD, 
to  hear  you  advocating  the  study  of 
this  crowning  branch  of  education, 
and  insisting,  I  think,  upon  sound 
scholasticism.  Scholastic  philosophy, 
that  is  the  philosophy. 

My  next  difficulty  shall  be  propos- 
ed in  the  form  of  a  question :  Could 
not  our  Catholic  colleges  come  to 
an  understanding,  so  as  to  have  in  all 
of  them  about  the  same  programme 
and  the  same  text-books  ?  At  pre- 
sent, there  is  a  very  great  divergence 
on  these  points.  For  instance,  what 
a  multitude  of  grammars  we  have,  and 
what  wretched  things  for  boys  some 
of  these  grammars  are  !  They  lack 
method  and  logic,  they  dive  too  deep 
into  philosophy,  and  are  too  learned 
and  philosophical.  Banish  philoso- 
phy and  philology  .to  their  proper 
spheres.  When  grammars  of  the 
dead  languages  were  much  more 
modest  and  unpretending,  Latin  and 
Greek  were  better  known,  better  writ- 
ten, if  not  also  better  spoken.  What 
I  say  of  grammars  applies  with  equal 
force  to  many  other  books  now  used 
in  our  colleges.  '  A  convention  of 
our  college  authorities  for  the  discus- 
sion of  these  topics  might  do  as 
much  good  as  many  other  conven- 
tions, if  not  far  more. 

Parents  and  guardians  have  a  great 
share  in  the  troubles  experienced  by 
colleges.  Nowadays,  boys  decide 
almost  everything  with  respect  to 
their  education.  It  is  they  who  make 
choice  of  their  college,  determine 
whether  they  shall  study,  how  long 
and  what  they  shall  study.  All  that 
parents  seem  to  have  to  say  or  do  in 
the  matter  is  to  obey  their  whimsical 
offspring.  I  can  understand  that 
there  is  no  use  in  forcing  a  lad  to 
study  what  he  reasonably  cannot 
learn;  but  I  cannot  see  why  the 
management  of  his  education  should 
be  given  over  to  him  in  fee-simple. 
This  violation  of  the  fourth  com- 


284 


A  Letter  from  the  President  of  a  College. 


mandment  throws  honest  colleges 
into  a  dilemma.  On  the  one  hand, 
they  would  like  to  keep  their  students, 
and,  on  the  other,  they  feel  bound 
to  make  those  students  work.  But 
the  young  lord  of  his  destinies  often 
does  not  wish  to  study,  and,  if  he  is 
urged  to  do  so,  he  grows  dissatisfied, 
says  the  officers  are  too  cross,  and 
leaves  the  institution.  Should  he 
not  be  urged,  he  will  idle  away  his 
time,  annoy  everybody,  learn  nothing, 
and  finally,  by  his  ignorance  and  bad 
conduct,  injure  the  reputation  of  his 
college.  Parents,  when  they  send 
their  sons  to  college,  should  not  for- 
get that  these  sons  are  not  immacu- 
lately perfect.  They  need  a  strong 
dose  of  discipline.  They  must  be 
taught  by  word  and  deed  that  they 
have  to  study  and  to  obey.  The 
word  of  college  authorities  should 
weigh  more  in  the  balance  than  that 
of  weak,  lazy,  and  roystering  young 
lads.  If  these  ideas  prevailed  some- 
what more  than  they  do,  and  were 
acted  up  to,  colleges  would  have  an 
easier  task  to  perform,  their  task 
would  be  better  performed,  and  the 
education  given  to  boys  would  be 
more  vigorous.  There  is  too  much 
womanish  fondness,  too  much  indul- 
gence, shown  to  boys  in  these  days. 
We  live  in  an  age  of  feeling,  of  likes 
and  dislikes.  Energetic,  self-qon- 
trolling,  strong  manhood  is  on  the 
wane.  Magnificent  men  could  be 
made  out  of  our  American  boys.  I 
love  them  dearly.  Their  character 
is  full  of  fine  traits.  They  are  cle- 
ver, generous,  open,  and  manly. 
Why  should  they  be  emasculated 
by  false  kindness  and  compli- 
ance ? 

Once  in  college,  let  us  subject 
these  boys  to  solid  and  stiff  examina- 
tions. Those  who  fail,  if  they  are 
in  the  graduating  class,  should  not 
graduate  that  year,  no  matter  what 
great  man  or  great  woman  may  in- 


tercede, scold,  or  shed  tears  in  their 
behalf.  No  prccdeterminatio  physica 
should  settle  on  the  gentlemen  of  the 
graduating  class.  Because  they  hap- 
pen to  be  in  that  class,  their  gradua- 
tion must  not  become  a  fated  necessi- 
ty. No  doubt,  it  is  a  very  nice  sight 
at  the  close  of  the  year,  on  the  an- 
nual commencement  day,  to  behold 
a  large  number  of  young  gentlemen 
receiving  their  diplomas.  The  heart 
of  Alma  Mater  throbs  with  gladness 
at  the  beautiful  spectacle.  But  it  is 
a  much  nicer  thing  for  Alma  Mater 
to  have  to  say  that  her  diploma  is 
deserved,  and  that  she  tells  no  lie  to 
the  public  when  she  asserts  that  her 
graduate  is  bones  spei  et  rite  proba- 
tus.  Then  the  diploma  is  a  testimo- 
ny to  worth :  it  is  an  honor  to  possess 
it.  If  undergraduates  miss  their  ex- 
amination, put  them  down  merci- 
lessly into  the  class  below  that  in 
which  they  fail.  By  this  process  you 
will  lose  a  few  boys,  but  you  need 
not  regret  them.  For,  first,  they  were 
either  idlers  or  stupid  fellows.  In 
the  next  place,  you  can  raise  the 
standard  of  your  classes,  you  will 
roake  your  pupils  work  seriously,  get 
a  good  name  for  your  college,  and 
end  by  having  more  students.  Sen- 
sible people  will  always  send  their 
children  to  institutions  that  insist 
upon  hard  study  and  rid  themselves 
of  idlers. 

Another  difficulty  which  I  "must 
notice  regards  the  action,  or  rather 
inaction,  of  the  state.  It  is  a  pity 
that  our  government,  with  all  its  fuss 
about  education,  does  so  little  real 
honor  to  higher  education.  What  is 
the  necessity  or  emolument  of  a  di- 
ploma from  a  college  ?  I  think 
that,  without  a  diploma,  I  can  occu- 
py any  position  in  the  gift  of  the 
country,  save  perhaps  that  of  officer 
in  the  regular  army  or  navy.  In 
one  way,  the  state  is  too  much  of  a 
busybody ;  in  another,  it  does  not 


New  Publications. 


285 


fulfil  its  office  in  regard  to  education. 
But  I  do  not  wish  to  open  the  ques- 
tion, to-day,  on  the  office  of  the 
state  in  education* 

One  of  the  gravest  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  higher  education  arises,  I  think, 
from  our  colleges  themselves.  It  is 
this  :  our  colleges  are  too  numerous. 
With  the  exception  of  some  boys  from 
Spanish  America,  we  receive  no  pu- 
pils from  other  countries.  At  home, 
the  number  of  Catholics  who  can  af- 
ford a  college  education  for  their  chil- 
dren is  limited.  Supposing,  then,  all 
our  colleges  patronized,  it  is  impos- 
sible that  any  of  them  should  reach  a 
respectable  figure  in  the  number  of 
its  attending  pupils.  Besides,  it  must 
be  no  easy  task  to  find  competent 
professors  and  directors  for  so  many 
colleges.  If  we  had  fewer  colleges, 
each  one  would  have  a  larger  num- 
ber of  pupils,  and  be  more  fully  pro- 
vided with  all  that  is  necessary  for  ed- 
ucation. Yet  there  appears  to  be  a 


stronger  desire  to  open  new  colleges 
than  to  perfect  those  actually  in  ex- 
istence. Why  do  we  thus  weaken 
and  scatter  our  forces  ?  Why  do  we 
render  success  and  large,  grand  cen- 
tres of  learning  next  to  impossible  ? 
Grammar-schools,  or  schools  in  which 
boys  are  prepared  for  college,  should 
be  multiplied,  but  not  colleges.  Then 
our  colleges  would  resemble  a  uni- 
versity more  than  they  do  to-day. 
It  is  a  great  plague  for  them  to  be 
obliged  to  do  at  once  the  work  of 
the  grammar-school  and  of  the  col- 
lege properly  so-called.  They  are 
burdened  with  a  crowd  of  children, 
who  are  no  companions  for  young 
men,  and  lessen  the  dignity  of  a 
college.  And  now,  Mr.  WORLD,  let 
me  end  these  remarks  by  asking : 
When  shall  we  see  each  diocese  in 
the  Union  possessing  a  petit  se'mi- 
naire  ?  W7hen  shall  we  see  arise  in  our 
midst  a  noble  Catholic  university  ? 
Yours,  etc. 


NEW   PUBLICATIONS. 


ROME  AND  GENEVA.  Translated  from  the 
French.  With  an  introduction  by  M. 
J.  Spalding,  D.D.,  Archbishop  of  Bal- 
timore. 8vo.  Pamphlet.  Baltimore : 
John  Murphy  &  Co. 

We  always  knew  that  the  Archbi- 
shop of  Baltimore  is  an  able  writer 
of  the  more  solid  kind  of  essays, 
but  were  not  before  aware  how 
gracefully  he  can  use  his  pen  in  de- 
scription. In  his  preface  to  the  pam- 
phlet whose  title  is  given  above,  he 
draws  a  very  pretty  and  graphic  pic- 
ture of  Geneva,  the  ancient  head- 
quarters of  Calvin,  and  in  right, 
though  not  in  possession,  the  See 
of  St.  Francis  of  Sales.  Some  inte- 
resting, curious,  and  gratifying  facts 


in  connection  with  that  city  are 
mentioned  by  the  archbishop.  He 
tells  us  that  half  the  population  of 
the  city  and  canton  is  Catholic,  and 
of  the  other  half  only  one-tenth  is 
Calvinistic.  John  Calvin's  house  is 
a  convent  of  Sisters  of  Charity. 
The  glocmy  heretiarch  and  his  com- 
panions are  unhonored  and  almost 
unknown  in  the  city  which  was  once 
called  the  Rome  of  Protestantism, 
but  which  is  now  a  sort  of  tempo- 
rary centre  of  Catholic  activity  in 
Europe,  while  the  Holy  City  is  dese- 
crated by  the  rule  of  the  Lombard 
usurper.  The  pamphlet  itself  is  a 
letter  addressed  by  a  young  law- 
student  of  Geneva  to  our  old  friend 
the  eminent  romance-writer,  Merle 


286 


New  Publications. 


d'Aubigne  and  one  of  his  confreres, 
both  of  whom,  it  appears,  seized 
the  occasion  of  the  absence  of  the 
bishop  at  the  Council  to  make  a  fee- 
ble assault  on  the  church.  It  is  a 
manly,  sensible  letter,  more  inter- 
esting as  a  specimen  of  what  a  young 
student  can  achieve  in  a  polemical 
combat  with  veteran  antagonists 
than  from  anything  new  or  peculiar 
in  its  arguments.  The  youthful 
champion  uses  his  sling  and  pebble 
with  skill  and  dexterity,  although 
he  had  not  so  hard  a  skull  as  that 
of  Goliath  of  Gath  to  crack.  Our 
young  gentlemen  who  are  training 
for  professional  life  ought  to  be  in- 
terested to  see  how  he  does  it,  and 
the  noble,  chivalrous  spirit  of  faith 
and  honor  which  is  manifest  in  the 
letter  is  one  we  desire  to  see  ex- 
tended as  much  as  possible  among 
these  generous  youth  who  are  able 
to  do  as  much  for  the  cause  of  truth. 

THE  SYMPATHY  OF  RELIGIONS.  An  ad- 
dress delivered  at  Horticultural  Hall, 
Boston,  February  6,  1870.  By  Thomas 
Wentworth  Higginson. 

"  Our  true  religious  life  begins 
when  we  discover  that  there  is  an 
inner  light,  not  infallible,  but  inva- 
luable, which  lighteth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world.  Then 
we  have  something  to  steer  by,  and 
it  is  chiefly  this,  and  not  any  anchor, 
that  we  need."  These  are  the  two 
opening  sentences  of  the  above  lec- 
ture. If  an  "inner  light,  not  infalli- 
ble" is  all  that  our  author  has  "to 
steer  by,"  we  beg,  for  our  part,  not  to 
enter  on  board  the  ship  of  which  he 
is  the  captain.  In  this  case,  it  is  not 
the  "inner  light,  not  infallible"  that 
is  invaluable,  but  the  anchor,  un- 
less one  would  foolishly  expose  him- 
self to  certain  shipwreck. 

If  this  be  man's  plight,  then  let 
him  keep  silence  until  he  finds 
something  that  will  give  him  certi- 
tude. For  what  else  can  an  erring 
guide  lead  to  than  error?  It  is  the 
blind  leading  the  blind  into  the 
ditch. 

Think,  too,  of  the  absurdity  of  the 


author's  pretensions,  with  such  a 
guide,  to  criticise  all  religions  in  or- 
der to  give  to  the  world  "  the  reli- 
gion "  ! — "  the  religion  of  all  ages!" 
These  free-religionists  who  talk 
so  much  about  the  value  of  reason 
have  yet  to  learn  its  true  value  and 
the  great  dignity  of  the  human  soul. 
If  the  author's  premise  be  true,  it  is 
an  insult  to  our  common  sense  to 
read  his  lecture. 

THE  HAPPINESS  OF  HEAVEN.  By  a  Fa- 
ther of  the  Society  of  Jesus.  I  vol. 
i6mo,  pp.  372.  Baltimore  :  John  Mur- 
phy &  Co.  1871. 

We  might  perhaps  appropriate- 
ly designate  this  work  as  "  The 
Popular  Theology  of  Heaven  :"  the- 
ology, because  it  is  strictly  accurate 
in  its  dogmatic  teaching  ;  fioptilar, 
because  the  whole  subject,  without 
being  lowered,  is  brought  within 
the  sphere  of  the  popular  mind.  We 
might  call  it  also  the  "  Spiritual 
Geography  of  Heaven,"  since  it 
gives  us  such  a  knowledge  as  we 
can  have  at  this  distance  of  the 
promised  land  which  we  must  hope 
one  day  to  inhabit.  We  are  told 
what  is  that  beatific  or  happy-mak- 
ing vision  of  God  which  is  the  es- 
sential bliss  of  the  elect ;  what  is  the 
light  of  glory  by  means  of  which 
the  soul  sees  God  ;  what  are  the  oc- 
cupations of  heaven,  the  social  joys 
of  the  blessed  ;  the  qualities  and  en- 
joyments of  the  glorified  body  and 
senses  ;  the  degrees  of  beatitude,  yet 
the  complete  and  satiating  happi- 
ness of  each  individual,  without  envy 
or  jealousy,  without  regret  of  the 
past  or  fear  for  the  future.  The  book 
presents  an  elegant  appearance,  and 
is  brought  out  in  Messrs.  Murphy  & 
Co.'s  best  style. 

DE  DOMINI  NOSTRI  JESU  CHRISTI  DIVIM- 
TATE.  3  vols.  Turin  :  Marietti.  Balti- 
more :  John  Murphy  &  Co.  1870. 

To  the  many  excellent  volumes 
which  Father  Perrone  has  contri- 
buted during  his  long  career  to  the 
theological  library,  he  has  now 
made  in  the  work  before  us  an  ad- 


New  Publications. 


287 


dition  in  no  way  inferior  to  his  pre- 
vious writings.  It  is  a  work  address- 
ed to  the  learned  alone,  and  in  the 
language  of  the  learned  ;  but  it  is 
one  which  they  will  prize  very  high- 
ly, not  only  for  its  depth  of  theolo- 
gical lore,  but  also  for  its  peculiar 
fitness  to  the  present  time.  Its  sub- 
ject is  the  fundamental  dogma  of 
Christianity — now  so  much  attacked 
and,  we  may  add,  outside  of  the  Ca- 
tholic Church  so  little  believed — the 
Divinity  of  Jesus  Christ,  which  it 
proves  and  defends  against  the  infi- 
dels, the  rationalists,  and  the  mythics 
of  our  day. 

In  the  first  volume,  we  have  the 
proofs  drawn  from  the  pages  of  the 
Old  Testament ;  in  the  second,  those 
furnished  by  the  New  Testament. 
The  third  volume  establishes  the 
Divinity  of  Christen  evidence  drawn 
from  the  institution  of  the  church, 
and,  in  particular,  from  the  institu- 
tion of  the  Roman  Pontificate.  The 
author  demonstrates  how  the  pro- 
mises made  by  the  Redeemer  to  his 
church,  the  characteristic  marks  by 
which  he  distinguished  her,  the 
gifts  with  which  he  enriched  her, 
give  evidence  of  a  Divine  Author 
and  Founder.  A  most  convincing 
argument  springs  from  the  Primacy 
conferred  on  St.  Peter  and  his  suc- 
cessors in  the  See  of  Rome,  since 
God  alone  could  have  established 
and  maintained  throughout  the  ages 
and  the  nations  of  the  earth  so  ex- 
alted a  dignity,  together  with  the 
prerogatives  which  befit  its  pos- 
sessor. 

Of  all  the  works  produced  in  our 
day  on  this  important  subject,  Fr. 
Perrone's  is  without  doubt  the  most 
satisfactory,  because  the  most  forci- 
ble, learned,  and  exhaustive. 

THE  SPIRITUAL  DOCTRINE  OF  F.  Louis 
LALLEMANT,  S.J.  Preceded  by  some 
Account  of  his  Life.  Translated  from 
the  French.  Edited  by  F.  W.  Faber, 
D.D.  New  Edition.  London:  Burns, 
Gates  &  Co.  For  sale  by  the  Catholic 
Publication  Society,  9  Warren  Street, 
New  York. 

F.  Lallemant  was  one  of  the  bright- 


est lights  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  and 
occupies  in  French  spiritual  litera- 
ture a  place  analogous  to  that  of  F. 
Alvarez  in  the  Spanish.    This  book, 
of  which   a   new  edition   has   been 
lately  published,  is  now  well  known 
in  England  and  the  United  States 
through  the  translation  which  was 
brought  out  under  the  auspices  of  F. 
Faber.     It  ranks  among  the  best  of 
modern  times,  and  even  deserves  to 
be  classed  with  the  works   of  the 
celebrated    authors    of    past    ages. 
The    pietistic    mystics   among    the 
Protestants,  and  even  some  Catho- 
lics,  prepossessed    by  certain    un- 
founded   prejudices,   have    accused 
the  Jesuits  as  the  enemies  of  inte- 
rior    spiritual     piety.      There    was 
never   a   more    unfounded    charge. 
The    present   work    is    one    signal 
proof,    among    many    others,    that 
strict    orthodoxy   in    doctrine,    un- 
swerving fidelity  to  the  teaching  of 
the    Roman   Church,  and    accurate 
theological    science,    so    far    from 
having  quenched  spirituality  in  the 
Society  of  Jesus,  have  only  given  it 
purity  and  illumination.    The  writ- 
ings  of   the    thoroughly  orthodox 
masters  of  the  spiritual  life  are,  be- 
yond  all    comparison,   superior,   in 
respect    to   their   insight    into   the 
mysteries  of  faith  and  their  know- 
ledge  of  the   higher  paths   of  the 
ascent  toward  union  with  God,  to 
any  of  those  who  have  fancied  them- 
selves illuminated  with  a  private  and 
personal  light  of  the   Holy  Spirit, 
which   they  have    thought    should 
supersede  the  infallible  teaching  of 
the  church.     F.  Lallemant  is  speci- 
ally remarkable  for  his  skill  and  ac- 
curacy in  pointing  out  the  perfect 
harmony  which  must  always  exist 
between  the  genuine  interior  guid- 
ance of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  soul 
and  the  exterior,  divinely-appointed, 
infallible  guidance  of  authority  to 
which  it  must  always  be  subordinate. 
The  Spiritual  Doctrine  is  orthodox 
and    precise   in   its   teaching  with- 
out being  dull  or  dry;  fervent  and 
spiritual  without  any  tinge  of  vague 
or  visionary  enthusiasm  ;  clear,  judi- 
cious, and  practical  in  its  treatment 


288 


New  Publications. 


of  every  topic ;  void  of  all  Avordy 
declamation  and  vapid  sentimental- 
ism  ;  addressing  the  will  and  the 
heart  through  the  intellect ;  cloth- 
ing the  thoughts  and  feeling  of  a 
saint  in  the  style  and  language  of  a 
scholar.  It  is  just  the  book  for  the 
more  intellectual  and  educated  class 
of  readers,  provided  they  have  some 
desire  for  solid  Christian  virtue  and 
piety. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CHARTER  OAK. 
By  William  Setpn.  2  vols.  I2mo  New- 
York  :  P.  O'Shea.  1871. 
To  weave  into  a  story  interesting 
incidents  of  colonial  life  in  the 
state  of  Connecticut,  during  the 
reign  of  James  II.  of  England,  is  the 
intention  of  these  two  volumes.  The 
delineation  of  that  remarkable  inci- 
dent in  Connecticut  history,  the 
seizing  of  the  state  charter  from 
under  the  very  eyes  of  the  British 
authorities,  and  its  secretion  for 
many  years  in  the  famous  Charter 
Oak,  and  the  picture  of  the  regi- 
cide Goffe  living  in  perpetual  fear 
of  detection  are  well  drawn. 

The  story  in  some  respects  shows 
a  pen  not  yet  perfectly  at  home  in 
this  kind  of  writing  ;  but  no  one 
who  takes  an  interest  in  our  early 
colonial  history  can  fail  to  find  in 
reading  these  volumes  both  pleasure 
and  much  useful  historical  informa- 
tion. 

FAMILIAR    DISCOURSES  TO  THE  YOUNG. 
Preceded  by  an  Address  to  Parents. 
By  a  Catholic  Priest,  i  vol.  iSmo.  New 
York:  The  Catholic  Publication  Socie- 
ty, 9  Warren  Street.     1871. 
The  reproduction,  in  America,  of 
this  work,  originally  written  in  Ire- 
land, will  prove  to  be  a  benefaction 
in  many  a  homestead.     This  is  the 
work    of   a    man   who    thoroughly 
knows   his   subject.      It   is  a  book 
for   the   time,  free   alike   from   the 
doubtful  stories  of  too  many  writ- 
ings of  the  same  kind  and  the  tedi- 
ous dryness  that  meets  the  youthful 
eye  in   most  books  of  instruction. 
We  wish  a  hearty  God-speed  to  this 
valuable  accession   to   our  English 


Catholic  literature.  No  Catholic 
family  in  the  land  should  be  without 
a  copy  of  this  book.  It  will  be  worth 
more  than  its  weight  in  gold  to  those 
who  read  it ;  and  to  those  who  prac- 
tise the  lessons  of  wisdom  it  contains 
it  will  be  their  glory  on  earth  and 
their  crown  in  heaven. 

It  is  a  book  that  ought  to  be  en- 
couraged on  missions  and  by  all 
priests  having  charge  of  congrega- 
tions. 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  GLOSSWOOD.  A  Tale. 
Translated  from  the  French,  i  vol. 
i6mo.  Baltimore:  .Kelly,  Piet  &  Co. 
1871. 

We  have  here  a  touching  but 
'  ower  sad  '  tale  of  the  life  of  a  Scotch 
Covenanter  who,  being  found  in 
arms  against  his  king  Charles  II.,  is 
condemned  to  death,  but  has  his 
sentence  changed  by  the  interposi- 
tion of  a  friend  to  a  life  of  hard  la- 
bor in  the  Cornish  mines.  His  wife, 
the  Countess  of  Glosswood,  will  not 
leave  her  husband,  but  with  her  in- 
fant daughter  follows  his  hard  for- 
tune, all  communication  with  the 
world  outside  of  mining  life  being 
forbidden  by  his  sentence.  But  the 
good  God,  in  compensation  for  their 
desolate  lives,  sends  them  the  price- 
less gift  of  faith,  through  the  instru- 
mentality of  a  Catholic  priest,  dis- 
guised as  a  miner  that  he  may  win 
souls  for  Christ,  in  times  when  to 
be  known  as  a  priest  was  to  give 
one's  self  up  to  certain  death.  The 
countess  had  been  taught  to  regard 
the  Catholic  Church  with  hatred 
and  terror,  and  the  agony  of  mind 
through  which  she  must  pass  in 
learning  to  love  what  she  had  be- 
fore hated  is  forcibly  described  ;  and 
the  gentle  way  in  which  she  is  led 
step  by  step  toward  the  light  by 
the  devoted  priest  cannot  fail  to 
give  satisfaction  to  the  earnest  rea- 
der. The  doctrine  of  indulgences 
was,  of  course,  a  terrible  stumbling- 
block  in  her  way,  and  Father  Dey- 
mand's  explanation  is  specially  clear 
and  convincing.  The  book  comes 
to  us  in  an  attractive  dress,  with 
tinted  paper  and  good  type. 


THE 


CATHOLIC  WORLD. 


VOL.  XIIL,  No.  75.— JUNE,  1871. 


SARDINIA    AND    THE    HOLY    FATHER.* 


THE  volume  giving  the  call  and 
proceedings  of  the  meeting  held  last 
January  at  the  Academy  of  Music, 
in  this  city,  in  celebration  of  Italian 
unity,  especially  the  occupation  of 
Rome  and  the  suppression  of  the 
Papal  government,  is  handsomely 
printed,  and  does  credit  to  the  taste 
and  skill  of  our  New  York  book- 
makers; but  it  is  a  sad  book,  and 
almost  makes  one  despair  of  civil 
society  and  natural  morality.  No- 
thing can  be  more  sad  and  dis- 
couraging to  all  right-minded  men 
than  to  see  a  large  number  of  the 
most  distinguished  and  influential 
men  of  a  great  nation — statesmen, 
politicians,  judges,  lawyers,  officers 
of  the  army,  ministers  of  religion, 
journalists,  poets,  philosophers,  scho- 
lars, professors  and  presidents  of  col- 
leges and  universities — assisting,  by 
their  presence,  addresses,  letters,  or 

*  i.  The  Unity  of  Italy.  The  American  Cele- 
bration of  the  Unity  of  Italy,  at  the  Academy  of 
Music,  New  York,  Jan.  12,  1871 ;  with  the  Ad- 
dresses, Letters,  and  Comments  of  the  Press. 
New  York:  Putnam  &  Sons.  1871.  Imp.  8vo, 
pp.  197. 

2.  Programma  Associazione  dei  Libri  Pcnsatori 
in  Roma.  La  Commissione.  Roma,  Febbraio, 
1871.  Fly-sheet. 


comments,  to  applaud  events  notori- 
ously brought  about  by  fraud,  craft, 
lying,  calumny,  and  armed  force,  in 
contravention  of  every  principle  of 
international  law  and  of  public  and 
private  right.  It  is  a  sad  thing  for 
our  republic  when  so  many  of  its  re- 
presentative men,  whose  names  are 
recorded  in  this  volume,  can  endorse 
the  fraud  and  violence  by  which  the 
Sard  king  has  effected  what  he  calls 
the  unity  of  Italy,  and  congratulate 
him  on  his  successful  sacrilege  and 
spoliation  in  the  Roman  state;  and 
the  only  consolation  left  us  is  that,  • 
with  a  solitary  exception,  no  Catholic 
name  appears  on  the  list,  and  all  the 
sympathizers  are  Protestants,  and  all, 
or  nearly  all,  prominent  adherents  of 
the  same  dominant  political  party. 

To  the  unity  of  Italy,  under  some 
circumstances,  we  might  not  seriously 
object.  It  is  true,  we  hold  small 
states  are  more  favorable  to  the 
growth  of  intelligence,  the  develop- 
ment of  elevated  and  strong  personal 
character,  to  individual  liberty,  to 
social  well-being,  to  the  moral  pro- 
gress of  the  people,  than  huge  cen- 
tralized states  or  empires,  which  can 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by  REV.  I.  T.  HKCKKR,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  AVashington,  D.  C. 


Sardinia  and  the  Ploly  Father. 


be  governed  only  despotically,  and  in 
which  there  is  so  great  a  distance  be- 
tween power  and  the  people  that 
personal  and  affectionate  relations 
between  the  governors  and  the 
governed,  and  which  do  so  much 
to  soften  the  asperities  of  authority 
and  to  render  obedience  willing  and 
cheerful,  are,  for  the  most  part,  im- 
practicable. But  if  the  several  inde- 
pendent Italian  states  that  have  been 
absorbed  by  Sardinia  to  form  the  new 
kingdom  of  Italy  had  freely  and  of 
their  own  accord  given  their  consent 
to  the  absorption,  and  no  craft,  fraud, 
violence,  or  disregard  of  public  or  pri- 
vate right  had  been  resorted  to  in 
order  to  effect  it,  we  might  doubt  its 
wisdom,  but  we  could  not  object  to  it 
on  the  ground  of  international  law  or 
of  natural  justice.  We,  of  course,  de- 
fend the  temporal  sovereignty  of  the 
Pope;  but  if  the  Pope  had,  motupro- 
prio,  without  coercion,  the  show  or  the 
threat  of  coercion,  given  his  consent 
to  the  absorption  of  the  Roman  state 
in  a  united  Italy,  we  should  have  no- 
thing to  say  against  it,  for  it  would 
have  been  the  act  of  the  Roman  state, 
no  public  or  private  right  of  justice  or 
morality  would  have  been  violated, 
and  no  blow  struck  at  the  equal  rights 
of  independent  states  or  nations,  at  the 
authority  of  the  sovereign  power  of  a 
state  to  govern  it,  or  to  the  duty  of 
obedience  to  it. 

But  it  is  well  known  that  such  is 
not  the  case  either  with  the  Holy 
Father  or  the  several  other  Italian 
sovereigns  that  have  been  dispos- 
sessed and  their  states  absorbed  by 
Sardinia  in  order  to  effect  Italian 
unity.  In  every  case,  the  absorp-' 
tion  was  effected  by  violence  and 
force,  without  and  against  the  con- 
sent of  the  sovereign  authority.  The 
Pope  refused  his  assent  to  the  ab- 
sorption of  the  ecclesiastical  state, 
and  said,  to  the  demand  to  surren- 
der it,  "Non  possumus"  The  Ro- 


man people,  without  the  Pope,  gave 
no  assent — had  no  assent  to  give  or 
to  withhold;  for,  without  the  Pope, 
they  were  not  a  state  or  a  sovereign 
people.  It  matters  not  whether  ple- 
biscitums  can  or  cannot  be  alleged, 
for  a  plebiscitum,  where  there  is  a  le- 
gitimate government,  cannot  be  taken 
without  its  authority,  especially  not 
against  its  authority;  for  without  its 
authority  it  would  be  a  legal  nullity, 
and  against  it  it  would  be  revolu- 
tionary and  criminal.  Nor  would  it 
help  the  matter  for  the  absorbing 
state  to  invade  with  its  armies  the 
state  to  be  absorbed,  overthrow  the 
legitimate  government,  take  forcible 
possession  of  the  territory,  and  then 
call  upon  the  population  to  decide 
their  future  condition  by  a  plebisci- 
tum, so  long  as  a  legitimate  claimant 
to  the  government  remains  living. 
This  was  the  case  in  the  Roman 
state  and  in  the  other  independent 
Italian  states  that  have  been  ab- 
sorbed. As  a  plebiscitum  before  the 
conquest  is  treasonable  and  not  per- 
missible, after  the  conquest  it  is  a 
mockery,  for  the  fate  of  the  state  is 
decided,  however  the  population 
may  vote. 

Let  us  look  the  facts  in  the  face, 
and  see  by  what  deeds  and  on  what 
principles  the  unity  of  Italy  has  been 
effected.  Sardinia,  aided  by  France 
and  Prussia,  made  an  unprovoked 
war  on  Austria,  and  wrested  from  her 
the  Lornbardo- Venetian  kingdom,  and 
appropriated  it  to  herself.  Neither 
she  nor  her  allies  had  any  just  cause 
of  war  against  Austria,  or  even  of 
offence,  except  that  sire  wanted  to 
get  possession  of  all  Italy.  France 
wanted  the  left  branch  of  the  Rhine 
for  her  boundary,  and  Prussia  wanted 
to  absorb  the  rest  of  Germany.  There 
was  no  other  reason  for  the  war.  The 
several  independent  Ducal  states  fell 
with  Austria,  with  whom  they  were 
closely  allied,  and  were  invaded  and 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


taken  possession  of  by  the  Sard  king. 
The  Kingdom  of  the  Two  Sicilies  was 
invaded  by  Garibaldi  and  his  fili- 
busters, backed — covertly  at  first, 
openly  at  last — by  the  Sard  govern- 
ment, conquered,  because  the  Ne- 
apolitan king  listened  to  the  in- 
sidious advice  and  deceitful  promises 
of  Imperial  France,  said  to  have  been 
given  not  to  offer  any  serious  resist- 
ance, taken  possession  of  and  ap- 
priated  as  the  highwayman  appro- 
priates the  traveller's  purse.  The 
yEmilian  provinces  of  the  Roman 
state,  prepared  for  insurrection  by 
the  secret  societies  and  Sardinian 
emissaries,  were  invaded  by  the  Sar- 
dinian forces  and  appropriated  by 
the  House  of  Savoy.  Finally,  the 
Roman  state  was  invaded  by  the 
same  Victor  Emmanuel,  with  too 
strong  a  force  for  the  Papal  govern- 
ment to  resist,  its  sovereign  declared 
deposed,  its  government  suppressed, 
and  its  territory  and  people  annexed 
to  the  so-called  -kingdom  of  Italy. 

This  simple  recital  of  facts  tells  the 
whole  story.  Sardinia,  aided  by  the 
arms  and  diplomacy  of  France  and 
Prussia,  by  the  foreign  policy  of  the 
Whigs  and  Radicals  of  Great  Britain, 
the  intrigues  of  the  secret  societies, 
the  money  and  co-operation  of  the 
Protestant  propaganda,  the  malcon- 
tents and  malefactors  of  all  the  states 
of  Italy,  and  adventurers  and  miscre- 
ants from  all  nations  of  the  earth,  has 
succeeded,  without  any  right,  without 
having  received  any  offence  or  pro- 
vocation, in  the  violation  of  every 
principle  of  international  law  and 
every  precept  of  morality  or  natural 
justice,  in  absorbing  every  Italian 
state,  and  effecting  the  unification  of 
the  whole  peninsula  under  her  own 
royal  house.  These  are  the  facts, 
stated  in  their  simplest  form,  without 
passion  and  without  exaggeration. 

These  facts,  being  public  and  noto- 
rious, must  be  as  well  known  to  those 


distinguished  American  sympathizers 
who  addressed  the  meeting  or  wrote 
letters  of  approval  to  the  committee 
that  called  it  as  they  are  to  us.  We 
dare  not  so  insult  the  intelligence  of 
such  eminent  men  as  to  suppose,  for 
a  moment,  that  they  did  not  know 
what  they  sympathized  with,  or  that, 
in  applauding  the  unity  of  Italy,  they 
were  ignorant  of  the  craft,  violence, 
and  robbery  that  had  been  resorted 
to  in  order  to  effect  it.  What,  then, 
must  we  and  all  right-minded  men 
think  of  their  own  principles,  of  their 
religion,  their  politics,  or  their  sense 
of  justice  ?  Does  their  Protestantism 
or  their  hatred  of  the  Papacy  justify, 
approve  the  violation  of  international 
law,  the  equal  rights  of  sovereign 
states,  the  sacred  rights  of  property, 
public  and  private,  the  principles  of 
natural  justice  the  basis  of  the  state 
and  of  all  legitimate  authority,  with- 
out which  not  even  natural  society 
itself  can  subsist  ?  Does  it  authorize 
them  to  applaud  unprovoked  war  and 
conquest,  and  public  and  private  rob- 
bery? If  so,  how  can  they  justify 
their  Protestantism  or  their  hatred  of 
the  Papacy?  If  they  cannot  assert 
either  without  denying  all  public  and 
private  right  and  trampling  on  all 
laws,  human  and  divine,  how  can  they 
regard  either  as  defensible  ? 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  real  cha- 
racter of  the  acts  by  which  the  sove- 
reign states  of  Italy  have  been  sup- 
pressed by  Sardinia  and  her  allies, 
and  the  present  unification  of  Italy 
effected;  and  it  only  adds  to  their 
atrocity  that  it  was  done  in  part  by 
exciting  the  populations,  or  a  portion 
of  them,  to  insurrection  and  rebellion 
against  their  respective  sovereigns. 
There  is  nothing  meaner  or  more  un- 
justifiable than  for  one  sovereign  to 
tamper  with  the  fidelity  of  the  sub- 
jects of  another,  especially  in  time  of 
profound  peace  between  the  two 
states.  If  persisted  in,  it  is  a  justi- 


292 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


fiable  cause  of  war.  International 
law,  or  the  law  of  nations,  makes  all 
sovereign  states  equal  in  their  rights, 
without  regard  to  the  form  of  govern- 
ment, size,  race,  language,  or  geo- 
graphical position;  and  the  law  of 
ethics,  at  least,  requires  each  sove- 
reign state  to  respect,  and  to  cause 
its  subjects  to  respect,  the  authority 
of  every  other  sovereign  state  over 
its  own  subjects,  as  it  requires  every 
other  to  respect  its  authority  over  its 
subjects.  The  rule  is,  no  doubt,  often 
violated,  but  it  is  none  the  less  sacred 
and  binding  on  that  account.  It  is 
equally  wrong  for  the  citizens  of  one 
state  to  attempt  to  seduce  the  citizens 
of  another  state  from  their  allegiance. 
International  law,  national  law,  mu- 
nicipal law,  as  well  as  the  moral  law, 
know  nothing  of  the  doctrine,  so  elo- 
quently preached  by  the  ex-Governor 
of  Hungary,  of  "  the  solidarity  of 
peoples." 

Hon.  Richard  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  an 
able  lawyer,  reputed  to  be  well 
versed  in  the  law  of  nations,  and 
who  affects,  in  his  elaborate  letter  to 
the  committee,  to  argue  the  question 
as  it  affects  Catholics  with  fairness 
and  candor,  appears  to  have  some 
doubts  whether  the  invasion  of  the 
Roman  state  by  the  Sardinian  troops, 
the  deposition  and  virtual  impri- 
sonment of  its  sovereign  in  his  own 
palace,  and  the  annexation  of  its  terri- 
tory and  inhabitants  to  the  dominion 
of  the  House  of  Savoy,  is  really  a 
violation  of  international  law;  but 
he  evidently,  besides  arguing  the 
question  on  a  collateral  issue,  takes 
a  juridical  instead  of  an  ethical  view 
of  international  law,  and  considers  it 
only  so  far  as  it  enters  into  the  na- 
tional jurisprudence,  and  is  enforcible 
by  the  nation  through  its  own  courts 
on  its  own  citizens.  Yet  he  cannot 
be  ignorant  that  there  are  violations 
of  international  law  which  cannot  be 
taken  cognizance  of  by  the  national 


jurisprudence,  and  which  may  be,  and 
often  are,  justifiable  causes  of  war. 
The  basis  of  international  law  is  the 
law  of  justice,  or  droit  naturel,  as  it 
is  the  basis  of  all  natural  ethics. 
There  may  be  treaty  or  conventional 
agreements  between  nations,  which 
must  be  considered  whenever  the 
case  comes  up  juridically,  or  the  law 
is  to  be  juridically  enforced,  but  these 
cannot  abrogate  or  modify  the  law  of 
justice,  the  jus  gentium  of  the  Roman 
jurists,  which  is  the  principle  and  foun- 
dation of  all  law.  Acts  in  contraven- 
tion of  justice,  St.  Augustine  and  St. 
Thomas  after  him  tell  us,  are  vio- 
lences rather  than  laws,  and  are  nul- 
lities. International  law  applies  jus- 
tice to  the  mutual  relations  of  sovereign 
states,  precisely  as  ethics  does  to  the 
relations  of  individuals.  It  declares 
all  sovereign  states  equal  in  their 
rights,  the  territory  of  each  to  be 
sacred  and  inviolable,  and  that  no  one 
is  permitted  to  do  to  another  what 
it  would  not  have  another  to  do  to 
it.  The  rule  is  plain  and  practica- 
ble, and  under  it  Mr.  Dana's  doubts 
ought  to  vanish.  For  one  sovereign 
state  to  invade  with  its  armies  an- 
other, suppress  its  government,  and 
absdVb  its  territory  and  population, 
without  any  provocation  or  any  of- 
fence given,  but  merely  because  it 
wants  it  to  complete  and  round  off  its 
own  territory,  as  Sardinia  has  done 
to  the  Roman  or  ecclesiastical  state, 
is  too  manifestly  a  violation  of  in- 
ternational law  to  leave  any  doubt 
on  any  mind  that  does  not  hold  the 
principle  of  all  law  to  be  that  might 
makes  right.* 


s,  is. 


*  The  question,  Mr.  Dana  really  argues, 
whether  Catholics  in  other  than  the  Roman  state 
have,  Under  the  law  of  nations,  a  right  to  insist 
that  by  virtue  of  their  donations,  or  what  the  law 
treats  as  eleemosynary  gifts,  they  shall  continue 
to  be  vested  in  the  Holy  See  ?  The  answer 
must  be  founded  on  the  acknowledged  prin- 
ciple of  law,  that  all  gifts  of  the  sort  must 
be  invested  and  appropriated  according  to 
the  will  of  the  donors ;  and  in  the  interest 
of  all  Catholics  in  the  Holy  See,  as  the  mis- 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


293 


No  doubt  certain  untenable  theo- 
ries of  popular  sovereignty  and  cer- 
tain alleged  plebiscitums  have  had 
something  to  do  with  blinding  the 
eyes  of  our  American  sympathizers 
to  the  atrocity  of  the  acts  they  ap- 
plaud. But  plebiscitums  cannot  be 
pleaded  when  taken  without  the  or- 
der or  assent  of  the  sovereign  au- 
thority, if  there  is  a  sovereign  au- 
thority, as  we  have  already  said.  In 
the  case  of  every  Italian  state  ab- 
sorbed, there  was  a  sovereign  au- 
thority, and  the  plebiscitum  taken  was 
not  by  its  order  or  assent,  but  against 
its  positive  prohibition.  It  is  idle 
to  say  that  the  people  of  these  seve- 
ral states  gave  their  consent  to  be  ab- 
sorbed, for  except  as  the  state,  repre- 
sented by  its  sovereign  authority, 
there  is  no  people  with  a  consent 
either  to  give  or  to  withhold.  The 
people,  no  doubt,  are  sovereign  in 
the  constitution  and  government,  but 
not  otherwise,  for  otherwise  they 
have  no  existence.  A  people  or  po- 
pulation of  a  given  territory  wholly 
disorganized,  without  constitution  or 
laws,  and  deprived  of  all  government, 


tress  and  mother  of  all  the  churches.  Catho- 
lics throughout  the  world  have  an  ethical  right 
that  their  gifts  shall  be  invested  and  appropriat- 
ed to  the  purposes  for  which  they  are  given  ;  but 
we  doubt  if  their  right  can  be  juridically  assert- 
ed, under  international  law,  in  the  courts  of  the 
usurping  state,  or  of  any  other  state,  since  the 
state  of  the  church  is  suppressed.  But  there  can 
be  no  doubt,  from  the  relation  of  all  Catholics  to 
the  Holy  See,  the  invasion  of  her  rights  and  de- 
spoiling her  of  possessions,  whether  absolute  or 
only  fiduciary,  gives  to  all  Catholic  powers  the 
right  of  war  against  the  invader  and  despoiler. 
At  the  order  of  the  Holy  Father,  Catholics 
throughout  the  world  would  have  the  right,  even 
without  the  license  of  their  temporal  sovereigns, 
to  arm  for  the  recovery  and  restoration  to  the 
Holy  See  of  the  possessions  or  trusts  of  which 
she  may  be  despoiled,  because  these  possessions 
and  trusts  belong  to  the  spirituality,  and  the  Ho- 
ly Father  has  plenary  authority  in  spirituals,  and 
is  the  spiritual  sovereign,  not  the  temporal  sove- 
reign, of  all  Catholics.  If  Italian  Catholics  had 
understood  that  the  Roman  state  belonged  to 
the  Holy  See,  and  therefore  to  the  spirituality, 
they  would  have  understood  that  no  order  of 
their  king  could  bind  them  to  obey  him  in  de- 
spoiling the  Roman  state,  or  in  entering  it  against 
the  order  of  the  Pope,  for  in  spirituals  the  spiritu- 
al sovereign  overrides  the  temporal  sovereign. 


must  necessarily,  for  simple  preserva- 
tion, reorganize  and  reconstitute  gov- 
ernment by  conventions  or  plebisci- 
tums as  best  they  can ;  but  when 
they  have  reconstituted  government 
or  the  state,  their  sovereignty  merges 
in  it.  The  people  of  the  United 
States  and  of  the  several  states  can 
amend  the  constitution,  but  only 
constitutionally,  through  the  govern- 
ment. The  notion  which  has  latter- 
ly gained  some  vogue,  that  there  per- 
sists always  a  sovereign  people  back 
of  the  government  and  constitution, 
or  organic  people,  competent  to  al- 
ter, change,  modify,  or  overturn  the 
existing  government  at  will,  is  purely 
revolutionary,  fatal  to  all  stable  gov- 
ernment, to  all  political  authority,  to 
the  peace  and  order  of  society,  and 
to  all  security  for  liberty,  either  pub- 
lic or  private.  We  see  the  effects  of 
it  in  the  present  deplorable  condi- 
tion of  France. 

The  resolutions  reported  by  the 
committee  and  adopted  by  the  meet- 
ing, and  which  Dr.  Thompson  in  his 
address  tells  us  "  are  constructed  on  a 
philosophical  order  of  thought,"  at- 
tempt to  place  "  the  temporal  power 
of  the  Pope  within  the  category  of 
all  earthly  human  governments,  and 
bound  by  the  same  conditions  and 
subject  to  the  same  fortunes."  This 
may  be  successfully  disputed.  The 
Roman  or  ecclesiastical  state  was  a 
donation  to  the  Holy  See  or  the 
Church  of  Rome.  Gifts  to  the  church 
are  gifts  to  God,  and  when  made  are 
the  property,  under  him,  of  the  spirit- 
uality, which  by  no  laws,  heathen, 
Jewish,  or  Christian,  can  be  de- 
prived of  their  possession  or  use 
without  sacrilege.  They  are  sacred 
to  religious  uses,  and  can  no  longer, 
without  the  consent  of  the  spirituali- 
ty, be  diverted  to  temporal  uses, 
without  adding  sacrilege  to*robbery. 
Whoso  attacks  the  spirituality  attacks 
God.  The  property  or  sovereignty 


294 


Sardinia  and  ilic  Holy  Father. 


of  the  Roman  state  vests,  then,  in  the 
Holy  See — hence  it  is  always  called 
and  officially  recognized  as  the  state 
of  the  church—  and  not  in  the  Pope 
personally ;  but  in  him  only  ex  officio 
as  its  incumbent,  as  trustee,  or  ad- 
ministrator. Hence  the  Pope  de- 
nied his  right  to  surrender  it,  and  an- 
swered the  Minister  of  Sardinia,  Non 
posswnus.  The  temporal  power  of 
the  Pope  is  therefore  not  within  the 
category  of  all  earthly  human  govern- 
ments, but  is  the  property  of  the  spirit- 
uality. Victor  Emmanuel,  in  despoil- 
ing the  Pope,  has  despoiled  the  Holy 
See,  the  spirituality,  usurped  church 
property,  property  given  to  God,  and 
sacred  to  the  religious  uses.  The 
deed  which  our  eminent  jurists  and 
Protestant  divines  sympathize  with 
and  applaud,  strikes  a  blow  at  the 
spirituality,  at  the  sacredness  of  all 
church  property,  of  Protestant  church- 
es as  well  as  of  Catholic  churches — at 
the  sacredness  of  all  eleemosynary 
gifts,  and  asserts  the  right  of  power 
when  strong  enough  to  divert  them 
from  the  purposes  of  the  donors. 
These  Protestant  ministers  assert  in 
principle  that  their  own  churches 
may  be  despoiled  of-  their  revenues 
and  funds  without  sacrilege,  without 
injustice,  by  any  power  that  is  able 
to  do  it.  They  defend  the  right  of 
any  one  who  chooses  to  divert  from 
the  purpose  of  the  donors  all  do- 
nations and  investments  to  found 
and  support  hospitals,  orphan  asy- 
lums, retreats  for  the  aged  and  des- 
titute, asylums  for  idiots,  deaf-mutes, 
the  blind,  the  insane,  public  libraries, 
schools,  colleges,  seminaries,  and 
academies,  peace  societies,  tract  so- 
cieties, home  and  foreign  missionary 
societies,  and  Bible  societies;  they 
not  onlv  defend  the  right  of  the  state 
in  which  they  are  placed  to  confis- 
cate at  its  pleasure  all  funds,  reve- 
nues, and  investments  of  the  sort,  but 
the  right  of  any  foreign  state  to  in- 


vade the  territory  in  time  of  peace, 
take  possession  of  them  by  armed 
force,  as  public  property,  and  to  divert 
them  to  any  purpose  it  sees  proper. 
Did  the  learned  divines,  the  eminent 
jurists,  who  approve  the  resolutions 
ever  hear  of  the  speech  of  Daniel 
Webster  and  the  decision  of  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  the  United  States  in 
the  famous  Dartmouth  College  case  ? 
Or  are  they  so  intent  on  crushing 
the  Papacy  that  they  are  quite  will- 
ing to  cut  their  own  throats  ? 

But  the  fact  of  the  donation  to 
the  Holy  See  is  denied.  Be  it  so. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  Roman  state 
never  belonged  to  the  Sard  king- 
dom; that  the  church  has  always 
claimed  it,  had  her  claim  allowed 
by  every  state  in  the  world,  has  pos- 
sessed the  sovereignty,  not  always 
without  disturbance,  for  a  thousand 
years  without  an  adverse  claimant; 
and  that  is  sufficient  to  give  her  a 
valid  title  by  prescription  against  all 
the  world,  even  if  she  have  no  other, 
which  we  do  not  admit — an  older  and 
better  title  than  that  of  any  secular 
sovereign  in  Europe  to  his  estates. 
Every  sovereign  or  sovereign  state 
in  Europe  is  estopped  by  previous 
acknowledgment,  and  the  absence 
of  any  adverse  claimant  with  the 
shadow  of  a  right,  from  pleading  the 
invalidity  of  the  title  of  the  Holy 
See.  The  Roman  state  is  therefore 
ecclesiastical,  not  secular. 

Whether  Pere  Lacordaire  ever  said, 
as  Dr.  Thompson  asserts,  that  "  in 
no  event  could  the  people  be  donat- 
ed," or  not,  we  are  not  authentically 
informed;  but  if  he  did,  he  said  a 
very  foolish  and  a  very  untrue 
thing.  The  people  cannot  be  donat- 
ed as  slaves,  nor  could  any  of  their 
rights  of  property  or  any  of  theii 
private  or  public  rights  be  donated. 
Every  feudal  lawyer  knows  that.  The 
donation,  grant,  or  cession  could  be 
and  was  only  the  right  of  govern- 


Sardinia  and  tJie  Holy  Father. 


295 


ment  and  eminent  domain,  or  the 
right  the  grantor  possessed ;  but  that 
could  be  ceded  as  Louisiana  was 
ceded  by  France,  Florida  by  Spain, 
and  California  by  Mexico,  to  the 
United  States.  In  the  cessions  made 
to  the  Holy  See,  no  right  of  the  peo- 
ple to  govern  themselves  or  to  choose 
their  own  sovereign  was  ceded,  for 
the  people  ceded  had  had  no  such 
right,  and  never  had  had  it.  The 
sovereign  who  had  the  right  of  gov- 
erning them  ceded  his  own  right  to 
the  church,  but  no  right  possessed  or 
ever  possessed  by  the  people  or  in- 
habitants of  the  territory.  Interna- 
tional law  knows  no  people  apart 
from  the  sovereign  or  government. 
The  right  of  self-government  is  the 
right  of  each  nation  or  political  peo- 
ple to  govern  itself  without  the  dic- 
tation or  interference  of  any  foreign 
power,  and  is  only  another  term  for 
national  independence.  What  was  Pe- 
pin's  or  Charlemagne's,  either  could 
cede  without  ceding  any  right  or 
possession  of  the  people.  So  of  the 
donations  or  cessions  of  that  noble 
woman,  the  protectress  of  St.  Grego- 
ry VII.,  the  Countess  Matilda.  If 
Fere  Lacordaire  ever  said  what  he 
is  reported  to  have  said,  he  must 
have  forgotten  the  law  to  which  he 
was  originally  bred,  and  spoken  rather 
as  a  red  republican  than  as  a  Catho- 
lic theologian,  statesman,  or  jurist. 

But  waiving  the  Tact  that  the  so- 
vereignty of  the  Roman  state  has  a 
spiritual  character  by  being  vested  in 
the  Holy  See,  and  granting,  not  con- 
ceding, that  it  is  in  "  the  category  of 
all  earthly  sovereignties,"  its  right  is 
no  less  perfect  and  inviolable,  and 
the  invasion  and  spoliation  of  the 
Roman  state  by  Sardinia,  as  of  the 
other  Italian  states,  are  no  less  in- 
defensible and  unjustifiable  on  any 
principle  of  international  law  or  of 
Christian  or  even  of  heathen  ethics  ; 
for  one  independent  state  has  no 


right  to  invade,  despoil,  and  appro- 
priate or  absorb  another  that  gives 
it  no  just  cause  of  war.  Nor  is  the 
act  any  more  defensible,  as  we  have 
already  shown,  if  done  in  response 
to  the  invitation  of  a  portion,  even  a 
majority,  of  the  inhabitants,  if  in  op- 
position to  the  will  of  the  legitimate 
authority.  Such  invitation  would 
partake  of  the  nature  of  rebellion, 
be  treasonable,  and  no  people  has 
the  right  to  rebel  against  their  sove- 
reign, or  to  commit  treason.  Men 
who  talk  of  "the  sacred  right  of 
insurrection,"  either  know  not  what 
they  say,  or  are  the  enemies  alike  of 
order  and  liberty.  The  people  have, 
we  deny  not,  the  right  to  withdraw 
their  allegiance  from  the  tyrant  who 
tramples  on  the  rights  of  God  and 
of  man,  but  never  till  a  competent 
authority  has  decided  that  he  is  a 
tyrant  and  has  forfeited  his  right  to 
reign,  which  a  Parisian  or  a  Roman 
mob  certainly  is  not.  How  long  is 
it  since  these  same  gentlemen  who 
are  congratulating  Victor  Emmanuel 
were  urging  the  'government,  leading 
its  armies,  or  righting  in  the  ranks,  to 
put  down  what  they  termed  a  rebel- 
lion in  their  own  country,  and  con- 
demning treason  as  a  crime  ? 

But  the  Romans  and  other  Italians 
are  of  the  same  race,  and  speak  the 
same  language,  we  are  told.  That  they 
are  of  the  same  race  is  questionable ; 
but,  suppose  it,  and  that  they  speak 
the  same  language.  They  are  no  more 
of  the  same  race  and  speak  no  more 
the  same  language,  than  the  people 
of  the  United  States  and  the  people 
of  Great  Britain ;  have  we,  on  that 
ground,  the  right  to  invade  Great  Bri- 
tain, dethrone  Queen  Victoria,  sup- 
press the  Imperial  Parliament,  to  an- 
nex politically  the  British  Empire  to 
the  United  States,  and  to  bring  the 
British  people  under  Congress  and 
President  Grant  ? 

But  as  Italy  is  geographically  one, 


296 


Sardinia  and  tJie  Holy  Father. 


it  ought,  we  are  told  again,  to  be  poli- 
tically one.  The  United  States,  Cana- 
da, and  Mexico,  including  Central 
America  and  British  Columbia,  are 
geographically  one ;  but  will  any  of 
the  honorable  or  reverend  gentlemen 
who  addressed  the  meeting,  or  wrote 
letters  to  the  committee  that  called 
it,  contend  that  we  have,  therefore, 
the  right  unprovoked,  and  simply  be- 
cause it  would  be  convenient  to  have 
them  politically  a  part  of  our  re- 
public, to  invade  them  with  our 
armies,  suppress  their  present  gov- 
ernments, and  annex  them  to  the 
Union  ? 

"  Rome  is  the  ancient  capital  of 
Italy,  and  the  Italian  government 
wishes  to  recover  it,  and  needs  its 
prestige  for  the  present  kingdom  of 
Italy."  But  in  no  known  period  of 
history  has  Rome  ever  belonged  to 
Italy;  Italy  for  ages  belonged  to 
Rome,  and  was  governed  from  and 
by  it.  Never  in  its  whole  history 
was  Rome  the  capital  of  an  Italian 
state,  or  the  seat  of  an  Italian  gov- 
ernment. She  was  not  the  capital 
of  any  state;  she  was  herself  the 
state  as  long  as  the  Roman  Empire 
lasted,  and  as  such  governed  Italy 
and  the  world.  The  empire  was  not 
Roman  because  Rome  was  its  capi- 
tal city,  but  because  Rome  was  the 
sovereign  state  itself,  and  all  political 
power  or  political  rights  emanated, 
or  were  held  to  emanate,  from  her ; 
and  hence  the  empire  was  Roman, 
and  the  people  were  called  Romans, 
not  Italians.  If  you  talk  of  restora- 
tion, let  it  be  complete — recognize 
Rome  as  the  sovereign  state,  and  the 
rest  of  the  world  be  held  as  subject 
provinces.  Italy  was  never  the  state 
while  Rome  governed,  nor  has  the 
name  Italy  at  all  times  had  the  same 
geographical  sense.  Sometimes  it 
meant  Sicily,  sometimes  the  southern, 
other  times  the  northern,  part  of  the 
peninsula — sometimes  the  heel  or  the 


foot,  and  sometimes  the  leg,  of  the 
boot. 

It  might  or  it  might  not  be  desira- 
ble for  the  pretended  kingdom  of 
Italy  to  have  Rome  for  its  capital, 
or  the  seat  of-its  government,  though 
we  think  Florence  in  this  mercantile 
age  would  be  far  more  suitable.  But 
suppose  it.  Yet  these  Protestant  min- 
isters must  know  that  there  is  a  di- 
vine command  that  forbids  one  to 
covet  what  is  one's  neighbor's. 
Achab,  king  of  Israel,  wanted  Na- 
both's  vineyard,  and  was  much  trou- 
bled in  spirit  that  Naboth  would  not 
consent  to  part  with  it  either  for  love 
or  money.  His  queen,  the  liberal- 
minded  Jezebel,  rebuked  him  for  his 
dejection,  and,  fearing  to  use  his 
power  as  king  of  Israel,  took  mea- 
sures in  his  name  that  Naboth  should 
be  stoned  to  death,  and  the  vineyard 
delivered  to  Achab.  It  was  all  very 
simple  and  easily  done ;  but  we  read 
that  vengeance  overtook  the  king, 
fell  heavily  on  him,  his  household, 
and  his  false  prophets ;  that  Jezebel 
fled  from  the  Avenger,  was  overtaken 
and  slain,  and  "  the  dogs  came  and 
licked  up  her  blood."  There  is  such 
a  reality  as  justice,  though  our  Ame- 
rican sympathizers  with  the  liberal 
and  enlightened  Jezebel  seem  to 
have  forgotten  it. 

Dr.  Stevens,  the  Protestant  Epis- 
copal Bishop  of  Pennsylvania,  rejoices 
at  the  spoliation  of  the  Pope,  the  ab- 
sorption of  the  Roman  state,  and  the 
unification  of  Italy,  because  "  Italy  is 
thus  opened  to  liberal  ideas,  and 
Rome  itself  unlocked  to  the  advanc- 
ing civilization  and  intelligence  of 
the  nineteenth  century."  Which  ad- 
vancing civilization  and  intelligence 
are  aptly  illustrated,  we  presume,  by 
the  recent  Franco-Prussian  war,  the 
communistic  insurrection  in  Paris,  the 
prostration  of  France,  the  nation 
that  has  advanced  farthest  in  liberal 
ideas  and  nineteenth-century  civili- 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


297 


zation.  We  have  here  on  a  fly-sheet 
a  specimen  of  the  liberal  ideas  to 
which  Italy  is  opened,  and  of  the 
sort  of  civilization  and  intelligence 
to  which  Rome  is  unlocked.  We  ex- 
tract it  for  the  benefit  of  Bishop  Ste- 
vens and  his  brethren : 


"  Religions  said  to  be  revealed,"  these 
free-thinkers  tells  us,  "  have  always  been 
the  worst  enemy  of  mankind,  because  by 
making  truth,  which  is  the  patrimony  of 
all,  the  privilege  of  the  few,  they  resist 
the  progressive  development  of  science 
and  liberty,  which  can  alone  solve  the 
gravest  social  problems  that  have  tor- 
mented entire  generations  for  ages. 

"  Priests  have  invented  supernatural 
beings,  made  themselves  mediators  be- 
tween them  and  men,  and  go  preaching 
always  a  faith  that  substitutes  authority 
for  reason,  slavery  for  liberty,  the  brute 
for  the  man. 

"  But  the  darkness  is  radiated,  and  pro- 
gress beats  down  the  idols  and  breaks 
the  chains  with  which  the  priesthood  has 
bound  the  human  conscience.  Furiously 
has  raged  the  war  between  dogma  and  the 
postulates  of  science,  liberty  and  tyranny, 
science  and  error. 

"  The  voice  of  justice,  so  long  silenced 
in  blood  by  kings  and  priests  conspiring 
together,  comes  forth  omnipotent  from  the 
secret  cells  of  the  Inquisition,  from  the 
ashes  of  the  funeral  pile,  from  every  stone 
sanctified  by  the  blood  of  the  apostles  of 
truth.  People  believed  the  reign  of  evil 
would  last  for  ever,  but  the  day  is  white, 
a  spark  has  kindled  a  conflagration. 
Rome  of  the  priests  becomes  Rome  of  the 
people,  the  Holy  City  a  human  city  She 
no  longer  lends  herself  to  a  hypocritical 
faith,  which,  by  substituting  the  form  for 
the  substance,  excites  the  hatred  of  peo- 
ple against  people  solely  because  the  one 
worships  a  God  in  the  synagogue  and 
the  other  in  the  pagoda. 

"The  association  of  free-thinkers  is  es- 
tablished here  most  opportunely  to  give 
the  finishing  stroke  to  the  crumbling  edi- 
fice of  the  priesthood,  founded  in  the  ig- 
norance of  the  many  by  the  astuteness  of 
the  few.  Truth  proved  by  science  is  our 
creed  ;  respect  for  our  own  rights  in  re- 
specting the  rights  of  others,  our  morali- 
ty. 

"  It  is  necessary  to  look  boldly  in  the 
face  the  monster  which  for  ages  has 


made  the  earth  a  battle-field,  to  defy  him 
openly  and  in  the  light  of  day.  We 
shall  therefore  be  true  to  the  programme 
of  civilization,  in  the  name  of  which  the 
world  has  applauded  the  liberation  of  Rome 
from  the  Pope,  and  we  call  upon  all  who 
love  the  moral  independence  of  the  fami- 
ly, prostituted  and  enslaved  by  the  priest, 
upon  all  who  wish  a  country  great  and 
respected,  upon  all  who  believe  in  human 
perfectibility,  to  unite  with  us  under  the 
banner  of  science  and  justice. 

"  To  Rome  is  reserved  a  great  glory — 
that  of  initiating  the  third  and  most 
splendid  epoch  of  human  civilization. 

"  Free  Rome  ought  to  repair  the  dam- 
age done  to  the  world  by  sacerdotal  Rome. 
She  can  do  it,  and  she  must  do  it.  Let 
the  true  friends  of  liberty  be  associated, 
and  descend  to  no  compromise,  no  bar- 
gain with  the  most  terrible  enemy  the 
human  race  has  ever  had."  * 


*  Le  religioni  dette  rivelate  sono  state  sempre  il 
piu  grande  nemico  della  umanita,  poichfe  facendo 
del  veto,  patrimonio  di  tutti,  il  pnvilegio  di  po- 
chi.  si  opposero  allo  sviluppo  progressive  della 
scienza  e  della  liberta,  le  sole  capaci  di  risolvere 
i  piu  gravi  problem!  sociali,  attorno  a  cui  da  se- 
coli  si  agitano  intere  generazioni. 

II  sacerdote  ha  inventato  degli  esseri  sopran- 
naturali,  e  fattosi  mediatore  fra  questi  e  gli  uomi- 
ni  va  predicando  ancora  uda  fede,  che  sostituisce 
1'autoritA  alia  ragione,  la  scluavitu  alia  liberta, 
il  bruto  all'uomo. 

Per6  la  tenebra  si  £  .diradata,  ed  il  progresso 
abbatte  gl'idoli  e  svincola  1'umana  coscienza 
dalle  catene,  di  cui  i  sacerdoti  1'aveano  cinta. 

Accanita  ferve  la  lotta  fra  il  dogma  ed  i  postu- 
lati  della  scienza,  tra  la  liberta  e  la  tirannide,  fra 
la  scienza  e  1'errore. 

La  voce  della  giustizia,  fatta  tacere  nel  sangue 
da  re  e  preti  assieme  congiurati,  e  risorta  onni- 
potente  dai  penetrali  della  inquisizione,  dalle 
ceneri  dei  roghi,  da  ogni  pietra  sanctificata  dal 
sangue  degli  apostoli  della  verita.  Si  credeva 
durasse  eterno  il  regno  del  male,  per6  1'alba  e 
diventata  giorno,  la  favilla  si  e  fatta  incendio. 
Ora  Roma  del  prete  diviene  Roma  del  popolo,  la 
citti  santa  citta  umana.  Non  piu  si  presti  fede 
a  credenze  ipocrite,  che  sostituendo  la  forma  alia 
sostanza  suscitarono  odi  tra  popoli  e  popoli,  sol 
perchfe  gli  uni  adoravano  un  dio  nella  sinagoga  e 
gli  altri  nella  pagoda. 

L'associazione  dei  liberi  pensatori  si  stabilisce 
qui  opportunamente  per  dare  1'  ultimo  colpo  al 
crollante  edificio  sacerdotale,  fondato  nella  ignor- 
anza  dei  molti  e  per  1'astuzia  dei  pochi.  Le  veri- 
ta provate  dalla  scienza  costituiscono  la  nostra 
sola  fede,  il  rispetto  al  diritto  proprio  nel  rispet- 
tare  il  diritto  altrui,  la  nostra  morale. 

E  d'uopo  guardare  arditamente  in  faccia  quel 
mostro  secolare,  che  della  tarra  ha  fatto  un  cam- 
po  di  battaglia,  sfidarlo  all'aperto  ed  alia  luce  del 
giorno.  Saremo  cosl  fedeli  al  programma  della 
civilta.  in  nome  della  quale  il  mondo  ha  applaud- 
ito  alia  liberazione  di  Roma  dal  Papa. 

Noi  facciamo  appello  a  quanti  amano  davvero 
I'indipendenza  morale  della  famiglia,  prostituita 


298 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


This  programme  of  the  Association 
of  Free-thinkers  in  Rome  is  not  an 
inapt  commentary  on  the  letter  of 
the  Bishop  of  Pennsylvania,  and  is  a 
hearty  response  to  the  sympathy  and 
encouragement  given  them  in  their 
work  of  destruction  by  the  great  and 
respectable  New  York  meeting.  It 
at  least  tells  our  American  sympathi- 
zers how  their  friends  in  Rome  un- 
derstand their  applause  of  the  depo- 
sition of  the  Pope  from  his  temporal 
sovereignty  and  the  unity  of  Italy. 
Are  they  pleased  with  the  response 
given  them  ? 

There  may  be  a  difference  between 
the  free-thinkers  and  their  American 
friends;  but  the  chief  difference  ap- 
parently is,  that  the  free-thinkers  are 
logical  and  have  the  courage  of  their 
principles,  know  what  they.'  mean 
and  say  it  frankly,  without  reticence 
or  circumlocution,  while  their  Amer- 
ican sympathizers  have  a  hazy  per- 
ception of  their  own  principles,  do 
not  see  very  clearly  whither  they  lead, 
and  are  afraid  to  push  them  to  their 
last  logical  consequences.  They 
have  not  fully  mastered  the  princi- 
ples on  which  they  act;  only  half- 
know  their  own  meaning;  and  the 
half  they  do  know  they  would  express 
and  not  express.  Yet  they  are  great 
men  and  learned  men,  but  ham- 
pered by  their  Protestantism,  which 
admits  no  clear  or  logical  statement, 
except  so  far  as  it  coincides  with  the 
free-thinkers  in  regarding  the  Papacy 
as  a  monster,  which  must,  in  the  in- 
terests of  civilization  and  liberty,  be 


e  fattaschiava  dal  prete— a  quanti  vogliono  una 
patria  grande  e  rispettata — a  quanti  credono  alia 
umana  perfettibiliti — uniamoci  tutti  sotto  la  ban- 
diera  della  scienza  e  della  giustizia. 

A  Roma  fe  riservata  una  gran  gloria — quella 
d'iniziare  la  terza  e  piu  splendida  epoca  dell'in- 
civilimento  umano. 

Roma  libera  cleve  riparare  ai  danni  arrecati  al 
mondo  dalla  Roma  sacerdotale.  Essa  pu6  far 
lo,  essa  deve  farlo.  I  veri  amici  della  liberal  si 
associino,  e  non  iscendano  a  patti  sol  nemico  piu 
terribile  che  abbia  avuto  1'umana  famiglia. 

ROMA,  Febbraio,  1871.          LA  COMMISSIONS. 


got  rid  of.  Yet  we  can  discover  no 
substantial  difference  in  principle  be- 
tween them.  The  deeds  and  events 
they  applaud  have  no  justification  or 
excuse,  save  in  the  atrocious  princi- 
ples set  forth  by  the  free-thinkers. 
We  are  willing  to  believe  these  dis- 
tinguished gentlemen  try  to  persuade 
themselves,  as  they  would  fain  per- 
suade us,  that  it  is  possible  to  war 
against  the  Papacy  without  warring 
against  revealed  religion  or  Christian 
morals,  as  did  the  reformers  in  the 
sixteenth  century;  but  these  Roman 
free-thinkers  know  better,  and  tell 
them  that  they  cannot  do  it.  They 
understand  perfectly  well  that  Chris- 
tianity as  a  revelation  and  an  au- 
thoritative religion  and  the  Papacy 
stand  or  fall  together ;  and  it  is 
because  they  would  get  rid  of  all 
religions  that  claim  to  be  revealed 
or  to  have  authority  in  matters  of 
conscience,  that  they  seek  to  over- 
throw the  Papacy.  They  attack  the 
temporal  sovereignty  of  the  Pope 
only  as  a  means  of  attacking  more 
effectually  his  spiritual  sovereignty ; 
and  they  wish  to  get  rid  of  his  spirit- 
ual sovereignty  only  because  they 
wish  to  rid  themselves  of  the  spirit- 
ual order,  of  the  law  of  God,  nay,  of 
God  himself,  and  feel  themselves  free 
to  live  for  this  world  alone,  and 
bend  all  their  energies  to  the  pro- 
duction, amassing,  and  enjoying  the 
goods  of  time  and  sense.  It  is  not  the 
Pope  personally,  or  his  temporal  gov- 
ernment as  such,  that  they  call  the 
worst  enemy  of  mankind,  or  the 
"  monster  that  for  ages  has  made  the 
earth  a  field  of  blood,"  but  revealed 
religion,  but  faith,  but  the  supernat- 
ural order,  but  the  law  of  God,  the 
spiritual  order,  which  the  Pope  offi- 
cially represents,  and  always  and 
everywhere  asserts,  and  which  his 
temporal  power  aids  him  to  assert 
more  freely  and  independently.  They 
recognize  no  medium  between  the 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


299 


Papacy  and  no-religion.  They  dis- 
dain all  compromise,  admit  no  via 
media,  neither  the  Anglican  via  me- 
dia between  "  Romanism  "  and  dis- 
sent, nor  the  Protestant  via  media  be- 
tween the  Papacy  and  infidelity. 
They  war  not  against  Protestantism, 
though  they  despise  it  as  a  miserable 
compromise,  neither  one  thing  nor 
another;  they  even  regard  it  with 
favor  as  a  useful  and  an  efficient  ally 
in  their  anti-religious  war. 

The  free-thinkers  in  Rome  and 
elsewhere  present  the  real  and  true 
issue  between  the  Papacy  and  its 
enemies,  and  give  the  real  mean- 
ing of  the  atrocious  deeds  which 
have  effected  the  deposition  of  the 
Pope,  the  absorption  of  the  state  of 
the  church,  and  the  unity  of  Italy 
under  the  House  of  Savoy.  They 
present  it,  too,  without  disguise,  in 
its  utter  nakedness,  so  that  the  most 
stolid  cannot  mistake  it ;  precisely  as 
we  ourselves  have  uniformly  pre- 
sented it.  The  issue  is  "  the  Papacy 
or  no-religion,"  and  the  meaning  of 
the  deeds  and  events  the  New  York 
meeting  applauded  is,  "  Down  with 
the  Papacy  as  the  mearts  of  putting 
down  religion  and  emancipating  the 
human  conscience  from  the  law  of 
God !"  How  does  the  Protestant 
Episcopal  Bishop  of  Pennsylvania, 
and  his  brother  Protestant  Episco- 
pal bishops  among  the  sympathizers 
with  Italian  unity,  like  the  meaning 
or  the  issue,  when  presented  truly 
and  honestly,  and  they  are  forced  to 
look  it  squarely  in  the  face  ?  What 
does  Mr.  Justice  Strong,  of  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  the  United  States, 
think  of  it  ?  He  is  the  president  of 
an  evangelical — perhaps  we  should 
say  fanatical — association,  whose  ob- 
ject is  to  procure  an  amendment  to 
the  preamble  of  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States,  so  that  the  repub- 
lic shall  be  made  to  profess,  officially, 
belief  in  God,  in  Christ,  and  the  super- 


natural inspiration  of  the  Scriptures 
of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments. 
What  says  he-  to  the  assertion  that 
"religions  said  to  be  revealed  have 
always  been"  the  worst  enemy  of  man- 
kind "  ?  Yet  his  name  appears  among 
the  sympathizers  with  Italian  unity. 
Do  these  gentlemen  know  what 
crimes  and  atrocities  they  applaud, 
and  what  is  the  cause  with  which 
they  express  their  sympathy?  Or, 
like  the  old  Jews  who  crucified  the 
Lord  of  Life  between  two  thieves, 
are  they  ignorant  of  what  they  do  ? 

These  Roman  free-thinkers  only 
give  us  the  programme  of  the  secret 
societies,  who  have  their  net-work 
spread  over  all  Europe,  and  even 
over  this  country;  of  the  Mazzinis 
and  Garibaldis,  of  the  Red  Repub- 
licans and  Communists,  who  have 
instituted  a  new  Reign  of  Terror  in 
Paris,  who  are  filling  the  prisons  of 
that  city  while  we  are  writing  (April 
7)  with  the  friends  of  order,  with 
priests  and  religious,  plundering  the 
churches,  entering  and  robbing  con- 
vents and  nunneries,  and  insulting 
and  maltreating  their  peaceful  and 
holy  inmates,  banishing  religion  from 
the  schools,  suppressing  the  public 
worship  of  God,  and  drenching  the 
streets  in  the  blood  of  the  purest 
and  noblest  of  the  land,  all  in  the 
name  of  the  people,  of  liberty,  equal- 
ity, and  fraternity — the  programme, 
in  fact,  of  the  whole  revolutionary, 
radical,  or  so-called  liberal  party 
throughout  the  world.  The  realiza- 
tion of  civil  liberty,  the  advancement 
of  science,  the  promotion  of  society, 
truth,  and  justice,  are — unless,  per- 
haps, with  here  and  there  an  indi- 
vidual— a  mere  pretext  to  dupe  sim- 
ple and  confiding  people,  and  gain 
their  support.  The  leaders  and  know- 
ing ones  are  not  duped ;  they  under- 
stand what  they  want,  and  that  is  the 
total  abolition  of  all  revealed  religion, 
of  all  belief  in  the  spiritual  order,  or 


300 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


the  universal,  eternal,  and  immutable 
principles  of  right  and  justice,  and 
the  complete  emancipation  of  the 
human  intellect  from  all  faith  in  the 
supernatural,  and  of  conscience  from 
all  the  law  not  self-imposed. 
•  Are  our  American  sympathizers 
with  Victor  Emmanuel  in  his  war 
on  the  Pope,  with  the  unity  of  Italy, 
and  the  revolutionary  party  through- 
out Europe,  and  with  which  the  Pro- 
testant missionaries  on  the  Continent 
in  Catholic  nations  are  in  intimate 
alliance,  really  dupes,  and  do  they 
really  fancy,  if  the  Papacy  were  gone, 
the  movement  they  applaud  could  be 
arrested  before  it  had  reached  the 
programme  of  the  Association  of 
Free-thinkers  in  Rome  ?  We  can 
hardly  believe  it.  Europe  was  re- 
organized, after  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  by  the  Papacy,  and  conse- 
quently on  a  Christian  basis — the  in- 
dependence of  the  spiritual  order, 
and  the  freedom  of  religion  from 
secular  control  or  intermeddling,  the 
rights  of  conscience,  and  the  supre- 
macy of  truth  and  justice  in  the  mu- 
tual relations  of  individuals  and  of 
nations.  No  doubt  the  Christian 
ideal  was  far  from  being  practically 
realized  in  the  conduct  of  men  or  na- 
tions; there  were  relics  of  heathen 
barbarism  to  be  subdued,  old  super- 
stitions to  be  rooted  out,  and  fierce 
passions  to  be  quelled.  The  Philis- 
tines still  dwelt  in  the  land.  In  re- 
organized Europe  there  was  no  lack 
of  great  crimes  and  great  criminals, 
followed  often  by  grand  penances 
and  grand  expiations;  society  in 
practice  was  far  from  perfect,  and 
the  good  work  that  the  church  was 
carrying  on  was  often  interrupted,  re- 
tarded, or  destroyed  by  barbarian 
and  heathen  invasions  of  the  Nor- 
mans from  the  North,  the  Huns  from 
the  East,  and  the  Saracens  from  the 
South. 

But  the  work  was  renewed  as  soon 


as  the  violence  ceased.  Under  the 
inspiration  and  direction  of  the  Pa- 
pacy and  the  zealous  and  persevering 
labors  of  the  bishops  and  their  clergy, 
and  the  monastic  orders  of  either  sex, 
assisted  not  unfrequently  by  kings  and 
emperors,  secular  princes  and  nobles, 
the  Christian  faith  became  the  ac- 
knowledged faith  of  all  ranks  and 
classes,  individuals  and  nations. 
Gradually  the  old  heathen  supersti- 
tions were  rooted  out,  the  barbar- 
isms were  softened  if  not  wholly  sub- 
dued, just  and  humane  laws  were 
enacted,  the  rights  of  individuals  and 
of  nations  were  defined  and  declared 
sacred  and  inviolable,  schools  were 
multiplied,  colleges  established,  uni- 
versities founded,  intelligence  dif- 
fused, and  society  was  advancing, 
if  slowly  yet  surely,  towards  the 
Christian  ideal.  If  men  or  nations 
violated  the  immutable  principles  of 
justice  and  right,  they  at  least  recog- 
nized them  and  their  duty  to  conform 
to  them  in  their  conduct ;  if  the  law 
was  disobeyed,  it  was  not  denied  or 
so  altered  as  to  sanction  men's  vices 
or  crimes ;  if  marriage  was  sometimes 
violated,  its  sacredness  and- indissolu- 
bility  were  held  to  be  the  law,  and 
nobody  sought  to  conform  it  to  the 
interests  of  lust  or  lawless  passion ;  if 
a  feudal  baron  wrongfully  invaded 
the  territory  of  his  brother  baron,  or 
oppressed  his  people,  it  was  acknow- 
ledged to  be  wrong;  in  a  word,  if 
the  conduct  of  men  or  nations  was 
bad,  it  was  in  violation  of  the  princi- 
ples which  they  held  to  be  right — of 
the  law  which  they  owned  themselves 
bound  to  obey.  The  conscience  was 
not  perverted,  nor  ethics  and  legisla- 
tion made  to  conform  to  a  perverted 
conscience. 

But  in  the  sixteenth  century,  bold, 
base,  and  disorderly  men  rose  not 
only  in  acts  of  disobedience  to  the 
Pope,  which  had  been  no  rare  thing, 
but  in  principle  and  doctrine  against 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


301 


the  Papacy ;  declared  it  a  usurpation, 
hostile  to  the  independence  of  sove- 
reigns and  the  Bible ;  denounced  the 
Papal  Church  as  the  mystery  of  Baby- 
lon, and  the  Pope  as  the  man  of  sin. 
The  sovereigns  listened  to  them,  and 
the  people  of  several  nations  believed 
and  trusted  them,  cast  off  the  Papacy, 
and  interrupted  the  progress  in  man- 
ners and  morals,  in  society  and  civili- 
zation, which  had  been  going  on  from 
the  sixth  century  to  the  sixteenth  un- 
der the  auspices  of  the  Popes.  The 
reformers,  as  they  are  called,  no  doubt 
really  believed  that  they  could  cast 
off  the  Papacy  and  retain  the  church, 
Christianity,  revealed  religion,  in  even 
greater  purity  and  efficiency.  Yet 
the  experiment,  it  must  be  conceded, 
has  not  succeeded.  The  church,  as 
an  authoritative  body,  has  been  lost 
with  the  loss  of  the  Papacy.  The 
Bible,  for  the  want  of  a  competent 
and  authoritative  interpreter,  has 
ceased  to  be  authority  for  faith,  and 
has  been  made  to  sanction  the  most 
various  and  contradictory  opinions. 
Faith  itself  has  been  resolved  into  a 
variable  opinion,  and  the  law  of  God 
explained  so  as  to  suit  each  man's 
own  taste  and  inclination.  Religion 
is  no  longer  the  recognition  and  asser- 
tion of  the  supremacy  of  the  spiritual 
order,  the  rights  of  God,  and  the 
homage  due  to  our  Maker,  Re- 
deemer, and  Saviour;  nothing  eter- 
nal and  immutable  is  acknowledged, 
and  truth  and  justice,  it  is  even  con- 
tended, should  vary  from  age  to  age, 
from  people  to  people,  and  from  in- 
dividual to  individual. 

The  state  itself,  which  in  several 
anti-Papal  nations  has  undertaken  to 
supply  the  place  of  the  Papacy,  has 
everywhere  failed,  and  must  fail,  be- 
cause, there  being  no  spiritual  au- 
thority above  it  to  declare  for  it  the 
law  of  God,  or  to  place  before  it  a 
fixed,  irreversible,  and  infallible  ideal, 
it  has  no  support  but  in  opinion,  and 


necessarily   becomes    dependent   on 
the  people;  and,  however  slowly  or 
reluctantly,  it  is  obliged  to  conform  to 
their  ever- varying  opinions,  passions, 
prejudices,  ignorance,  and  false  con- 
science.    It  may  retard  by  acts  of 
gross  tyranny  or  by  the  exercise  of 
despotic  power  the  popular  tendency 
for  a  time,  but   in  proportion  as  it 
attempts  it,  it  saps  the  foundations 
of  its  own  authority,  and  prepares  its 
own  overthrow  or  subversion.     If  in 
the  modern  non-Catholic  world  there 
has  been  a  marked  progress  in  scien- 
tific inventions  as  applied  to  the  me- 
chanical and  industrial  arts,  there  has 
been  an  equally  marked  deteriora- 
tion in  men's  principles  and  charac- 
ter.    If  there  is  in  our  times  less  dis- 
tance between  men's  principles  and 
practice  than  in  mediaeval  times,  it  is 
not  because  their  practice   is   more 
Christian,  more  just  or  elevated,  for 
in  fact  it  is  far  less  so,  but  because 
they  have  lowered  their  ideal,   and 
brought  their  principles  down  to  the 
level  of  their  practice.     Having  no 
authority  for  a  fixed  and  determined 
creed,  they  assert  as  a  principle  none 
is  necessary,  nay,  that  any  creed  im- 
posed by  authority,  and  which  one 
is  not  free  to  interpret  according  to 
one's  own  private  judgments,  tastes, 
or  inclination,  is  hostile  to  the  growth 
of  intelligence,  the  advance  of  science, 
and  the  progress  of  civilization.     The 
tendency  in  all  Protestant  sects,  stron- 
ger in  some,  weaker  in  others,  is  to 
make  light  of  dogmatic  faith,  and  to 
resolve  religion  and  morality  into  the 
sentiments  and  affections  of  our  emo- 
tional nature.     Whatever  is  authori- 
tative or  imposes  a  restraint  on  our 
sentiments,    affections,   passions,   in- 
clinations, fancies,  whims,  or  capri- 
ces, is  voted  tyrannical  and  oppres- 
sive, an  outrage  on  man's  natural  free- 
dom, hostile  to  civilization,  and  not 
to  be  tolerated  by  a  free  people,  who, 
knowing,  dare  maintain  their  rights. 


302 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father, 


Take  as  an  apt  illustration  the 
question  of  marriage,  the  basis  of 
the  family,  as  the  family  is  the  basis 
of  society.  In  the  Papal  Church 
marriage  is  a  sacrament,  holy  and 
absolutely  indissoluble  save  by  death, 
and  the  severest  struggles  the  Popes 
engaged  in  with  kings  and  emperors 
were  to  compel  them  to  maintain  its 
sanctity.  The  so-called  reformers 
rejected  its  sacramental  character, 
and  made  it  a  civil  contract,  and 
dissoluble.  At  first,  divorces  were 
restricted  to  a  single  cause,  that  of 
adultery,  and  the  guilty  party  was 
forbidden  to  marry  again;  but  at 
the  pressure  of  public  opinion  other 
causes  were  added,  till  now,  in  seve- 
ral states,  divorce  may  be  obtained 
for  almost  any  cause,  or  no  cause  at 
all,  and  both  parties  be  at  liberty  to 
marry  again  if  they  choose.  There 
are,  here  and  elsewhere,  associations 
of  women  that  contend  that  Chris- 
tian marriage  is  a  masculine  institu- 
tion for  enslaving  women,  though  it 
binds  both  man  and  woman  in  one 
and  the  same  bond,  and  that  seek  to 
abolish  the  marriage  bond  altogether, 
make  marriage  provisional  for  so  long 
a  time  as  the  mutual  love  of  the  par- 
ties may  last,  and  dissoluble  at  the 
will  or  caprice  of  either  party.  No 
religious  or  legal  sanction  is  needed 
in  its  formation  or  for  its  dissolution. 
Men  and  women  should  be  under 
no  restraint  either  before  or  after 
marriage,  but  should  be  free  to  cou- 
ple and  uncouple  as  inclination  dic- 
tates, and  leave  the  children,  if  any 
are  suffered  to  be  born,  to  the  care 
of — we  say  not  whom  or  what.  Say 
we  not,  then,  truly,  that  without  the 
Papacy  we  lose  the  church ;  without 
the  church,  we  lose  revealed  religion ; 
and  without  revealed  religion,  we 
lose  not  only  the  supernatural  order, 
but  the  moral  order,  even  natural 
right  and  justice,  and  go  inevitably 
to  the  conclusions  reached  by  the 


free-thinkers  in  Rome.  One  of  the 
greatest  logicians  of  modern  times, 
the  late  M.  Proudhon,  has  said : 
"  One  who  admits  the  existence  even 
of  God  is  logically  bound  to  admit 
the  whole  Catholic  Church,  its  Pope, 
its  bishops  and  priests,  its  dogmas, 
and  its  entire  cultus;  and  we  must 
get  rid  of  God  before  we  can  get 
rid  of  despotism  and  assert  liberty." 

Let  our  American  sympathizers 
with  Victor  Emmanuel  and  the  uni- 
ty of  Italy  look  at  modern  society 
as  it  is,  and  they  can  .hardly  fail  to  see 
that  everything  is  unsettled,  unmoor- 
ed, and  floating ;  that  men's  minds  are 
everywhere  shaken,  agitated  by  doubt 
and  uncertainty ;  that  no  principle,  no 
institution,  is  too  venerable  or  too  sa- 
cred to  be  attacked,  no  truth  is  too 
well  established  to  be  questioned,  and 
no  government  or  authority  too  le- 
gitimate or  too  beneficent  to  be  con- 
spired against.  Order  there  is  none, 
liberty  there  is  none;  it  is  sought,  but 
not  yet  obtained.  Everywhere  re- 
volution, disorder — disorder  in  the 
state,  disorder  in  society,  disorder  in 
the  family,  disorder  in  the  individual, 
body  and  soul,  thoughts  and  affec- 
tions; and  just  in  proportion  as  the 
Papacy  is  rejected  or  its  influence 
ceases  to  be  felt,  the  world  intellec- 
tually and  morally,  individually  and 
socially,  lapses  into  chaos. 

We  describe  tendencies,  and  rea- 
dily admit  that  the  whole  non-Catho- 
lic world  has  not  as  yet  followed  out 
these  tendencies  to  their  last  term; 
in  most  Protestant  sects  there  are  un- 
doubtedly those  who  assert  and  hon- 
estly defend  revealed  religion,  and  to 
some  extent  Christian  doctrines  and 
morals ;  but,  from  their  Catholic  rem- 
inistences  and  from  the  reflected  in- 
fluence of  the  Papacy  still  in  the 
world  by  their  side  declaring  the 
truth,  the  right,  the  just,  for  indi- 
viduals and  nations,  and  denouncing 
whatever  is  opposed  to  them,  not 


Sardinia  and  tJic  Holy  FatJicr. 


303 


from  Protestant  principles  or  by  vir- 
tue of  their  Protestant  tendencies; 
and  just  in  proportion  as  the  exter- 
nal influence  of  the  Papacy  has  de- 
clined and  men  believed  it  becom- 
ing old  and  decrepit,  has  the  Protest- 
ant world  been  more  true  to  its  innate 
tendencies,  developed  more  logically 
its  principles,  cast  off  more  entirely 
all  dogmatic  faith,  resolved  religion 
into  a  sentiment  or  emotion,  and  rush- 
ed into  rationalism,  free  religion, 
and  the  total  rejection  of  Christian 
faith  or  Christian  morals,  and  justi- 
fied its  dereliction  from  God  on  prin- 
ciple and  at  the  command  of  what 
it  calls  science — as  if  without  God 
there  could  be  any  science,  or  any- 
body to  cultivate  it.  The  Protest- 
ant world  has  no  principle  of  its  own 
that  opposes  this  result,  or  that  when 
logically  carried  out  does  not  lead  sure- 
ly and  inevitably  to  it.  The  principles 
held  by  Protestants  that  oppose  it 
and  retain  many  of  them  from  ac- 
tually reaching  it  are  borrowed  from 
the  Papacy,  and  if  the  Papacy  should 
fall  they  would  fall  with  it. 

Now  we  ask,  and  we  ask  in  all 
seriousness,  the  learned  jurists,  the 
distinguished  statesmen,  the  able  edi- 
tors, the  eminent  Protestant  divines, 
poets,  and  philosophers,  who  took 
part  in  or  approved  the  great  sympa- 
thy meeting,  where  but  in  the  Papa- 
cy are  we  to  look  for  the  nucleus  or 
the  principle  of  European  reorgani- 
zation, for  the  spirit  that  will  move 
over  the  weltering  chaos  and  bid  light 
spring  from  the  darkness,  and  order 
from  the  confusion  ?  We  know  they 
look  anywhere  but  to  the  Papacy ;  to 
the  Parisian  Commune,  to  Kaiser 
William  and  Prince  Bismarck,  to  Vic- 
tor Emmanuel,  to  Mazzini,  and  to 
Garibaldi — that  is,  to  the  total  aboli- 
tion of  the  Papacy  and  the  Catholic 
Church.  But  in  this  are  they  not 
like  the  physician  who  prescribes,  as 
a  cure  to  the  man  already  drunk, 


drinking  more  and  more  deeply? 
Are  they  not  like  those  infatuated 
Jews — we  are  writing  on  Good  Fri- 
day— who  demanded  of  Pilate  the 
release,  not  of  Jesus  in  whom  no  fault 
was  found,  but  of  Barabbas,  who  was 
a  robber !  Can  Barabbas  help  them  ? 
Will  he  help  re-establish  the  reign  of 
law,  and  teach  men  to  respect  the 
rights  of  property,  the  rights  of  sov- 
ereigns, and  the  duties  of  subjects  ? 

We  say  not  that  the  Pope  can  re- 
organize Europe,  for  we  know  not 
the  secret  designs  of  Providence. 
Nations  that  have  once  been  enli^ht- 

O 

ened  and  tasted  the  good  word  of 
God,  and  have  fallen  away,  lapsed 
into  infidelity,  and  made  a  mock  of 
Christ  crucified,  cannot  easily,  if  at 
all,  be  renewed  unto  repentance  and 
recover  the  faith  they  have  knowingly 
and  wilfully  cast  from  them.  There 
is  not  another  Christ  to  be  crucified 
for  them.  We  have  no  assurance 
that  these  apostate  European  nations 
are  ever  to  be  reorganized ;  to  be  saved 
from  the  chaos  into  which  they  are 
now  weltering;  but  if  they  are,  we 
know  this,  that  it  can  be  only  by  the 
power  and  grace  of  God,  communi- 
cated to  them  through  the  Papacy. 
There  is  no  other  source  of  help.  . 
Kings  and  Kaisers  cannot  do  it,  for  it 
is  all  they  can  do  to  keep  their  own 
heads  on  their  shoulders;  the  mob 
cannot  do  it,  for  it  can  only  make 
"  confusion  worse  confounded ;"  the 
popularly  constituted  state,  like  our 
own  republic,  cannot  do  it,  for  a  pop- 
ular state,  a  state  that  rests  on  the 
popular  will,  can  only  follow  popular 
opinions,  and  reflect  the  ignorance, 
the  passions,  the  fickleness,  the  self- 
ishness, and  the  basenesses  of  the 
people  ;  science  and  philosophy  can- 
not do  it,  for  they  are  themselves  dis- 
organized, in  a  chaotic  state,  un- 
certain whether  man  differs  from  the 
brute,  whether  he  has  a  soul,  or  is 
only  a  congeries  of  matter,  and  wheth- 


304 


Sardinia  and  the  Holy  Father. 


er  he  is  or  is  not  developed  from  the 
monkey  or  the  tadpole ;  atheism  can- 
not do  it,  for  it  has  no  positive  prin- 
ciple, is  the  negation  of  all  principle, 
and  effective  only  for  destruction; 
Protestantism  cannot  do  it,  for  it  is 
itself  chaos,  the  original  source  of 
the  evil,  and  contains  as  its  own  no 
principle  or  organite  from  which  a 
new  organization  can  be  developed. 
We  repeat,  then,  if  there  is  any  hope, 
it  is  in  the  Papacy,  which  rests  on  a 
basis  outside  of  the  world,  and  speaks 
with  divine  authority;  and  the  first 
step  to  reorganization  must  be  the 
re-establishment  of  the  Holy  Father 
in  the  full  possession  of  his  rights. 
Whether  there  is  faith  enough  left  on 
earth  to  demand  and  effect  his  resto- 
ration, remains  to  be  seen. 

Certain  it  is,  let  men  say  what  they 
will,  the  Pope  is  the  only  sovereign 
power  on  earth  at  this  moment  that 
stands  as  the  defender  of  the  rights 
of  independent  governments,  of  in- 
ternational law,  the  equality  of  sov- 
ereign states  without  regard  to  size, 
race,  language,  or  geographical  po- 
sition— the  sole  champion  of  those 
great,  eternal,  and  immutable  princi- 
ples of  justice  on  which  depend 
alike  public  liberty  and  individual 
freedom,  the  sanctity  and  inviolability 
of  the  family,  the  peace  and  order 
and  the  very  existence  of  society. 
If  the  kings  and  rulers  of  this  world 
are  with  him,  or  dare  utter  a  feeble 
whisper  to  encourage  and  sustain 
him,  the  people  are  opposed,  or  cold 
or  indifferent,  and  pass  him  by,  wag- 
ging their  heads,  saying  in  a  mock- 
ing tone,  "  He  trusted  in  heaven,  and 
let  heaven  save  him." 


It  were  little  short  of  profanity  to 
indicate  the  contrast  between  his 
sublime  attitude  and  the  abject 
and  servile  attitude  of  these  distin- 
guished countrymen  of  ours.  They 
but  prove  themselves  slaves  to  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  and  only  reflect 
popular  ignorance  and  passion,  and 
follow  the  multitude  to  worship  at 
the  shrine  of  Success,  and  to  trample 
on  the  wronged  and  outraged.  He 
dares  arraign  the  fierce  and  satanic 
spirit  of  the  age,  to  face  the  enraged 
multitude,  to  defy  popular  opinion 
or  popular  passion,  to  proclaim  the 
truth  it  condemns,  to  defend  the 
right  it  tramples  under  foot,  and  up- 
hold the  scorned  and  rejected  rights 
of  God,  and  the  inviolability  of  con- 
science. It  were  an  insult  to  truth 
and  justice,  to  moral  greatness  and 
nobility,  to  dwell  on  the  contrast. 
His  attitude  is  that  of  his  Master 
when  he  trod  the  wine-press  alone, 
and  of  the  people  none  were  with 
him.  It  is  grand,  it  is  sublime,'be- 
yond  the  power  of  mortal  man,  un- 
less assisted  with  strength  from  above.' 
No  man,  it  seems  to  us,  can  contem- 
plate his  attitude,  firm  and  inflexible, 
calm  and  serene,  without  being 
filled,  if  he  have  any  nobility  or  gen- 
erosity of  soul,  or  any  sense  of  moral 
heroism  or  true  manliness  in  him, 
with  admiration  and  awe,  or  feel- 
ing that  his  very  attitude  proves  that 
he  is  in  the  right,  and  that  God  is 
with  him.  Let  our  American  sym- 
pathizers with  his  traducers  snd  per- 
secutors behold  him  whom  they  cal- 
umniate, and,  if  they  are  men,  blush 
and  hang  their  heads.  Shame  and 
confusion  should  cover  their  faces  1 


Flowers. 


305 


FLOWERS. 


i. 


To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell, 

To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene, 
Where  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell, 

And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er  or  rarely  been  ; 

To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen 
With  the  wild  flock  that  never  needs%  fold, 

Alone  o'er  steeps  and  foaming  falls  to  loan — 


Is  a  pleasure  accorded  to  few  only 
of  the  dwellers  upon  earth;  seldom 
indeed  to  the  few  who  could  best  ap- 
pretiate  the  privilege.  A  large  por- . 
tion  of  the  sum  total  of  human  exis- 
tence is  spent  in  cities.  Outside  of 
these,  the  wants  of  life,  best  supplied 
by  the  co-operation  of  numbers,  gath- 
er people  together  in  towns  and  vil- 
lages. Travelling  is  generally  such 
only  as  may  be  needful  in  the  exer- 
cise of  trades  and  professions,  with  a 
view  to  their  ultimate  end,  the  accu- 
mulation of  wealth ;  or  such  as  ex- 
hausted energies  demand  to  fit  them 
for  further  toil.  The  invalid,  it  is 
true,  seeks  to  revive  his  failing  pow- 
ers in  far-away  balmy  climates  and 
delicious  scenes — and  there  is  a  love 
for  his  birthplace  in  the  heart  of 
many  a  wanderer  which  leads  him 
back  time  after  time  to  the  old  home- 
stead, and  invests  it  with  countless 
charms,  although  bleak  and  barren 
its  surroundings  may  be — but  to  how 
few  individuals  it  is  given,  in  the  ful- 
ness of  their  health  and  mental  fa- 
culties, to  rove  abroad  at  will  through 
the  beauties  and  sublimities  of  crea- 
tion— to  look  on  her  rolling  oceans 
and  broad  lakes ;  her  foaming  cata- 
racts and  stupendous  mountains; 
on  the  luxuriant  loveliness  of  the 

VOL.  XIII. — 20 


torrid  zone,  and  the  icy  wonders  of 
the  north ! 

Yet  such  things  always  make  part 
of  the  expectancies,  the  bright  anti- 
cipations of  youth — the  day-dreams, 
crushed  down  at  last  by  hard  reali- 
ties. For  to  generation  after  gene- 
ration the  story  of  life  is  strangely 
the  same.  Its  general  events  unfold 
themselves  in  a  succession  marked 
for  each  one  with  singular  uniformi- 
ty ;  a  uniformity,  indeed,  so  suscepti- 
ble of  calculation  that  on  it  are  bas- 
ed many  of  its  most  extended  specu- 
lations. 

Pecuniary  interests  generally  push 
their  claims  first  and  most  boldly, 
because  least  to  be  evaded.  Then 
come  the  petty  edicts  of  an  artificial 
social  existence,  which  command  and 
receive  submission  before  their  pre- 
sence is  even  suspected,  and  though 
their  power  be  neither  recognized  nor 
acknowledged.  Gradually  the  turn- 
ing kaleidoscope  of  time  shows  more 
sombre  colors ;  the  path  to  be  trod- 
den is  made  visible — the  mind  bends 
itself  to  the  narrow  way  —  earthly 
happiness  seeks  its  realization  in  a 
circumscribed  sphere — and  so,  one 
by  one,  the  winged  thoughts  lower 
their  circle  of  flight,  and  the  dream- 
er ceases  to  dream. 


306 


Flowers. 


But  the  love  of  nature  is  implant- 
ed too  deeply  in  the  heart  of  man 
to  be  ever  entirely  eradicated ;  and 
the  sentiment  finds  for  itself  an  ex- 
pression coextensive  with  its  exis- 
tence in  the  universal  love  of  flow- 
ers. They  have  a  charm  for  the  eye 
and  soul  welling  from  a  deeper  source 
than  those  graceful  forms  and  bril- 
liant colors,  for  they  are  a  portion 
of  the  great  universe.  They  are  a 
link,  and  an  important  one,  and  the 
one  most  exquisitely  fashioned,  in 
the  mighty  chain  which  holds  beside 
them  not  only  the  everlasting  hills, 
but 

"  Planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres." 

Year  after  year  they  return  to  us 
with  a  beauty  which  never  palls,  to 
make  us  wiser,  and  better,  and  hap- 
pier; and  as  punctually  they  meet 
from  each  true  heart  a  greeting  fitly 
due  to  their  fairy  manifestations  of 
the  same  boundless  Power  which 
called  forth  those  mightier,  sublimer 
forms  of  matter  so  often  placed  be- 
yond our  reach. 

Flowers,  when  mention  is  made 
of  them  in  the  Old  Testament,  are 
consecrated  (so  to  say)  by  the  most 
lofty  associations ;  they  typify  virtue 
—  happiness  —  the  Deity  himself. 
When  the  inspired  writer  would  fain 
depict  in  language  level  to  our  hum- 
ble capacity  pleasures  of  which  we 
can  have  not  the  most  distant  idea — 
the  pleasures  of  man's  first  terrestrial 
paradise — he  calls  it  a  garden ;  as 
the  word  best  embodying  to  us  hap- 
piness sinless  and  complete  ;  and  the 
Deity  in  the  same  sacred  volume 
prompted 

"  The  flower  of  the  field,  and  the  lily  of  the  val- 
ley,"   (Cant,  ii.) 

as  the  most  appropriate  figures  of 
his   own   divine  holiness.      Flowers 


with  lamps  of  fine  gold  made  part 
of  the  decorations  of  Solomon's  tem- 
ple. The  Scriptures  were  originally 
written  in  the  land  of  bold  imagery 
and  under  a  burning  sun,  where  her- 
bage and  water  constitute  wealth ; 
consequently,  we  find  throughout  its 
pages  rich  pastures  and  flowing 
streams  suggested  themselves  as  em- 
blems of  rewards  not  only  in  this 
world,  but  of  those  beyond  the  grave. 
Again,  the  brief  span  of  life,  and  the 
uncertainty  of  all  earthly  possessions, 
are  imaged  by  the  fading  flower  and 
the  withered  grass ;  and  the  prophets 
in  their  denunciations  of  the  wicked 
constantly  compare  them,  in  the  de- 
solation of  utter  abandonment,  to  a 
garden  without  water. 

Asia  has  always  been  the  especial 
land  of  flowers ;  from  the  rose-gar- 
dens which  Semiramis  *  planted  at 
the  foot  of  Mount  Bajistanos,  800 
B.C.,  to  the  fragrant  gardens  now  to 
be  seen  in  almost  every  oriental  city. 
The  fame  of  these  rose-gardens  ex- 
tended so  far  that  Alexander  the 
Great,  on  his  Eastern  expedition,  turn- 
ed a  long  way  from  his  course  to  vi- 
sit them.  The  city  which  Solomon 
founded,  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness 
(Palmyra),  about  midway  between 
the  Orontes  and  Euphrates,  was  cele- 
brated, and  indeed  derived  its  name, 
from  the  abundance  of  a  magnificent 
species  of  palm-tree  which  grew  there. 
This  tree  (the  Borassusvi  Lin.)  yields 
a  liquor  seducing  and  pernicious,  and 
in  taste  resembling  weak  champagne.! 
The  ruins  of  this  city  and  its  sur- 
roundings are  described  by  travel- 
lers as  exceedingly  imposing.  The 
city  of  Susa  (in  Scripture,  Susan),  in  a 
district  lying  on  the  Persian  Gulf, 
was  in  ancient  days  the  residence  of 
the  Persian  kings ;  their  summers  be- 


*  Diod.  ii.  13. 
tSir  W.Jones. 


Flowers, 


307 


ing  spent  at  Ecbatana,  in  the  cool 
mountainous  district  of  Media.  The 
name  Susa  signifies  a  lily,  and  is 
said  to  have  been  given  on  account 
of  the  great  quantity  and  beauty  of 
these  flowers  which  grew  in  its  vici- 
nity. The  fertility  of  the  land  of 
Bashan  is  mentioned  in  Scripture, 
and  its  oaks  are  coupled  with  the  ce- 
dars of  Lebanon.  Media  also  is 
mentioned  by  old  writers ;  and  Car- 
mania,  north  of  the  Persian  Gulf, 
boasted  of  vines  bearing  clusters 
more  than  two  feet  long. 

China  in  modern  times  calls  her- 
self the  flowery  kingdom,  but  she  is 
not  the  only  one;  in  many  other 
parts  roses  are  extensively  cultivated 
for  the  purpose  of  distilling  from 
them  the  ottar  (atfah-gul)  of  com- 
merce; and  the  landscape  is  often 
converted  for  a  hundred  acres  into 
one  great  rose-garden.  It  has  been 
estimated  that  one-half  of  all  the 
varieties  of  roses  scattered  over  our 
gardens  were  originally  brought  from 
Asia;  and  perhaps,  counting  the 
fields  planted  there  for  distillation, 
it  may  be  said  that  one-half  of  all 
in  actual  bloom  adorn  that  quarter 
of  the  globe.  Yet  the  simple  wild 
roses  of  Asia,  like  our  own  wild  roses, 
are  very  inconspicuous  little  flowers  ; 
it  is  only  under  the  skilful  hand  of 
the  florist  that  each  one  of  those 
many  varieties  develops  its  own 
peculiar  beauties,  and  we  obtain  the 
cultivated  roses  of  the  garden.  The 
Afghan  province  of  Turkistan  is,  in 
some  parts,  at  the  present  day  fa- 
mous for  its  roses.  Balkh,  the  mo- 
dern capital,  is  so  exceedingly  hot 
that  each  spring  the  inhabitants  in  a 
body  leave  it  for  the  little  village  of 
Mezar;  and  Mezar  boasts  of  the 
most  beautiful  roses  in  the  world — a 
fragrant  red  rose  which  they  name 
gul-i-surkh.  This  peculiar  variety 
grows  on  the  pretended  tomb  of  AH 


(whose  real  monument  is  at  Nedjef). 
They  say  that  these  roses  will  flour- 
ish in  no  soil  but  that  of  Mezar — an 
experiment  (they  say)  which  has  been 
repeatedly  tried  and  failed.  Mr. 
Vambery,  who  was  there  in  1864, 
says,  "  They  are  certainly  more  love- 
ly and  fragrant  than  any  I  ever 
saw." 

Mr.  Vambery  was  sent  in  1863,  by 
the  Hungarian  Academy,  on  a  scien- 
tific mission  to  Central  Asia.  At 
Teheran  he  assumed  the  dress  of  a 
'dervish  and  the  name  of  Hadji  Rech- 
id,  and  in  this  character  he  joined  a 
company  of  twenty  -  four  pilgrims, 
"ragged  and  dirty,"  who  were  on 
their  return  from  Mecca  to  their  far- 
away home  in  the  north-east.  They 
never  penetrated  his  disguise — and 
with  them  he  traversed  an  extent  of 
country  never  before  visited  by  a 
European.  They  travelled  mostly 
by  night,  to  avoid  the  excessive 
heat.  Of 'course  much  natural  land- 
scape was  lost,  but  we  are  struck 
with  the  abundance  of  flowers  and 
gardens  along  this  route.  One  which 
he  mentions  is  not  fascinating,  but 
that  was  an  exception ;  before  leav- 
ing Teheran,  he  visited  two  Euro- 
pean friends  near  there,  and  found 

",  Count  G in  a  small  silk  tent  in 

a  garden  like  a  caldron;  the  heat 
was  awful !  Mr.  Alison  was  more 
comfortable  in  his  pleasant  garden 
at  Guhalek." 

When  the  pilgrims  resumed  their 
journey  at  Teheran,  such  as  were  rich 
enough  hired  a  camel  for  two,  as  part- 
ners. Mr.  Vambery  soon  loaned  his 
animal  to  a  "  dirty  friend,"  and  join- 
ed the  pedestrians,  who,  like  true  be- 
lievers— followers  of  the  Prophet — 
buried  all  care  in  one  word,  kis- 
met* As  they  tramped  on  (he  says), 
"  When  their  enthusiasm  had  been 

*  "  It  is  a  sin  to  think  of  the  future." 


3oB 


Flowers. 


sufficiently  stimulated  by  reminis- 
cences of  the  gardens  of  Mergolan, 
Namengan,  and  Kholand,  all  began 
with  one  accord  to  sing  a  telkin 
(hymn),  in  which  I  joined  by  scream- 
ing as  loud  as  I  was  able  Allah  ya 
Allah  !" 

The  gardens  at  Tabersi,  a  place 
where  they  rested,  were  very  beauti- 
ful, also  there  were  "  abundance  of 
oranges  and  lemons,  tinted  yellow 
and  red  with  their  dark-green  leaves. 
From  scenes  of  luxuriant  vegetation 
they  passed  into  the  desert  of  Tur- 
kistan,  which  extended  on  all  sides, 
far  as  eye  could  reach,  like  a  vast 
sea  of  sand,  on  one  side  slightly 
undulating  in  little  hills,  like  waves 
in  a  storm,  on  the  other  side  level 
as  a  calm  lake.  Not  a  bird  in  the 
air,  nor  a  crawling  thing  on  the  earth  ; 
"traces  of  nothing  but  departed  life  in 
the  bleaching  bones  of  man  or  beast 
who  had  perished  there  !"  But  mark 
how  rapid  the  transition  once  more  to 
beauty  and  fertility!  On  emerging 
from  this  desolation  and  reaching  the 
frontier  of  Bokara,  they  had  only 
proceeded  half  an  hour  through  a 
country  resplendent  with  gardens 
and  cultivated  fields  when  the  little 
village  of  Kakemir  lay  before  them. 

Bokara  (the  city)  is  at  this  day  the 
Rome  of  Islam.  There  is  a  small 
garden  not  far  from  it  whose  fame  is 
widely  extended ;  for  in  it  stands  the 
tomb  of  Baha-ed-din,  the  national 
saint  of  Turkistan,  second  in  sancti- 
ty only  to  Mahomet.  Pilgrimages  are 
made  to  this  tomb  and  garden  from 
the  most  remote  parts  of  China ;  and 
the  people  of  Bokara  go  every  week. 
About  three  hundred  asses  ply  for 
hire  between  the  garden  and  the 
city.  It  is  considered  a  miraculous 
devotion  in  these  animals  that,  while 
they  go  thither  with  the  greatest 
alacrly,  only  the  most  determined 
cudgelling  can  turn  them  homeward 


— but  then,  asses  may  have  rural  pro- 
clivities. 

Samarcand  is  the  most  beautiful 
city  in  Turkistan ;  magnificent  in  her 
splendid  gardens,  and  in  the  tale  of 
past  glory  told  in  her  ruins.  Two  of 
the  lofty  domes  which  greet  the  eye  of 
the  stranger  as  he  approaches  are  as- 
sociated with  Timour  —  the  one  is 
his  mosque,  the  other  his  tomb, 
where  the  warlike  Tartar  rests  among 
flowers.  If  we  can  picture  the  many 
lofty  edifices  with  their  imposing 
domes,  and  then  suppose  the  whole 
intermixed  with  closely  planted  gar- 
dens, we  shall  have  a  faint  idea  of 
the  loveliness  in  the  first  view  of 
Samarcand.  The  way  from  Samar- 
cand to  Karshi,  south,  lies  for  the 
last  two  miles  entirely  through  gar- 
dens.* 

In  Karshi  is  a  large  garden  called 
Kalenterkhane  —  literally,  beggar's 
house ;  but  we  would  rather  translate 
it  pilgrim's  house.  The  words  are 
somewhat  synonymous  there,  where 
the  most  saintly  pilgrims  to  the  tomb 
of  the  Prophet  subsist  on  alms.  But 
this  is  a  lovely  garden  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  with  walks  and  beds  of 
flowers';  and  here  the  beau  monde 
of  Karshi  are  to  be  seen  daily  from 
about  two  o'clock  until  past  sunset. 
In  different  parts  of  the  place  the 
Samovins  (gigantic  Russian  tea-ket- 
tles) are  constantly  occupied  in  fur- 
nishing their  customers,  gathered 
around  them  in  circles  two  and  three 
deep,  with  the  national  beverage,  tea. 

We  have  a  slight  glimpse  of  tropi- 
cal flowers  in  a  green-house,  but  no- 
thing of  their  native  beauty  and 
abundance ;  for  what  a  poor  repre- 
sentative of  its  class  is  that  dwarfed 
and  solitary  specimen,  faded  in  col- 
or and  deficient  in  the  perfume  of  a 
hot  climate  !  Then  how  can  imagi- 

*  Mr.  Vambdry's  Central  Asia. 


Floivcrs, 


309 


nation  fill  out  the  entire  landscape — 
when  vines  and  trees  cluster  togeth- 
er, and  twist  their  dark  leaves  and  a 
thousand  such  blossoms  into  one 
sweet  mass?  Then  the  nard  grass; 
and  the  spicy  chandan,  which  old 
books  say  once  covered  the  moun- 
tains of  Malaya ;  and  the  groves  of 
catalpa — not  the  catalpa  of  our  la- 
titude, but  that  which  opens  under  an 
Indian  sky,  which  the  bee  seeks  be- 
fore all  other  blossoms  !  The  morn- 
ing-glory (Ipomea)  here  has  no  fra- 
grance, but  one  which  grows  wild  in 
Southern  Asia  gives  out  a  perfume 
like  cloves. 

One  thing  we  remark  in  Asia  is 
the  quantity  of  flowers  cultivated  in 
cities,  even  the  largest  and  most 
densely  populated;  in  those  of 
China  especially,  flowers  are  a  house- 
hold necessity.  In  most  other  lands 
— certainly  in  ours — they  are  asso- 
ciated with  life  in  the  country,  or,  at 
least,  they  are  the  pleasant  privilege 
of  the  little  village.  Flowers  in  a 
city  are  luxuries  only  within  reach 
of  the  wealthy.  A  bouquet  bought 
in  the  market-place  is  a  rare  excess 
of  floral  expenditure,  and  it  must 
needs  be  trimmed  and  watered  until 
the  last  leaf  withers.  The  dweller 
in  a  labyrinth  of  brick  walls  is  happy 
if  he  can,  one  time  in  a  year,  escape 
to  grass  and  gardens,  and  refresh  me- 
mory that  such  things  exist;  but  in 
Asiatic  cities  flowers  are  a  part  of 
life.  A  modern  traveller  says : 

"After  an  interesting  passage  up  the 
river  to  Canton,  the  stranger  enters  the 
suburbs  of  the  city.  Here  he  is  surprised 
to  see  the  number  of  flowers  and  flower- 
ing-plants which  everywhere  meet  his 
eyes  .  .  .  every  house-window  and 
court-yard  is  filled  with  them." 

The  home  of  Ponqua-qua,  a  re- 
tired Chinese  merchant  and  mandarin, 
was  crowded  with  flowers  and  sweet 


shrubs.  Besides  a  greenhouse  of 
choice  plants,  and  the  customary 
garden,  his  banqueting-hall  opened 
on  a  grove  of  orange-trees  and  ca- 
mellias, all  covered  with  singing-birds. 
In  years  long  past,  the  same  tastes 
prevailed.  Sir  John  Chardon,  who 
was  in  Persia  in  1686,  dwells  on 
delicious  city  gardens  of  "  roses, 
lilies,  and  peach-trees."  And  fur- 
ther back  still,  in  A.D.  1086,  lived 
Atoz,  a  celebrated  Chinese  states- 
man and  writer.  In  a  description 
of  his  villa  and  grounds,  he  enume- 
rates hedges  of  roses  and  pomegra- 
nate-trees— banks  of  odoriferous  flow- 
ers—  bamboo  groves  with  gravel 
walks,  willows  and  cedars,  with  the 
added  treasure  of  a  library  of  5,000 
volumes.* 


In  almost  all  pagan  countries  some 
certain  flowers,  either  real  or  imagi- 
nary, receive  a  sort  of  veneration 
from  being  associated  with  superna- 
tural and  invisible  things.  Often- 
times the  plant  so  honored  is  a  tree, 
as  the  Soma  of  the  Hindoos  (the 
Persian  Homo),  which  was  "  the 
first  tree  planted  by  Ahura-marda 
by  the  fountain  of  life.  He  who 
drinks  of  its  juice  can  never  die." 
In  the  Hindoo  Mahabharet,  the 
mountain  Mandar,  the  occasional 
abode  of  the  deities,  is  covered  with 
a  "  twining  creeper ;"  and  India 
boasts  a  vine  well  befitting  to  deck 
the  home  of  the  gods !  It  is  the 
Bengal  banisteria  of  Linnosus,  the 
most  gigantic  of  all  climbers.  Its 
blossoms  are  pale  pink  shaded  with 
red  and  yellow — so  beautiful  and  so 
fragrant  that  it  has  gained  the  na- 
tive name  "delight  of  the  woods." 
Another  mountain,  Meroo — a  spot 
"  beyond  man's  comprehension  " — 


*  Olivier  de  Sevres. 
of  1804. 


Introduction  to  edition 


310 


F/ozvers. 


is  adorned  with  trees  and  celestial 
plants  of  rare  virtue. 

The  Peldsa  (Butea  frondosa)  is 
held  in  great  veneration;  it  gave 
name  to  the  plain  Plassey,  or  more 
properly  Pelassey.  It  is  named  in  the 
Vedas,  in  the  laws  of  Menu,  and  in 
Sanscrit  poems.  Few  plants  (says 
Sir  W.  Jones)  are  considered  more 
venerable  and  holy.  There  was  a 
famous  grove  of  it  once  at  Crishna- 
nagar. 

The  oriental  Nauclea  gives  an  odor 
like  wine  from  its  gold-colored  blos- 
soms, hence  it  was  called  Halipriga, 
or  beloved  of  Halin,  the  Bacchus 
of  India. 

The  ash-tree  is  very  conspicuous 
in  the  fables  of  the  Edda,  and,  as 
some  part  of  the  Scandinavian  creed 
is  said  to  have  been  carried  thither 
from  Asia,  we  may  speak  of  it  here. 
In  the  fifth  fable  of  the  prose  Edda, 
the  first  man  was  named  Aske  (ash- 
tree),  and  the  first  woman  Emla  (elm- 
tree).  We  ask,  Why  these  two  es- 
pecial trees  ?  But  see  further — they 
were  created  by  the  sons  of  Bore 
from  two  pieces  of  wood  found  float- 
ing in  the  waves — and,  behold,  a  sen- 
sible reason ! 

An  ash-tree  is  in  the  palace  of  the 
gods;  it  typifies  the  universe.  Its 
ramifications  are  countless — penetrat- 
ing all  things — and  under  its  bran- 
ches the  gods  hold  council.  But 
this  ash-tree  in  various  shapes  is 
almost  the  only  green  leaf  in  Scandi- 
navian mythology.  Whatever  else 
Sigge  (Odin)  carried  thither  from 
Asia,  he  left  behind  the  countless 
(and  some  beautiful)  flower  legends. 
Or  did  they  die  in  the  icy  north — 
and  in  their  place  spring  up  that 
machinery  of  blood  and  fierce  pas- 
sions which  made  Valhalla  not  the 
flower-clad  mountain  of  oriental 
climes,  but  a  battle-ground,  where 
life  was  renewed  only  to  be  again 


pleasurably  extinguished,  and  where 
boar's  meat  and  mead  was  joy  suffi- 
cient ? 


Flowers  seem  literally  to  pervade 
almost  all  oriental  literature,  ancient 
and  modern.  They  inspire  kings  to 
lay  aside  care  and  enact  the  poet. 
In  the  middle  of  the  last  century, 
one  of  the  Chinese  emperors,  Kien- 
long,  distinguished  himself  by  a  long 
poem,  in  which  he  painted  the  beau- 
ties of  nature  and  his  admiration  of 
them.  He  was  contemporary  with 
Frederick  the  Great,  who  also,  as  his 
French  friend  sneeringly  informs  us, 
always  travelled  with  a  quire  of  fool- 
scap in  his  pocket.  On  which  of 
the  monarchs  the  muses  smiled  most 
kindly,  no  Chinese  critic  is  here  to 
tell.  See-ma-kung,  a  Chinese  states- 
man, wrote  a  book  called  the  Gar- 
den—and  very  many  similar  might  be 
named.* 

\Vhat  can  express  the  softer  emo- 
tions of  the  soul  as  well  as  flowers  ? 
The  oriental  lover  can  find  no  sweet- 
er name  for  the  object  of  his  passion 
than  "  My  rosebud  !"  Her  form  is  the 
young  palm-tree,  her  brow  the  white 
jasmine,  her  curling  locks  sweet 
hyacinths ;  her  grace  is  the  cypress ; 
she  is  a  fawn  among  aromatic 
shrubs ! 

"  Roses  and  lilies  are  like  the  bright  cheeks  of 

beautiful  maidens, 

In  whose  ears  the  pearls  hang  like  drops  of 
dew  !" 

Listen  to  a  song  from  the  Schar- 
Namah  of  Fedusi,  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  Persian  poets.  In  the 
original,  the  lines  rhyme  in  couplets; 
this  is  only  an  extract.  One  can 
scarce  think  of  the  maiden  as  walk- 
ing the  earth.  Surely  she  must  have 
reclined  on  some  rose,  or  floated 
round  some  lily  ! 

*  See  translation  by  Sir  W.  Jones.  London 
edition,  13  vols. 


Flowers. 


"  The  air  is  perfumed  with  musk,  and 
the  waters  of  the  brooks,  are  they  not  the 
essence  of  roses?  This  jasmine  bending 
under  the  weight  of  its  flowers,  this  thick- 
et of  roses  shedding  its  perfume,  seem 
like  the  divinities  of  the  garden.  Wher- 
ever Menisched,  the  daughter  of  Afrariab, 
appears,  we  find  men  happy.  It  is  she 
who  makes  the  garden  as  brilliant  as  the 
sun  ;  the  daughter  of  an  august  monarch, 
is  she  not  a  new  star  ?  She  is  the  bril- 
liant star  that  rises  over  the  rose  and 
jasmine.  Peerless  beauty !  her  features 
are  veiled,  but  the  elegance  of  her  figure 
rivals  the  cypress.  Her  breath  spreads 
the  perfume  of  amber  around  her ;  upon 
her  cheek  reposes  the  rose.  How  lan- 
guishing are  her  eyes !  Her  lips  have 
stolen  their  color  from  the  wine,  but  their 
odor  is  like  the  essence  of  roses." — 
Translated  from  Sismonde  de  Sismondi. 

Nor  is  it  only  love  which  levies 
this  tribute  on  flowers.  We  subjoin 
an  extract  from  Mesihi,  another  poet 
whose  fame  is  world-wide  :  Mesihi 
the  irresistible  !— who  paints  in  many 
a  lyric,  with  graphic  touch,  the  fasci- 
nations of  beauty,  and  in  the  con- 
cluding verse  of  one  of  them  (with 
happy  self-complacency)  thus  solilo- 
quizes : 

"  Thou  art  a  nightingale  with  a  sweet  voice, 
O  Mesihi !  when  thou  walkest  with  the  damsels 
Whose  cheeks  are  like  roses  !" 

In  the  following  subject,  flowers 
would  be  expected,  but  in  the  long 
poem  of  which  this  is  only  a  part 
they  are  truly — the  whole  : 

ODE  TO  SPRING. 

Thou  hearest  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  that  the 
vernal  season  approaches.     The  spring  has 
spread  a  bower  of  joy  in  every  grove  ;  where 
the  almond-tree  sheds  its  silver  blossoms. 
Be  cheerful;  be  full  of  mirth  ; 

For  the  spring  soon  passes  away,  it  will  not 
last. 

The  groves  and  hills  are  again  adorned  with  all 
sorts  of  flowers.  A  pavilion  of  roses  as  a 
seat  of  pleasure  is  raised  in  the  garden  ;  who 
knows  which  of  us  will  live  when  the  fair 
season  ends? 

Be  cheerful ;  etc.,  etc. 


roses ;    listen  to  me  if  thou  wouldst  be  de- 
lighted. 

Be  cheerful ;  etc.,  etc. 

The  time  is  past  when  the  plants  were  sick,  and 
the  rosebud  hung  its  head  on   its   bosom. 
The  season  comes  in  which  mountains  and 
steeps  are  covered  with  tulips. 
Be  cheerful ;  etc.,  etc. 


Each 


tanan  music.      Be   not   negiecttul 
through  too  great  love  of  the  world. 
Be  cheerful ;  etc.,  etc. 

Mesiki,  trans,  by  Sir  W.  Jones. 

Flowers  are  beautiful — but  such  a 
profusion  of  them  in  print  is  not  con- 
genial to  our  northern  tastes,  despite 
other  testimony  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
some  oriental  scholars.  Of  course, 
for  those  who  are  so  happy  as  to 
read  the  originals  there  is  a  charm 
which  is  lost  in  translation  —  but 
there  is  good  reason  why  we  fail  to 
sympathize.  Hemmed  in  by  cold 
and  snow  half  the  year,  thought, 
passion,  and  deep  feelings  seek  ex- 
pression through  channels  not  made 
of  things  visible ;  and  their  tides  are 
not  the  less  deep  and  strong  because 
less  demonstrative.  The  passionate 
and  imaginative  literature  of  the  East 
is  the  outpourings  of  the  soul  under 
circumstances  widely  different  from 
those  under  which  similar  effusions 
here  (and  some  of  the  most  impas- 
sioned and  eloquent,  too)  have  been 
penned.  Each  calls  forth  different 
tropes  and  figures — and  if  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  the  one  side  to  stir  up  imag- 
ination to  untiring  flights  through 
rose-gardens,  equally  would  the  poet 
of  Negaristan  find  it  impossible  to 
picture  the  charms  of  his  mistress, 
and  die  of  love  or  despair,  before  a 
coal-fire  in  the  lamp-light. 

Who  can  hear  of  roses  without 
calling  up  an  image  of  the  nightin- 
gale, or,  in  Eastern  phrase,  the  Bulbul  ? 
The  mutual  loves  of  the  two  (for 
roses  can  love  there)  have  made  the 
theme  of  tales  and  songs  without 


312 


Flowers. 


number.  Whether  the  story  is  fact 
or  fiction — whether  the  bird  really 
pours  forth  its  most  thrilling  notes  in 
the  atmosphere  of  that  perfume,  may 
be  a  disputed  point  with  "  outside 
barbarians,"  but  with  native  writers 
the  belief  is  fully  accepted.  Here, 
again,  the  repetition  is  wearisome ; 
and  here,  again,  it  is  pleasant  to 
blame — not  our  lack  of  imagination, 
but  our  peculiar  surroundings;  for, 
alas !  our  vault  empyrean  is  colorless 
or  cloudy ;  the  melodious  Bulbul  a 
thing  to  dream  of;  ,and  the  song, 
generally,  only  a  prosaic  translation  ! 

The  southwestern  part  of  Asia  is 
the  land  of  spices,  frankincense,  and 
myrrh.  It  is  also  the  land  of  sweet 
flowers,  although  few  modern  travel- 
lers say  much  about  them.  One 
reason,  perhaps,  is  that  the  extreme 
heat  obliges  the  stranger  to  rest  most 
of  the  day,  and  night  is  for  stars,  not 
flowers. 

But  who  ever  associates  flowers 
with  Arabia?  Is  it  the  prolonged 
and  baleful  influence  of  that  little 
wood-cut  map  which  monopolized 
a  whole  page  in  infantile  geography 
— the  map  which  presents  Arabia 
arrayed  in  dots,  which  we  were  then 
and  there  informed  meant  desert? 
Or  is  it  the  omnipresent  muffled 
figures,  camels,  and  tents  which 
typify  Arabia  in  all  books  de- 
voted to  juveniles?  Whatever  the 
cause,  Arabia  and  Arabians  always 
come  to  mind  sandy  and  wander- 
ing. 

Not  so  the  Arabia  which  Niebuhr 
traversed  in  the  last  part  of  the  last 
century,  with  most  ample  opportuni- 
ties for  information. 

Arabia,  he'  writes,  enjoys  almost 
constant  verdure.  It  is  true,  most 
of  the  trees  shed  their  leaves,  and 
annual  plants  wither  and  are  repro- 
duced ;  but  the  interval  between  the 
fall  of  old  leaves  and  the  reappear- 


ance of  others  is  so  short  that  it  is 
scarcely  observable.* 

Here  are  found  most  of  the  plants 
of  two  zones.  On  the  high  lands, 
those  of  Europe  and  Northern  or 
rather  Middle  Asia;  on  the  plains, 
those  of  India  and  Africa,  not  pre- 
cisely identical  with  those  of  Europe, 
but  a  different  species  or  variety. 
Delicious  and  abundant  also  are  all 
kinds  of  tropical  fruits ;  and  so  plen- 
tiful the  melons  that  they  serve  as 
food  for  their  camels.  From  Arabia 
were  also  first  brought  many  of  those 
plants  which  we  cultivate  as  curiosi- 
ties rather  than  for  beauty — the  cactus 
tribe.  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
has  its  stem  expanded  to  a  globular 
form,  about  the  size  of  a  man's  head ; 
this  rests  on  the  earth,  and  from  it 
proceed  branches  bearing  flowers. 
In  seeking  for  the  most  showy 
flowers,  we  must  turn  to  their  forest 
trees.  Their  forests  are  not  very  ex- 
tensive, and  such  as  they  have  are 
rarely  seen  by  strangers,  being  quite 
distant  from  the  usual  course  of 
travel.  But  the  majestic  height  of 
the  trees,  covered  with  bright-colored 
and  fragrant  blossoms,  are  in  marked 
contrast  to  our  own  forest  trees, 
whose  flowers,  generally,  can  scarce- 
ly be  distinguished  from  the  leaves. 
One  kind,  the  keura,  is  so  very  fra- 
grant that  a  small  blossom  will  per- 
fume an  entire  apartment.  Among 
small  sweet  plants  is  the  panicratum, 
something  like  the  sea-daffodil,  of 
the  purest  white ;  an  hibiscus,  of  the 
most  brilliant  red ;  and  the  moscharia, 
which  gives  from  leaves  and  flowers 
the  perfume  of  musk.  But  a  cata- 
logue of  their  names  alone  would  ex- 
ceed our  limits. 

"With  these  glorious  blossoms,"  says 
Mr.  Niebuhr,  "the  peasantry  retain  the 

*  Niebuhr's  Arabia,  vol.  ii. 


Flowers. 


313 


ancient  custom  of  crowning  themselves 
on  certain  days  of  joy  and  festivity." 

There  is  poetry  in  this  custom. 
"  It  is  said  that  this  nation  alone  has 
produced  more  poets  than  all  others 
united"  (Sismondi).  Arabia  shares 
more  than  flowers  with  the  rest  of 
Asia ;  she.  too,  joins  to  them  poetry. 
Her  people  have  the  same  fertile 
imagination,  aversion  to  the  re- 
straints of  cities,  love  of  freedom 
and  of  nature,  quick  feelings  and 
ardent  passions,  which  make  the 
true  poet.  The  day  is  past — even 
so  long  past  that  they  have  forgotten 
it — when  all  this  found  expression  in 
compositions,  which  we  read  now, 
and  marvel  at  their  rich  inventions 
and  glowing  imagery ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, they  are  poets  still !  A  distin- 
guished French  author  writes : 


"  Through  the  whole  extent  of  the  Mo- 
hammedan dominions,  in  Turkey,  Persia, 
and  even  to  the  extremity  of  India,  a  nu- 
merous class  of  Arabs,  both  men  and 
women,  find  a  livelihood  in  reciting  these 
tales  to  crowds  who  delight  to  forget  their 
annoyances  in  the  pleasing  dreams  of  im- 
agination. In  the  coffee-houses  of  the 
Levant,  one  of  these  men  will  gather  a 
silent  crowd  around  him,  whom  he  will 
excite,  by  his  tale,  to  terror  or  pity;  but 
more  frequently  he  will  picture  to  his  au- 
dience those  brilliant  and  fantastic  visions 
which  are  the  patrimony  of  Eastern  ima- 
ginations. The  public  squares  of  cities 
abound  with  these  story-tellers,  who  fill 
up,  too,  the  dull  hours  of  the  seraglio. 
Physicians  recommend  them  often  to 
their  patients,  to  soothe  pain  or  induce 
sleep  ;  and  those  accustomed  to  the  sick 
modulate  their  voices  and  soften  their 
tones  as  slumber  steals  over  the  suf- 
ferer." 


Seven  of  the  most  remarkable  old 
Arabian  poems,  written  in  gold,  are 
hung  in  the  Caaba,  or  Temple,  at 
Mecca ;  and  the  authors  show  them- 
selves not  in  the  least  degree  behind 


other  orientals  in  heaping  up  flowers 
and  metaphors. 

Flowers  were  once  held,  in  Arabia, 
of  high  importance  in  science.  Next 
to  the  sciences  of  mathematics,  they 
valued  that  of  medicine;  and  many 
volumes  were  written  on  their  medi- 
cal plants.  Somewhere  about  the 
year  941,  Aben-al-Be'ither  made  a 
botanical  tour  over  Europe  and  Asia, 
and  a  part  of  Africa,  and,  on  his  re- 
turn, published  a  volume  On  the  Vir- 
tues of  Plants.  Still  earlier  than  this, . 
in  775,  Al-Mansour,  the  second  prince 
of  the  Abassides,  invited  a  Greek  phy- 
sician to  his  court,  and  obtained 
through  him  translations  of  many 
learned  Greek  works  on  medicinal 
plants.  Such  are  flowers  in  Asia. 

It  is  no  wonder  that,  where  nature 
has  lavished  her  choicest  productions, 
and  all  classes  delight  in  cultivating 
them,  flowers  have  increased  ad  iti- 
finitum.  No  wonder  their  brilliant 
hues  inspired  a  native  poet  to  sing: 


"A  rainbow  has  descended  on  the  garden." 

Mesihi. 


II. 


THE  little  colony  who  passed  from 
Asia  to  Egypt  and  first  peopled  that 
portion  of  the  Mediterranean  shore, 
in  that  time  so  long  past — time  with- 
out a  date — must  have  carried  with 
them  many  of  their  native  plants; 
for  several  found  indigenous  only  in 
India  are  found  cultivated  there. 
Among  others  is  the  Nymphas  ne- 
lumbo,  the  Lotus.  This  bore  in  In- 
dia a  sacred  character;  the  Hindoo 
fable  taught  that  the  little  god  of 
love,  their  Cupid,  was  first  seen 
floating  down  the  Ganges  on  a  lotus 
leaf.  In  very  many  ways  this  flow- 
er is  interwoven  with  the  Hindoo 
creed,  or  introduced  in  their  litera- 
ture— as  in  the  following.  It  is  part 


Flowers. 


of  a  sublime  Hymn  to  Narayena,  in 
which  that  great  Invisible  is  thus  ad- 
dressed : 

"  Omniscient  spirit!  whose  all-ruling  power 
Bids  from  each  sense  bright  emanations 

beam, 

Glows  in  the  rainbow,  sparkles  in  the  stream, 
Smiles  in  the  bud,  and  glistens  in  the  flower 
That  crowns  each  vernal  bower!" 

— and  the  radiant  being,  dazzling  and 
beautiful,  who  springs  to  life  and  ty- 
pifies the  material  universe, 

"  Heavenly  pensive  on  the  lotus  lay, 
That  blossomed  at  his  touch,  and  shed  a  golden 
ray."  * 

In  Egypt,  when  carried  thither,  it 
naturally  retained  a  sort  of  sacred 
character.  It  is  represented  in  their 
paintings  and  sculptures  more  fre- 
quently than  any  other  plant;  in 
scenes  of  festivity  and  processions, 
where  it  is  twined  with  other  flowers 
into  wreaths  and  chaplets;  and  also 
in  sacred  scenes.  Mr.  Wilkinson  de- 
scribes a  painting  found  at  Thebes, 
in  which  is  represented  the  final  judg- 
ment of  a  human  being  : 

"  Osiris  is  seated  on  a  throne,  as  judge 
of  the  dead.  He  is  attended  by  Isis  and 
Nepthys,  and  before  him  are  the  four 
Genii  of  Amenti,  standing  on  a  Lotus. 
Horus  introduces  the  deceased  whose  ac- 
tions have  been  weighed  in  the  scales  of 
Truth." 

Lotus  buds  have  been  often  found 
in  the  old  tombs.  It  was  also  intro- 
duced into  their  architecture.  The 
most  favorite  capital  for  a  column 
was  a  full-blown  water-plant,  suppos- 
ed to  be  the  papyrus,  with  a  bud  of 
the  same,  or  a  lotus  bud.  A  large 
variety  of  it  called  Lotomelia  is  culti- 
vated there  still  in  gardens. 

Within  the  last  few  years,  some  in- 
formation has  been  gathered  relating 
to  the  domestic  life  of  the  early 

*  Translation  of  Sir  W.  Jones. 


Egyptians,  which  was  previously  only 
conjecture.  To  use  the  words  of  Sir 
J.  G.  Wilkinson :  "  It  has  been  drawn 
from  a  comparison  of  the  paintings, 
sculptures,  and  monuments  still  ex- 
isting, with  the  accounts  of  ancient 
authors." 

On  fragments  of  stone  in  different 
degrees  of  preservation,  taken  from 
the  ruins  of  temples,  tombs,  and  dead 
cities,  are  found  representations  of 
those  who  once  stood  here,  surround- 
ed by  all  the  wealth  and  glory,  the 
luxuries  and  magnificence  of  which 
this  is  the  wreck.  Cut  in  lines  which 
time  has  not  all  effaced,  or  traced  in 
colors  which  centuries  have  scarcely 
dimmed,  we  see  here  master  and 
slave,  kings,  priests,  and  people,  in 
all  the  occupations  of  ordinary  life — 
a  half-obliterated  record  of  the  pur- 
suits, customs,  habits,  and  tastes  of 
a  nation  so  remote  that  their  place 
in  the  past  cannot  be  even  conjectur- 
ed. We  only  know,  from  unmistaka- 
ble evidence,  that  they  came  origi- 
nally from  Asia,  and  lived  thus  in 
the  land  of  Egypt.  Looking  at  these 
fragments  of  their  skilful  workman- 
ship, thought  goes  back  to  an  era  al- 
most fabulous!  For  who  can  call 
up  even  in  fancy  that  period,  when 
the  Nile  ran  through  its  primitive 
landscape,  and  no  foot  of  man  had 
pressed  its  shore !  When  no  cities 
stood  in  that  fertile  valley,  and  the 
first  stone  of- the  first  pyramid  was 
not  yet  laid  !  What  a  space  of  time 
must  have  elapsed  between  the  first 
landing  and  the  accomplishment  of 
all  these  mighty  labors  !  There  is  a 
mist  over  it  all,  gathered  through 
uncounted  centuries;  and  although 
science  and  research  have  thrown 
some  light,  it  is  not  much  more  than 
the  flickering  torch  with  which  one 
walks  at  midnight ;  a  little  is  reveal- 
ed near  at  hand,  but  all  beyond  is 
darkness. 


Flowers. 


315 


Nevertheless,  so  much  of  interest 
is  connected  with  Egypt  that  the 
least  added  knowledge  is  of  value ; 
for  not  only  is  it  mentioned  by  the 
most  ancient  profane  writers  as  mys- 
terious in  antiquity  even  to  them, 
but  it  is  the  land  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. Mounds  of  ruins,  great  in 
height  and  extent,  on  a  branch  of 
the  Nile,  yet  mark  the  place  of  Ta- 
nis,  *  the  Zoan  of  Scripture,  where, 
according  to  the  Psalmist,  Moses 
wrought  those  miracles  which  ended 
in  the  exodus  of  the  Jews.  On  paint- 
ings found  at  Thebse,  the  No-Ammon 
of  Scripture,  are  representations  of 
slaves  engaged  in  making  bricks, 
with  taskmasters  superintending  them; 
and  although  these  may  not  be  Jews, 
for  brick-making  was  a  universal  me- 
nial occupation,  it  carries  us  back  to 
the  days  when  "  bricks  without  straw  " 
were  demanded.  The  departure  of 
the  Israelites  from  bondage,  B.C.  1491, 
was  in  the  reign  of  Thotmes  III., 
the  Pharaoh  of  Scripture,  which  re- 
cords his  destruction  in  that  day, 
when, 

"  Pharaoh  went  in  on  horseback  with 
his  chariots  and  horsemen  into  the  sea  ; 
and  the  Lord  brought  back  upon  them 
the  waters  of  the  sea,  .  .  .  neither 
did  so  much  as  one  of  them  remain,  .  .  . 
and  they  (the  Israelites)  saw  the  Egyp- 
tians dead  upon  the  sea-shore." 

It  is  remarkable  that  a  drawing 
found  at  Thebes  represents  his  son 
Amenoph,  who  succeeded  him,  as 
coming  to  the  throne  a  mere  child, 
under  the  guidance  of  his  mother. 
But  we  digress  too  far. 

Among  other  things  learned  by 
patient  research,  we  perceive  the  ad- 
miration of  the  early  Egyptians  for 
flowers,  and  the  care  with  which  they 
cultivated  them.  "  Flowers  are  re- 
presented on  their  dresses,  chairs, 

*  Anthon's  Anc.  and  Mediieva.1,  p.  733. 


boxes,  boats,  on  everything  suscepti- 
ble of  ornamentation ;  and  flowers 
and  leaves  are  painted  on  the  linen 
found  preserved  in  the  tombs  "  ( Wil- 
kinson). 

Pliny,  in  enumerating  the  flowers 
of  ancient  Egypt,  says  the  myrtle  is 
the  most  odoriferous;  the  reason, 
doubtless,  for  its  being  so  often 
placed,  as  now  found,  about  the 
dead.  At  present  it  is  only  cultivat- 
ed in  gardens.  The  other  plants 
Pliny  names  as  indigenous  are 
the  violet,  rose,  myosotis,  clematis, 
chrysanthemum,  and  indeed  nearly 
the  whole  catalogue  of  a  modern 
garden.  Figures  on  their  paintings 
are  decked  with  crowns  and  garlands 
of  anemone,  acacia,  convolvulus, 
and  some  others.  In  the  old  tombs 
are  found  date-trees,  sycamores,  and 
the  tamarisk. 

There  is  a  design  at  Thebes  which 
represents  the  funeral  procesjion  of 
one  evidently  of  rank.  There  are 
cars  covered  with  palm  branches, 
then  female  mourners,  other  person- 
ages, and  next  a  coffin  on  a  sledge 
decked  with  flowers. 

In  another  very  extensive  and 
elaborate  painting  a  similar  proces- 
sion is  represented  as  crossing  the 
lake  of  the  dead,  and  going  from 
thence  to  the  tombs.  The  first  boat 
contains  coffins  decked  with  flowers ; 
in  another  is  a  high-priest,  who  offers 
incense  before  a  table  of  offerings ;  an- 
other boat  contains  female  mourners, 
others  male  mourners,  and  others 
chairs,  boxes,  etc. 

"  Gardens  are  frequently  represented 
in  the  tombs  of  Thebes  and  other  parts 
of  Egypt,  many  of  which  are  remarkable 
for  their  extent."  ( Wilkinson?) 

To  better  understand  an  ancient 
Egyptian  garden,  we  will  first  look 
at  their  dwellings.  In  some  few 
cities  where  the  size  and  something 


3i6 


Flowers. 


like  a  plan  can  be  distinguished,  the 
streets  are  seen,  some  of  them  wide, 
but  more  very  narrow.  Their  houses, 
garden-walls,  public  places,  all  but  the 
temples,  were  of  brick.  The  plan  of  the 
houses  was  similar  to  what  now  pre- 
vails in  warm  climates ;  the  principal 
apartments  were  ranged  round  a 
court-yard,  with  chambers  above 
them.  In  this  court  were  a  few 
trees,  some  boxes  of  flowering-plants, 
and  a  reservoir  of  water.  Their 
houses  were  generally  three  stories  in 
height. 

"  Besides  these  town-houses,  the 
wealthy  Egyptians  had  extensive  villas, 
containing  spacious  gardens,  watered  by 
canals  communicating  with  the  Nile. 
They  had  also  tanks  of  water  in  different 
parts  of  this  garden,  which  served  for 
ornament,  and  also  for  irrigation  when  the 
Nile  was  low.  On  these  the  master  of 
the  place  amused  himself  and  friends 
by  excursions  in  a  pleasure-boat." 

Such  a  scene  is  represented  in  an 
old  painting.  The  company  are 
seated  in  the  boat  under  a  canopy ; 
while  slaves,  or  at  least  menials, 
walk  along  the  bank  and  drag  it  after 
them,  in  a  way  similar  to  our  canal 
navigation. 

"  So  fond  were  the  Egyptians  of  trees 
and  flowers,  and  of  gracing  their  gardens 
with  all  the  profusion  that  could  be  ob- 
tained, that  they  exacted  a  tribute  of  rare 
productions  from  the  nations  tributary  to 
them  ;  foreigners  from  distant  countries 
are  represented  as  bearing  plants,  among 
other  presents, to  the  Egyptian  kings."* 

To  ancient  Egypt  we  are  doubt- 
less indebted  for  the  invention  of 
artificial  flowers,  now  so  prominent 
in  female  attire.  They  were  made 
there  first  from  the  papyrus,  the 
plant  of  which  paper  was  made. 
Some  old  writer  relates  that,  when 
Agesilaus  was  in  Egypt,  he  was  so 

*  See  illus.  Lond.  ed.  of  Sir  T.  G.  Wilkinson's 
A  nc.  Egyp. 


charmed  with  a  kind  of  crowns  and 
chaplets  which  he  saw  in  use  there, 
formed  to  resemble  flowers,  that  he 
carried  many  of  them  home  with 
him  to  Sparta.  They  were  perhaps 
imitated  in  Greece  and  became  uni- 
versal, yet  retained  the  name  of  the 
inventors ;  for  Pliny  says  : 

"  Sic  coronis  e  floribus  receptis  paulo 
mox  sabiere  quse  vocantur  ^Egyptiae,  ac 
deinde  hibernse,  quum  terra  flores  negat, 
ramento  e  comibus  tincto." — Plin.  xxi.  3. 

Everything  that  pictures  the  do- 
mestic life  of  this  people  has  such 
great  interest  that  it  is  difficult  to 
avoid  digression.  Every  record  of  it 
expresses  wealth  and  their  peculiar 
tastes.  Walls  are  profusely  covered 
with  various  designs,  doors  are  stuc- 
coed to  imitate  costly  wood,  and  their 
carved  chairs  have  furnished  symmet- 
rical copies  to  modern  art.  Interspers- 
ed with  these  things,  we  have  these 
traces  of  their  flowers  and  gardens — a 
story  of  their  rural  pleasures  in  that 
day  of  glory,  when  they  built  the 
pyramids — that  day  which  has  no 
date  !  The  hieroglyphics  carved  in 
stone,  on  which  they  doubtless  se- 
curely relied  for  fame  and  a  name  to 
the  end  of  time,  yet  cover  the  walls 
stiil  standing  of  their  superb  temples ; 
they  are  traced  on  tombs — on  urns 
— on  the  rocks  which  surround  cities 
— on  the  sarcophagi  of  the  dead, 
even  on  the  very  linen  which  envel- 
opes them — but  they  speak  in  a  lost 
language!  We  comprehend  only 
one  brief  epitaph — that  a  numerous 
and  opulent  people  have  entirely  dis- 
appeared. 

In  the  middle  ages,  Egypt  was 
still  noted  for  flowers  and  valuable 
aromatic  shrubs  and  herbs.  Cyrene 
in  the  north  part  was  remarkable 
for  the  beauty  of  its  adjacent  coun- 
try, which  even  then,  says  a  writer, 


TJic  House  of  Yorke. 


317 


bore  traces  of  having  been  in  former 
times  a  perfect  flower-garden. 

In  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar,  roses 
must  have  received  particular  atten- 
tion and  extensive  cultivation,  for  we 


read  that  a  ship-load  of  the  most 
fragrant  was  sent  as  a  gift  to  Caesar. 
He  received  them,  however,  with 
the  graceless  remark  that  he  could 
show  finer  ones  in  Rome. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   YORKE. 


CHAPTER    V. 


NEW      FRIENDS 


ENOUGH  is  not  only  as  good  as  a 
feast,  it  is  better;  and  a  little  less 
than  enough  is  better  yet.  How 
dear  is  that  affection  in  which  we 
have  something  to  forgive !  How 
charming  is  that  beauty  where  the 
defects  serve  as  indices  to  point  out 
how  great  the  beauty  is!  How 
wholesome  is  that  salt  of  labor  which 
gives  a  taste  to  leisure !  For  since 
the  time  of  Eve,  the  point  of  perfec- 
tion, save  with  God,  has  been  the 
point  of  decay ;  and  profuse  wealth 
has  often  deprived  its  possessor  of 
great  riches. 

What  we  arrive  at  by  this  pre- 
amble is  that  the  Yorkes  had  been 
unconsciously  suffering  from  the  apa- 
thy of  satisfied  wants,  and  were  now 
delighted  to  find  that  comparative 
poverty  brings  many  a  pleasure  in 
its  train. 

"  Mamma,"  Clara  exclaimed,  "  I  do 
believe  there  is  a  certain  pleasure  in 
making  the  best  of  things." 

It  was  the  morning  after  their  ar- 
rival, and  the  young  woman  was 
standing  in  a  chair,  driving  a  nail  to 
hang  on  a  picture.  She  had  begun 
by  groaning  at  sight  of  the  wall,  a 
white  stucco  painted  over  with  brown 
flower-pots,  holding  blossoming  rose- 
trees.  But  the  cord  of  the  frame 


matched  those  roses,  and  in  some 
unexplained  way  the  picture  looked 
well  on  that  background. 

Mrs.  Yorke,  looking  on,  smiled  at 
the  remark.  "There  is  a  very  cer- 
tain pleasure  in  it,  my  dear,"  she 
said ;  "  and  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
found  it  out." 

Clara  considered,  gave  the  nail 
another  blow,  evened  the  picture, 
and  contemplated  it  with  her  head 
on  one  side.  It  was  an  engraving 
of  Le  Brun's  picture  of  Alexander  at 
the  camp  of  Darius.  "  Mamma,"  she 
began  again,  "  I  think  that  Alexan- 
der the  Great  ought  to  have  had  an- 
other name  after  the  adjective." 

"  What  name,  child  ?" 

"  Goose  !  Why  didn't  he,  instead 
of  crying  for  more  worlds  to  con- 
quer, try  to  get  at  the  inside  of  the 
one  he  had  conquered  the  husk  of? 
Why  did  not  he  study  botany,  ge- 
ology, and — poverty  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  Clara,"  the  moth- 
er replied.  "  Excess  is  always  blind- 
ing. Why,  we  might  have  our  whole 
house  covered  with  morning-glories, 
yet  never  see  the  little  silver  tree  that 
stands  down  in  a  garden  of  light  at 
the  bottom  of  each." 

Clara  clapped  her  hands  with  de- 
light. "  But  fancy  the  house  cover- 


The  Plouse  of  Yorke, 


ed  from  top  to  bottom  with  morn- 
ing-glories all  in  bloom  !  It  would 
be  magical !" 

"  Fancy  yourself  falling  out  of  that 
chair,"  suggested  Mrs.  Yorke. 

The  girl  stepped  down,  and  walk- 
ed thoughtfully  toward  the  door. 
"  How  odd  it  is,"  she  said,  pausing 
on  the  threshold,  and  looking  back ; 
"  I  never  see  one  truth,  but  immediate- 
ly I  perceive  another  looking  over  its 
shoulder.  And  the  last  is  greater 
than  the  first." 

"  It  is  perhaps  an  example  of  truth 
which  you  see  at  first,"  Mrs.  Yorke 
said.  "  And  afterward  you  perceive 
the  truth  itself." 

Clara  went  slowly  toward  the 
stairs,  and  her  mother  listened  after 
her,  expecting  to  hear  some  philoso- 
phical remark  flung  down  over  the 
balusters.  Instead  of  that,  she  heard 
a  loud  call  to  Betsey  that  the  hens 
and  chickens  were  all  in  the  parlor, 
screams  of  laughter  at  the  scene  of 
their  violent  expulsion,  then  a  clear 
lark-song  as  Clara  finished  her  as- 
cent. 

Up-stairs,  Melicent  and  Hester 
were  busy  and  cheerful,  quiet,  too, 
till  Clara  came.  She  soon  created 
a  breeze,  and  sounds  of  eager  discus- 
sion came  down  to  their  mother's 
ears.  They  were  laying  plans  for 
the  summer.  They  would  have  com- 
pany down  from  Boston,  and,  when 
winter  came,  would  each  in  turn  visit 
the  city.  They  would  have  more 
help  in  the  house;  and,  in  order  to 
pay  for  it,  would  write  for  publica- 
tion. Every  one  else  wrote ;  why 
not  they  ?  Indeed,  Melicent  had 
appeared  in  print,  a  friendly  editor 
having  taken  with  thanks  some 
sketches  she  had  written  between 
drive  and  opera.  "  What  is  worth 
printing  is  worth  paying  for,"  she  said 
now ;  "  and  I  shall  feel  no  reluc- 
tance in  announcing  that  in  future 
my  Pegasus  runs  for  a  purse." 


Clara  had  never  been  before  the 
public ;  but  she  had  reams  of  paper 
written  over  with  stories,  poems,  plays, 
and  even  sermons.  She  caught  fire  at 
everything,  and,  in  the  first  excite- 
ment, dashed  off  some  crude  compo- 
sition, but  seldom  or  never  went 
over  it  coolly.  Melicent,  to  whom 
alone  she  showed  her  productions, 
had  discouraged  her.  "  You  are  like 
Nick  Bottom,  and  insist  on  doing 
everything,"  she  said.  "  It  is  a  sign 
of  incompetence." 

Miss  Yorke  was  one  of  those  hy- 
per-fastidious persons  who  establish 
a  reputation  for  critical  ability  sim- 
ply by  finding  fault  with  everything. 
Clara,  on  the  contrary,  was  suppos- 
ed to  have  a  defective  taste,  because 
she  was  always  admiring,  and  search- 
ing out  hidden  beauties. 

But  now  at  least  Melicent  conde- 
scended to  admit  that  her  sister 
might  be  able  to  accomplish  some- 
thing in  a  small  way,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  they  should  broach  the 
subject  to  the  assembled  family  that 
very  evening. 

At  this  encouragement,  Clara  re- 
joiced. "  You  see,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  I've  been  afraid  that  I  might  gra- 
dually grow  into  one  of  those  lugu- 
brious Dorcases  who  go  round  laying 
everybody  out." 

Edith,  following  her  aunt  and  cou- 
sins about,  rejoiced  in  everything.  To 
her,  this  house,  with  its  rat-holes  and 
its  dingy  paint  and  plaster,  was  su- 
perb. The  space,  the  sunshine,  the 
air  of  elegance  in  spite  of  defects,  the 
gentle  voices  and  ways,  all  enchanted 
her.  She  found  herself  at.  home. 
Her  own  room  was  the  last  bubble 
on  her  cup  of  joy.  They  had  given 
her  the  middle  chamber  over  the 
front  door,  with  a  window  opening 
out  on  to  the  portico,  and  each 
of  the  family  had  contributed  some 
article  of  use  or  adornment.  Mrs. 
Yorke  gave  an  alabaster  statuette 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


319 


of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  Mr.  Yorke  a 
Uouay  Bible,  Melicent  hung  an  en- 
graving of  the  Sistine  Madonna 
where  Edith's  first  waking  glance 
would  fall  upon  it,  Clara  gave  an 
olive-wood  crucifix  from  Jerusalem, 
with  a  shell  for  holy  water,  Hester 
brought  an  ivory  rosary,  and  Carl  a 
miscal  in  Latin  and  French,  which 
she  must  learn  to  read,  he  said. 

They  covered  the  floor  with  a  soft 
Turkey  carpet,  set  up  a  little  iron 
bed,  and  draped  it  whitely,  and  put 
a  crimson  valance  over  the  lace  cur- 
tain of  her  window.  The  sisters 
worked  sweetly  and  harmoniously 
in  fitting  up  this  bower  for  their 
young  cousin,  and  were  pleased 
to  see  her  delight  in  what  to  them 
were  common  things.  When  she 
gratefully  embraced  each  one,  and 
kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  they  felt 
more  than  repaid.  Clara  blushed 
up  with  pleasure  at  her  cousin's  caress. 

"  The  little  gypsy  has  taking  ways," 
Carl  thought ;  and  he  said,  "  If  you 
kiss  Clara  that  way  many  times,  she 
will  have  roses  grow  in  her  cheeks." 

Then  Edith  went  down-stairs  to 
her  aunt,  and  Carl  went  out  to  assist 
his  father. 

Mr.  Yorke  was  no  exception  to 
the  general  cheerfulness.  He  found' 
himself  more  interested,  while  plan- 
ning his  summer's  work  with  Patrick, 
than  he  had  ever  been  while  engag- 
ed in  the  finest  landscape  gardening, 
with  an  artist  at  his  orders.  Early 
in  the  morning  he  had  captured  two 
boys  who  were  loitering  about,  and 
they  willingly  engaged  themselves 
for  the  day  to  pick  up  wheel-barrow 
loads  of  small  stones,  and  throw  them 
into  the  mud  of  the  avenue. 

"  Mr.  Yorke  has  got  himself  into 
business,"  Patrick  remarked  to  Carl. 
"  That  avenue  has  a  wonderful  appe- 
tite of  its  own." 

Carl  repeated  this  observation  to 
his  father.  "  And  I  think  Pat  is 


right,"  he  added.  "  See  how  com- 
placently that  mud  takes  in  all  you 
throw  to  it.  It  seems  to  smile  over 
the  last  load  of  pebbles." 

Mr.  Yorke  put  up  his  eye-glasses. 
He  always  did  that  when  he  wished 
to  intensify  a  remark  or  a  glance. 
"  I  intend  to  make  these  avenues 
solid,  if  I  have  to  upset  the  whole 
estate  into  them,"  he  remarked. 

Mrs.  Yorke  sat  in  a  front  window 
holding  an  embroidery-frame,  and 
Edith  occupied  a  stool  at  her  feet. 
The  child  had  told  all  her  story; 
her  recollections  of  her  mother,  her 
life  with  the  Rowans,  of  Captain 
Cary,  and  her  ring.  But  of  Mr. 
Rowan's  burial  she  said  nothing. 
That  was  to  remain  a  secret  with 
those  who  had  assisted. 

When  Mrs.  Yorke  occasionally 
dropped  her  work,  and  sat  looking 
out  at  her  husband  and  son,  Edith 
caressed  the  hand  lying  idly  on  that 
glowing  wool,  and  held  her  own  slen- 
der brown  fingers  beside  those  fair 
ones,  for  a  contrast.  She  could  not 
enough  admire  her  aunt's  snowdrop 
delicacy,  rich  hair,  and  soft  eyes. 

Mr.  Yorke  was  too  much  engross- 
ed to  notice  his  wife ;  but  Carl  look- 
ed up  now  and  then  for  a  glance  and 
smile. 

"  Do  you  recollect  anything  that 
happened  when  you  were  a  little 
girl,  Aunt  Amy  ?"  Edith  asked. 

The  lady  smiled  and  sighed  in  the 
same  breath.  "  I  was  this  moment 
thinking  of  a  tea-party  I  had  on  that 
large  rock  you  can  just  see  at  the 
right.  I  had  heard  my  father  read 
Midsummer- Night's  Dream,  and  my 
fancy  was  captivated  by  it.  So  I  in- 
vited Titania,  Oberon,  and  all  the 
fairies,  and  they  came.  It  was  an 
enchanting  banquet.  The  plates 
were  acorn-cups,  the  knives  and 
forks  were  pine-needles,  the  -cakes 
were  white  pebbles,  and  we  drank 
drops  of  dew  out  of  moss  vases." 


320 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


"  I've  read  that  play  too,"  Edith 
said  brightly.  "  Mr.  Rowan  had  it. 
And  I  read  about  Ariel.  But  I 
didn't  like  Caliban  nor  Bottom,  and 
I  think  it  was  a  shame  to  cheat  Ti- 
tania  so.  Do  you  remember  any- 
thing else  ?" 

"  Yes.  When  I  was  five  or  six 
years  old,  my  father  brought  home  a 
new  map  of  the  State  of  Maine,  and 
hung  it  on  that  wall  opposite.  It 
was  bright  and  shining,  and  had 
the  name  in  great  letters  across  the 
whole.  My  father  held  me  up  be- 
fore it  in  his  arms,  and  said  I  should 
have  a  silver  quarter  if  I  would  tell 
him  what  the  great  letters  spelt. 
How  I  tried  !  not  so  much  for  the 
silver,  though  I  wanted  it,  as  for  the 
honor  of  success,  and  to  please  my 
father.  But  I  couldn't  make  less 
than  two  syllables  of  it.  To  me 
M,  A,  I,  N,  E,  spelt  Maine.  But 
my  father  gave  me  the  quarter.  I  sup- 
pose he  thought  that  the  language, 
and  not  I,  was  at  fault." 

"  I.  don't  see  why  letters  should  be 
put  into  words  -when  they  are  not 
needed  there,"  Edith  remarked.  "  I 
would  like  to  have  them  left  out.  It 
makes  a  bother,  and  takes  time." 

The  child  did  not  know  that  she 
was  uttering  revolutionary  sentiments, 
and  that  the  reddest  of  red  republi- 
canism lurked  in  her  speech. 

Mrs.  Yorke  mused  over  her  em- 
broidery, set  a  golden  stitch  in  a  vio- 
let, drew  it  too  tightly,  and  had  to 
loosen  it. 

"  Oh  !"  Edith  exclaimed,  her  me- 
mory catching  on  that  thread.  "  That 
makes  me  recollect  that  I  knit  a 
tight  strip  into  the  heel  of  Mr.  Row- 
an's stocking,  and  I  can  see  just  how 
it  looked.  But  I  didn't  know  it 
then." 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels,  and 
Mrs.  Yorke  looked  up  to  see  a  car- 
riage drawn  by  a  pair  of  greys  com- 
ing up  the  avenue.  Major  Cleave- 


land  had  lost  no  time  in  calling  on 
his  neighbors. 

Mr.  Yorke  went  down  to  meet  his 
visitor,  the  road  being  too  peniten- 
tial for  travel,  and  the  two  walked  up 
together.  They  had  known  each 
other  by  sight  in  Boston,  where  the 
major  spent  his  winters,  but  had  no 
farther  acquaintance.  Now  they  met 
cordially,  and  stood  a  while  talking 
in  the  portico  before  going  in  to  see 
the  ladies.  Major  Cleaveland  was 
fresh-faced,  pleasant  -  looking,  and 
rather  pompous  im  manner.  A  deep 
crape  on  his  hat  proclaimed  him  a 
widower.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Cleaveland 
had  not  long  survived  young  Mrs. 
Yorke,  and  the  two  had,  ere  this,  let 
us  hope,  amicably  settled  the  ques- 
tion of  precedence. 

The  visit  was  an  agreeable  one  to 
all,  though  it  was  evident  that  the 
visitor  felt  more  at  ease  with  the  ladies 
than  with  his  host.  He  was  slightly 
disconcerted  by  Mr.  York's  piercing 
eyes,  aquiline  nose,  and  emphatic 
mode  of  speech,  and  on  the  whole 
found  him  rather  too  dominant  in 
manner.  It  appeared  that  there 
were  to  be  two  lords  in  Seaton  in- 
stead of  one. 

We  doubt  if  the  most  amiable  of 
Bengal  lions  would  be  altogether 
pleased  at  seeing  his  proper  jungle 
invaded  by  even  the  politest  of  Nu- 
bian lions ;  and  we  may  be  pretty 
sure  that  the  lioness  would  hear  in 
private  more  than  one  remark  detri- 
mental to  the  dignity  of  that  odious 
black  monster  with  his  desert  man- 
ners. And  in  return,  it  is  not  unlike- 
ly that  the  African  desert-king  might 
sneer  at  his  tawny  brother  as  rather 
an  effeminate  creature.  It  is  not  the 
lionesses  alone  who  have  rivalries. 
Certain  it  is  that,  when  Major 
Cleaveland  had  gone,  and  the  ladies 
chose  to  praise  him  very  highly, 
Melicent  pronouncing  him  to  be  a 
superior  person,  Mr.  Yorke  saw  fit 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


321 


to  greet  the  remark  with  one  of  his 
most  disagreeable  smiles. 

"  Don't  you  think  so,  papa  ?"  asks 
Melicent. 

"  He  has  intellectual  tastes,  but  no 
intellectual  power,"  answered  "  pa- 
pa "  most  decidedly.  "  He  has  glim- 
merings." 

But  for  all  that,  the  call  was  a  pleas- 
ant one,  the  gentleman  lingering  half 
an  hour,  and  then  going  with  reluc- 
tance. The  presence  of  Edith  had  caus- 
ed him  a  momentary  embarrassment. 
He  was  not  sure  that  it  would  be 
delicate  to  remember  having  ever 
seen  her  before,  and  yet  her  smiling 
eyes  seemed  to  expect  a  recognition. 
But  Mrs.  Yorke  brought  her  forward 
immediately.  "  Edith  tells  me  you 
are  an  acquaintance,"  she  said,  "  and 
that  you  have  been  very  kind  to  her." 

Before  going,  Major  Cleaveland 
placed  his  pews  in  the  meeting-house 
at  their  disposal,  and  offered  to  send 
a  carriage  for  them  the  next  morn- 
ing. "  I  have  two  of  the  best  pews 
in  Dr.  Martin's  church,"  he  said, "  and 
since  my  boys  went  away  to  school, 
there  has  been  no  one  but  myself  to 
occupy  them.  There  is  room  in 
each  for  six  persons ;  and  I  sit  in  one, 
and  put  my  hat  in  the  other.  Of 
course,  we  look  like  two  oases  in  a 
red  velvet  desert.  Do  come,  ladies, 
and  make  a  garden  of  the  place." 

They  all  went  out  to  the  portico 
with  him  when  he  took  leave,  and 
he  went  away  charmed  with  their 
cordiality,  and  with  several  new  ideas 
in  his  mind.  One  of  the  first  effects 
of  this  enlightenment  was  that  the 
major  appeared  at  meeting  the  next 
day  without  a  crape  on  his  hat. 

It  was  a  fatiguing  day,  that  Satur- 
day ;  but  at  sunset  their  labors  were 
over,  all  but  arranging  the  books. 
The  boxes  containing  these  Mr.  Yorke 
had  brought  into  the  sitting-room 
after  tea,  and  the  young  people  as- 
sisted him.  He  classified  his  library 

VOL.    XIII. — 21 


in  a  way  of  his  own.  Metaphysical 
works  he  placed  over  science,  since 
"  metaphysics  is  only  physics  ether- 
ized," he  said.  One  shelf,  named  the 
Beehive,  was  filled  with  epigrams  and 
satires.  History  and  fiction  were  indis- 
criminately mingled.  Mr.  Yorke 
liked  to  quote  Fielding — "pages 
which  some  droll  authors  have  been 
facetiously  pleased  to  call  the  history 
of  England." 

"  There  are  certain  time-honored 
lies  which  every  intelligent  and  well- 
informed*  person  is  expected  to  be 
familiar  with,"  he  said.  "  Not  to 
know  Hume,  De  Foe,  Fox,  Cervantes, 
Froude,  Le  Sage,  etc.,  argues  one's 
self  unknown." 

In  a  corner  of  the  case  was  the 
Olympus  where  Mr.  Yorke's  especial 
intellectual  favorites  were  placed — 
among  them  Bolingbroke,  Carlyle, 
Emerson,  and  Theodore  Parker. 
"  They  are  fine  pagans,"  he  said  of 
the  two  last. 

Mrs.  Yorke  mused  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  her  head  resting  on  her  hand, 
the  smouldering  fire  throwing  a  faint 
glow  up  in  her  face.  Edith  sat  by 
a  table  looking  over  William  Blake's 
illustrations  of  Blair's  Grave — a  set 
of  plates  that  had  just  been  sent 
them  from  England.  The  daughters 
took  books  from  the  boxes,  and  call- 
ed their  names ;  Carl,  mounted  on 
steps,  placed  the  upper  ones;  and 
Mr.  Yorke  did  everything  they  did, 
and  more.  He  scolded,  ordered, 
commented,  and  now  and  then  open- 
,  ed  a  book  to  read  a  passage,  or  give 
an  opinion  of  the  author. 

"  Don't  put  Robert  Browning  be- 
side Crashaw !"  he  cried  out.  "  You 
mighf  as  well  put  Lucifer  beside  St. 
John. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  admired 
Browning,  papa,"  Melicent  said. 

"  So  I  do ;  but  half  his  lustre  is 
phosphorescent.  It  is  a  spiritual  de- 
cay, and  the  lightnings  of  a  superb 


322 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


mind.  But  Crashaw  is  an  angel. 
Edith  must  read  him." 

Looking  at  such  a  library,  a  Catho- 
lic remembers  well  that  the  serpent 
still  coils  about  the  tree  of  know- 
ledge, hisses  in  the  rustling  of  it,  and 
poisons  many  a  blossom  with  his 
breath.  Worse  yet,  though  the  an- 
tidote is  near,  few  or  none  take  it. 
Those  for  whom  slanders  against  the 
church  are  written,  never  read  the 
refutation.  How  many  who  read  in 
Motley's  Dutch  Republic  that  absolu- 
tions were  sold  in  Germany  at  so 
many  ducats  for  each  crime,  the 
most  horrible  crimes,  either  commit- 
ted or  to  be  committed,  having  an 
easy  price — how  many  of  those  rea- 
ders ask  if  it  be  true,  or  glance  at  a 
page  which  disproves  the  slander  ? 
Who  on  reading  Prescott  looks  to 
the  other  side  to  see  exposed  his  in- 
sinuations, his  false  deductions  from 
true  facts  ?  How  many  of  those 
countless  thousands  who  have  been 
nurtured  on  the  calumnies  of  Peter 
Parley,  drawing  them  in  from  their 
earliest  childhood,  have  ever  read  a 
page  on  which  his  condemnation  is 
written  ?  And  later,  in  the  periodi- 
cal literature  of  the  day,  with  a  thou- 
sand kindred  attacks,  how  many  of 
those  who,  within  a  few  months, 
have  read  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly 
Mrs.  Child's  impertinent  article  on 
Catholicism  and  Buddhism,  stopped 
to  see  that  her  argument,  such  as  it 
was,  was  directed  less  against  the 
church  than  against  Christianity  it- 
self ?  or  looked  in  Marshall's  Chris- 
tian Missions  to  find  that  the  resem- 
blance is  simply  a  reflection  of  the 
early  labors  of  the  only  missionaries 
who  have  ever  influenced  Asia — the 
faint  echoes  of  "  the  voice  of  one 
crying  in  the  wilderness  "  ? 

But  it  is  vain  to  multiply  names. 
"  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over 
them  all." 

The  books  in   their  places,    Mr. 


Yorke  seated  himself  to  look  over  a 
casket  of  precious  coins  and  rings. 
"  Wouldn't  you  think  that  papa  was 
dreaming  over  some  old  love-token 
of  his  boyhood  ?"  whispered  Clara 
to  her  brother. 

Her  father  had  fallen  into  a  dream 
over  an  old  ring  with  a  Latin  posy 
in  it ;  and  what  he  saw  was  this  :  a 
blue  sky,  jewel-blue,  over  Florence, 
in  whose  air,  says  Vasari,  "  lies  an 
immense  stimulus  to  aspire  after 
fame  and  honor."  He  .saw  a  superb 
garden,  peopled  with  sculptured 
forms,  and  three  men  standing  before 
an  antique  marble.  It  is  Bertoldo, 
Donatello's  pupil,  young  Michael 
Angelo,  and  Lorenzo  the  Magnifi- 
cent, the  glory  of  Florence,  whose 
face  all  the  people  and  all  the  chil- 
dren love ;  and  they  are  walking  in 
the  gardens  of  San  Marco,  the  art- 
treasury  of  the  Medici.  Farther  off, 
moving  slowly  under  the  trees,  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  his 
eagle  face  bent  in  thought,  is  the 
learned  and  elegant  Poliziano.  Sud- 
denly he  pauses,  a  smile  flashes 
across  his  face,  he  brings  his  hands 
forward  to  clap  them  together,  and 
goes  to  meet  the  three  who  have  re- 
spected his  seclusion.  "  How  now, 
Poliziano,"  laughs  the  duke,  "  do  we 
not  deserve  to  hear  the  result  of 
those  musings  which  we  were  so 
careful  not  to  intrude  upon  ?"  And 
the  scholar,  whose  epigrams  no  less 
than  his  Greek  and  his  translations 
are  the  pride  of  the  court,  bows 
lowly,  and  repeats  the  very  posy  en- 
graved on  this  ring  over  which  Mr. 
Yorke  now  dreams  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  in  the  woods  of  Maine,  in 
April  weather. 

The  bright  Italian  picture  faded. 
Mr.  Yorke  sighed  and  put  the  magi- 
cal ring  away,  and  took  up  a  volume 
of  Villemain's  Histoire  de  la  Littera- 
ture  Franfaise,  turning  the  leaves 
idly. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


323 


Melicent  made  a  slight  movement,, 
and  begged  to  be  heard.  "  We  girls 
have  been  talking  matters  over  to- 
day," she  said,  "  and  would  like  to 
submit  our  plans  to  you.  We  have 
divided  the  house-work  into  three 
parts,  which  we  take  in  rotation.  One 
is  to  be  lady's-maid  and  companion 
for  mamma,  another  is  to  make  the 
beds  and  dust  all  the  rooms,  and  the 
third  will  set  the  table,  wash  the 
china  and  silver,  and  trim  the 
lamps." 

Mr.  Yorke  looked  up  quickly  as 
his  daughter  began,  but  immediately 
dropped  his  eyes  again,  and  sat  with 
a  flushed  face,  frowning  slightly.  It 
was  his  first  intimation  that  his  daugh- 
ters had  not  only  lost  society  and 
luxury,  but  that  their  personal  ease 
was  gone.  They  would  have  to  per- 
form menial  labors. 

"  I  think  your  arrangement  a  very 
good  one,  Melicent,"  Mrs.  Yorke  re- 
plied tranquilly.  She  had  all  the 
time  seen  the  necessity.  "  But  the 
post  of  lady's-maid  will  be  a  sinecure. 
However,  let  it  stay.  It  will  be  a 
time  of  leisure  for  each." 

"  Cannot  Betsey  do  the  work  ?" 
Mr.  Yorke  asked  sharply. 

"  Why,  papa !"  Clara  cried  out, 
"  Betsey  can  scarcely  spare  time  out 
of  the  kitchen  to  do  the  sweeping. 
When  we  come  to  making  butter,  we 
girls  will  have  to  help  in  the  fine 
ironing." 

"  I  can  churn !"  Mr.  Yorke  ex- 
claimed desperately. 

"  My  dear  !"  expostulated  his  wife. 

"  I  churned  once  when  I  was  a 
boy,"  he  protested;  "and  the  butter 
came." 

They  all  laughed,  except  Hester, 
.  who  affectionately  embraced  her  fa- 
ther's   arm.      "Why    shouldn't    the 
butter  come  when  you  churn,  dear 
papa  ?"  she  asked. 

"  You  must  *  have  been  in  very 
good  humor,  sir,"  said  Carl  slily. 


"  We  don't  mean  to  do  this  sort 
of  work  long,"  Melicent  resumed. 
"  There  is  no  merit  in  doing  servile 
work,  if  one  can  do  better.  Clara 
and  I  will  write,  and  so  pay  for  ex- 
tra help.  I  think  " — very  indulgently 
— "  that,  with  practice,  Clara  may 
make  something  of  a  writer.  I  shall 
write  a  volume  of  European  travels. 
On  the  whole,  looking  at  our  revers- 
es in  this  light,  they  seem  fortunate. 
Living  here  in  quiet,  we  can  accom- 
plish a  literary  labor  for  which  we 
should  never  otherwise  have  found 
time." 

"That  is  true,"  Mr.  Yorke  said; 
but  his  look  was  doubtful  and  trou- 
bled. "  Still,  Melicent,  I  would  not 
have  you  too  confident.  I  would 
advise  you  to  try  a  story.  It  would 
be  more  likely  to  sell.  Europe  rd- 
chauffee  has  become  a  drug  in  the 
market,  and  our  experiences  abroad 
were  pretty  much  what  those  of  oth- 
ers are.  A  vagabond  adventurer 
would  have  a  much  better  chance  of 
catching  public  attention." 

Edith  gazed  in  awe  at  her  com- 
panions. She  was  in  the  midst  of 
people  who  made  books!  She  saw 
them  face  to  face.  So  might  pretty 
Psyche  have  gazed  when  first  her 
husband's  celestial  relatives  received 
her,  when  she  saw  Juno  among  her 
peacocks,  Minerva  laying  aside  her 
helmet,  Hebe  pouring  nectar.  This, 
then,  is  Olympus ! 

"  If  you  write  a  story,  do  take  one 
suggestion  from  me,  Melicent,"  Carl 
said.  "  Pray  give  your  hero  and 
heroine  brushes  to  dress  their  hair 
with.  Have  you  observed  that  even 
the  finest  characters  in  books  have 
to  use  a  broom  ?  The  hair  is  always 
swept  back." 

Miss  Yorke  did  not  notice  this 
triviality.  She  was  looking  rather 
displeased. 

"  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you, 
daughter,"  her  father  went  on.  "  But 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


you  must  recollect  that  it  is  one 
thing  to  give  a  sketch  to  an  editor, 
who  is  a  friend,  and  dines  with  you, 
and  another  thing  to  offer  him  a 
book,  which  he  is  expected  to  pay 
for.  Then  he  must  look  to  the  mar- 
ket and  his  reputation.  Some  of  the 
finest  writers  in  the  world  have  de- 
scribed these  very  scenes  which  you 
would  describe.  Can  you  tell  more 
of  Rome  than  Madame  de  Stael  has  ? 
or  paint  a  more  enchanting  picture 
of  Capri  than  that  of  Hans  Ander- 
sen ?  If  not,  you  run  the  risk  of 
reminding  your  reader  of  Sidney 
Smith's  reply  to  the  dull  tourist  who 
held  out  his  walking-stick,  boasting 
that  it  had  been  round  the  world. 
'  Yes ;  and  still  it  is  a  stick !'  says 
Sidney." 

Miss  Yorke  held  her  head  very 
high,  and  her  color  deepened.  "  I 
will  then  put  my  MS.  into  the  fire," 
she  said  in  a  quiet  tone,  casting  her 
eyes  down. 

Her  father  gave  an  impatient  shrug. 
"  Not  at  all !"  he  replied.  "  But  you 
will  take  advice,  and  try  to  think 
that  you  are  not  above  criticism." 

"  Clara  has  an  idea,"  Carl  inter- 
posed. He  had  been  bending  over 
some  papers  with  his  younger  sister. 
"  She  also  turns  to  travels,  but  very 
modestly.  She  calls  them  gleanings, 
and  her  motto  is  from  De  Quincey  : 
'  Not  the  flowers  are  for  the  pole, 
but  the  pole  is  for  the  flowers.'  Here 
is  the  preface.  Shall  I  read  it  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  am  afraid  of  papa  !"  Cla- 
ra cried,  blushing  very  much.  But 
Mr.  Yorke,  who  only  now  learned 
that  his  second  daughter  was  also  a 
scribbler,  laughingly  promised  to  be 
lenient;  and  she  suffered  herself  to 
be  persuaded.  They  all  looked  kind- 
ly on  her,  even  Melicent,  in  spite  of 
her  own  mortification;  and  Carl 
read: 

"  I  do  not  presume  to  write  a  vol- 
ume descriptive  of  European  travel. 


Many,  great  and  small,  have  been  in 
that  field,  some  reaping  wheat,  oth- 
ers binding  up  tares.  These  leaves 
are  offered  by  one  who  gathered  a 
few  nodding  things  which  no  one 
valued,  seeing  them  there,  but  which 
some  one  may,  if  fortune  favor,  smile 
at,  since  they  grew  there.  One  such 
might  say :  You're  but  a  weed ;  but 
you  grew  in  a  chink  of  .crumbling 
history ;  I  know  where,  for  I  measur- 
ed the  arch,  and  sketched  the  colon- 
nade. And  I  recognize  the  green 
leaves  of  you,  and  the  silver  thread 
of  a  root,  with  a  speck  of  rich  old 
soil  clinging  yet.  And,  h  propos,  I 
saw  there  a  child  asleep  in  the  shade, 
with  a  group  of  spotted  yellow  lilies 
standing  guard,  as  if  they  had  sprung 
up  since,  and  because  she  had  closed 
her  eyes,  and  might  change  to  a 
group  of  tigers  if  you  should  go  too 
near.  She  had  long  eyelashes,  and 
she  smiled  in  her  sleep. 

"  I  do  not  claim  to  be  an  artist,  O 
travelled  reader !  but  I  stretch  a  hand 
to  touch  the  artist  in  you." 

"  That  isn't  bad,"  Mr.  Yorke  said 
immediately.  "  And  your  motto  is 
very  pretty.  I  am  glad  to  have  you 
familiar  with  De  Quincey.  He  is  good 
company.  He  is  a  man  who  does 
not  overlook  delicate  hints,  and  he  is 
respectful  and  just  to  children.  He 
annoys  me  sometimes  by  a  weak 
irony,  and  by  explaining  too  much ; 
but,  I  repeat,  he  is  good  company." 

Immediately  Clara  passed  from 
the  deeps  to  the  heights.  Her  bosom 
heaved,  her  eyes  flashed.  She  felt 
herself  famous. 

"  Now  let  us  hear  a  chapter  of  the 
gleanings,"  said  her  father. 

"  Why,  I  haven't  written  anything 
but  the  preface,"  Clara  was  forced 
to  acknowledge. 

Mr.  Yorke  smiled  satirically.  Clara 
was  notable  in  the  family  for  making 
great  beginnings  which  came  to  no- 
thing. 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


"  But  I  have  other  things  finished," 
she  said  eagerly,  and  brought  out  a 
poem.  All  her  fears  were  gone. 
She  was  full  of  confidence  in  her- 
self. 

We  spare  the  reader  a  transcrip- 
tion of  this  production.  Mephisto- 
pheles  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with 
it,  and  it  was  probably  written  during 
some  midnight  ecstasy^  when  the 
young  woman  had  been  reading 
Faust.  It  was  meant  to  be  very 
fearful ;  and  as  the  authoress  read  it 
herself,  all  the  terrible  passages  were 
rendered  with  emphasis. 

Mrs.  Yorke  listened  with  a  doubt- 
ful face.  The  reading  was  quite  out 
of  her  gentle  mental  sphere ;  and 
Carl's  hand  shaded  his  eyes,  which 
had  a  habit  of  laughing  when  his 
lips  did  not.  Mr.  Yorke,  with  his 
mouth  very  much  down  at  the  cor- 
ners, his  eyes  very  much  cast  down, 
and  his  eyebrows  very  much  raised, 
glanced  over  a  page  of  the  book  in 
his  hand. 

"  I  chanced  to-night  across  the 
first  touch  of  humor  I  have  seen  in 
Villemain,"  he  said.  "  He  quotes 
Crebillon  :  '  Corneille  a  pris  le  del, 
Raciiie  la  terre  ;  il  ne  me  restait  plus 
que  Venfer.  ye  m'y  suis  jette  a  corps 
perdu'  ' Malheureusement]  says  Vil- 
lemain, '  malheureusement  il  n'esl  pas 
aussi  infernal  qu'il  le  croit" 

Without  raising  his  face,  Mr.  Yorke 
lifted  his  eyes,  and  shot  at  the  poetess 
a  glance  over  his  glasses. 

Instantly  her  face  became  suffused 
with  blushes,  and  her  eyes  with 
tears. 

Mrs.  Yorke  spoke  hastily.  "  I  am 
sure,  papa,  the  dear  girls  deserve 
every  encouragement  for  their  inten- 
tions and  efforts.  I  am  grateful  and 
happy  to  see  how  nobly  they  are 
taking  our  troubles;  and  I  cannot 
doubt  that,  with  their  talents  and 
good-will,  they  will  accomplish  some- 
thing. But  it  is  too  late  to  talk  more 


about  it  to-night.  You  must  be 
tired,  and  my  head  is  as  heavy  as 
a  poppy.  Shall  we  have  prayers  ?" 

She  rose  in  speaking,  went  to  the 
table,  and,  standing  between  her  two 
elder  daughters,  with  an  arm  round 
the  neck  of  each,  kissed  them  both, 
tears  standing  in  her  eyes.  "  If  you 
never  succeed  in  winning  fame,  my 
dears,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  still  be 
proud  and  fond  of  you.  Your  sweet, 
helpful  spirit  is  better  than  many 
books." 

The  Yorkes  had  never  given  up, 
though  they  had  often  interrupted, 
the  habit  of  family  devotion.  Now 
it  was  tacitly  understood  that  the 
custom  should  be  a  regular  one.  So 
Hester  brought  the  Bible  and  pray- 
er-book, and  placed  them  before  her 
father,  and  her  sisters  folded  their 
hands  to  listen. 

"  I  think  we  should  have  Betsey 
in,"  Mrs.  Yorke  said;  and  Melicent 
went  to  ask  her. 

Betsey  and  Patrick  were  seated  at 
opposite  sides  of  a  table  drawn  up 
before  the  kitchen  fireplace,  where  a 
hard-wood  knot  burned  in  a  spot  of 
red  gold.  One  of  the  windows  was 
open,  and  through  it  came  a  noise 
of  full  brooks  hurrying  seaward,  and 
a  buzzing,  as  of  many  bees,  that 
came  from  the  saw-mills  on  the  river. 
Betsey  was  darning  stockings,  and 
Pat  reading  the  Pilot. 

"  We  are  to  have  prayers  now," 
Melicent  said,  standing  in  the  door/ 
"  Will  you  come  in,  Betsey  ?" 

Betsey  slowly  rolled  up  the  stock- 
ing, and  stabbed  the  darning-needle 
into  the  ball  of  yarn.  "  Well,  I 
don't  care  if  I  do,"  she  answered 
moderately.  "It  can't  do  me  no 
great  harm." 

Melicent  gave  her  a  look  of  sur- 
prise, and  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room,  leaving  the  doors  ajar. 

"  Come,  Pat,"  said  Betsey,  "  put 
away  that  old  Catholic  paper,  and 


326 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


come  in  and  hear  the  Gospel  read. 
I  don't  believe  you  ever  heard  a 
chapter  of  it  in  your  life." 

"  No  more  did  St.  Peter  nor  St. 
Paul,"  answered  Patrick,  without 
lifting  his  eyes  from  the  paper.  He 
had  been  reading  over  and  over  one 
little  item  of  news  from  County  Sli- 
go.  where  he  was  born.  The  old 
priest  who  had  baptized  him  was 
dead;  and  with  the  news  of  his 
death,  and  the  description  of  his  fu- 
neral, how  many  a  scene  of  the  past 
came  up  !  He  was  in  Ireland  again, 
poor,  but  careless  and  happy.  His 
father  and  mother,  now  old  and  lone- 
ly in  that  far  land,  were  still  young, 
and  all  their  children  were  about 
them.  The  priest,  a  man  in  his 
prime,  stood  at  their  cottage  door, 
with  his  hand  on  little  Norah's  head. 
They  all  smiled,  and  Norah  cast  her 
bashful  eyes  down.  Now  the  priest 
was  white-haired,  and  dead,  and  little 
Norah  had  grown  to  be  a  careworn 
mother  of  many  children.  The  man 
was  in  no  mood  to  hear  taunts. 
Read  the  Gospel  ?  Why,  it  was  like 
reading  a  gospel  to  look  back  on 
that  group ;  for  they  were  true  to 
the  faith,  and  poor  for  the  faith's 
sake,  and  they  had  lived  pure  lives 
for  Christ's  love,  and  those  who  had 
died  had  died  in  the  Lord. 

"  But  Peter  and  Paul  wrote,"  an- 
swered Betsey.  "And  what  they 
wrote  is  the  law  of  God.  You'll 
never  be  saved  unless  you  read  it." 

"  Many  a  one  will  be  damned  who 
does  read  it!"  retorted  Patrick  wrath- 
fully.  "  What's  the  use  of  reading 
a  law-book,  if  you  don't  keep  the 
law  ?" 

"  Oh  !  if  you're  going  to  swear, 
I'll  go,"  Betsey  replied  with  dignity, 
and  went.  But  she  took  care  to 
leave  the  doors  ajar  behind  her. 

It  was  true,  Patrick  did  not  read 
the  Bible  much;  but  he  knew  the 
Gospels  and  Psalms  in  the  prayer- 


book,  and  was  as  familiar  with  the 
truths  of  Scripture  as  many  a  Bible 
student.  But  he  had  heard  it  so  be- 
quoted  by  those  who  were  to  him 
not  much  better  than  heathen,  and 
so  made  a  bone  of  contention  by 
snarling  theologians,  that  he  did  not 
much  care  to  read  the  book  itself. 
He  could  not  now  avoid  hearing  it 
read  without  leaving  the  room ;  and 
he  would  not  have  had  them  hear 
him  show  that  disrespect  to  them. 

Mr.  Yorke's  voice  had  a  certain 
bitter,  rasping  quality,  which,  with 
his  fine  enunciation,  was  very  effec- 
tive in  some  kinds  of  reading.  In 
the  sacred  Scriptures  it  gave  an  im- 
pression of  grandeur  and  sublimity. 
Patrick  dropped  his  paper,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  story  of  the  martyrdom 
of  St.  Stephen.  He  knew  it  well, 
but  seemed  now  to  hear  it  for  the 
'  first  time.  He  saw  no  book,  he 
heard  a  voice  telling  how  the  martyr 
stood  before  his  accusers,  with  "  his 
face  as  the  face  of  an  angel,'  and 
flung  back  their  accusation  upon 
themselves,  till  "  they  were  cut  to 
the  heart,"  and  "  gnashed  with  their 
teeth'  at  him." 

"Faith!"  he  muttered  ^xeit^dly ; 
"  but  he  had  them  there .'' 

As  Mr.  Yorke  went  on  with  the 
story,  and  the  saint,  looking  sfead- 
fastly  upward,  declared  that  he  saw 
the  heavens  open,  and  the  Son  of 
Man  standing  at  the  right  hand  of 
God,  Patrick  rose  unconsciously  to 
his  feet,  and  blessed  himself.  To  his 
pure  faith  and  unhackneyed  imagina- 
tion the  scene  was  vividly  clear.  He 
heard  the  outcry  of  the  multitude, 
saw  them  rush  upon  their  victim, 
drive  him  out  of  the  city  and  stone 
him,  till  he  fell  asleep  in  the  Lord. 

"  '  And  a  young  man  named  Saul 
was  consenting  to  his  death/ "  said 
the  voice. 

"  Glory  be  to  God !"  exclaimed 
Patrick,  taking  breath. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


327 


The  prayer  that  followed  grated 
on  his  feelings.  The  reader  lost  his 
fire,  and  merely  got  through  this  part 
of  the  exercises.  Evidently,  Mr. 
Yorke  did  not  believe  that  he  was 
praying.  Neither  did  Patrick  believe 
that  he  was. 

The  next  morning  Major  Cleave- 
land's  carriage  came  to  take  them  to 
what  they  called  church.  Melicent 
and  Clara  had  already  set  out  to 
walk.  Carl  stayed  at  home  with 
Edith,  and  only  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Yorke 
and  Hester  drove.  They  overtook 
the  others  at  the  steps  of  the  meet- 
ing-house, and  found  Major  Cleave- 
land  waiting  in  the  porch  for  them. 

Mrs.  Yorke  was  one  of  those  sweet, 
unreasoning  souls  who  fancy  them- 
selves Protestant  because  they  were 
born  and  trained  to  be  called  so, 
but  who  yield  as  unquestioning  an 
obedience  to  their  spiritual  teachers 
as  any  Catholic  in  the  world.  She 
unconsciously  obeyed  the  recommen- 
dation, "  Don't  be  consistent,  but  be 
simply  true."  Absurdly  illogical  in 
her  theology,  she  followed  unerring- 
ly, as  far  as  she  knew,  her  instincts 
-  of  worship,  and  the  opinions  that 
grew  naturally  from  them.  It  would 
be  hard  to  define  what  her  husband 
thought  and  believed  of  Dr.  Martin's 
sermon.  He  did  not  find  it  a/feast 
of  reason,  certainly;  but  he  swal- 
lowed it  from  a  grim  sense  of  duty, 
though  with  rather  a  wry  face.  The 
young  ladies  knew  about  as  much  of 
theology  as  Protestant  ladies  usually 
do,  and  that  is — nothing.  They  left 
it  all  to  the  minister;  and,  provided 
he  did  not  require  them  to  believe 
anything  disagreeable,  were  quite  sa- 
tisfied with  him. 

Coming  home,  they  entertained 
their  brother  with  a  laughing  account 
of  their  experience.  The  major  had 
escorted  Melicent  to  her  seat,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  two  sisters 
following.  For  Miss  Yorke,  sublime- 


ly conscious  of  herself,  and  that  they 
were  the  observed  of  all  observers, 
had  walked  with  a  measured  tread, 
utterly  irrespective  of  her  companion ; 
and  the  major,  equally  important, 
and  slightly  confused  by  his  hospita- 
ble cares,  had  neglected  to  modify 
his  usual  short,  quick  steps.  The  re- 
sult was,  as  Clara  said,  that  "  they 
chopped  up  the  aisle  in  different  me- 
tres," thus  oversetting  the  gravity  of 
the  younger  damsels  following.  Then 
their  minds  had  been  kept  on  the 
rack  by  an  old  gentleman  in  the 
pew  in  front  of  them,  who  went  to 
sleep  several  times,  following  the  cus- 
tomary programme :  first  a  vacant 
stare,  then  a  drooping  of  the  eyelids, 
then  a  shutting  of  them,  $hen  seve- 
ral low  bows,  finally  a  sharp,  short 
nod  that  threatened  to  snap  his  head 
off,  followed  by  a  start,  and  a  man- 
ner that  resentfully  repudiated  ever 
having  been  asleep. 

"  Poor  old  gentleman !"  Mrs.  Yorke 
said.  "  The  day  was  warm,  and  Dr. 
Martin's  voice  lulling.  How  could 
he  help  it  ?" 

"  But,  mamma,"  Clara  answered, 
"he  could  have  pinched  himself;  or 
I  would  have  pinched  him  cheerful- 
ly." 

A  good  many  people  called  on 
them  that  week,  and  the  family  were 
surprised  to  find  among  them  persons 
of  cultivated  minds.  Beginning  by 
wondering  what  they  were  to  talk 
about  with  these  people,  they  found 
that  they  had  to  talk  their  best. 

They  had  made  the  mistake  often 
made  by  city  people,  taking  for  grant- 
ed that  the  finest  and  most  cultivated 
minds  are  to  be  found  in  town.  They 
forgot  that  city  life  fritters  away  the 
time  and  attention  by  a  thousand 
varied  and  trivial  distractions,  so  that 
deep  thought  and  study  become  al- 
most impossible.  They  neglect  to 
observe  that  cities  would  degenerate 
if  they  were  not  constantly  supplied 


328 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


with  fresh  life  from  the  country ; 
that  the  fathers  that  achieve  are  fol- 
lowed by  the  sons  that  dawdle,  that 
the  artist  gives  birth  to  the  dilettante. 
'Tis  the  country  that  nurses  the  tree 
which  bears  its  fruit  in  the  city.  But, 
also,  the  country  often  hides  its  treas- 
ures, and  the  poet's  fancy  of  "  mute, 
inglorious  Miltons  "  is  as  true  as  it 
is  poetical. 

In  the  country  painting  and  sculp- 
ture and  architecture  are,  it  is  true, 
only  guessed  at ;  but  they  have  na- 
ture, which,  as  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
says,  "  is  the  art  of  God ;"  and  books 
are  appreciated  there  as  nowhere 
else.  The  country  reader  dives  like 
a  bee  into  the  poet's  verse,  and  lin- 
gers to  sufk  up  all  its  sweetness ;  the 
city  reader  skims  it  like  a  butterfly.  In 
the  country  the  thinker's  best  thought 
is  weighed,  and  pondered,  and  nich- 
ed; in  the  city  it  is  glanced  at,  and 
dismissed.  In  those  retired  nooks  are 
women  who  quote  Shakespeare  over 
their  wash-tubs,  and  read  the  English 
classics  after  the  cows  are  milked, 
while  their  city  sisters  ponder  the 
fashions,  or  listen  to  some  third-rate 
lecturer,  whose  only  good  thought  is, 
perhaps,  a  borrowed  thought. 

Still,  all  honor  to  that  strong,  swift 
life  which  grinds  a  man  as  under  a 
millstone,  and  proves  what  is  in 
him  ;  which  sharpens  his  sluggishness, 
breaks  the  gauze  wings  of  him,  and 
forces  him  out  of  a  coterie  and  into 
humanity. 

One  day  Dr.  Martin  called.  Mrs. 
Yorke  and  her  daughters,  with  Carl, 
were  out  searching  for  May-flowers, 
and  there  was  no  one  at  home  to  re- 
ceive him  but  Mr.  Yorke  and  Edith. 
Dr.  Martin  and  the  child  met  with 
great  coldness,  and  instantly  separat- 
ed ;  but  the  two  gentlemen  kept  up  a 
conversation,  though  neither  was  quite 
at  his  ease.  They  needed  a  gentler 
companionship  to  bring  them  togeth- 
er. The  minister  was  a  man  of  good 


mind  and  education,  and  a  kind  heart ' 
but  his  prejudices  were  strong  and 
bitter,  and  the  presence  of  that  little 
"  papist "  disconcerted  him.  He 
soon  took  occasion,  in  answer  to 
Mr.  Yorke's  civil  inquiries  respecting 
the  churches  in  Seaton,  to  give  ex- 
pression to  this  feelings. 

"  We  have,  of  course,  a  good  many 
papists,  but  all  of  the  lowest  class," 
he  said ;  "  I  have  tried  to  do  some- 
thing for  them ;  but  they  are  so  igno- 
rant, and  so  enslaved  by  their  priests, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  induce  them 
to  listen  to  the  Gospel." 

Mr.  Yorke  'drew  himself  up. 
"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that 
my  niece,  Miss  Edith  Yorke,  is  a 
Catholic,"  he  said  in  his  stateliest 
manner. 

Edith,  standing  in  a  window  near, 
had  not  made  a  sound ;  but  she  look- 
ed at  the  minister,  and  fired  at  him 
two  shots  out  of  her  two  eyes.  He 
in  turn  raised  himself  with  an  offend- 
ed air  at  Mr.  Yorke's  reproof. 

"  I  was  certainly  not  aware  that 
your  sympathies  were  with  the  pa- 
pists, sir,"  he  said. 

"  Neither  are  they,"  was  the  cold 
reply.  "  But  I  profess  to  be  a  gen- 
tleman, and  I  try  to  be  a  Christian. 
One  of  my  principles  is  never  to  in- 
sult the  religious  beliefs  of  another." 

"  But,"  objected  the  minister,  stifling 
his  anger,  "  if  you  never  attack  their 
errors,  you  lose  the  chance  of  enlight- 
ening them." 

"  Doctor,"  Mr.  Yorke  said  with  a 
slight  laugh,  "  I  don't  believe  you 
can  ever  enlighten  a  man's  mind  by 
pounding  a  hole  in  his  head." 

And  so  they  dropped  that  part  of  the 
subject.  But  Mr.  Yorke  thought  it 
best  to  define  his  own  position,  and 
thus  prevent  future  mistakes. 

"  I  believe  in  God,"  he  said.  "  A 
man  is  a  fool  who  does  not.  And 
I  believe  that  the  Bible  was  written 
by  men  insoired  by  him.  But  there 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


329 


is  no  one  thing  in  it  for  the  truth  of 
which  I  would  answer  with  my  life. 
It  is  the  old  fable  of  the  divinity  vis- 
iting earth  wrapped  in  a  cloud. 
Somewhere  hidden  in  the  Bible  is 
the  truth,  but  I  see  it  as  in  a  glass 
darkly.  I  think  as  little  about  it  as 
possible.  To  study  would  be  to  en- 
tangle myself  in  a  labyrinth.  It  is 


natural  and  necessary  for  man  to  wor- 
ship ;  but  it  is  neither  natural  nor 
reasonable  for  him  to  compre- 
hend what  he  worships.  To  take 
in  the  divine,  your  brain  must 
crack." 

The  minister  perceived  that  argu- 
ment was  useless,  and  shortly  after 
took  leave. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


BOADICEA. 


WITHIN  a  few  weeks  came  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Rowan  to  Edith.  It  is 
not  natural  for  people  to  write  in 
their  own  way — that  comes  with  edu- 
cation and  practice ;  but  this  letter 
breathed  the  writer's  very  self.  It 
radiated  a  timid  distress.  She  had 
surprising  news  to  tell.  Instead  of 
being  in  a  tenement  of  her  own. 
among  plain  people  whom  she  would 
feel  at  ease  with,  she  was  installed  as 
housekeeper  in  what  seemed  to  her 
a  very  magnificent  establishment. 
Mr.  Williams,  her  employer,  was  an 
importing  merchant,  and  his  family 
consisted  of  a  daughter,  eighteen 
years  of  age,  and  an  awful  sister-in- 
law  who  lived  in  the  next  street,  but 
visited  his  house  at  all  hours  of  day 
or  evening,  superintending  minutely 
his  domestic  arrangements.  This 
gentleman  knew  Major  Cleaveland 
well,  and  had  for  many  years  had 
business  relations  with  Captain  Gary. 
Indeed,  it  was  their  sailor  friend  who 
had  procured  the  situation  for  her, 
and  insisted  on  her  taking  it.  She 
had  refused  as  long  as  she  could, 
but  Dick  himself  joining  against  her, 
she  had  finally  yielded.  Mr.  Wil- 
liams was  very  kind.  He  had  assur- 
ed her  that  he  did  not  want  a  city 
housekeeper,  but  some  quiet,  honest 
countrywoman  to  be  in  the  house 
with  his  daughter,  and  see  that  the 
servants  did  not  rob  him. 


At  the  conclusion  of  this  letter, 
Mrs.  Rowan  added  that  Dick  sent 
his  respects,  at  which  Edith's  heart 
sank  with  disappointment.  Where 
was  the  hearty  affection,  the  eager 
remembrance  she  had  looked  for  ? 

The  child  would  have  been  less 
indignant  had  she  known  what  pains 
Dick  was  really  taking  for  her  sake. 
He  had  searched  out,  and  borrowed 
or  bought  all  the  printed  correspon- 
dence of  famous  letter-writers  that 
were  to  be  had  for  love  or  money, 
and  was  studying  them  as  models. 
He  had  also  invested  extravagantly 
in  stationery,  and  was  striving  to 
bend  his  clear,  clerkly  penmanship 
to  something  more  elegant  and  gen- 
tlemanlike. Even  while  she  was  ac- 
cusing him  of  forgetfulness,  he  was 
carefully  copying  his  tenth  letter  to 
her. 

But  still,  Edith  was  not  to  blame, 
though  she  was  mistaken.  Affection 
has  no  right  to  be  silent. 

After  a  few  days,  however,  came 
his  farewell  before  sailing  for  the 
East.  Over  this  note,  Edith  shed 
bitter  tears,  as  much  for  the  manner 
as  for  the  matter  of  it.  For  Dick, 
with  an  eye  to  Mrs.  Yorke  as  a  read- 
er, had  composed  a  very  dignified 
epistle  after  the  manner  of  Doctor 
Johnson.  Poor  Dick !  who  could 
have  written  the  most  eloquent 
letter  in  the  world,  if  he  had 


330 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


poured  his  heart  out  freely  and  sim- 
ply. 

The  child  had  scant  time  allowed 
her  for  mourning,  for  her  studies  be- 
gan immediately.  The  family  were 
all  her  teachers,  and  she  began  at 
once  with  music  and  languages.  The 
common  branches  were  taught  indi- 
rectly. Geography  she  learned  by 
looking  out  on  the  maps  places  men- 
tioned in  their  reading  or  conversa- 
tion. History  she  learned  chiefly 
through  biography.  For  arithmetic, 
some  one  gave  her  every  day  a  prob- 
lem to  solve.  She  added  up  house- 
hold expenses,  measured  land,  laid  out 
garden-beds,  weighed  and  measured 
for  cooking.  Her  study  was  all  liv- 
ing :  not  a  dead  fact  got  into  her 
mind.  She  read  a  great  deal  besides, 
travels,  all  that  she  could  find  relat- 
ing to  the  sea,  and  poetry.  As  her 
mind  became  interested,  she  settled 
once  more  into  harmony  with  her- 
self, and  her  feelings  grew  quiet. 
The  impression  left  by  Dick's  strange 
behavior  after  their  parting  faded 
away,  and  she  remembered  only  his 
last  fervent  protestation  :  "  I'll  climb, 
Edith,  I'll  climb  !"  How  it  was  to 
be,  and  what  it  really  meant,  she 
knew  not ;  but  the  old  faith  in  him 
came  back.  "  What  Dick  said  he'd 
do,  he  always  did." 

She  associated  him  with  all  she 
read  or  heard  of  foreign  lands  and 
waters.  He  had  sailed  through  phos- 
phorescent seas  by  night,  under  wide- 
eyed  stars,  while  the  waves  tossed  in 
fire  from  his  prow,  and  trailed  in  fire 
in  his  wake.  He  had 'lain  in  the 
warm  southern  ocean,  where  the  tides 
are  born,  had  held  his  breath  during 
that  pause  when  all  the  waters  of 
the  earth  hang  balanced,  and  swung 
his  cap  as  he  felt  the  first  soft  pulse 
of  the  infant  tidal  wave  that  was  to 
grow  till  its  rim  should  cast  a  wreath 
of  foam  on  every  shore  from  the 
North  Pole  to  the  South.  Palms  and 


the  banyan-tree,  pines  almost  huge 
enough  to  tip  the  earth  over,  each  in 
turn  had  shaded  his  head.  His  ven- 
turesome feet  had  trod  the  desert 
and  the  jungle.  Jews  and  Moslems 
had  looked  after  him  as  he  sauntered 
through  their  crowded  bazaars — the 
bright-eyed,  laughing  sailor-boy ! 
Norsemen  had  smiled  as  they  saw 
his  hair  blown  back  and  his  face  kin- 
dled by  the  tempest.  It  was  always 
Dick  to  the  fore  of  everything. 

On  one  of  those  spring  mornings, 
Carl,  wandering  through  the  woods, 
came  out  into  the  road  in  front  of 
an  old  school-house  that  stood  at 
the  edge  of  the  village.  The  door 
was  open,  and  showed  a  crowd  of 
children  at  their  studies  inside.  On 
the  green  in  front  of  the  door  lay  a 
log,  and  on  the  log  sat  a  deplorable- 
looking  little  man.  He  was  neither 
young  nor  old,  but  seemed  to  be 
stranded  on  some  bleak  age  which 
time  had  forgotten.  His  clothes 
were  gentlemen's  clothes  cut  down 
and  patched.  A  hat  that  was  too 
large  for  him  reached  from  his  fore- 
head to  his  neck.  It  was  not  crush- 
ed, but  it  was  shabby,  and  drooped 
sorrowfully  in  the  brim.  His  hair 
was  thin  and  long,  and  patted  down. 
Tears  rolled  over  his  miserable  face 
as  he  sat  and  looked  in  at  the  chil- 
dren saying  their  lessons  in  a  long 
class.  He  did  not  cover  his  face  in 
weeping,  but  lifted  his  eyebrows,  wip- 
ed the  tears  occasionally,  and  con- 
tinued to  gaze. 

Carl  was  one  of  the  last  persons 
in  the  world  to  intrude  on  another, 
or  allow  any  intrusion  on  himself, 
but  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
ventured  to  approach  this  pitiful 
little  figure,  and  ask  what  ailed  him. 

The  man  showed  no  surprise  on 
being  addressed,  but  poured  out  his 
grief  at  once.  His  name  was  Jo- 
seph Patten,  he  was  poor  and  had  a 
large  family,  and  was  obliged  to  re- 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


33* 


ceive  town  help.  As  a  condition  of 
that  help,  he  must  give  up  one  of 
his  children  to  be  bound  out  to 
work,  or  adopted  into  a  family.  The 
parents  were  allowed  to  choose  which 
child  they  would  part  with,  and 
"  Joe,"  as  he  was  called  by  everybo- 
dy, was  now  trying  to  make  up  his 
mind.  His  story  was  told  in  a 
whimpering  voice,  and  with  many 
tears,  and  the  listener  was  quite  as 
much  provoked  to  laugh  as  to  weep. 
"  It  isn't  easy  to  part  with  your 
own  flesh  and  blood,  sir,"  said  Joe. 
"  There's  Sally,  my  oldest  girl,  nam- 
ed for  her  marm.  She  helps  about 
the  house.  My  wife  couldn't  get 
along  without  Sally.  The  next  one 
is  Joseph.  He's  named  for  me ;  and 
I  don't  want  to  give  up  the  child 
that's  named  for  myself,  sir.  Then 
John,  he's  got  the  rickets,  and  is  used 
to  be  fed  and  taken  care  of.  You 
couldn't  expect  a  man  to  send  away 
a  child  that's  got  the  rickets,  and  let 
him  drop  all  his  food  before  he  gets 
it  to  his  mouth.  Then  Betsey,  she's 
named  for  my  mother.  How  am  I 
going  to  send  away  the  child  that's 
named  for  my  own  mother,  when 
she's  dead  and  gone,  and  let  her  live 
among  strangers  ?  Jane,  she's  home- 
sick ;  she  cries  if  she  is  out  of  her 
marm's  sight  a  minute.  She'd  cry 
herself  to  death  if  she  was  to  be  car- 
ried off.  Then  there's  Jackson,  nam- 
ed for  General  Jackson.  You  don't 
suppose  I  could  give  away  a  child 
that's  riamed  for  General  Jackson ! 
And  George  Washington,  named  for 
the  father  of  his  country.  Why,  I 
could  do  without  any  of  'em  sooner 
than  I  could  without  George  Wash- 
ington. And  Paul,  he's  named  for 
the  'postle  Paul.  It  would  be  a  sin 
and  a  shame  to  give  away  a  boy 
chat's  named  for  the  'postle  Paul. 
And  Polly,  she's  the  baby.  You 
can't  give  a  baby  awav  from  its  own 
mother." 


There  had  been  several  other  chil- 
dren who  had  died,  chiefly  from  un- 
wholesome little  fevers,  to  which  they 
seemed  addicted. 

Carl  was  unable  to  assist  the  man 
in  his  choice ;  but  he  comforted  him 
somewhat  by  promising  to  visit  his 
family  soon,  and  left  him  weeping, 
and  gazing  through  the  door  at  his 
children. 

That  same  afternoon  Carl  and  Me- 
licent  went  out  to  visit  Joe  Patten's 
family.  It  had  occurred  to  the 
young  woman  that  she  might  be  able 
to  train  one  of  the  pauper's  boys  for 
a  house-servant,  and  thus  benefit 
them  and  her  own  family  at  the  same 
time. 

The  Pattens  lived  directly  back  of 
the  Yorkes'  place,  about  half  a  mile 
farther  into  the  woods,  and  their 
house  had  no  communication  with 
the  public  ways  save  by  a  cart-road. 
Joe's  sole  income  was  derived  from 
the  sale  of  little  snags  of  wood  that 
he  hauled  into  the  village,  and  ex- 
changed for  groceries.  In  Seaton 
wood  was  a  drug  in  the  market.  A 
man  must  cut  his  beech  and  maple 
into  clear  split  logs,  and  season  it 
well,  if  he  expected  to  get  two  dol- 
lars a  cord  for  it. 

The  walk  through  the  woods  was 
a  pleasant  one,  for  nature  was  stir- 
ring all  alive  about  them.  This  na- 
ture was  no  Delilah  of  the  tropics, 
and  to  one  who  loved  a  bold  and 
gorgeous  beauty  it  was  poor.  But 
for  those  who  like  to  seek  beauty  in 
her  shyer,  hidden  ways,  it  had  a  deli- 
cate and  subtle  charm.  The  pro- 
fuse snowy  bloom  of  wild-cherries 
showed  in  a  cloud  here  and  there 
against  the  red  or  salmon-colored 
flowers  of  maples  and  oaks.  Silver 
birches  glimmered  through  their  shin- 
ing foliage,  like  subsiding  nymphs, 
and  the  tassels  of  the  larch  swung 
out  their  brown  and  gold.  Violets 
blue  and  white  opened  thickly  in  wet 


332 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


places,  sisterhoods  of  snowdrops 
stood  with  their  drooping  heads  -ten- 
derly streaked  with  pink,  little  knub- 
bles  of  land  were  covered  thickly 
with  old  and  young  checkerberry — 
"  ivry-leaves "  the  children  called 
them,  drops  of  gum  oozed  through 
the  rough  bark  of  spruce  and  hem- 
lock, brooks  rushed  frothing  past,  and 
birds  were  returning  to  their  nests 
or  building  new  ones. 

Soon  they  heard  sounds  of  human 
life  through  the  forest  quiet,  the  loud 
voice  of  a  scolding  woman  and  a  con- 
fused babel  of  children's  voices. 

Carl  smiled  mockingly.  "  A  troop 
of  dryads,  probably,"  he  remarked. 

Suddenly  they  came  out  close  to  a 
small  log-house  that  stood  in  an  irre- 
gular clearing ;  and  now  the  scolding 
and  the  babel  were  plain  to  be  heard. 

"  I'll  lick  you  like  a  sack  if  you 
don't  bring  some  dry  sticks  to  get 
supper  with  !"  cried  a  woman's  voice, 
and  at  the  same  instant  a  ragged 
little  boy  bounded  from  the  door, 
helped,  apparently,  by  some  outward 
application,  and  ran  for  the  woods,  his 
bare  feet  seeming  insensible  to  sticks 
and  stones.  Then,  all  at  once,  there 
was  silence,  and  clusters  of  two-col- 
ored heads  in  the  windows,  and  peep- 
ing from  the  door.  The  visitors  had 
been  discovered.  As  they  approach- 
ed the  door,  a  large,  wild-eyed  Boa- 
dicea  came  to  meet  them,  and  in- 
vited them  in  with  great  ceremony 
and  politeness.  She  had  an  unwhole- 
some, putty-colored  skin  and  black 
hair  and  eyes.  In  one  corner  sat 
Joe,  with  the  baby  in  his  arms,  and 
his  hat  on  his  head.  This  he  re- 
moved, half-rose,  and  performed  a 
salution  which  was  more  a  courtesy 
than  a  bow.  But  he  uttered  not  a 
word.  "In  this  house  clearly, 

*  Madame  d'Acier  est  le  p&re,'  " 

thought  Carl. 

With  a  sweep  of  the  arm  she  ban- 


ished the  children  all  into  one  cor- 
ner of  the  room  (the  house  contain- 
ed but  one  room),  brought  two  strip- 
bottomed  chairs,  from  one  of  which 
her  husband  had  meekly  fled  at  her 
approach,  and,  dusting  them  off  with 
her  apron,  invited  her  visitors  to  be 
seated. 

"  You  must  excuse  the  confusion 
reigning  in  my  poor  mansion,"  she 
said  with  great  suavity,  and  a  very 
good  accent.  "  Children  are  always 
disorderly.  Sarah !"  raising  her 
voice,  "  bring  the  besom  and  sweep 
up  the  embers." 

Melicent  turned  a  look  of  dismay 
on  her  brother,  who  was  taken  with 
a  slight  cough.  Sarah,  otherwise 
Sally,  came  bashfully  out  from  be- 
hind her  father,  where  she  had  been 
crouching  on  the  floor,  and  swept  up 
the  hearth  with  a  brush  broom. 

The  poor  woman,  anxious  to  do 
all  honor  to  her  visitors,  and,  also, 
to  show  them  that  she  was  above  her 
circumstances,  knew  no  other  way 
than  by  using  the  largest  words  she 
could  think  of.  Her  idea  of  polite 
conversation  was  to  make  it  as  little 
as  possible  like  anything  she  was  ac- 
customed to. 

Melicent  stated  her  errand  at  once, 
and  the  mother,  with  many  thanks, 
and  lamentations  on  her  misfortunes, 
called  the  little  ones  forward,  and 
placed  them  at  the  lady's  disposal. 
She  stopped  in  her  compliments  to  dart 
a  threatening  look  toward  the  door, 
where  the  boy  who  had  been  "  nam- 
ed for  the  'postle  Paul "  stood  with 
his  burden  of  dry  sticks.  He  drop- 
ped them  instantly,  and  came  forward, 
and  his  mother  as  instantly  resumed 
her  smiling  face.  She  could  change 
her  expression  with  remarkable  fa- 
cility. 

Melicent  fancied  this  boy  at  once, 
and  promptly  concluded  a  bargain  to 
give  a  week's  trial  to  him  and  his 
eldest  sister.  They  were  to  go  to  "  the 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


333 


hall,"  as  Mrs.  Patten  politely  called 
it,  the  next  day,  and  begin  their 
training.  They  would  work  for  their 
food  and  clothing,  and  perhaps,  after 
a  while,  when  she  should  think  them 
worthy,  they  might  receive  wages. 

This  settled,  Miss  Yorke  and  her 
brother  departed,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Patten's  compliments  to  the  door, 
and  stared  after  by  all  the  children. 
Joe's  only  movement  on  their  going 
was  to  perform  another  courtesy  like 
that  with  which  he  had  received 
them. 

"  Poor  souls !  they  are  delighted 
to  have  their  children  with  us,"  said 
Melicent,  when  they  were  out  of 
hearing.  "  But  I  hope  the  mother 
won't  come  to  see  them  often.  Bet- 
sey says  she  is  half-crazy." 

"  I  respect  her  for  it !"  Carl  ex- 
claimed. "  You  can  see  that  she  has 
some  talent  and  ambition,  and  that 
she  has  read  some,  though  she  is  ab- 
surdly ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the 
world.  With  such  a  husband,  such 
a  troop  of  children,  and  such  pover- 
ty, I  repeat  I  respect  her  for  being 
crazy.  She  can't  have  a  person  to 
speak  to  but  her  own  family,  immur- 
ed in  those  forest  solitudes,  as  she 
says." 

Mrs.  Patten  looked  after  them  as 
long  as  she  could  see  them,  her  face 
glowing  with  pride.  Then  she  went 
into  her  house,  went  to  the  fireplace, 
and  withdrew  a  pair  of  iron  tongs 
that  lay  with  red-hot  tips  in  the  coals 
there.  "  There  is  no  need  of  them 
now,"  she  said  exultingly. 


These  tongs  had  been  kept  red 
during  the  last  week  for  the  better 
reception  of  any  town  officer  who 
should  venture  to  come  for  one  of 
her  children.  Mrs.  Patten  did  not 
by  any  means  propose  to  submit 
tamely.  Then  she  turned  tragically, 
and  faced  her  husband  with  a  look 
of  withering  contempt. 

"  I  was  meant  to  be  such  a  lady 
as  that !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  grand 
gesture  of  the  arm  in  the  direction 
where  Melicent  Yorke  had  disappear- 
ed. "  And  yet,  I  sacrificed  my 
birthright — fool  that  I  was !  —  to 
marry  you,  Joe  Patten  !" 

Joe  shrank,  and  hugged  the  baby 
up  to  him.  "  I  know  you  did,  Sal- 
ly !"  he  said  deprecatingly  —  "I 
know  you  did !" 

"  And  you  never  knew  enough  to 
appreciate  me!"  she  continued  in  a 
tragic  tone. 

"  I  know  I  never  did,"  answered 
Joe  in  a  trembling  voice — "  I  know 
it,  Sally." 

"  Learn  to  respect  me,  then  !"  she 
said,  drawing  herself  up.  "  Call  me 
Mrs.  Patten !"  • 

"  Yes,  I  will,  I  do,  I  have,"  whim- 
pered Joe.  "  I—  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !"  commanded 
his  wife.  "  Paul,  bring  me  those 
chips."  And  she  proceeded  to  get 
supper. 

Poor  Sally  Patten  was  not  nearly 
so  cruel  as  she  appeared.  In  truth, 
she  -had  never  laid  the  weight  of  her 
hand  upon  her  husband.  But,  then, 
he  was  always  afraid  she  would. 


TO   BE  CONTINUED. 


334 


Mexican  Art  and  its  Michael  Angela. 


MEXICAN    ART  AND   ITS   MICHAEL  ANGELO. 


THE  society  of  Mexico  has  become 
a  ruin  in  which  it  is  necessary  to 
search  with  some  labor  to  discover 
monuments  of  literature  and  art. 
Sor  Juana  Inez  de  la  Cruz,  though 
for  her  time  an  extraordinary  woman, 
is  unknown  to  the  greater  portion  of 
the  continent  of  whose  letters  she 
seems  to  have  been  the  true  morning 
star.  Of  Siguenza,  mathematician, 
philosopher,  historian,  antiquary,  and 
of  Velasquez  Cardenas,  the  astrono- 
mer and  geometrician,  the  world  knew 
little  until  Humboldt  praised  their 
remarkable  talents.  Not  without  a 
shrug  of  surprise,  we  imagine,  did  the 
readers  of  half  a  century  ago  accept 
his  assurance  that  "  M.  Tolsa,  pro- 
fessor of  sculpture  at  Mexico,  was 
even  able  to  cast  an  equestrian  statue 
of  King  Charles  the  Fourth  ;  a  work 
which,  with  the  exception  of  the  Mar- 
cus Aurelius  at  Rome,  surpasses  in 
beauty  and  purity  of  style  everything 
which  remains  in  this  way  in  Eu- 
rope." Miguel  Cabrera,  a  greater 
artist  than  Tolsa,  and  the  most  vig- 
orous imaginative  genius  which  Mexi- 
co has  produced,  has  yet  to  be  ade- 
quately recognized  in  America.  The 
art  of  our  northern  republic  boasts 
the  names  of  Trumbull,  Stuart,  All- 
ston,  Inman,  Vanderlyn,  Sully,  Nea- 
gle,  Hamilton,  Rothermel,  Church, 
Crawford,  Powers,  Akers,  Greenough, 
Hosmer,  and  others;  but  we  doubt 
if  among  all  these  can  be  found  'an 
artist  as  praiseworthy  as  was  this 
Mexican  Cabrera.  Do  we  exagge- 
rate ?  No ;  we  are  addressing  a 
practical  public,  much  in  love  with 
its  own  works  and  ways  and  ideals, 
and  not  too  well  disposed  to  imagine 


the   difficulties  of  a  Mexican  artist 
one  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago. 

But,  first,  let  us  describe,  so  far  as 
we  may,  the  scene  and  circumstances 
of  his  artistic  labors.  Mexico,  as 
compared  with  our  northern  cities, 
is  a  wonderfully  old-fashioned  capi- 
tal. The  walls  of  its  houses  have 
been  built  to  last  till  doomsday,  and 
its  doors  are  like  doors  of  castles. 
Many  of  its  flat  fronts  boast  stuccoed 
ornaments  :  all  are  painted  with  tints 
ranging  from  yellow  to  pink  and 
pale  blue — colors  of  art  which,  as 
applied  in  particular  cases,  are  Sel- 
dom at  once  tolerable  to  a  foreign 
eye,  but  which  find  their  reason  in 
necessity  as  well  as  taste,  and  partly 
in  the  dull,  unlovely  character  of  the 
building  material.  This  is  often  a 
kind  of  lava-stone  or  tezontle,  a  stone 
the  volcano  itself  seems  to  have  sup- 
plied for  the  purpose  of  resisting 
earthquake,  and  which  defies  the  in- 
sidious action  of  Mexican  damps. 
The  churches  are  instances  of  colored 
architecture.  La  Pnofesa  is  yellowed ; 
the  cathedral's  chapel  is  browned. 
San  Domingo,  San  Agustin,  and,  in 
fact,  all  the  Mexican  churches  are 
tinted  more  or  less,  the  favorite  hue 
being  a  mild  and  not  offensive  yellow, 
qualified  by  white  plasters.  One  re- 
members gratefully  that  neutral  tint 
which  makes  a  long  range  of  Mexi- 
can houses,  with  their  balconies  and 
tasteful  awnings,  quaint  and  elegant 
letterings  of  signs,  and  flags  hung  out 
at  shop-doors,  so  picturesque,  so 
pleasant,  and  so  characteristic.  The 
perspective  of  a  Mexican  street,  espe- 
cially toward  the  close  of  the  day, 
enjoys  a  repose  of  many  colors  well 


Mexican  Art  and  its  Michael  Angela, 


335 


blended  with  such  lines  of  substantial 
houses  as  cannot  but  impress  the  eye 
of  the  musing  stranger.  Their  archi- 
tecture, so  simple  and  massive,  but 
so  different  from  a  certain  wide-awake 
familiarity  which  is  written  upon  the 
houses  of  the  North,  best  assimilates 
in  his  view  with  some  mood  of  twi- 
light. Yet,  seen  at  dawn  or  at  dusk, 
or  under  the  moon,  the  city  of  Mexi- 
co never  loses  its  one  decided  charm  of 
picturesqueness.  It  was  this  exceed- 
ing quality  which  doubtless  delighted 
the  eye  of  Humboldt  when  he  praised 
Mexico  as  one  of  the  finest  of  cities. 
He  had,  perhaps,  beheld  from  its 
cathedral's  steeple  a  most  unique  ca- 
pital— a  city  set  not  on  a  hill,  but  in 
one  of  the  dreamiest  of  valleys  near 
one  of  the  dreamiest  and  shallowest 
of  lakes,  with  Popocatapetl  and  Ix- 
taccihuatl,  snow-crowned  and  heav- 
en -  seeking,  for  monuments  of  its 
guardian  valley. 

In  such  a  scene,  Cabrera  and  his 
contemporary  artists  did  their  work. 
Their  school  was  the  church.  What 
this  church  was  in  their  day  the 
splendid  traditions  of  art  found 
even  now  in  its  corridors  and  near 
its  altars  bear  faithful  witnesses. 
Something  from  their  hands  has 
gone  into  every  community  of  Mexi- 
co, and,  if  war  has  spared  one-half 
the  relics  of  her  art  as  it  existed  one 
hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred 
years  ago,  the  republic  is  still  for- 
tunate in  one  respect.  The  cathe- 
drals of  Puebla  and  Mexico,  and  La 
Profesa,  were  perhaps  the  chief  homes 
of  that  genius  of  painting  which 
was  manifested  not  merely  in  one, 
but  in  a  number  of  Mexicans.  Who 
are  the  artists  of  the  exceedingly  fine 
pictures  which  may  be  seen  in  the 
church  at  Puebla  the  stranger  rarely 
ascertains.  The  tradition  that  Ve- 
lasquez, the  great  pupil  of  Murillo, 
and  Cabrera,  the  native  Mexican, 
sowed  the  religion  of  the  New  World 


with  their  pencils  some  centuries  ago, 
supplies  him  with  the  morsel  of 
vague  knowledge  with  which  he  re- 
luctantly leaves  a  building  full  of  rich 
and  curious  shrines.  Mexico  is  to 
all  appearances  singularly  deficient 
in  a  proper  memory  of  her  noblest 
painters.  Go  into  one  of  the  city's 
oldest  churches,  and  your  friendly 
guide,  though  he  be  a  priest,  may  not 
be  able  to  tell  you  who  painted  the 
saints  on  the  walls  and  the  heads  of 
the  apostles  on  the  shrines.  The  in- 
formation possessed  outside  of  the 
church  respecting  its  treasures  of  art 
has,  under  stress  of  various  revolu- 
tions, dissipated  into  vague  generali- 
ties. Three  or  four  remarkable  names 
are  known,  and  a  few  famous  pic- 
tures ;  but  who  can  at  once  point  out 
to  us  the  masterpieces  of  any  of  the 
five  or  six  painters  whose  works  are 
worth  remembering,  or  tell  us  near 
what  shrines,  outside  of  the  capital 
itself,  we  are  likely  to  find  rare  pic- 
tures ?  Nevertheless,  art  is  almost 
the  chief  boast  of  Mexico,  aside  from 
its  natural  endowments,  though,  like 
so  much  else  in  -a  land  subject  to  all 
manner  of  vicissitudes,  the  boast  is 
to  some  extent  shadowy  and  un- 
substantial. In  successive  revolu- 
tions, it  is  conjectured,  those  true 
homes  of  fine  art,  the  convents,  have 
been  despoiled,  and  the  saints  and 
angels  of  their  galleries  sent  hither 
and  thither,  to  be  kept  by  natives  or 
to  be  sold  to  foreigners  as  Joseph 
was  sold  by  his  brethren.  Another 
spoliation,  and  perhaps  a  searching 
and  sweeping  one,  is  said  to  have 
taken  place  under  the  eye  of  the 
French  during  their  mercenary  inter- 
vention. How  or  by  whom  robbed 
and  mutilated  in  the  last  half-century 
of  wars,  Mexican  art  is  but  the  wreck 
of  what  it  was.  That  so  much  of  it 
still  survives  is  a  proof  of  its  origi- 
nal abundance  and  vitality. 

But,    notwithstanding    the    whirl- 


336 


Mexican  Art  and  its  Michael  Angela. 


winds  of  revolution,  art  in  the 
country  of  Cabrera  has  retained  a 
number  of  impregnable  and  inde- 
structible asylums.  Altar  ornaments 
of  gold  or  silver  may  have  been  stol- 
en from  the  cathedral,  but  apparent- 
ly no  sacrilegious  criminal  has  ever 
carried  away  its  pictures.  These 
treasures  of  the  church  are  set  fast  in 
their  places  round  the  shrines,  so 
closely  and  plentifully  that,  wher- 
ever they  are  most  congregated,  the 
altar-places  seem  walled  and  tiled 
with  them.  Not  all  of  them  are 
worthy  of  Cabrera  or  Xuarez  or  Xi- 
menez,  let  alone  Murillo  and  Velas- 
quez; but  all  have  their  value  as 
portions  of  a  chapter  in  art  the  like 
of  which  is  not  to  be  seen  elsewhere 
on  the  American  continent.  Con- 
fused and  perplexed  as  the  real  beau- 
ties of  many  of  these  painting  are  by 
the  endless  bedizenments  of  altars,  it 
is  impossible  to  ignore  or  conceal 
the  richness,  delicacy,  and  even  ten- 
derness which  belong  to  their  best 
specimens.  The  extravagance  of 
gilding,  the  wilderness  of  carved 
flourishes,  which  the  taste  of  the  six- 
teenth century  placed  at  the  back 
of  the  altars,  do*  not  form  the  best 
repository  for  the  subdued  beauty 
which  a  noble  picture  acquires  with 
age.  The  great  back  altar-wall  of 
the  cathedral  is  from  floor  to  roof 
one  mass  of  most  ingenious  carving 
and  gilding,  out  of  which  what  seem 
to  be  pious  aborigines,  associated 
with  warriors  and  saints  on  the  same 
background,  blossom  in  paint  and 
gold.  Our  modern  and  practical 
tastes  do  not  easily  give  room  to  an 
ornamentation  as  loud  and  prodigal 
as  figures  in  this  great  recess ;  but 
it  is  nevertheless  a  rare  and  merito  - 
rious  work  in  its  way.  Other  shrines 
display  the  same  gilding  in  an  infe- 
rior degree ;  and  we  must  divest  our- 
selves of  some  prejudice,  artistic  and 
otherwise,  before  we  appreciate  the 


merit  of  extreme  elaboration  in  their 
ornaments,  and  discover,  notwith- 
standing this  lavish  wealth  of  sur- 
rounding decoration,  the  modest 
worth  of  the  best  pictures  of  the 
church. 

The  cathedral  is  well  constituted 
to  be  the  ark  and  refuge  of  religious 
art.  It  is  about  428  feet  long  and 
200  wide,  while  its  general  height  is 
almost  100,  that  of  its  towers  being 
nearly  200  feet.  These  dimensions 
argue  an  interior  vast  enough  to  en- 
close three  or  four  such  churches  as 
we  may  see  on  Broadway,  without 
taking  into  account  its  large  adjoin- 
ing chapel.  Its  exterior  is  a  congre- 
gation of  heavy  masses  crowned  by 
great  bell-shaped  towers,  but  wanting 
a  grand  unity  and  exaltation.  Never- 
theless, the  charm  of  picturesqueness 
which  belongs  to  so  many  solid  mon- 
uments of  the  sixteenth  century  has 
rested  upon  this  cathedral,  in  spite  of 
its  dinginess  and  heaviness;  and  a 
view  of  it  under  the  magic  of  a  moon- 
light which  Italian  skies  could  not 
more  than  rival  is  one  of  the  finest 
of  a  series  of  Mexican  lithographs. 
Gothic  height,  space,  and  freedom  are 
the  prime  qualities  of  the  cathedral's 
interior.  Not  less  than  twenty-two 
shrines  are  there  visible  in  an  extent 
of  two  aisles  and  twenty  arches, 
the  columns  of  which  are  each  quin- 
tupled. The  high  porphyry  columns, 
the  range  of  the  apostles,  the  burst  of 
gilded  glory,  and  the  outspread  an- 
gels over  the  principal  altar  are  ex- 
ceedingly impressive,  notwithstanding 
an  exuberance  of  colors.  The  choir, 
altogether  the  best  architectural  fea- 
ture of  the  great  building,  rises  rather 
toward  the  middle  of  the  church,  and 
up  from  the  floor,  in  a  high  and  lux 
urious  growth  of  oaken  carvings  and 
embellishments.  Inside  is  the  assem- 
bly of  the  saints,  finely  panelled. 
Cherub  and  seraph  are  busy  appa- 
rently with  the  superb  organ-pipes, 


Mexican  Art  and  its  Michael  Angela, 


337 


and  make  merry  overhead  with  all 
the  instruments  of  an  orchestra,  while 
impish  faces  beneath  them  seem  to 
be  out  of  temper.  The  nobleness  of 
the  choir  as  a  work  of  art  is,  in  great 
part,  due  to  its  gravity,  though  it  is 
as  ingenious,  perhaps,  as  anything  of 
the  kind  need  be,  without  seeking 
comparison  with  the  mightiest  fancies 
of  the  Old  World. 

Even  to  an  ordinary  observer  it  is 
plain  that  the  old  cathedral  is  well 
endowed  with  pictures.  The  pure 
olive-faced  Madonna,  over  the  near- 
est and  most  popular  altar,  is  said  to 
be  Murillo's  ;  it  may  be  Velasquez's. 
She  is  a  mild,  meek  lady,  with  a  boy 
in  her  lap,  veritably  human  in  feature. 
Out  of  the  rich  shade  of  a  great  old 
artist's  mood  cherubs  seem  to  swarm 
upon  them.  In  the  fine  gloom  of 
Vespers,  when  only  the  face  of 
the  Madonna  is  seen,  the  religious 
mildness  of  this  picture  is  espe- 
cially venerable.  Other  altars  have 
many  curiosities,  more  or  less  associ- 
ated with  art.  There  is  at  one  a 
Man  of  Sorrow,  sitting  and  leaning 
in  wretched  plight ;  at  another,  a  sal- 
low and  agonized  Redeemer  on  the 
cross;  and  painted  statues  and  cru- 
cifixes only  less  realistic  and  distress- 
ful than  these  are  common  through- 
out the  church.  The  ghostly  figure 
of  what  may  be  a  dead  saint  is  laid 
out  in  wa"x,  as  upon  a  bed,  at  one 
shrine,  and  elsewhere  what  seems  to 
be  a  dead  Redeemer  is  altared  in  a 
glass  case.  In  the  chapel  the  artistic 
character  of  the  cathedral  is  repeated, 
save  that  its  high  altar-columns,  its 
cross-bearing  angel,  its  splendidly-ray- 
ed apotheosis  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  its 
statues  of  Moses  and  John  the  Baptist, 
have  a  more  modern  workmanship. 
The  Madonna,  in  lady-like  wax,  with 
a  crown  upon  her  head,  and  holding 
daintily  a  babe  in  her  arms,  is  the 
principal  figure  of  one  of  the  auxil- 
iary shrines,  though  not  the  best  spe- 

VOL.  XIII. 22 


cimen  of  an  art  in  which  Mexicans 
excel,  and  which,  as  represented  in  a 
black-robed  figure  of  the  Mother  of 
Sorrows,  is  sometimes  admirable  and 
religiously  effective.  These  instan- 
ces, though  but  a  few  of  the  number- 
less curiosities  of  wood  and  wax 
amid  which  the  painters  have  found 
their  abiding  home,  will  serve  to  illus- 
trate the  very  mixed  artistic  complex- 
ion of  the  Mexican  cathedral.  The 
statues  and  paintings  are  of  all  sorts, 
colors,  and  styles.  But  the  shadowy 
picture  of  a  sad,  nunlike  face  of  Our 
Lady  of  Sorrows  ;  the  quaint-hooded 
countenance  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
apparently  wrought  in  tapestry  of  the 
middle  ages ;  or  that  of  our  Lord, 
after  he  had  been  scourged,  plainly 
apprise  us  that  the  sincerity  of  art, 
first  consecrated  by  the  church,  has 
become  a  part  of  its  own  consecra- 
tion. These  are  sacred  pictures,  truly. 
Weary  and  wretched,  his  head  bound 
with  thorns,  our  Lord  leans  in  ago- 
nized contemplation,  while  an  apostle 
looks  up  to  him  in  tears.  The  ele- 
ments of  this  exquisite  painting  are 
gloom  and  pathos  developed  out  of 
Murillo-like  colors  and  shadows. 
Another  painting,  equally  reverend, 
pursues  the  same  theme  and  mood. 
To  whose  genius  do  we  owe  them  ? 
Perhaps  to  Velasquez,  of  whose 
works  the  church,  it  is  said,  possesses 
a  noble  number ;  perhaps  to  Cabrera. 
Who  shall  decide  ?  One  of  the 
fathers  or  cathedraticos  might  tell  us, 
but  which  father  and  which  profes- 
sor? The  condition  of  topsy-turvy 
succeeding  a  revolution  is  not  favor- 
able to  the  pursuit  or  the  memory  of 
art ;  and,  as  we  have  hinted,  the  pro- 
per rediscovery  of  Mexican  art  must 
be  a  matter  of  unselfish  and  labori- 
ous search.  Mexico  does  not,  per- 
haps, even  yet  know  its  proper  his- 
torian. 

Yet    some  thing  we   do   know   of 
Cabrera.     The  fine  head  of  St.  Peter, 


338 


Mexican  Art  and  its  Michael  Angela. 


pointed  out  to  the  writer  by  a  padre 
of  San  Hypolito,  is  by  him.  One  of 
three  immense  canvases  in  the  sa- 
cristy of  the  cathedral  is  also  his 
surprising  handiwork.  It  is  a  picto- 
rial homage  to  the  Pope,  wherein  the 
successor  of  St.  Peter,  gray  and 
grave,  sits  on  the  topmost  seat  of 
a  ponderous  car  of  triumph,  which  is 
pushed  by  giants  of  the  faith  led  by 
heroes  and  saints.  What  seems  to 
be  the  genius  of  history  has  a  seat  in 
the  van,  and  disporting  cherubs  hover 
on  flank  and  rear,  while  the  aged 
Pope  is  being  ministered  to  or  coun- 
selled by  a  saint  or  apostle.  This 
picture,  perhaps  the  largest,  though 
not  necessarily  the  best,  painted  by 
Cabrera,  is  very  remarkable  for  its 
vigor  and  variety  of  form.  The  other 
great  canvases  are  by  Xuarez  and 
Ximenez,  both  Mexican  painters  of 
genius.  One  represents  the  victory 
of  Michael  celebrated  by  the  an- 
gelic powers ;  the  theme  of  the  other 
appears  to  be  the  reception  of  the 
Holy  Lady  in  heaven.  Pictures  of 
this  extensive  character  are  certainly 
calculated  to  display  the  energy  of 
artists,  but  not  always  to  develop  the 
highest  expression  of  religion.  There 
can  be  no  question  of  the  vigor  of 
these  paintings,  especially  of  Cabre- 
ra's ;  but  probably  we  shall  have  to 
seek  among  smaller  canvases  and 
less  complicated  subjects  the  true 
masterpieces  of  Cabrera,  Xuarez,  and 
Ximenez.  Some  years  ago  they 
might  have  been  found  in  the  Con- 
vent of  La  Profesa  or  of  St.  Domi- 
nic, or,  perhaps,  in  the  Academy  of 
San  Carlos ;  but  where  are  they  now  ? 
That  academy,  once,  doubtless,  the 
finest  of  its  kind  in  America,  and 
still  among  the  best,  does  contain,  it 
is  true,  some  master  paintings  by 
Xuarez,  Rodriguez,  Joachim,  Ludovi- 
cus,  bearing  date  after  the  close  of 
the  sixteenth  century;  but  these  do 
not  give  us  assurance  of  being  the 


best  examples  of  what  was  done 
about  Cabrera's  time.  The  walls  of 
San  Carlos,  we  may  remark  in  pass- 
ing, contain  a  very  large,  melodra- 
matic descent  from  the  cross  by  Bal- 
tasar  de  Chaue,  and  a  beautiful  Shep- 
herd Boy,  by  Ingies,  whose  simpli- 
city recalls  the  fact  that  the  Lute 
Player,  one  of  the  few  genuine  Mu- 
rillos  said  to  be  in  the  country,  is  in 
the  possession  of  a  Mexican  club. 

But  what  of  Cabrera  ?  Alas  !  that 
the  walls  of  San  Carlos  should  tell 
us  little  or  nothing;  that  the  padre 
who  guides  us  through  La  Profesa 
knows  about  as  much !  The  poor 
muse  of  painting  has  been  a  good- 
for-nothing  these  many  years,  a 
wretched  Cinderella  sitting  at  a  ruin- 
ed hearthstone,  or,  rather,  sweeping 
up  the  rubbish  in  the  corridors  of 
confiscated  and  despoiled  convents. 
La  Profesa,  however,  is  an  asylum 
of  art.  As  it  now  stands,  it  is  a  fine 
old  church,  whose  rigid  and  anti- 
quated countenance  many  a  praying 
Mexican  woman  knows  for  that  of  a 
mother.  Nothing  of  its  ample,  sim- 
ple, sturdy  architecture  has  crumbled 
in  the  last  two  centuries.  Its  plate- 
resco — the  "  frolic  fancy  "  which  six- 
teenth-century art  put  upon  the  front 
of  churches,  and  of  which  faefafade 
of  the  cathedral  presents  an  immense 
example,  entangling  cherubs  and  be- 
wildering saints  in  the  ingenuity  of 
its  small  sculptures — still  remains  in- 
tact. The  apostles  are  in  their  nich- 
es, and  "  Nuestro  Sefior  "  is  invoked 
in  a  text  cut  on  the  outside  walls. 
Not  many  years  ago,  La  Profesa  was 
not  merely  a  church,  but,  as  its  name 
indicates,  a  house  for  religious  wo- 
men, and  that,  too,  one  of  the  rich- 
est and  most  extensive  in  Mexico. 
Many  courts,  many  corridors  and 
fountains,  and  some  pleasant  gardens, 
with  eaves-haunting  birds  to  remind 
one  of  St.  Francis's  gossips,  the  spar- 
rows, were  no  doubt  among  the  pos- 


Art  and  its  Michael  Angela. 


339 


sessions  of  this  convent  as  of  other 
convents  in  the  capital,  from  whose 
now  deserted  walks  and  cells  one 
may  hear  the  flow  of  fountains  and 
the  song  of  birds.  But  a  few  corri- 
dors of  the  many  that  belonged  to 
the  house  have  been  left  to  the  church 
out  of  a  general  ruin  made  necessary 
for  the  cutting  of  a  wide  street 
through  what  was  once  a  vast  build- 
ing or  number  of  buildings.  These 
corridors  and  the  church  itself  were 
in  1868  visited  by  the  writer  in  com- 
pany with  a  courteous  young  padre, 
but  he  could  learn  comparatively  lit- 
tle of  the  unmistakable  riches  of  art 
deposited  there.  Who  painted  the 
superb  heads  of  the  apostles  framed 
in  an  altar  near  the  sacristy  ?  Ca- 
brera or  Velasquez  ?  The  padre  did 
not  know.  As  we  entered  the  first 
of  the  wide,  heavy  stone  corridors, 
two  old  men,  looking  like  pensioners, 
were  saying  their  prayers  aloud  be- 
fore a  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Gua- 
dalupe.  We  stood  opposite  a  mam- 
moth scene  of  the  crucifixion,  where- 
in Christ  and  the  thieves  are  most 
painfully  individualized  on  the  gloom 
of  Calvary.  Age  and  neglect  had 
seemingly  eclipsed  the  larger  portion 
of  this  canvas,  and  left  no  shade  of 
the  painter's  identity  in  the  mind  of 
our  student  of  the  cloister.  In  an- 
other ill-lighted  corridor  were  paint- 
ings by  Cabrera,  Xuarez,  Ximenez, 
Joachim,  Correa,  Rodriguez,  and 
some  others,  all  Mexicans,  it  is  said, 
and  evidently  men  of  decided  gifts. 
Here  was  a  picture  by  Xuarez  of  the 
Saviour  in  apparition  among  the 
apostles — a  presentment  in  tenderest 
and  most  luminous  colors  of  ethereal 
gentleness.  The  finest  picture  in  the 
gallery,  entitled  St.  Luke,  might  have 
been  by  a  pupil  of  Murillo,  but  real- 
ly the  padre  could  not  tell.  Another 
corridor  more  neglected  than  the 
rest  seemed  to  be  a  very  charnel- 
room  for  art — a  place  for  the  rags 


and  lumber  of  unhung,  undusted, 
unrestored  pictures.  The  distracted 
church  has  been  a  sorry  sexton  for 
its  dead  painters.  After  all,  the  best 
efforts  are  not  certain  of  immunity 
from  the  outrages  of  time  and  igno- 
rance. Well  enough  if  the  great  un- 
seen critic  applauds. 

Nowadays  the  common  visitor  to 
La  Profesa  searches  not  at  all  for 
Cabrera,  but  looks  at  a  dome  bril- 
liantly painted  with  scenes  from  the 
life  of  the  Saviour  by  the  Spanish 
Mexican  Clavel.  Except  the  dome 
of  Santa  Teresa's  by  Cordero,  there 
is  perhaps  nothing  of  the  kind,  at 
least  in  the  three  principal  cities  of 
Mexico,  to  compare  with  Clavel's 
work.  Cordero,  whose  picture  of 
Columbus  at  court  received  all  the 
honors  of  an  exhibition  in  the  palace 
of  Prince  Poniatowski  at  Florence, 
and  who  has  received  high  encomi- 
ums from  his  brother  artists  in  Italy, 
is  by  some  regarded  the  best  of  ex- 
isting Mexican  artists.  Like  the  two 
Coras,  who,  with  Tolsa,  appear  to  be 
the  most  noted  of  the  sculptors  of 
Mexico,  Cordero  is  a  native  of  the 
country.  To  Jose  ViHegas  Coras, 
who  was  born  in  1713,  the  city  of 
Puebla  owes  those  statues  of  our 
Lord  and  Our  Lady,  which  one  of 
his  admirers  declares  have  a  sublimi- 
ty of  expression  and  a  grace  in  de- 
tails not  easy  to  find  in  the  best 
schools  of  Europe.  Jose  Zocarias 
Coras,  his  nephew,  was  less  an  ideal- 
ist, says  his  critic,  but  more  faithful 
to  nature,  and  is  distinguished  by 
his  sculptures  of  the  "  Crucified,"  in 
which  are  exhibited  a  profound  ago- 
ny. The  two  statues  which  crown 
the  towers  of  the  cathedral  are  also 
the  work  of  the  younger  Coras,  who 
died  in  1819,  in  the  sixty-seventh 
year  of  his  age.  The  work  of  these 
men  was  ill-requited,  like  so  much 
else  in  Mexican  life  and  industry. 
The  writer  is  not  able  to  speak  of 


340 


Me. vie  an  Art  and  its  MicJiael  Angela. 


them  upon  personal  or  from  a  very 
common  knowledge  of  their  sculp- 
tures; but  it  is  well  to  note  them 
here  as  artists  who  are  thought  wor- 
thy of  a  place  in  that  scarce  and  not 
too  steady  literature,  Mexican  bio- 
graphy. It  may  serve  others  who 
visit  Mexico  to  know  that,  in  the  lat- 
est phase  of  art  at  the  capital,  Cla- 
vel,  Rebull,  Cordero,  and  the  sculp- 
tor Islas,  with  some  others,  have  dis- 
tinguished themselves. 

Let  us  now  speak  freely  of  Cabre- 
ra, the  father  and  master  of  Mexican 
art — of  him  whose  pictures  are  at 
once  so  numerous  and  so  scarce, 
whose  fame  is  so  well-founded,  yet 
of  whose  life  so  little  is  known.  The 
first  important  fact  in  his  biography 
is,  that,  like  the  greatest  ruler  which 
the  country  has  produced,  its  great- 
est artist  was  an  Indian — a  Zapotec 
Indian,  too,  from  the  native  country 
of  Benito  Juarez,  Oaxoca.  The  next 
is  that,  under  the  patronage  of  the 
Archbishop  Salinas,  he  painted  those 
many  admirable  pieces  which  are  the 
reproachful  glory  of  his  country. 
According  to  a  modern  Mexican 
writer,  Senor  Orozco,  works  of  Ca- 
brera may  be  found  in  the  churches 
of  Mexico  and  Puebla  especially, 
and  in  the  convents  of  San  Domingo 
and  La  Profesa,  but  we  have  seen 
under  what  circumstances.  His  mas- 
terpieces, if  we  may  credit  the  in- 
telligent opinion  reported  by  Senor 
Orozco,  are  contained  in  the  sacristy 
of  the  church  at  Tasco,  where  a 
whole  life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  is 
portrayed,  the  scene  of  the  Nativity 
being  distinguished  by  its  light  and 
freshness  of  color.  The  same  writer 
assures  us  that  Cabrera  wrote  a  trea- 
tise on  the  celebrated  picture  given 
to  the  Indian  Juan  Diego  during  the 
Marvellous  Apparition  of  Our  Lady 
of  Guadalupe,  and  in  it  he  concurs 
with  other  painters  of  his  day  in  af- 
firming that  the  miraculous  painting, 


which  he  had  examined  carefully  in 
the  light  of  art,  is  not  the  work  of 
human  hands.  This  is  the  judgment 
of  an  Indian  artist  respecting  a  won- 
derful revelation  made  to  one  of  his 
race,  and,  however  it  may  be  viewed 
by  those  who  discredit  all  superna- 
turalism  of  a  later  date  than  eigh- 
teen hundred  years  ago,  gives  the 
stamp  of  conviction  to  the  faith  of 
Guadalupe.  What  the  opinion  of 
Cabrera  was  worth  in  a  question  of 
art,  what  the  artist  himself  should 
be  worth  in  the  estimation  of  man- 
kind, is  signified  to  us  in  the  follow- 
ing extraordinary  notice  of  his  ge- 
nius by  Count  Beltrani,  an  Italian 
traveller : 

"Some  pictures  of  Cabrera  are  called 
American  wonders,  and  all  are  of  eminent 
merit.  The  life  of  St.  Dominic,  painted 
by  him  in  the  cloister  of  the  convent  of 
that  name  ;  the  life  of  St.  Ignatius,  and 
the  history  of  the  man  degraded  by  mor- 
tal sin  and  regeneiated  by  religion  and 
virtue,  in  the  cloister  of  La  Profesa,  pre- 
sent two  galleries  which  in  nothing  yield 
to  the  cloister  of  Santa  Maria  la  Nueva 
di  Florencia,  and  the  Campo-Santo  of 
Pisa.  I  hazard  even  saying  that  Cabrera 
alone,  in  these  two  cloisters,  is  worth  all 
the  artists  joined  who  h*ve  painted  the 
two  magnificent  Italian  galleries.  Cabre- 
ra possesses  the  outlines  of  Correggio,  the 
animation  of  Domenichino,  and  the  pathos 
of  Murillo.  His  episodes — as  the  '  An- 
gels,' etc. — are  of  rare  beauty.  In  my  con- 
ception, he  is  a  great  painter.  He  was, 
moreover,  an  architect  and  sculptor ;  in 
fine,  the  Michael  Angelo  of  Mexico." 

What  say  our  American  pilgrims  to 
Italy  of  this  report  of  an  Italian  pil- 
grim in  America  ?  Here,  then,  was 
an  Indian  Michael  Angelo  of  whom 
few  artists  of  the  New  World  know 
anything  whatever.  We  need  not 
strain  an  objection  that  Count  Bel- 
trani's  dictum  may  be  an  exaggera- 
tion, for  there  are  not  many  travel- 
lers who  care  to  praise  Mexico,  an  1 
very  few  to  overpraise  her — at  least, 
in  respect  to  art.  The  fact  remains 


"  The  Serious,  too,  liave  their  '  Vive  la  Bagatelle."  '         341 


that  the  country  which  gave  birth  to 
Sor  Juana  Inez  de  la  Cruz,  perhaps 
the  most  remarkable  character  in  all 
American  letters,  also  had  for  its  na- 
tive the  greatest  painter  of  the  New 
World,  and  one  of  the  most  singular- 
ly meritorious  in  an  age  when  great 
painters  were  numerous.  In  judging 
of  Cabrera,  we  must  fairly  consider 
the  time,  the  place,  the  elements  in 
which  he  wrought ;  for  schools,  mas- 
ters, models,  emulation,  royal  encou- 
ragement, and  proper  recompense  and 
fame  were  all  denied  to  him,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree.  Cloistered  as 
a  great  artist  must  necessarily  be  at 
any  time,  he  would  have  felt,  per- 
haps, especially  abandoned  in  far-off 
Mexico  in  the  sixteenth  century.  That 
Cabrera  did  suffer  this  abandonment 
the  facts  of  his  life  attest.  Yet,  to 
speak  a  literal  truth,  Cabrera  has  no 
biography.  It  is  not  known  when  he 
was  born  or  when  he  died,  and,  says 
a  Mexican  writer,  "  we  only  know 
that  he  lived  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury by  the  dates  of  his  paintings." 
Alas !  for  fame ;  alas !  for  genius ! — 
and  this,  too,  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury! We  know  more  of  Shake- 


speare, more  of  Lope,  more  of  Sor 
Juana,  more  of  Alarcon — he,  too, 
was  born  in  Mexico,  yet  we  know 
his  birthday — than  of  Cabrera,  who 
could  not  have  died  more  than  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  years  ago, 
and  respecting  whom  it  was  said : 
"  There  is  hardly  a  church  of  the 
republic  which  does  not  contain 
some  work  of  his  distinguished  pen- 
cil." Alas !  for  work  and  worth ! 
How  much  of  all  this  may  have 
perished  or  vanished  beneath  the 
storms  of  the  last  fifty  miserable 
years  of  Mexican  life,  overridden 
by  swaggering  pronouncers,  stolen 
by  intervening  robbers,  the  torch  of 
genius  extinguished  in  the  dust  raised 
by  defiant  nobodies.  Yet  Cabrera  sur- 
vives, as  few  artists  can,  a  veritable 
wreck  of  matter.  Happily  for  him, 
it  may  be,  his  only  biography  is  in 
his  works ;  and  they  are  full  of  life, 
and  of  life  better  than  his  own,  yet 
in  some  respects  received  into  it — 
lives  of  saints,  apostles,  angels,  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  Divine  Re- 
deemer. Let  these  speak  for  his  life 
to  men,  and  commend  his  work  to 
the  unseen  Master. 


THE  SERIOUS,  TOO,  HAVE  THEIR  <  VIVE  LA  BAGATELLE.'  " 

GAY  world !     You  may  write  on  my  heart  what  you  will 

If  your  laugh-shaken  fingers  but  trace 
The  dream,  or  the  jest,  with  that  fairylike  quill 

That  ciphers  the  wood-sorrel's  vase  ! 

Fair  world !     You  may  write  on  my  heart  what  you  will ; 

But  write  it  with  pencil,  not  pen  : 
You  are  fair,  and  have  skill ;  but  a  hand  fairer  still 

Soon  whitens  the  tablet  again ! 


AUBREY  DE  VERE. 


342 


What  Our  Municipal  Lazv  Owes  to  the  Church. 


WHAT    OUR    MUNICIPAL    LAW    OWES    TO    THE    CHURCH. 


THE  wisdom  and  bravery  of  our 
forefathers  having  at  length  enabled 
them  to  sever  the  ties  which  had  bound 
the  original  thirteen  colonies  to  Great 
Britain,  their  experience,  knowledge, 
and  foresight  were  called  into  requisi- 
tion to  form  a  government  for  the 
new  nation,  and  adopt  a  code  of 
laws  which,  avoiding  the  complex 
and  erroneous  features  of  those  of 
the  Old- World  countries,  the  neces- 
sary result  of  centuries  of  contradic- 
tory legislation,  would  confirm  to 
the  people  their  newly-acquired  lib- 
erties, and  guarantee  to  every  citizen 
not  only  justice  from  the  state,  but, 
in  their  relations  with  each  other,  am- 
ple protection  for  life  and  liberty,  pro- 
perty and  reputation.  As  a  foundation 
for  this  new  system  of  jurisprudence, 
the  statesmen  of  the  Revolution  se- 
lected the  English  code  almost  in 
its  entirety,  partly  because  the  late 
colonists  had  been  familiar  with  its 
workings  on  either  side  of  the  ocean, 
but  mainly  because  they  considered 
it,  comparatively,  at  least,  humane  and 
liberal,  and  the  most  suitable  for  a 
free  government.  Many  statutes  and 
customs  peculiar  to  monarchies  were 
at  the  time  necessarily  omitted,  and 
several  enactments  have  since  been 
passed  by  our  national  and  local 
legislatures  liberalizing  ancient  laws, 
as  intended  to  keep  pace  with  the 
rapid  development  of  our  industrial 
resources,  which,  from  time  to  time, 
creates  new  and  complicated  rela- 
tions between  individuals.  Still,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  our  body  of 
laws  is  fundamentally  identical  with 
that  of  England  in  the  last  century, 
is  founded  on  the  same  general  prin- 


ciples, and  has  the  same  origin  and 
history.  Therefore,  in  speaking  of 
the  jurisprudence  of  our  republic, 
we  also  speak  of  that  of  Great  Bri- 
tain, for  whatever  applies  to  one  as  a 
whole  equally  applies  to  the  other. 

Our  municipal  law,  consisting  of 
the  common  law  (lex  non  scripta] 
and  the  statute  law  (lex  scripta), 
springs  from  three  distinct  sources, 
each  of  which  in  its  degree  has  ma- 
terially contributed  its  share  to  the 
general  stock  which  goes  to  make 
up  our  legal  system,  which,  for  com- 
pleteness and  enlightenment  of  spirit, 
may  well  challenge  the  .admiration 
of  mankind.  These  three  sources 
are — the  ancient  common  law  of 
England,  the  civil  law  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  and  the  canon  law  of  the 
church.  Though  originating  at  dis- 
tinct periods  and  places,  and  intend- 
ed primarily  to  operate  on  diverse 
elements,  the  provisions  of  these 
three  codes  have  in  process  of  time 
become  so  interwoven,  one  with  the 
other,  in  the  body  of  the  English 
law,  that  it  is  often  difficult  and 
sometimes  impossible  to  discriminate 
between  them. 

The  common  law,  in  its  general 
acceptation,  is  composed  of  the  an- 
cient customs  of  England,  beyond 
which  the  memory  of  man  runneth 
not  to  the  contrary,  of  reports  of 
cases  and  decisions  of  judges  thereon, 
and  of  the  writings  of  persons  learned 
in  the  law.  Sir  William  Blackstone, 
the  celebrated  author  of  the  Com- 
mentaries on  the  Laws  of  England,  is 
by  universal  consent  the  greatest 
expounder  of  the  common  law.  With 
the  legal  profession,  his  opinions 


What  Our  Municipal  Law  Owes  to  the  Church. 


343 


have  a  force  little  less  binding  than 
that  of  a  positive  enactment,  while 
his  definitions,  whether  borrowed 
from  his  predecessors  or  his  own 
creation,  are  accepted  by  the  learn- 
ed of  all  classes  as  the  most  compre- 
hensive and  satisfactory  in  the  lan- 
guage on  this  branch  of  study.  Un- 
happily for  posterity,  but  more  un- 
fortunately for  his  own  reputation, 
Blackstone  lived  and  wrote  in  an  age 
when  it  was  the  fashion  to  introduce 
into  every  department  of  English  lit- 
erature the  most  absurd  calumnies 
against  the  church,  and  to  advance 
the  most  preposterous  claims  in  favor 
of  the  so-called  Reformation.  The 
wild  fanaticism  and  lust  of  plunder 
with  which  that  stupendous  rebellion 
against  God's  authority  was  inaugu- 
rated had  in  a  great  measure  sub- 
sided in  the  middle  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, and  it  behooved  those  of  its 
advocates  who  attempted  to  look 
back  into  the  past  to  justify  present 
crimes  by  maligning  their  Catholic 
ancestors,  or,  when  that  could  not 
be  hazarded,  by  imputing  the 
worst  of  motives  for  the  best  of  ac- 
tions. The  great  commentator,  with 
all  his  perspicacity  and  legal  acumen, 
was  nor.  above  resorting  to  this  dis- 
honest method  of  bolstering  a  sink- 
ing cause,  and  hence  we  find  in  his 
otherwise  invaluable  work  that  he 
loses  no  opportunity,  in  or  out  of 
season,  to  ignore  the  transcendent 
merits,  misrepresent  the  conduct,  and 
misconstrue  the  intentions  of  the  ec- 
clesiastics of  the  early  and  middle 
ages  of  the  church,  who,  in  their 
time,  had  done  so  much  to  reduce 
our  laws  into  something  like  system, 
and  make  them  conform  in  justice 
and  equity  as  much  as  possible  to 
those  revealed  by  the  Creator.  Sur- 
rounded by  the  mists  of  doubt  and 
dissent,  the  emanation  of  a  hundred 
jarring  creeds,  he  failed  to  see  be- 
yond the  horizon  of  his  own  gene- 


ration, or  to  perceive  the  reflux  of 
that  wave  of  heresy  which,  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  submerged  Eng- 
land, and  threatened  to  inundate  the 
whole  of  Europe.  As  an  expounder 
of  law,  Blackstone  still  holds  a  posi- 
tion in  the  front  rank  of  our  jurists, 
but  so  warped  are  his  views  by  the 
prejudices  of  the  epoch  in  which  he 
lived  that,  before  the  enlightened 
spirit  of  our  time,  he  is  gradually  but 
surely  losing  his  vantage-ground  as 
an  impartial  authority,  even  on  ques- 
tions upon  which  he  is  really  most 
reliable.  Another  defect  in  the 
writings  of  this  able  professor,  but 
one  of  much  lesser  importance,  is 
his  constant  tendency  to  exaggerate 
the  merits  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  law- 
givers, and  to  attribute  to  them  the 
credit  of  originating  many  laws 
which  were  wholly  unknown  in  Eng- 
land till  many  years  after  the  con- 
quest; but  as  we  have  the  authority 
of  Hallam  for  saying  that  his  know- 
ledge of  ancient  history  was  rather 
superficial,  we  may  attribute  this 
fault  more  to  a  deficiency  of  histo- 
rical knowledge  than  to  a  wilful  in- 
tention to  deceive. 

The  civil  law  is  founded  principally 
on  the  ancient  regal  constitutions  of 
Rome,  on  the  laws  of  the  twelve 
tables,  the  statutes  of  the  senate  and 
republic,  the  edicts  of  the  praetors,  the 
opinions  of  learned  lawyers,  and  on 
imperial  decrees.  So  numerous,  how- 
ever, had  these  various  enactments 
become,  and  so  contradictory  in 
terms  and  penalties,  that  the  study 
of  them  was  the  labor  of  a 
lifetime,  altogether  beyond  the 
ability  of  the  great  mass  of  the 
governed  to  overcome.  It  was 
therefore  found  necessary  in  the  reign 
of  Theodosius,  about  A.D.  438,  to 
codify  them,  and,  by  rejecting  all  su- 
perfluous matter,  to  greatly  reduce 
their  bulk.  About  a  century  later, 
under  the  Emperor  Justinian,  they 


344 


What  Our  Municipal  Law  Owes  to  the  Church. 


were  again  submitted  to  a  similar 
process,  the  Institutes  being  reduced 
to  four  books,  and  the  Pandects, 
containing  over  two  thousand  cases 
and  opinions,  to  fifty.  To  these 
were  added  a  new  code,  being  a  con- 
tinuation of  that  of  Theodocius,  the 
novels  or  decrees  of  that  emperor 
and  his  successors,  as  well  as  those 
of  Justinian  himself.  These  taken 
together  formed  the  corpus  juris  civilis 
of  the  Eastern  and  Western  Empires, 
It  is  in  the  new  code  and  the  novels 
that  we  first  begin  to  perceive  the  in- 
fluence of  the  church  in  civil  legisla- 
tion. From  the  time  of  the  conver- 
sion of  Constantine,  the  emperors, 
with  one  or  two  exceptions,  were  the 
fast  friends,  and,  in  matters  spiritual, 
the  obedient  children  of  the  pontiffs. 
The  laws  of  pagan  times,  particular- 
ly those  respecting  distributive  jus- 
tice and  the  domestic  relations,  were 
utterly  unsuited  for  the  government 
of  a  Christian  people,  and,  as  the 
church  was  recognized  as  the  sole 
arbiter  of  right  and  wrong  in  the  ab- 
stract, it  is  natural  to  expect  that  the 
Christian  emperors  before  and  after 
Justinian  not  only  conformed  to  the 
dicta  of  the  church  in  their  decrees 
and  decisions,  but  frequently  consult- 
ed their  spiritual  advisers  on  matters 
affecting  conscience  in  their  twofold 
capacity  of  legislators  and  judges. 
Justinian  in  particular  appears  to 
have  borrowed  many  of  his  ideas  of 
temporal  law  from  the  church,  for  we 
find  him  paraphrasing  or  adopting 
bodily  many  of  the  canons  of  the 
early  councils.*  Hence  we  easily 
perceive  that  much  of  the  more  modern 
portion  of  the  corpus  juris  civilis, 
though  bearing  the  impress  of  im- 
perial authority,  is  in  reality  little 
more  than  a  copy  of  the  rules  laid 
down  previously  for  the  spiritual  and 
social  guidance  of  the  children  of  the 

*  Vide  131,  Nov.  Justinian. 


church,  and  that  those  grand  princi- 
ples and  delicate  distinctions  which 
are  as  true  to-day  as  in  the  time  of 
the  apostles,  and  are  as  applicable  to 
our  advanced  state  of  civilization  as 
they  were  then,  are  simply  the 
result  of  the  infusion  of  the  spirit  of 
Christianity  into  the  civil  polity  of  a 
once  pagan  people.  Thus  we  find 
the  Institutes  or  Elements  of  Justinian 
commencing  with  the  solemn  invo- 
cation, "  In  the  name  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,"  and  ending  with  the 
equally  edifying  aspir-ation,  "  Blessed 
be  the  majesty  of  God  and  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,"  and  in  harmony  with 
this  pious  disposition  we  find  among 
other  laws  relating  to  the  rights  of 
the  church  the  following  :  "  Those 
things  which  have  been  consecrated 
by  the  pontiffs  in  due  form  are  es- 
teemed sacred ;  such  as  churches, 
chapels,  and  all  movable  things,  if 
they  have  been  properly  dedicated 
to  the  service  of  God,  and  we  have  for- 
bidden by  our  constitution  that  these 
things  should  be  either  aliened  or  ob- 
ligated unless  for  the  redemption  of 
captives."  *  A  novel  of  Valentinian, 
in  A.D.  452,  in  recognizing  the  right 
of  bishops  to  try  cases  of  only  tem- 
poral concern  where  the  parties  were 
in  orders,  extends  their  jurisdiction 
over  laics  who  have  power  to  "  oblige 
themselves  to  obey  the  sentence  ot 
the  bishop,"  which  sentence,  if  ne- 
cessary, was  to  be  enforced  by  the 
civil  authorities. t 

The  church  did  not  conform,  either 
in  her  discipline  or  her  doctrine,  to 
the  rules  or  underlying  principles  of 
the  civil  law,  but  on  the  contrary 
subjected  that  law  to  the  most  rigid 
examination  and  the  most  careful 
analysis,  expurgating  what  was  op- 
posed to  justice  and  retaining  all  that 


*  Doctor  Harris's  translation,  p.  49.      London, 
1814. 
t  Lib.  ii.  tit.  35. 


Wliat  Our  Municipal  Laiv  Owes  to  the  C/iurc/i. 


345 


she  found  in  consonance  with  divine 
truth ;  and  as  the  Roman  civil  law 
was  at  that  period  a  rule  for  all  civ- 
ilized nations,  this  may  be  considered 
her  first  great  human  gift  to  mankind, 
equal  if  not  superior  to  her  subse- 
quent culture  of  the  arts,  sciences,  and 
literature.  Admitting,  then,  the  har 
mony  which  existed  between  the 
Roman  laws  and  the  teachings  of 
the  church,  we  are  not  surprised  to 
find  that  when,  in  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury, a  copy  of  Justinian,  discovered 
at  Amalphi,  Italy,  was  published,  it 
was  eagerly  received  by  European 
nations,  adopted  in  whole  or  in 
part  by  all  Christendom,  and  that  it 
to-day  forms  the  main  foundation  of 
the  jurisprudence  of  all  enlightened 
peoples.* 

About  the  time  of  the  revival  of 
the  study  of  the  Roman  civil  law, 
Gratian,  an  Italian  monk,  published 
in  three  volumes,  arranged  in  titles 
and  chapters  after  the  manner  of 
the  Pandects,  a  collection  of  the  de- 
crees- of  the  general  councils  of  the 
church,  a  digest  of  the  opinions  of 
the  fathers,  and  the  decretals  and 
bulls  of  the  Holy  See.  Other  collec- 
tions had  been  previously  made  by 
ecclesiastics  in  Spain  and  elsewhere, 
but  none  were  found  to  be  complete 
or  reliable.  However,  as  Gratian's 
work  was  itself  far  from  perfect,  Pope 
Gregory  IX.  authorized  Raymond 
de  Pennafort,  a  learned  divine,  to 
compile  a  new  collection,  which  was 


*  According  to  some  authorities,  a  copy  of  the 
Pandects  was  discovered  at  Amalphi,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  twelfth  century,  and  was  first  given 
to  the  world  by  two  Italian  lawyers.  D'Israeli, 
in  his  Curiosities  of  Literature,  saysr  ''The 
original  MS.  of  Justinian's  Code  was  discovered 
by  the  Pisans  accidentally  when  they  took  a 
city  in  Calabria.  That  vast  code  of  laws  had  been 
in  a  manner  unknown  from  the  time  of  that  Em- 
peror. This  curious  book  was  brought  to  Pisa, 
and,  when  Pisa  was  taken  by  the  Florentines, 
transferred  to  Florence,  where  it  is  still  preserv- 
ed." The  Code,  Pandects,  and  Institutes  are 
still  received  as  common  law  in  Germany,  Bo- 
hemia, Hungary,  Poland,  and  Scotland  iii  their 
entirety,  and  partly  so  in  France,Spain,  and  Italy. 


published  by  authority  of  his  Holi- 
ness, A.D.  1234,  under  the  ;.itle  of 
Decretalia  Gregorii  Noni.  It  was  di- 
vided into  five  books,  and  contained 
all  that  was  worth  preserving  of 
Gratian,  with  the  subsequent  rescripts 
of  the  Popes,  especially  those  of 
Alexander  III.,  Innocent  III.,  Ho- 
norius  III.,  and  Gregory  IX.  "  In 
these  books,"  says  Hallam,  "  we  find 
a  regular  and  copious  system  of  ju- 
risprudence, derived  in  a  great  mea- 
sure from  the  civil  law,  but  with 
considerable  deviation  and  possible 
improvement."*  Boniface  VIII., 
sixty  years  afterwards,  published  a 
sixth  part,  known  as  Sextus  Decretali- 
um,  divided  also  into  five  books,  in 
the  nature  of  a  supplement  to  the 
other  five,  of  which  it  follows  the 
arrangement,  and  is  composed  of 
decisions  promulgated  after  the  ponti- 
ficate of  Gregory  IX.  New  consti- 
tutions were  added  by  Clement  V. 
and  John  XXII. ,  under  the  titles 
respectively  of  Clementine  and  Ex- 
travagantes  yohannis,  and  a  few  re- 
scripts of  later  pontiffs  are  included 
in  a  second  supplement,  arranged 
like  the  Scxtus,  and  called  Extrava- 
gantes  Communes.  Up  to  the  Coun- 
cil of  Pisa,  in  A.D.  1409,  these  books 
constituted  the  whole  of  the  canon 
law  or  corpus  juris  canonid,  and 
though  principally  intended  for  the 
government  of  ecclesiastics,  were 
often  applied  to  temporal  purposes, 
in  law  and  equity,  when  neither  the 
civil  nor  common  law  met  the  require- 
ments of  a  disputed  point.  The 
study  of  the  canons  had  been  en- 
couraged from  the  first  in  the  col- 
leges and  schools  of  Europe,  but, 
upon  the  publication  in  a  systemati- 
cal form  in  the  eleventh  century,  it 
became  universal,  and  with  the 
Roman  civil  law  constituted  an  es- 
sential branch  of  clerical  education. 

*  Middle  Ages,  vol.  ii.  p.  201. 


346 


What  Our  Municipal  Lazv  Owes  to  the  Church.. 


At  first  the  Canonists  and  Glossators, 
as  the  professors  of  civil  law  were 
called,  formed  separate  but  not  an- 
tagonistic schools,  but  in  the  thir- 
teenth century  Lanfrancus,  a  professor 
of  Bologna,  united  the  study  of  both 
laws,  a  custom  which  has  since  been 
generally  adopted. 

As  we  have  before  remarked,  Sir 
William  Blackstone  would  fain  have 
us  believe  that  every  principle  of 
English  common  law  originated  with, 
and  was  recognized  by,  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  from  the  remotest  period  of 
their  history,  but  there  is  neither  fact 
nor  probable  suspicion  to  sustain 
those  unqualified  statements  of  our 
partial  commentator.  The  Romans, 
who  held  possession  of  Britain  for 
more  than  four  hundred  years,  may 
have  left  on  the  vanquished  people 
of  that  country  some  impress  of  their 
laws,  but  the  Britons  themselves, 
soon  after  the  departure  of  the 
legions,  were  driven  to  the  moun- 
tains of  Wales  by  the  Angles  and 
Saxons,  and  for  centuries  held  no  in- 
tercourse with  the  victorious  intrud- 
ers. These  latter,  the  outpourings  of 
the  woods  and  swamps  of  the  north, 
are  represented  by  all  reliable  histo- 
rians as  the  veriest  barbarians,  illite- 
rate and  idolatrous,  and  altogether 
incapable  of  conceiving  or  appreciat- 
ing the  broad  principles  of  free  gov- 
ernment or  the  varied  regulations 
which  control  the  intercourse  and 
commerce  of  man  with  man,  such  as 
we  find  in  civilized  society;  much 
less  those  which  affect  the  conduct 
of  household  relations,  which,  origi- 
nating in  the  church,  could  only  have 
been  properly  expounded  by  her 
ministers.  The  Danes,  who  subse- 
quently invaded  and  for  many  years 
held  possession  of  the  larger  portion 
of  the  island,  were  little  less  barbaric, 
nor  can  we  trace  to  them  any  well- 
recognized  custom  or  fundamental 
principle  of  our  present  laws.  "  In 


the  barbarous  specimens  of  legisla- 
tion due  to  the  era  of  Saxon  and 
Danish  rule,"  says  a  late  able  writer  on 
this  subject,  "  the  few  texts  of  Roman 
law  which  occur  appear  to  us  tracea- 
ble through  the  Papal  canons.  How 
faint  is  the  impression  which  even 
the  Anglo-Saxon  laws  have  left  upon 
our  system  ?  We  have  still  the  local 
court  and  the  local  officers,  and  some 
of  the  rude  democratic  elements  of 
judicial  procedure  and  constitutional 
law  have  been  nurtured  into  real 
civilized  liberty,  but  happily  for  us, 
the  harsh  and  partial  regulations 
savoring  of  original  Teutonic  savage- 
ness  which  awarded  the  various  pen- 
alties of  crime  have  passed  away,  and 
the  ancient  absence  of  all  expressed 
regulation  in  many  most  important 
points  has  been  supplied  by  the  leg- 
islation of  more  enlightened  times  and 
more  cultivated  men."*  After  the 
arrival  of  St.  Augustine,  towards  the 
close  of  the  sixth  century,  the 
gradual  evangelization  of  the  island 
of  Britain  necessitated  the  abolition 
of  the  heathen  customs,  the  basis  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  legislation,  such  as 
it  was,  and  the  introduction  of  a  new 
code  of  government.  The  primitive 
ignorance  of  the  inhabitants  and  the 
subsequent  decline  of  learning  conse- 
quent on  the  repeated  incursions  of 
the  Northmen,  had  the  effect  of  lim- 
iting whatever  knowledge  was  still 
possessed  in  the  country  to  the  ecclesi- 
astics, who,  amid  the  most  adverse 
circumstances,  and  very  often  at  the 
sacrifice  of  their  lives,  fed  the  torch 
of  learning  and  kept  its  brilliancy  un- 
dimmed  when  all  around  was  dark- 
ness. They  became  not  only  the  ma- 
kers but  the  dispensers  of  the  law,  for, 
though  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
anarchy  and  ignorance,  they  had  still 
the  guidance  of  their  canons  and 
some  acquaintance  with  the  elaborate 

*  Encyclopedia  Metropolitans.     London,  1846 


What  Our  Municipal  Law  Oivcs  to  the  Church.  347 


code  of  the  empire.  The  clergy,  ad- 
mits Blackstone,  "  like  the  Druids, 
their  predecessors,  were  proficient  in 
the  study  of  the  law." 

This  marked  and  beneficial  inter- 
ference of  the  ministers  of  the  church 
in  the  legislative  and  judicial  affairs 
of  newly  converted  nations  not  only 
arose  out  of  political  and  social  neces- 
sity, but  may  be  considered  as  a  logi- 
cal sequence  of  the  establishment  of 
Christianity  itself.  "  The  arbitrative 
authority  of  ecclesiastical  pastors," 
says  Hallam,  "if  not  coeval  with 
Christianity,  grew  up  very  early  in 
the  church,  and  was  natural  and 
even  necessary  to  an  isolated  and 
persecuted  society,  accustomed  to 
feel  a  strong  aversion  to  the  impe- 
rial tribunals,  and  even  to  consider 
a  recurrence  to  them  as  hardly  con- 
sistent with  their  profession;  the 
early  Christians  retained  somewhat 
of  a  similar  prejudice  even  after  the 
establishment  of  their  religion.  The 
arbitration  of  their  bishops  still  seem- 
ed a  less  objectionable  mode  of  set- 
tling differences,  and  this  arbitrative 
jurisdiction  was  powerfully  support- 
ed by  a  law  of  Constantine  which 
directed  the  civil  magistrate  to  en- 
force the  execution  of  episcopal 
awards."  *  Justinian  went  even  fur- 
ther than  his  illustrious  ancestors,  for 
he  not  only  gave  the  bishops  in  the 
first  instance,  without  the  consent  of 
the  parties,  the  power  of  trying  tem- 
poral causes  in  which  the  defendant 
«vas  an  ecclesiastic,  but  the  episcopal 
order  was  absolutely  exempted  by 
him  from  all  secular  jurisdiction. t 

If  such  clerical  intrusion  into  the 
province  of  the  civil  magistrate  was 
not  only  tolerated  but  encouraged  in 
the  best  and  most  Catholic  days  of 
the  Western  and  Eastern  empires,  how 
much  more  salutary  must  it  have 


*  Middle  A  fees,  vol.  ii.  p.  146. 
t  Nov.  Just,  123,  C.  21-23. 


been  in  its  effects  among  the  semi- 
civilized  and  turbulent  Saxons  and 
Northmen  !  Unfortunately,  scarcely 
any  record  is  left  to  us  of  the  labors 
of  the  priesthood  in  this  direction 
during  those  centuries  which  preced- 
ed the  Norman  conquest,  for  the  com- 
pilations of  Alfred  and  Edward  the 
Confessor  are  irreparably  lost ;  but 
here  and  there  we  catch  a  glimpse 
of  their  presence  legislating  or  de- 
ciding causes.  Thus,  as  early  as  A.D. 
787,  at  a  provincial  council  held  at 
Calcluith,  a  place  long  obliterated 
from  the  map  of  England,  it  was  so- 
lemnly enacted  "  that  none  but  legi- 
timate princes  should  be  raised  to 
the  throne,  and  not  such  as  were  en- 
gendered in  adultery  or  incest."  "  But 
it  is  to  be  remarked,"  says  Hallam, 
"  that,  although  this  synod  was  strict- 
ly ecclesiastical,  being  summoned  by 
the  Pope's  legate,  yet  the  kings  of 
Mercia  and  Northumberland,  with 
many  of  their  nobles,  confirmed  the 
canons  by  their  signatures."*  Anoth- 
er instance  of  clerical  legislation  is  to 
be  found  in  the  canons  of  the  North- 
umbrian clergy,  and  that  one  of  pe- 
culiar interest  to  students  of  law  and 
history,  presenting,  as  it  does,  the  first 
germ  of  that  glory  of  English  law  not 
inaptly  called  the  palladium  of  the 
subject's  liberty — trial  by  jury.t  "  If 
a  king's  thane,"  says  the  canon, 
"  deny  this  (the  practice  of  heathen 
superstition),  let  twelve  be  appointed 
for  him,  and  let  him  take  twelve  of 
his  kindred  or  equals  (>naga]  and 
twelve  British  strangers,  and  if  he  fail 

*  Middle  Ages,  vol.  ii.  p.  149. 

t  Sir  William  Jones,  a  learned  scholar  and  able 
jurist,  was  of  opinion  that  the  invention  of  trial 
by  jury  could  be  traced  to  the  ancient  Greeks, 
while  Blackstor.e  pretends  that  the  credit  of  it 
is  due  to  the  Saxons  who  brought  the  custom 
with  them  to  England ;  but  Hallam  and  other 
superior  authorities  maintain  that  the  canon 
quoted  in  the  text  is  the  first  germ  on  record  of 
this  great  distinguished  feature  of  English  com- 
mon law.  and  that  it  was  not  till  long  after  the 
advent  of  the  Normans  that  it  assumed  its  present 
systematic  form. 


348 


What  Our  Municipal  Laiv  Oives  to  the  Church. 


let  him  pay  for  his  breach  of  law 
twelve  half-marcs;  if  a  landholder 
(or  lesser  thane)  deny  the  charge,  let 
as  many  of  his  equals  and  as  many 
strangers  be  taken  for  him  as  for  a 
royal  thane,  and  if  he  fail  let  him  pay 
for  his  breach  of  law  six  half-marks ; 
if  a  ceorl  deny  it,  let  as  many  of  his 
equals  and  as  many  strangers  be 
taken  for  him  as  for  the  others,  and  if 
he  fail  let  him  pay  twelve  orae  for  his 
breach  at  law."*  This  quasi-jury  sys- 
tem appears  to  have  been  applied  to 
other  cases,  for  we  learn  from  the  his- 
tory of  Ramsey,  published  in  Gales's 
Scriptores,  that  a  controversy  relat- 
ing to  some  land  between  the  monks 
and  a  certain  nobleman  was  brought 
into  the  county  court,  when  each 
party  was  heard  in  his  own  behalf, 
and  after  its  commencement  it  was  re- 
ferred by  the  court  to  thirty-six  thanes, 
equally  chosen  by  both  sides,  t 

The  invasion  and  speedy  conquest 
of  Britain  by  the  Normans  not  only 
overturned  the  Saxon  dynasty,  and  re- 
duced the  people  of  that  and  the  Dan- 
ish race  remaining  in  the  country 
to  a  condition  of  absolute  servitude, 
but  introduced  a  new  language  and 
completely  revolutionized  the  muni- 
cipal laws  of  the  entire  nation.  The 
sacrifice  of  human  life  incident  to 
the  conquest  was  small  in  compari- 
son to  the  amount  of  misery,  wretch- 
edness, and  degradation  entailed  on 
the  vanquished  for  centuries  after- 
wards by  the  conquerors — men  gath- 
ered from  every  quarter  of  Europe, 
whose  fortunes  were  at  their  swords' 
points,  and  whose  fidelity  and  sup- 
port were  only  to  be  purchased  by 
the  fruits  of  plunder  and  spoliation. 
Still,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
conquest  had  its  advantages,  and  very 
great  ones.  From  the  departure  of 
the  Romans  until  the  arrival  of  Wil- 


*  Wilkins,  p.  too. 
tP.4'5. 


liam,  England  proper  cannot  be  said 
to  have  enjoyed  any  appreciable  re- 
spite from  foreign  wars  or  domestic 
dissensions.  The  Britons,  deprived 
of  the  powerful  protection  of  the  le- 
gions, were  constantly  harassed  by 
their  rapacious  neighbors  from  the 
north  side  of  the  Tweed,  and  in  trying 
to  escape  from  them  they  fell  into  the 
clutches  of  their  false  allies,  the  An- 
gles and  Saxons,  and  narrowly  escap- 
ed extermination.  These  latter  were 
no  sooner  settled  in  the  country  than 
they  established  as  many  monarchies 
as  they  had  chiefs,  and,  having  for  a 
time  no  foreign  foe  to  contend  against, 
readily  turned  their  arms  against  each 
other  on  the  slightest  provocation. 
Weakened  and  distracted,  they  soon 
fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  piratical 
Northmen,  who,  under  Canute  and 
his  successors,  fastened  on  the  fair 
lands  of  the  middle  and  northern 
portions  of  the  island  and  on  the 
contiguous  seaports  a  grip  so  tena- 
cious that  all  the  subsequent  efforts 
of  the  Saxon  monarchs  could  not  un- 
loosen it.  This  diversity  of  race  and 
traditional  forms  of  government  na- 
turally gave  birth  to  laws  and  cus- 
toms entirely  at  variance  with  each 
other  in  letter  and  spirit,  and  what 
was  binding  in  one  section  was  un- 
known or  disregarded  in  another. 
The  Normans,  with  the  thoroughness 
of  genuine  conquerors,  disregarded  all 
such  local  distinctions,  and  reduced 
the  entire  native  population  to  a 
level,  thane  and  ceorl  alike  being 
made  to  endure  the  same  burdens  of 
servitude  and  compelled  to  obey  im- 
plicitly the  will  of  their  new  masters. 
But  the  Normans  were  Christians, 
at  least  by  profession,  and  boasted 
of  a  species  of  rude  chivalry  which  pre- 
vented them  from  imitating  the  excess- 
es of  their  pagan  predecessors.  While 
greedy  enough  for  the  secular  lands 
of  the  defeated  Saxons,  they  seldom 
interfered  with  churches  or  institu- 


What  Our  Municipal  Law  Ozves  to  the  Church. 


349 


tions  of  learning  and  charity ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  were  wise  enough  to 
protect  the  one  and  encourage  the 
other  in  every  manner  possible  con- 
sistent with  their  design  of  total  sub- 
jection. They  introduced  generally 
the  new  system  of  feuds  and  a  for- 
eign hierarchy,  it  is  true,  but  they  did 
not  deprive  the  people  of  the  conso- 
lations of  religion,  and  they  gave  to 
the  country  for  the  first  time  unity, 
the  necessary  precursor  of  rational 
freedom,  and  a  national  government 
with  uniform  laws,  which,  if  born 
amid  the  clash  of  arms,  rested  its 
principal  claims  to  support  on  the 
ways  of  peace. 

The  feudal  system,  though  bur- 
dened with  its  aids,  reliefs,  seisin, 
wardship,  and  many  other  equally 
onerous  conditions,  was  for  that  time 
the  best  and  in  fact  the  only  proper 
form  of  government  for  England,  and 
it  is  mainly  to  its  uniform  establish- 
ment by  the  conquerors,  and  to  the 
judicious  statesmanship  of  her  great 
ecclesiastical  lawyers,  who  subse- 
quently gradually  mitigated  its  harsh- 
er features,  that  the  past  and  present 
greatness  of  that  country  is  to  be 
traced.  The  theory  that  the  sover- 
eign, representing  the  majesty  of  the 
nation,  was  the  owner  of  all  the  lands 
of  the  kingdom,  and  that  directly  or 
indirectly  all  the  occupiers  of  the 
soil  were  his  tenants,  holding  by 
right  of  fealty  and  service,  gave  to 
the  people  what  they  so  long  wanted, 
a  centre  of  unity  and  a  common  au- 
thority to  which  they  could  look  for 
redress  and  protection.  Besides,  the 
system  had  become  so  general  on  the 
Continent,  and  had  proved  so  admi- 
rable a  machine  for  defence  or  ag- 
gression, that  its  adoption  by  the  new 
Anglo-Norman  kingdom  had  be- 
come a  political  necessity. 

Though  sadly  behind  many  of  her 
sister  nations  in  the  arts  of  govern- 
ment, England  was  not  at  the  time 


of  the  conquest  altogether  deficient 
in  the  knowledge  of  civil  or  common 
law.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  many 
eminent  professors  of  both.  The 
monks  of  Croyland  and  Spaulding 
were  distinguished  as  jurists,  and  Eg- 
elbert,  Bishop  of  Chichester,  is  said, 
even  by  Norman  authorities,  to  have 
been  thoroughly  acquainted  not  only 
with  the  canons  and  what  was  then 
known  of  the  Roman  civil  law,  but 
with  "  all  the  ancient  laws  and  cus- 
toms of  the  land."  *  The  Normans, 
however,  preferring  to  place  their 
own  countrymen  in  positions  of  trust 
and  influence,  invited  from  the  Con- 
tinent many  learned  bishops  and  pro- 
fessors, to  whom  they  gave  the  charge 
of  the  principal  sees  and  universities, 
and  these,  having  been  trained  in  the 
schools  of  Italy  and  France,  soon 
substituted  the  study  of  the  clearer 
and  more  equitable  regulations  of  the 
lately-revived  civil  law  for  the  illog- 
ical and  conflicting  customs  of  the 
natives.  Thus  the  Pandects  of  Jus- 
tinian were  introduced  into  England 
by  Vicarius,  professor  of  canon  law 
at  Oxford,  A.D.  1138,  and  he  was  suc- 
ceeded by  Accorso,  a  doctor  of  the 
civil  law.  Bishop  Grosseteste  wrote  a 
treatise  in  favor  of  the  study  of  Ro- 
man law,  and  Theobald,  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  founded  a  professor- 
ship in  Oxford  to  promote  the  same 
object.  Of  the  latter  prelate,  it  is 
said  that  he  was  accustomed  to  retain 
in  his  house  "  several  learned  persons 
famous  for  their  knowledge  of  law, 
who  spent  the  hours  between  prayers 
and  dinner  in  lecturing,  disputing, 
and  debating  causes."t 

The  conquerors  of  the  Anglo-Sax- 
ons, though  by  no  means  deficient  in 
the  scholarship  and  accomplishments 
of  that  rude  age,  were  too  intent  on 
retaining  by  force  the  possessions 

*  Ingulph,  p.  36.      Nicholl's  Lit.  A  nee.  vol.  L 
p.  28. 
t  Peter  of  Blois,  Epist.  vol.  i.  3.    Paris,  1519. 


350 


What  Our  Municipal  Law  Owes  to  tJie  Church. 


they  had  won  by  the  strong  arm,  to 
cultivate  the  arts  of  peace,  and,  con- 
sequently, the  framing  of  the  laws, 
the  judicial  authority,  and  even  the 
pleading  of  causes,  necessarily  de- 
volved on  the  ecclesiastics.  Hallam, 
a  writer  equally  prejudiced  with  Black- 
stone,  '  though  a  much  better  histo- 
rian, is  forced  to  admit  that  "  the 
bishops  acquired  and  retained  much 
of  their  ascendency  by  a  very  re- 
spectable instrument  of  power — intel- 
lectual superiority.  As  they  alone 
were  acquainted  with  the  art  of  wri- 
ting, they  were  naturally  entrusted 
with  political  correspondence  and 
the  making  of  the  laws."*  And  it 
was  well  for  the  conqueror  and  con- 
quered alike  that  it  was  so,  for  to 
them,  and  them  alone,  was  given  the 
skill  and  authority  to  restrain  with 
one  hand  the  ruthless  oppressions  of 
the  lawless  barons,  and  with  the 
other  to  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  a 
down-trodden  people.  To  the  wis- 
dom that  proceeds  from  long  com- 
munion with  the  works  of  great  and 
good  men  they  joined  the  authority 
of  the  church,  which  they  failed  not 
to  call  into  requisition  when  persua- 
sion and  reasoning  equally  failed. 
To  them  we  owe  every  successful  ef- 
fort that  was  made  in  the  middle  age 
of  England's  history,  either  against 
the  tyranny  of  the  crown  or  the  in- 
justice of  the  nobles.  Magna  Charta, 
that  famous  instrument,  which,  like 
our  own  constitution,  is  so  frequently 
talked  about  and  so  little  understood, 
issued  from  the  fertile  brain  of  Arch- 
bishop Langton,  and  was  signed  by 
every  bishop  and  abbot  in  the  land.t 
It  was  they  who  took  up  the  serf,  ed- 


*  Middle  Ages,  p.  130. 

t  The  continued  encroachments  of  the  crown 
on  the  rights  of  the  barons  and  their  tenants  led 
to  an  armed  league  against  John  I.,  the  lead- 
ing spirit  of  which  was  the  intrepid  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  and  the  General,  Robert  Fitz- 
walter,  who  took  the  title  of  "  Marshal  of  the 
Army  of  God  and  of  Holy  Church."  The  result 
was  a  timely  concession  of  the  king,  which  was 


ucated  and  ordained  him,  and  made 
him  not  only  the  equal  but  in  many 
cases  the  superior  of  his  late  master. 
They  also  regulated  the  alienation  and 
descent  of  lands,  and  by  their  intro- 
duction of  fines  and  recoveries,  uses 
and  trusts,  and  other  forms  of  convey- 
ance, not  only  abolished  many  of  the 
worst  evils  of  feudalism,  but  even,  ac- 
cording to  Blackstone,  "  laid  the 
foundation  of  modern  conveyancing." 
For  many  centuries  they  were  the 
confidential  advisers  of  kings,  their 
trusted  ambassadors  abroad,  and  their 
names  always  appeared  first  in  every 
writ  summoning  a  council  or  parlia- 
ment to  legislate  for  the  welfare  of 
the  realm,  and  the  laws  thus  made 
were  regularly  dispensed  in  the  county 
courts  by  the  bishops  and  the  civil 
magistrates  sitting  together  with 
equal  jurisdiction. 

But  it  was  in  the  court  of  chancery 
that  the  wisdom,  clemency,  and  equity 
of  the  bishops  of  those  days  shone 
with  the  greatest  brilliancy.  This 
was  a  court  of  extraordinary  jurisdic- 
tion, unknown  in  England  before  the 
conquest  and  unparalleled  in  contem- 
porary nations.  The  chancellor  and 
his  assistants,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, up  to  the  time  of  Wolsey,  were 
ecclesiastics.  Their  decisions,  resting 
upon  conscience  alone,  though  un- 


granted  in  the  form  of  a  Great  Charter.  The 
importance  of  many  of  the  liberal  guarantees 
set  forth  in  that  instrument  has  departed  with  the 
special  evils  that  gave  rise  to  them,  but  many  of 
a  more  general  nature  and  such  as  related  to 
cheap,  speedy,  and  impartial  justice,  have  be- 
come integral  parts  of  the  British  Constitution. 
As  to  the  document  itself,  D'Israeli  relates  the 
following  curious  circumstance:  "Sir  Thomas 
Cotton  one  day  at  his  tailor's  discovered  that  the 
man  was  holding  in  his  hand,  ready  to  cut  up 
for  measures,  an  original  magna,  cAarta,  with  all 
its  appendages  of  seals  and  signatures.  He 
bought  the  curiosity  for  a  trifle,  and  recovered 
in  this  manner  what  had  been  given  over  for 
lost."  This  anecdote  is  told  by  Colomies,  who 
long  resided  and  died  in  this  country.  An  orig 
inal  magna  chcirta  is  preserved  in  the  Cottonian 
Library  ;  it  exhibits  marks  of  dilapidation,  but 
whether  from  the  invisible  scythe  of  time  or  the 
humble  scissors  of  a  tailor  I  leave  to  archaeolog- 
ical inquiry." 


What  Our  Municipal  Laiv  Owes  to  the  ChnrcJi.  351 


supported  by  express  statute  or  even 
in  contravention  of  its  letter,  had 
all  the  force  of  legal  enactments,  and 
formed,  collectively,  the  basis  of  much 
of  our  modern  remedial  legislation, 
as  well  as  an  unerring  rule  for  the 
guidance  of  our  highest  civil  justices. 
The  affairs  of  married  persons,  in- 
fants, idiots,  corporations,  bankrupts, 
testators  and  intestates,  grantors  and 
grantees  of  land,  and  of  nearly  every 
conceivable  condition  of  life,  are  even 
at  the  present  day  within  the  special 
and  almost  exclusive  jurisdiction  of 
our  courts  of  equity.  In  the  words 
of  a  distinguished  English  lawyer, 
"  It  gives  relief  for  and  against  in- 
fants, notwithstanding  their  minority, 
and  for  and  against  married  women, 
notwithstanding  their  coverture.  All 
frauds  and  deceits  for  which  there 
is  no  redress  at  common  law,  all 
breaches  of  trust  and  confidence,  and 
unavoidable  casualties,  by  which  obli- 
gors, mortgagors,  and  others  may  be 
held  to  incur  penalties  and  forfeit- 
ures, are  here  remedied.  This  court 
also  gives  relief  against  the  extrem- 
ity of  unreasonable  engagements 
entered  into  without  consideration, 
obliges  creditors  who  are  unreason- 
able to  compound  with  an  un- 
fortunate debtor,  and  makes  execu- 
tors, etc.,  give  security  and  pay  in- 
terest for  money  which  is  to  be  long 
in  their  hands.  The  court  may  con- 
firm the  title  to  lands,  though  one 
has  lost  his  writings,  render  convey- 
ances which  are  defective  through 
mistake  or  otherwise  good  and  per- 
fect. In  chancery,  copyholders  may 
be  relieved  against  the  ill-usage  of 
their  lords,  enclosures  of  land  which 
is  common  may  be  decreed,  and  this 
court  may  also  decree  the  disposition 
of  money  or  lands  given  to  chari- 
table uses,  oblige  men  to  account 
with  each  other,"  etc.* 


A  system  of  laws  like  that  of  Chan- 
cery, so  comprehensive  and  so  equi- 
table, defined  and  administered  by  a 
long  succession  of  the  most  upright 
and  enlightened  men  of  the  land, 
could  not  but  have  left  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  entire  jurisprudence 
of  the  people  who  profited  by  its 
protection — an  impression,  indeed, 
that  neither  the  mental  obliquity  of 
the  fanatic  nor  the  sophistry  of  the 
pedant  has  been  able  to  obliterate. 
"  So  deep  hath  this  canon  law  been 
rooted,"  says  Lord  Stairs,  "that 
even  where  the  Pope's  authority  is 
rejected,  yet  consideration  must  be 
had  to  these  laws,  not  only  as  those 
by  which  the  church  benefices  have 
been  erected  and  ordered,  but  as 
likewise  as  containing  many  equita- 
ble and  profitable  provisions,  which 
because  of  their  weighty  matter  and 
their  being  once  received  may  more 
fitly  be  retained  than  rejected."  * 

Had  the  prelates  and  priests  of 
the  Saxon  and  Norman  periods  done 
nothing  for  our  law  but  what  we  find 
in  the  decisions  of  their  equity  courts, 
they  would  have  •  conferred  upon  us 
an  incalculable  blessing,  one  equally 
calculated  to  liberalize  the  spirit  of 
legislators,  enlighten  the  understand- 
ing of  jurists,  and  make  government 
what  it  was  designed  to  be,  a  shield 
for  the  weak  and  helpless,  and  a  ter- 
ror to  the  wicked  and  dishonest. 
But,  as  we  have  seen  on  the  authority 
of  writers  conspicuous  for  their  anti- 
Catholic  bigotry,  they  did  infinitely 
more.  Statesmen  as  well  as  lawyers, 
they  framed  most  of  our  best  statutes 
as  well  as  adjudicated  upon  them, 
and  they  originated  or  perfected  eve- 
ry feature  in  our  entire  code' which 
has  stood  the  test  of  time,  and  en- 
larged civilization  from  trial  by  jury 
to  the  unqualified  right  of  every  man 
to  dispose  of  his  property  as  seems 


*  Enc.  Brit.,  art.  "  Law,"  p.  413. 


*  Institutes,  b.  i,  tit.  i,  §  14. 


352 


To  tJie   Crucified. 


best  to  himself.  They  have  thus 
placed  us  under  obligations  which 
we  can  only  in  part  repay  by  trans- 
mitting their  maxims  unimpaired  to 
our  descendants,  and  by,  at  length, 
doing  justice  to  their  memories.  And 
riow,  as  we  believe  that  the  world  is 
growing  wiser  as  it  is  growing  older, 
when  time  has  healed  many  of  the 
wounds  inflicted  during  the  great 
schismatic  revolt  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  and,  uninfluenced  by  pas- 


sion or  unawed  by  power,  the  scales 
of  prejudice  are  falling  from  the  eyes 
of  those  who  through  the  fault  of 
their  fathers  are  aliens  to  the  truth, 
it  is  not  too  much  to  hope  that  they 
will  neither  be  ashamed  nor  afraid  to 
acknowledge  how  much  they  are  in- 
debted to  the  church  and  her  minis- 
ters for  the  generally  admirable  sys- 
tem of  laws  under  which  we  live — 
laws  which  are  at  once  our  highest 
boast  and  best  protection. 


TO   THE  CRUCIFIED* 


SEE  how  fond  science,  with  unwearied  gaze, 

Eyes  on  the  sun's  bright  disk  each  fiery  vent, 
And  from  his  flaming  crown  each  ray  up-sent 

Searches,  as  miners,  in  their  furnace-blaze — 


Seek  trace  of  gold.     But  who  to  thee  doth  raise 

His  eyes  the  while  ?     Who,  with  true  heart  intent, 
Scans  thy  sharp  crown,  thy  bosom's  yawning  rent, 

And  peers  into  its  depths  with  love's  amaze  ? 


Let  me,  at  least,  come  near  the  abysmal  side, 

And  reach  out  to  the  heart  which  throbs  within. 

I  am  oppressed  with  woe  and  shame  and  sin ; 
Oh !  suffer  me  within  that  cleft  to  hide ! 

There  glows  the  fire  which  purifies  each  stain ; 

There  burns  the  love  which  bids  me  live  again. 


*  Thoughts  suggested  by  reading,  in  Nature,  an  account  of  the  solar  eclipse  of  December,  1870. 


Las  Animas. 


353 


LAS    ANIMAS.* 


Don  Fernan.  Uncle  Romance,  I 
am  coming  in,  although  it  don't 
rain. 

Uncle  Romance.  Welcome,  Senor 
Don  Fernan.  Your  worship  comes 
to  this,  your  house,  like  the  sun, 
to  illumine  it.  Has  your  worship 
any  commands  ? 

Don  F.  I  am  hungry  for  a  story, 
Uncle  Romance. 

Uncle  R.  Story  again !  Seiior, 
does  your  worship  think  that  my 
yarns 'are  like  Don  Crispin's  titles, 
that  were  past  counting  ?  Your 
worship  must  excuse  me;  I'm  in 
a  bad  way  to-day;  my  memory  is 
broken-winded,  and  my  wits  are 
heavier  than  bean-broth.  But,  not 
to  disappoint  your  worship,  I'll  call 
my  Ghana,  t  Ch-a-a-a-na !  Sebas- 
ti-a-a-na !  What  ails  the  woman  ? 
She  is  getting  to  be  like  the  Mar- 
quis of  Montegordo,  who  remained 
mute,  blind,  and  deaf.J  Ch-a-a-na!! 

Aunt  Sebastiana.  What  do  you 
mean,  man,  by  bawling  like  a  cow- 
herd ?  Oh !  Senor  Don  Fernan  is 
here.  God  be  with  you,  senor ! 
How  is  your  worship  ? 

Don  F.  Never  better,  Aunt  Sebas- 
tiana ;  and  you  are  well  ? 

AuntS.  Ay!  no,  senor;  I'm  fallen 
away  like  a  lime-kiln. 

Don  F.  Why,  what  has  been  the 
matter  with  you  ? 

Uncle  R.  The  same  that  ailed  the 
other  one  who  was  sunning  herself: 

*  "The  Souls" — generally  said  of  sculs  in  pur 
gatory. 
t  Diminutive  for  Sebastiana. 

%  "  El  Marques  de  Montegordo 

Que  se  qued6  mudo  ciego  y  sordo." 

Said  of  those  who  do  not  wish  to  speak,  see,  or 
hear. 

VOL.  XIII. — 23 


'  Una  vieja  estaba  al  sol 
Y  mirando  al  almanaque  : 
EM  cuando  en  cuando  decia, 
^Ya  va  la  luna  ntenguante?  " 

1  An  old  woman  was  sunning  herself 
And  studying  the  almanac: 
From  time  to  time  she  said, 
'  The  moon  is  waning  already.'  " 


Aunt  S.  No,  senor.  it  isn't  that. 
God  and  his  dear  mother  do  not 
take  away  our  flesh,  but  the  child 
when  he  is  born,  and  the  mother 
when  she  dies;  and  my  son — my 
own  life — 

Uncle  R.  There,  Ghana,  don't  men- 
tion Juan,  the  big  hulk,  with  more  ribs 
than  a  frigate.* 

Aunt  S.  Don't  believe  it,  senor ;  he 
just  talks  to  hear  himself,  and  don't 
know  what  he's  saying.  That  boy 
of  mine  is  more  gentle  and  reason- 
able; he  wouldn't  say  scat  to  the 
cat.  He  has  served  in  the  army 
six  years,  and  has  got  his  lights 
snuffed.t 

Uncle  R.  His  lights  are  those  of 
midnight.  He  entered  the  uniform, 
but  the  uniform  hasn't  entered  him.  $ 

Don  F.  But  what  is  the  trouble, 
Aunt  Sebastiana? 

Aunt  S.  Senor,  he  can't  get  work. 

Don  F.  Oh !  I'll  give  him  work, 
if  you'll  tell  me  a  story. 

Aunt  S.  My  man,  here,  would  do 
it  better.  Your  worship  knows  that 
he  has  the  name  of  being  such  a  good 


*  Very  obstinate. 

t  Tiene  las  luces  espabiladas.  He  has  his  lights 
snuffed,  i.e.,  wits  brightened — a  common  expres- 
sion. 

*  Ha  entrado  en  la  casaca  ptro  la  casaca  no  ha 
entrado  en  el.     Though  he  has  put  on  soldier 
clothes,  he  hasn't  gained  wit  by  a  soldier's  exp«- 
rience. 


354 


Las  Am  was. 


story-teller.     He  never  wants  for  a 
tale. 

Don  F.  That  is  true ;  but  to-day 
he's  not  in  a  talking  mood. 

Aunt  S.  If  I  hadn't— 
Uncle  If.  Come,  come,  woman, 
don't  keep  his  worship  in  expecta- 
tion, like  a  watch-dog.  A  story, 
and  a  good  one;  for  you  could 
talk  if  you  were  under  water. 

Aunt  S.  Would  your  worship  like 
to  hear  about  the  animas  ? 

Don  F.  Without  delay.  Let  us 
hear  about  the  animas. 

Aunt  S.  There  was  once  a  poor 
woman  who  had  a  niece  that  she 
brought  up  as  straight  as  a  bolt. 
The  girl  was  a  good  girl,  but  very 
timid  and  bashful.  The  dread  of 
what  might  become  of  this  child, 
if  she  should  be  taken  away,  was 
the  poor  old  woman's  greatest  anxi- 
ety. Therefore,  she  prayed  to  God, 
night  and  day,  to  send  her  niece  a 
kind  husband. 

The  aunt  did  errands  for  the  house 
of  a  gossip  of  hers  that  kept  boarders. 
Among  the  guests  of  this  house  was 
a  great  nabob,  who  condescended  to 
say  that  he  would  marry  if  he  could 
find  a  girl  modest,  industrious,  and 
clever.  You  may  be  sure  that  the 
old  woman's  ear  was  wide  open.  A 
few  days  afterwards,  she  told  the 
nabob  that  he  would  find  what  he 
was  looking  for  in  her  niece,  who 
was  a  treasure,  a  grain  of  gold,  and 
so  clever  that  she  painted  even  the 
birds  of  the  air.  The  gentleman  said 
that  he  would  like  to  know  her,  and 
would  go  to  see  her  the  -next  day. 
The  old  woman  ran  home  so  fast 
that  she  never  saw  the  path,  and 
told  her  niece  to  tidy  up  the  house, 
and  to  comb  her  hair,  and  dress  her- 
self, the  next  morning,  with  great  care, 
for  they  were  going  to  have  company. 

When  the  gentleman  came,  the 
next  day,  he  asked  the  girl  if  she 
knew  how  to  spin. 


"  Spin,  is  it  ?"  answered  the 
aunt. 

"  She   takes   the    hanks    down   like 
glasses  of  water." 

"  What  have  you  done,  madam  ?" 
cried  the  niece  when  the  gentleman 
had  gone,  after  giving  her  three 
hanks  of  flax  to  spin  for  him.  "  What 
have  you  done  ?  And  I  don't  know 
how  to  spin !" 

"  Go  along,"  said  the  aunt,  "  go 
along,  for  a  poor  article  that  will  sell 
well,  and  don't  set  your  foot  down*  but 
let  it  be  as  God  will." 

"  Into  what  a  thorn-brake  you 
have  put  me,  madam !"  said  the 
niece,  crying. 

"  Well,  see  that  you  get  out  of  it," 
answered  the  aunt;  "  but  these  three 
hanks  must  be  spun,  for  your  fortune 
depends  upon  them." 

The  poor  girl  went  to  her  room 
in  sore  distress,  and  betook  herself 
to  imploring  the  blessed  souls,  for 
which  she  had  great  devotion. 

While  she  prayed,  three  beautiful 
souls,  clothed  in  white,  appeared  to 
her,  and  told  her  not  to  be  troubled, 
for  they  would  help  her  in  return  for 
the  good  she  had  done  them  by  her 
prayers ;  and,  taking  each  one  a 
hank,  they  changed  the  flax  into 
thread  as  fine  as  your  hair  in  less 
time  than  would  be  worth  one's  while 
to  name. 

When  the  nabob  came,  the  next 
day,  he  was  astonished  to  see  the 
result  of  so  much  diligence  united 
with  so  much  skill. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  your  worship  so !" 
exclaimed  the  old  woman,  beside 
herself  with  delight. 

The  gentleman  asked  the  girl  if 
she  knew  how  to  sew. 

"  And  why  shouldn't  she  ?"  an- 
swered the  aunt  with  spirit.  "  Pieces 
of  sewing  are  no  more  in  her  hands 


*  Dejarse  z>,  rule  of  rustic  grammar,  literally 
equivalent  to  "  don't  commit  yourself." 


Las  Aninms. 


355 


than  cherries  would   be  in   the   big 
snake's  mouth."  * 

The  gentleman  then  left  her  linen 
to  make  him  three  shirts,  and,  not 
to  tire  your  worship,  it  happened 
just  as  it  had  the  day  before ;  and 
the  same  took  place  on  the  day  after, 
when  the  nabob  brought  a  satin 
waistcoat  to  be  embroidered;  except 
that,  when,  in  answer  to  her  many 
tears  and  great  fervor,  the  souls  ap- 
peared and  said  to  the  girl,  "  Don't 
be  troubled,  we  are  going  to  embroi- 
der this  waistcoat  for  you,"  they  add- 
ed, "  but  it  must  be  upon  a  condi- 
tion." 

"  What  condition  ?"  inquired  the 
girl  anxiously. 

"  That  you  ask  us  to  your  wed- 
ding." 

"  Am  I  going  to  be  married  ?"  said 
the  girl. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  souls,  "  to 
that  rich  man." 

And  so  it  turned  out,  for,  when  the 
gentleman  came,  the  next  day,  and 
saw  his  waistcoat  so  exquisitely 
wrought  that  it  seemed  as  though 
hands  of  flesh  could  not  have  touch- 
ed it,  and  so  beautiful  that  to  look 
at  it  fairly  took  away  his  eyesight, 
he  told  the  aunt  that  he  wanted  to 
marry  her  niece. 

The  aunt  was  ready  to  dance  for 
joy.  Not  so  the  niece,  who  said  to 
her :  "  But,  madam,  what  will  become 
of  me  when  my  husband  finds  out 
that  I  don't  know  how  to  do  any- 
thing?" 

"  Go  along !  and  don't  make  up 
your  mind"  answered  the  aunt.  "  The 
blessed  souls  that  have  helped  you 
in  other,  straits  are  not  going  to  de- 
sert you  in  this." 

On  the  wedding-day,  when  the 
feasting  was  at  its  height,  three  old 
women  entered  the  parlor.  They 

*  The  Tarascci^  or  mammoth  snake— an  immense 
frame  covered  with  canvas,  and  painted  to  re- 
semble a  snake — which  is  carried  in  front  of  the 
procession  on  the  feast  ef  Corpus  Christi. 


were  so  beyond  anything  ugly  that 
the  nabob  was  struck  dumb  with  hor- 
ror. 

The  first  had  one  arm  very  short, 
and  the  other  so  long  that  it  dragged 
on  the  ground ;  the  second  was 
humped  and  crooked ;  and  the  eyes 
of  the  third  stuck  out  like  a  crab's, 
and  were  redder  than  a  tomato. 

"  Jesus,  Maria  !"  said  the  astonish- 
ed gentleman  to  his  bride,  "  who  are 
those  three  scarecrows  ?" 

"  They  are  three  aunts  of  my  fa- 
ther," she  replied,  "  that  I  invited  to 
my  wedding." 

The  nabob,  who  was  mannerly, 
went  to  speak  to  the  aunts  and  find 
them  seats. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  to  the  first, 
"what  makes  one  of  your  arms  so 
short  and  the  other  so  long  ?" 

"  My  son,"  answered  the  old  wo- 
man, "  it  was  spinning  so  much  that 
made  them  grow  that  way." 

The  nabob  hurried  to  his  wife  and 
told  her  to  burn  her  distaff  and  spin- 
dle, and  to  take  care  that  she  never 
let  him  see  her  spin. 

He  immediately  asked  the  second 
old  woman  what  made  her  so  hump- 
backed and  crooked. 

"  My  son,"  she  answered,  "  I  grew 
so  by  working  all  the  while  at  my 
broidery-frame." 

With  three  strides  the  gentleman 
put  himself  beside  his  wife,  and  said 
to  her  :  "  Go  this  minute,  and  burn 
your  broidery-frame,  and  take  care 
that  in  the  lifetime  of  God  I  do  not 
catch  you  with  another." 

Then  he  went  to  the  third  old 
woman,  and  asked  her  what  made 
her  eyes  look  so  red  and  as  if  they 
were  going  to  burst  ? 

"  My  son,"  she  answered,  giving 
them  a  frightful  roll,  "  this  comes  of 
continual  sewing,  and  of  keeping 
my  head  bent  over  the  work." 

Before  the  words  were  out  of  her 
mouth,  the  nabob  was  at  his  wife's 


Las  Aniinas. 


side :  "  Go,"  said  he,  "  gather  all 
your  needles  and  thread,  and  throw 
them  into  the  well,  and  bear  in  mind 
that  the  day  I  find  you  sewing,  I  will 
sue  for  a  divorce.  The  sight  of  the 
halter  on  another's  neck  is  warning 
enough  for  me." 

Aunt  S.  And  now,  Senor  Don 
Fernan,  my  story  is  ended ;  I  hope 
that  it  has  pleased  you  ? 

Don  F.  Ever  so  much,  Aunt  Se- 
bastiana;  but  what  I  learn  from  it 
is,  that  the  souls,  notwithstanding 
that  they  are  blessed,  are  very  tricky. 

Aunt  S.  Now,  senor,  and  is  your 
worship  going  to  insist  upon  doc- 
trine in  a  romance,  as  if  it  were  an 
example  ?  Why,  stories  are  only  to 
make  us  laugh,  and  grow  better  with- 
out precept  or  name  of  lesson.  God 
will  have  a  little  of  all. 

Don  F.  True,  Aunt  Sebastiana; 
and  what  you  express  with  your 
simple  good  sense  is  more  wholesome 
than  the  critical  reverence  of  the 
overstrict.  But,  uncle,  I  am  not 
going  without  another  to  correspond 
with  this,  and  it  is  your  turn  now.  If, 
as  I  think  you  have  told  me  that 
you  were  on  other  occasions,  you 
are  a  devotee  of  San  Tomas,  *  here 
are  some  Havanas  as  an  offering  to 
his  saintship. 

Uncle  R.  Not  to  disoblige  your 
worship. 

Don  F.  But  I  must  have  the  story; 
I  want  it  for  a  purpose. 

Uncle  R.  By  which  your  worship 
means  to  say  that,  without  an 
ochavo,  you  can't  make  up  the  real.\ 
Well,  let  me  think.  Since  the  talk 
is  about  animas,  animas  it  is.  Their 
sodality  in  a  certain  place  had  for 
mayordomo  a  poor  bread-lost  \  of 
a  member,  one  of  those  who  are 


*  Saint  Thomas  is  the  patron  of  smokers. 

t  A  little  more  than  a  farthing,  as  if  he  had 
said,  "  Without  the  farthing,  you  can't  make  the 
fip." 

%  Pan  perdido. 


always  like  the  sheep  that  misses  the 
mouthful*  He  was  without  a  cloak, 
and  went  with  teeth  chattering  and 
limbs  benumbed  with  cold.  What 
does  he  do  but  go  and  order  himself 
a  cloak  made,  and,  without  so  much 
as  saying  chuz  or  muz,\  or  by  your 
leave,  sirs,  take  money  from  the 
funds  of  the  animas  to  pay  for  it. 
When  it  came  home,  he  put  it  on,  and 
went  into  the  street  as  consequential 
and  high-stomached  as  those  rich  folks 
recently  raised  from  the  dust.  But 
at  every  step  he  took,  some  one 
gave  the  cloak  a  jerk,  and  though 
he  kept  a  sharp  lookout  he  could 
not  see  who.  The  instant  he  drew 
it  up  on  the  left  shoulder,  down  it 
slid  from  the  right,  causing  him  to 
keep  a  continual  hitch,  hitch.  You 
would  have  thought  he  had  a  thorn 
in  his  foot. 

As  he  went  along,  pestered  and 
chap-fallen,  trying  to  make  out  what 
it  could  mean,  he  met  a  gossip  of 
his,  who  was  mayordomo  to  the  Her- 
mandad  del  Santisimo.\  This  fellow 
was  stalking  loftily,  filling  the  street 
with  his  air  that  said,  Get  onto/the  way, 
I  am  coming.  After  "  How  d'ye  do  ?" 
this  one  asked  the  other,  "  What  is 
the  matter,  comrade,  that  you  seem 
so  down  at  the  mouth  lately  ?" 

"  Matter  enough !"  answered  he 
of  the  souls,  pulling  his  cloak  up  on 
the  right  shoulder  while  it  slipped  off 
from  the  left.  "  Know  that  in  the 
beginning  of  the  winter  I  found  my- 
self in  difficulties.  I  had  sown  a 
pegujar\  without  seeing  the  color  of 
wheat.  My  wife  brought  me  two 
V>oys,  when,  with  the  nine  I  had  al- 
ready, one  would  have  been  too 
many ;  the  delivery  cost  her  a  long 


"*  Oveja  que  bala  bocano  plerdc.  The  sheep 
that  baas  misses  a  mouthful. 

t  Without  saying  chuz  or  muz— without  saying 
anything. 

J  Sodality  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 

§  Field  hired  of  tne  tovrn. 


Las  An i mas. 


1S7 


sickness,  and  me  the  eyes  of  my 
face.  In  few,  I  was  just  stuck  to 
the  wall  like  a  star-lizard,  and  hun- 
grier than  an  ex-minister.  I  had  to 
borrow  money  of  the  souls  to  get 
this  cloak;  but  what  the  seven  ails 
it  I  don't  know,  for,  whenever  I  put 
it  on,  it  seems  as  though  somebody 
was  giving  it  a  pull  here  and  a  jerk 
there.  Two  rudder-pins  couldn't 
hold  it  fast  to  my  shoulders." 


"  You  did  wrong,  my  friend,"  re- 
sponded the  steward  of  El  Santisi- 
mo.  "  If,  like  me,  you  had  taken  a 
loan  of  a  great  powerful  and  giving 
personage,  you  wouldn't  have  to  go 
about  as  you  do,  chased  and  perse- 
cuted for  the  debt.  If  you  borrow 
of  miserable  destitute  wretches,  what 
can  you  expect  but  that  the  poor 
things  will  try  to  get  back  their  own 
when  they  .need  it  so  much  ?" 


SAINT  JOHN    DWARF. 


ONE  day  a  hermit  father  in  God, 
Planting  in  earth  a  pilgrim's  rod, 
For  holy  obedience  did  pray 
Dwarf  John  to  water  it  every  day. 


From  the  far  river  daily  brought 
Silent  John  his  water-pot ; 
As  'twere  a  soul's  task  done  for  God, 
For  three  long  years  he  watered  the  rod. 


When  lo !  the  dry  wood  forth  did  shoot, 
And  bear  of  obedience  flower  and  fruit ! 
Water  thy  barren  heart  with  tears, 
And  the  same  shall  happen  in  good  three  years. 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


HOW  ROME  LOOKED  THREE  CENTURIES  AGO.* 


LET  us  suppose  a  company  of 
travellers  through  Italy  —  strangers 
from  foreign  climes,  England,  Germa- 
ny, and  France — reaching  Rome  at 
the  period  of  the  accession  of  Sixtus 
V.  to  the  throne  of  St.  Peter.  Ap- 
proaching the  Eternal  City  by  the 
road  from  the  north,  they  find  them- 
selves before  the  Porta  del  Popolo. 

Let  us  go  in  with  them,  and 
through  their  eyes  see  the  Rome  of 
that  day. 

On  entering  the  gates,  they  pass 
into  an  open  place  of  irregular  shape. 
A  large  convent  occupies  nearly  the 
entire  eastern  side,  which,  with  the 
graceful  campanile,  or  bell-tower,  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Popolo,  and  the 
high  houses  with  wide  portals  be- 
tween the  Corso,  the  Ripetta,  and  the 
Babuino,  are  the  only  edifices  visible. 
The  obelisk  is  not  yet  placed  there 
by  Sixtus  V.,  and  the  two  little 
churches  with  their  heavy  cupolas,  so 
well  known  to  the  modern  tourist, 
and  the  other  buildings  now  seen 
there — the  work  of  Pius  VII.  and 
the  architect  Valadier — did  not  then 
exist.  The  Piazza  del  Popolo  was 
then  less  symmetrical,  but  more  pictu- 
resque. Wayfarers  on  horseback  and 
on  foot  pass  to  and  fro ;  muleteers 
arrive  and  depart,  driving  before  them 
lines  of  mules  and  beasts  of  burden. 
In  the  centre  of  the  place  women  are 
washing  at  a  circular  basin.  Idlers  fol- 
low and  gaze  at  the  strangers  while 
they  make  their  declaration  to  the 

*The  materials  for  this  article  are  found  in 
the  learned  work  o  Gregorovius  (Geschichte 
der  Sladt  Rom),  the  publication  of  which,  com- 
menced at  Stuttgardt  in  1859,  is  not  yet  fully 
completed  ;  in  Baron  Hiibner's  Life  of  Sixtus  V.  : 
Burckhardt's  Cicerone  in  Italy:  and  Von  Reu- 
mont's  classical  work  on  Middle  Ages  Rome. 


bargel,  or  public  authority,  and  sub- 
mit their  effects  to  the  examination 
of  the  custom  officials.  These  pre- 
liminaries through,  our  travellers  may 
pass  into  the  city  by  a  street  leading 
around  the  base  of  the  Pincian  Hill, 
by  another  going  toward  the  Tiber, 
both  of  which  have  long  ceased  to 
exist,  or  by  the  well-known  Corso. 
Some  find  their  way  to  the  then  cele- 
brated and  already  venerable  hos- 
telry, 

THE    BEAR, 

widely  known  and  greatly  in  vogue 
ever  since  the  reign  of  Sixtus  IV.  Its 
peculiar  octagon  pillars  fix  the  period 
of  its  construction.  Strange  to  re- 
late, this  patriarch  of  hotels,  which 
has  seen  four  centuries  and  twenty 
generations  of  travellers  pass  over  its 
head  and  through  its  halls,  has  con- 
tinued in  existence,  and  is  still  open 
as  a  tavern  in  Rome  to  this  day. 
True,  its  guests  are  now  no  longer, 
as  they  were  in  the  sixteenth  centu- 
ry, such  personages  of  distinction  as 
foreign  prelates,  noted  scholars,  phi- 
losophers like  Montaigne,  and,  soon 
afterward,  the  earliest  known  tour- 
ists. Its  inmates  and  frequenters  of 
the  nineteenth  century  are  now  coun- 
try traders,  cattle  dealers,  and  wagon- 
ers. 

Others  of  our  travellers  who  in- 
tend to  make  a  longer  stay  in  Rome 
seek  out  the  houses  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Pantheon  or  the  Minerva, 
nearly  all  of  which  are  let  out  to  stran- 
gers in  rooms  or  suites.  These  apart- 
ments are.luxuriously  fitted  up  and  or- 
namented with  the  then  famous  Cordo- 
va leather  hangings,  and  richly  sculp- 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


359 


tured  and  gilded  furniture.  Every- 
thing is  brilliant  to  the  eye,  but  the 
nineteenth  century  tourist  would  have 
found  fault  with  the  lack  of  cleanli- 
ness and  the  stinted  supply  of  fresh 
linen. 

With  yet  others  of  these  travellers, 
let  us  enter 

THE    CORSO, 

the  Via  Lata  of  the  ancient  Ro- 
mans. There  is  no  sign  of  business 
on  it  at  this  early  day.  But  few  of 
the  aristocracy  have  as  yet  transfer- 
red their  residences  here,  but  it  al- 
ready wears  an  air  of  life  and  anima- 
tion, and  is  well  rilled  at  the  hours 
of  the  promenade. 

We  pass  along  between  vineyards 
and  vegetable  gardens.  A  single 
large  edifice  just  completed  strikes 
the  stranger's  attention.  It  is  the 
magnificent  Ruspoli  palace,  built  by 
Rucellai,  the  Florentine  banker,  upon 
the  designs  of  his  countryman  Am- 
manati. 

Now  we  reach  the  Via  Condotti, 
to-day  well-known  to  every  Ameri- 
can who  ever  saw  Rome.  Let  us 
turn  into  it  to  the  left,  and  traverse  it 
to  the  Piazza  della  Trinita  (now 
Piazza  di  Spagna),  whence  we  may 
scale  the  hill  above  and  obtain  a 
commanding  view  of  the  entire  city. 

In  doing  this,  we  pass  through 
the  then  worst  quarter  of  Rome,  phy- 
sically and  morally,  for  the  triangle 
formed  by  the  Corso,  the  Via  Con- 
dotti, and  the  Babuino  was  at  once 
of  the  most  evil  repute  and  the  most 
unhealthy  in  all  Rome.  In  this  quar- 
ter were  sure  to  break  out  all  the  epi- 
demics which  at  that  period  occa- 
sionally decimated  the  population  of 
Rome.  Seeking  to  mount 

THE     PINCIAN    HILL, 

the  traveller  of  that  day  might  have 
looked  in  vain  for  the  broad  flight 


of  easy  marble  steps  we  now  see 
there,  and  he  ascended  by  a  steep 
and  narrow  staircase.  On  reaching 
the  summit,  he  found  himself  on  the 
collis  hortulorum  of  the  Romans,  and 
saw  it  still  covered  with  vineyards  and 
tilled  fields,  and  the  comparatively 
modern  innovation  of  the  garden 
of  the  Villa  Medici.  The  elegant 
world  of  Rome  in  1585  had  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  taking  their 
promenade  and  their  enjoyment  of 
the  evening  air  about  the  Porta  del 
Popolo,  and  knew  naught  of  the 
charming  promenade,  the  delightful 
walks,  the  purer  breeze,  and  the  beau- 
tiful view  which  later  generations  en- 
joy on  the  hill  above  it. 

The  great  painters  of  the  succeed- 
ing age  who  came  to  Rome,  the  Car- 
racci,  the  Domenichinos,  the  Guides, 
and  the  Salvator  Rosas,  were  the 
first  to  discover  the  attractions  of  the 
Pincian  Hill,  and,  braving  custom, 
lack  of  accommodation,  the  bad 
neighborhood,  and  the  unhealthy 
contiguity  of  the  quarter  below,  were 
the  first  to  establish  themselves  upon 
it.  This  was  the  foundation  of  the 
modern  Pincian  settlement. 

Some  years  ago,  the  writer  of  this 
article  occupied  apartments  in  the  first 
house  to  the  right  on  reaching  the 
summit  of  the  Pincian  steps.  The 
tradition  of  the  house  ran  to  the  ef- 
fect that  these  rooms  had  been  occu- 
pied by  Salvator  Rosa;  and  if,  as 
they  say,  he  selected  them  for  the 
sake  of  their  view  of  the  setting  sun, 
he  chose  well,  for  all  the  sunsets  of 
Rome  may  there  be  seen  to  the  best 
advantage.  As  an  American,  how- 
ever, views  of  the  setting  sun  in  Italy 
were  not  specially  attractive  to  us, 
and  we  always  regretted  for  Salvator 
Rosa's  sake  that  he  had  never  seen 
a  transatlantic  sunset,  compared  with 
which  those  at  Naples  and  Rome  are 
tame  spectacles.  The  traditional 
"  beauty  of  an  Italian  sunset  "  is  one 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


of  the  many  English  provincialisms 
we  have  adopted  and  believed  in 
along  with  numerous  other  errors  em- 
balmed in  the  literature  of  England. 
But  we  forget  that  we  are  standing 
'on  the  Pincian  in  1585.  All  is  si- 
lent and  deserted  around  us,  and 
Rome  is  spread  out  at  our  feet. 

To  the  left  are  the  salient  points, 
the  seven  hills  —  for  the  Pincian 
was  not  one  of  them — the  towers 
of  the  Capitol,  the  ruins  of  the  palace 
of  the  Caesars  in  the  Farnese  gardens 
on  the  Palatine,  the  belfry  of  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore  on  the  Esquiline,  the 
Quirinal,  as  yet  without  the  imposing 
mass  of  the  pontifical  palace.  The 
Rospigliosi  palace  was  not  yet  built, 
but  the  villa  of  Cardinal  Sforza  is 
seen,  the  same  afterward  known  as 
the  Barberini  palace.  We  turn  our 
eyes  upon  the  lower  city — inhabited 
Rome — and  with  difficulty  make  out 
but  three  or  four  cupolas.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  see  a  perfect  forest  of 
towers  on  every  side,  some  of  them 
of  prodigious  size.  On  the  left  bank 
of  the  Tiber,  many  of  these  towers 
have  of  late  years  disappeared,  but 
the  Trastevere,  as  might  be  expect- 
ed, is  still  full  of  them — so  full,  indeed, 
that  a  distant  view  of  that  quarter 
presents  the  appearance  of  a  comb 
turned  teeth  upward.  At  that  period, 
these  towers  were  the  universal  ap- 
pendage of  an  aristocratic  dwelling. 
San  Gemiguiano  near  Sienna  is  the 
only  city  in  all  Italy  which  has  pre- 
served them  to  this  day. 

As  our  stranger  of  three  hundred 
years  ago  looks  over  Rome  and  lis- 
tens to  the  confused  noises  which 
meet  his  ear,  he  is  struck  with  the 
rarity  of  the  sound  of  bells  and  with 
the  small  number  of  churches  dis- 
cernible. The  great  Catholic  reac- 
tion consequent  on  the  Reformation 
had  for  fifty  years  moved  souls,  but 
had  not  yet  begun  to  move  the 
stones.  It  is  the  following  era  which 


is  to  imprint  upon  Rome  the  archi- 
tectural marks  of  the  church  trium- 
phant. Later  in  the  day,  when  our 
strangers  shall  have  descended  into 
the  city  and  entered  the  churches, 
they  will  be  struck  with  the  barren- 
ness of  their  interiors,  and  with  the 
absence  of  paintings.  They  are  pro- 
bably ignorant  of  the  fact  that  in 
Italy,  during  the  middle  ages,  there 
was  but  one  altar  in  a  church,  that 
there  alone  Mass  was  celebrated, 
that  the  mosaics  and  frescoes  came 
in  with  architectural  innovation,  and 
that  only  toward  the  end  of  the  six- 
teenth century  were  altars  and  oil- 
paintings  multiplied  with  the  side 
chapels. 

And  yet  this  comparative  quiet  of 
the  city  was  animation  itself,  compar- 
ed with  the  sights  and  sounds  dis- 
cernible from  the  same  point  at  the 
period  when  the  popes  returned  to 
Rome  from  Avignon. 

ROME  IN  1400. 

The  residence  of  the  Caesars  was 
covered  with  fields,  vineyard,  and 
pasture.  The  Pantheon,  the  Coliseum, 
some  ruins,  and  detached  columns 
alone  arose  over  the  surrounding 
waste  as  witnesses  of  former  gran- 
deur. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  the  Forum 
received  the  name  of  "  The  Cow  Pas- 
ture "  (Campo  Vaccino).  A  rem- 
nant of  life  yet  remained  in  the  plain 
extending  between  the  Tiber,  the  Pin- 
cian Hill,  and  the  Capitoline,  but  the 
total  population  of  Rome  was  reduced 
to  17,000  souls,  the  great  majority 
of  them  huddled  together  and  crowd- 
ed in  hovels  clustered  under  the  sha- 
dow of  the  baronial  and  aristocratic 
strongholds.  High  battlemented 
towers  filled  the  city.  Of  the  scores 
in  the  Trastevere,  that  of  the  Augui- 
lara  family  exists  to  this  day.  On 
the  Tiberine  island  arose  the  Frangi- 


Hoiv  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


361 


pani  towers,  o.n  the  left  bank  those 
of  the  Orsini,  from  the  Porta  del  Po- 
polo  to  the  Quirinal  those  of  the 
Colonna,  while  the  towers  of  the 
Mellini  and  the  Sanguigni  may  still 
be  seen  on  the  site  of  the  stadium  of 
Domitian. 

Of  all  the  seven  hills  of  Rome, 
one  only  had  not  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  barons.  The  Capito- 
line  was  still  held  by  the  people.  But 
commerce,  industry,  and  the  arts  had 
all  disappeared.  Rome  had  long 
been  cut  off  from  connection  with 
the  active  world,  and  when  the  work 
of  material  revival  and  rebuilding 
began,  not  only  architects  and  sculp- 
tors, but  stone  masons  and  carpenters 
had  to  be  brought  in  from  Tuscany 
and  Umbria. 

AN  ARCHITECTURAL  RETROSPECT. 

Under  the  pontificates  of  Sixtus 
IV.  and  his  two  successors,  Pintelli, 
a  pupil  of  Brunellesco,  ornamented 
Rome  with  such  monuments  as  San 
Pietro  in  Montorio,  the  fagade  of  St. 
Peter,  and  the  Sistine  Chapel.  He 
brought  to  his  work  the  boldness  and 
taste  of  his  master,  who  had  made 
profound  study  of  the  monuments 
of  ancient  Rome. 

This  was  the  period  of  the  first 
renaissance,  with  its  charms  and  im- 
perfections, at  once  timid  and  capri- 
cious, imitating  the  models  of  anti 
quity  in  their  details,  but  utterly  mis- 
taking the  proportions  which  are  the 
essential,  while  succeeding  brilliantly 
in  the  accessories  and  ornaments  bor- 
rowed from  the  ancients  and  used 
in  profusion  with  some  endeavor  to 
adapt  them  to  the  ideas  and  needs 
of  the  period.  The  fundamental 
principle  of  architecture,  which  re- 
quires that  the  exterior  should  ex- 
press or  respond  to  the  use  for  which 
the  interior  is  destined,  was  unknown 
to  Pintelli. 


To  break  the  monotony  of  the 
lines,  the  fagade  of  any  given  build- 
ing was,  as  it  were,  framed,  decora- 
tion was  freely  used,  and  the  object 
was  to  please  the  eye,  no  matter  by 
what  means.  At  that  day,  the  ar- 
chitect was  also  the  painter,  and  the 
majority  of  artists  were  both.  The 
first  renaissance  obtained  its  apogee 
toward  the  year  1500.  In  the  na- 
ture of  things  it  had  then  outlived 
its  day,  and  a  change  became  indis- 
pensable at  the  risk  of  degradation. 

Fortunately  Bramante  was  ready 
to  answer  the  call.  He  was  from 
Umbria,  and  Raphael  was  his  ne- 
phew. He  had  studied  in  the  north 
of  Italy,  where,  amid  plains  devoid 
of  stone,  the  architect  was  forced  to 
use  brick.  Hence  the  novelty  of 
combination  introduced  by  him  in 
Rome,  whose  inexhaustible  stone 
quarries  were  such  ancient  monu- 
ments as  the  Coliseum.  It  is  from 
the  absence  of  heavy  building-stone 
and  the  contrast  of  the  German  taste 
of  the  Longobards  with  the  Byzan- 
tine style  of  Ravenna  that  the  Lom- 
bard style  is  begotten.  It  brought 
with  it  precisely  what  the  renaissance 
most  needed,  namely,  its  exquisite 
sentiment  of  proportions,  and  it  forms 
the  transition  between  the  two  schools 
of  the  renaissance,  the  latter  of  which 
formed  the  golden  era  of  architecture 
in  Italy. 

Its  reign  in  Rome  has  left  indeli- 
ble traces.  Its  productions  —  and 
among  them  are  the  court  of  St.  Da- 
mas,  the  Belvedere,  the  galleries  of 
the  Vatican,  the  Giraud  palace — were 
the  pride  of  the  age.  They  taught  the 
comprehension  of  proportions,  the 
calculation  of  perspective,  the  cul- 
ture of  harmony  of  detail  and  en- 
semble, reformed  false  taste,  and  cre- 
ated an  epoch  in  profane  architec- 
ture. With  increase  of  public  secu- 
rity, even  the  Roman  barons  began 
to  understand  that  the  greatest  beau- 


362 


Hoiv  Rome  Looked  TJiree  Centuries  Ago. 


ty  of  the  architectural  art  might  be 
found  elsewhere  than  in  a  high  tower 
or  a  battlemented  block-house.  Even 
the  mezzo-ceto,  or  middle  class,  began 
to  contract  a  taste  for  something  be- 
yond the  absolutely  necessary,  and 
sought  to  adorn  even  their  modest 
habitations.  A  private  dwelling-house 
built  at  this  period  and  exclusively 
bramantesque  may  still  be  seen  in 
Rome  on  the  strada  papale,  opposite 
the  Governo  Vecchio.  It  yet  bears 
the  date  of  its  construction  (1500) 
and  the  name  of  its  builder. 

After  the  death  of  Bramante  ap- 
peared Raphael,  Michael  Angelo, 
Giulio  Romano,  and  Balthasar  Pe- 
razzi,  who,  prodigal  of  their  treasures 
of  genius,  created  a  golden  age. 

Romano's  Villa  Madama  became 
the  type  of  the  country-seat ;  Peruz- 
zi's  Farnesina,  that  of  the  modern 
palace.  Raphael,  more  as  painter 
than  as  architect,  composed  the  de- 
signs of  the  palace  Vidoni.  It  was 
the  great  epoch  of  the  culture  of 
simplicity  in  grandeur,  of  disdain  for 
the  small  and  the  superfluous,  of 
faithful  and  noble  expression  of  the 
idea  conceived. 

The  models  of  antiquity  were  still 
followed,  but  they  were  transformed. 
The  architect  translated  modern  con- 
ceptions into  the  sonorous  but  dead 
and  strange  language  of  the  old  Ro- 
mans. In  interior  ornamentation, 
however,  the  artist  could  give  free 
rein  to  his  inspirations,  and  throw 
off  the  trammels  of  the  severe  rules 
scrupulously  followed  as  to  the  fa- 
<jade  and  the  general  composition  of 
the  design.  Alas !  it  was  here  they 
planted  the  germs  of  degeneration 
and  decay.  Public  taste  —  never  a 
safe  guide — seized  upon  and  clung 
to  these  prodigalities  of  an  exube- 
rant and  fantastic  imagination  sup- 
posed to  be  inexhaustible.  At  Flor- 
ence, in  his  work  on  the  chapel  of 
the  Medicis,  Michael  Angelo  was  the 


first  to  enter  this  flowery  but  treach- 
ous  path. 

We  see  and  admire  these  niches, 
windowsi  and  ornaments,  charming 
indeed  to  the  eye,  but  which  have 
no  raison  d'etre.  It  was  at  a  later 
period,  under  the  pontificate  of  Paul 
III.,  that  the  painter  of  the  "Last 
Judgment"  and  the  sculptor  of  "  Mo- 
ses "  revealed  himself  at  Rome,  as  an 
architect  stamped  his  work  on  the  For- 
nese  palace,  and  astonished  the  world 
by  reconstructing  St.  Peter's.  Soon 
this  style  gained  the  upper  hand. 
Simplicity  yielded  to  riches  ;  logic  to 
caprice ;  unrestricted  liberty  succeed- 
ed the  voluntary  curb  which  the 
great  masters  of  the  epoch  had  im- 
posed upon  themselves.  Presently 
came  pauses.  Halts  were  made.  As 
in  all  human  affairs,  action  and  reac- 
tion succeeded.  Not  so  much  in  de- 
tails as  in  ensemble,  Vignoli  in  Rome, 
Palladio  at  Vicenza,  and  to  a  certain 
degree  Scamazzi  in  Venice,  brought 
back  architecture  to  the  sobriety  of 
the  commencement  of  the  century. 

But  the  death  of  Michael  Angelo 
appeared  to  have  completely  demo- 
ralized the  architects  who  survived. 
For  thirty  years  he  had  reigned  su- 
preme. In  him  alone  had  the  popes 
confidence  ;  and  upon  architects  em- 
ployed by  them,  they  imposed  the 
obligation  of  following  him.  Piero 
Ligorio,  architect  of  St.  Peter,  was 
dismissed  because  he  manifested  an 
intention  to  put  aside  Michael  An- 
gelo's  plans.  In  thus  officially  guard- 
ing the  manes  of  the  dead  master, 
they  apparently  hoped  to  transfer  his 
genius  to  those  who  succeeded  him. 
But  it  was  a  sad  and  fatal  mistake. 

The  amount  of  building  effected 
in  Rome  during  the  last  third  of  the 
sixteenth  century  has  never,  proba- 
bly, been  exceeded.  In  examining 
the  productions  of  that  epoch,  the 
struggle  between  the  servile  imitators 
of  Buonarotti  and  the  men  of  pro- 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


363 


gress,  desirous,  but  through  lack  of 
originality  incapable,  of  emancipating 
themselves,  is  readily  discerned.  But 
let  us  leave  this  retrospect,  descend 
the  steps  of  the  Pincian  Hill,  and,  tra- 
versing the  Piazza  di  Spagna  and  the 
Via  Condotti,  enter 

THE    CORSO   AGAIN, 

at  the  points  where  to-day's  tourist 
sees  the  Via  della  Fontanella,  by 
which  he  goes  toward  the  bridge  of 
St.  Angelo,  on  his  way  to  St.  Peter's. 
Here  our  travellers  of  1585,  passing 
under  the  arch  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
which  separated  the  Corso  into  two 
distinct  parts,  and  was  afterwards 
swept  away  by  Alexander  VII.  to 
straighten  and  widen  the  thorough- 
fare, find  themselves  really  in  Rome. 
Qn  either  side  are  solidly  built  houses 
without  windows  or  balconies,  cover- 
ed with  frescoes,  and  so  high  that 
the  sun  reaches  the  pavement  only 
at  mid-day.  Looking  down  the  Cor- 
so, the  traveller  perceives  at  its  ex- 
tremity, above  the  palazetto  of  St. 
Mark,  the  battlemented  convent  of 
Ara  Ceeti,  and  the  tower  of  the  Capi- 
tol. Leaving  the  Colonna  place  and 
the  Antonine  column  to  the  right, 
our  travellers  soon  reach  the  place 
and  palace  of  St.  Mark,  with  its  im- 
mense battlemented  fagades,  sur- 
mounted by  a  colossal  tower  built  of 
stone  almost  entirely  taken  from  the 
Coliseum.  With  the  exception  of 
some  few  modifications  in  the  win- 
dows of  the  fagade  fronting  on  the 
Via  del  Gesii,  and  in  the  roof  of  the 
tower  which  formerly  projected,  this 
palace — now  known  as  the  Austrian 
— to-day  appears  to  us  as  the  travel- 
ler saw  it  three  hundred  years  ago. 
Near  by  is  the  Church  and  Convent 
of  the  Apostles,  where  in  after-years 
were  shown  the  cells  occupied  by 
the  two  friars  who  became  respec- 
tively Sixtus  V.  and  Clement  XIV. 


(Ganzanelli).  When  the  monks  of 
this  convent  called  in  a  body  upon 
Sixtus  V.  to  felicitate  him  on  his  ac- 
cession, the  cook  of  the  community 
went  up  alone  to  the  pope  at  the 
close  of  the  audience.  "  Holy  Fa- 
ther," said  he,  "  you  doubtless  re- 
member the  wretched  repasts  of 
which  you  partook  when  with  us  ?" 
Sixtus  replied  that  the  expression 
"  wretched  repasts  "  perfectly  describ- 
ed the  meals  in  question.  "  Well," 
continued  the  cook,  "  the  cause  was 
the  want  of  good  water  —  give  us 
water." 

Sixtus  declared  that  this  was  the 
only  reasonable  demand  yet  made  of 
him,  and  immediately  ordered  the 
construction  in  the  ancient  court  of 
a  beautiful  fountain,  which,  although 
much  injured  by  time,  yet  exists. 

Still  progressing  towards  the  Cap- 
itol, our  travellers  pass  the  Gesu.  In 
the  small  house  adjoining  it  Ignatius 
Loyola  died,  and  St.  Francis  Borgia 
has  but  lately  expired  there.  And 
now  they  ascend  to  the  Capitol  by 
the  cordonata  of  Michael  Angelo. 
Looking  still  onward,  they  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  Forum  (Campo  Vacci- 
no\  enlivened  only  by  droves  of 
browsing  cattle  and  here  and  there 
a  searcher  of  buried  antique  statues. 
Beyond  the  Arch  of  Titus  all  is  silent 
solitude. 

The  modern,  active,  living 

ROME    OF   THAT   DAY 

was  within  the  triangle  bounded  by 
the  Corso,  the  Tiber,  and  the  Capi- 
tol. Our  travellers  turn  their  faces 
towards  the  St.  Angelo  Bridge,  and 
approach  it  by  long,  narrow,  and 
crooked  streets,  nearly  corresponding 
with  the  Via  Giulia  and  the  Mon- 
serrato  which  we  to-day  traverse. 
This  was  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
of  the  period,  full  of  palaces,  but 
stately  and  silent.  The  strangers 


364 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


find  the  activity,  movement,  display, 
and  exuberant  activity  of  Rome  in 
the  street  now  known  as  the  JBanchi, 
then  lined  with  the  residences  of 
wealthy  bankers,  in  the  rich  Spanish 
quarter  beyond  the  Piazza  Navona, 
in  the  Tordinone  and  Coronari. 

From  the  rising  to  the  setting  of 
the  sun,  throngs  of  people  fill  these 
badly  paved  thoroughfares,  which 
are  more  thickly  lined  with  palaces 
as  they  approach  the  bridge.  Our 
strangers  are  impressed  with  the 
great  crowd  of  people,  and  are  of 
the  opinion  thst  it  exceeds  that  of 
the  Marais  in  Paris,  and  is  second 
only  to  the  throngs  they  saw  in  Ven- 
ice. About  the  Pantheon  and  the 
Minerva  are  the  houses  already  men- 
tioned where  travellers  and  visitors  to 
Rome  find  furnished  suites  of  apart- 
ments— the  Fifth  Avenue  and  St. 
Nicholas  Hotels  of  the  period.  A  few 
years  later  (1595),  on  beholding  this, 
the  Venetian  ambassador  writes  that 
"  Rome  has  reached  the  apogee  of 
its  grandeur  and  prosperity." 

With  difficulty  a  passage  through 
the  crowd  is  effected,  and  the  task  is 
rendered  even  dangerous  by  the  large 
number  of  carriages  in  circulation. 

In  1594,  there  were  eight  hundred 
and  eighty-three  private  carriages  in 
the  city.  They  were  almost  an  es- 
sential. The  great  St.  Charles  Bor- 
romeo  said,  "  There  are  two  things 
necessary  in  Rome — save  your  soul 
and  keep  a  carriage."  And  a  singu- 
lar-looking carriage  it  was  to  our 
eyes.  In  shape  resembling  a  cylin- 
der open  at  both  ends,  with  doors  at 
either  side,  knocked  and  tossed  about 
in  a  sort  of  basket  on  four  clumsy 
wheels.  The  elegants  and  beaux  of 
the  day  usually  had  an  Opening  in 
the  top  of  the  vehicle  through  which, 
as  they  progressed,  they  admired 
fair  ladies  at  their  windows.  "  They 
make  an-  astrolabe  of  their  carriage," 
thundered  a  preacher  in  denunciation 


of  the  practice.  The  crowd  increases 
as  the  St.  Angelo  Bridge  is  approach- 
ed, and  it  equals  the  human  pressure 
of  the  period  of  the  jubilee  as  de- 
scribed by  Dante  :* 

Come  i  Roman,  per  1'esercito  molto, 

L'anno  del  giubbileo,  su  per  lo  ponte 
Hanno  a  passar  la  gente  modo  tolto  ; 

Che  dall'  un  late  tutti  hanno  la  fronte 

Verso  '1  castello,  e  vanno  a  Santo  Pietro ; 
Dall'  altra  sponda  vanno  verso  '1  monte  (Gior- 
dano). 

Dante,  Inferno,  ch.  xriii. 

No  ladies  are  seen.  They  seldom 
go  out,  and  then  only  in  carriages. 
We  find  the  modern  Italians  highly 
demonstrative.  Their  ancestors  were 
more  so,  as  our  travellers  noticed  at 
every  step.  Men  meeting  acquaint- 
ances in  the  street  exchanged  pro- 
found bows.  Friends  embraced 
"  with  effusion."  People  threw  them- 
selves on  their  knees  before  those  of 
whom  they  had  favors  to  ask. 

DINNERS    AND    BANQUETS 

for  invited  guests  were  sumptuous 
and  of  long  duration.  The  culinary 
art  of  that  epoch — as  we  learn  from 
a  work  of  Bartholomew  Scarpi,  the 
Grand  Vatel  of  the  sixteenth  century 
and  head  cook  of  the  saintly  Paul 
V.,  whose  personal  meals  cost  sixty 
cents  a  day,  but  who,  in  state  recep- 
tions, entertained  magnificently — was 
something  wonderful,  according  to 
our  modern  ideas.  For  grand  din- 
ners, there  were  four  courses.  The 
first  consisted  of  preserved  fruits  and 
ornamented  pastry,  from  which,  on 
.being  opened,  little  birds  flew  out, 
making  it  literally  a  vol  an  vent. 
Then  came  the  other  courses  com- 
posed of  a  multitude  of  the  most  di- 

*  Even  as  the  Romans,  for  the  mighty  host, 
The  year  of  jubilee,  upon  the  bridge, 
Have  chosen  a  mode  to  pass  the  people  over. 

For  all  upon  one  side  towards  the  castle 
Their  faces  have  and  go  into  St.  Peter's  ; 
On  the  other  side  they  go  towards  the  moun 
tain. 

Longfellow's  Translation 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago. 


365 


verse  dishes,  poultry  with  all  the 
feathers  on,  capons  cooked  in  bottles, 
meat,  game,  and  fish,  alternating  with 
sweet  dishes  in  confused  pell-mell, 
utterly  subversive  of  all  our  modern 
gastronomic  ideas.  Some  dishes 
were  prepared  with  rose-water,  and 
substances  the  most  heterogeneous 
and  contradictory  were  mingled  in 
the  same  preparations.  The  sublim- 
ity of  the  style  was  to  effect  the 
sharpest  possible  contrast  of  materi- 
als and  odors. 

The  wines  most  in  favor  were  the 
heady  wines  of  Greece,  the  Mal- 
voisy,  and  the  great  Neapolitan 
brands,  the  Lachrima  and  the  Man- 
giagutrra,  described  as  black  in  color, 
powerful,  spirituous,  and  so  thick  that 
it  could  almost  be  cut  So,  at  least, 
reports  the  Venetian  Bernardo  Nava- 
gero,  writing  from  Rome  in  1558: 
"  E  possente  e  gagliardo,  nero  e 
tantospesso  che  si  potria  quasi  tag- 
liare." 

Before  the  dessert,  the  cloth  was 
removed,  the  guests  washed  their 
hands,  and  the  jtable  was  covered 
with  sweet  dishes,  highly  perfumed, 
preserved  eggs,  and  syrups. 

Both  before  and  after  the  repast, 
distinguished  guests  used  what  we 
would  now  call  finger-bowls  and 
mouth-glasses,  demonstratively  and 
even  noisily.  On  arising  from  table, 
bouquets  of  flowers  were  distributed 
among  the  guests.  From  contempo- 
raneous statements  as  to  the  cost  of 
various  entertainments  of  that  period, 
we  should  judge  that  the  Roman  pro- 
vision supply  was  much  cheaper  than 
we  to-day  find  it  in  those  marvels  of 
modern  architecture,  the  Washington 
and  Fulton  Markets.  Thus,  for  in- 
stance, a  wedding-supper,  given  by  a 
Roman  nobleman  (Gottofredi),  and 
which  was  at  the  time  (1588)  noted 
for  its  beauty  as  well  as  its  extrava- 
gance, cost  five  hundred  crowns, 
equivalent,  allowing  for  the  differ- 


ence in  specie  values,  to  about  nine 
hundred  dollars  of  our  money. 

THE    HORSE-RACES    ON     THE    CORSO,* 

during  the  carnival,  are,  of  course, 
witnessed  by  our  travellers.  These 
races  were  formerly  one  of  the  tra- 
ditional holiday  amusements  of  the 
Piazza  Navona,  which  is  on  the  site 
of  a  Roman  amphitheatre,  and  they 
were  transferred  to  the  Corso  by  Paul 
II.  (1468).  Seated  in  the  small  room 
of  the  corner  of  the  Palazetto  of  St. 
Mark,  whose  windows  command  a 
view  of  the  entire  length  of  the  Corso, 
this  good-natured  pontiff,  who  was 
fond  of  promoting  the  innocent  amuse- 
ment of  his  subjects,  witnessed  the  run- 
ning, and  had  the  barberi  (little  horses) 
stopped  at  that  point.  The  poor  gov- 
ernors of  Rome  have  ever  since  borne 
and  still  bear  the  servitude  of  this 
tradition.  Four  hundred  years  have 
gone  by  since  Paul  II.  sat  at  the 
window  on  the  Corso,  but  to  this 
day  the  Governor  of  Rome,  clothed 
in  the  official  jobes,  whose  cut  and 
fashion  have  not  varied  a  line  in  all 
that  time,  must,  in  the  very  same 
room  and  at  the  very  same  window, 
witness  the  running  and  have  the 
horses  stopped  at  the  same  points. 
Under  Gregory  XIII.  these  races 
had  somewhat  degenerated.  Buffa- 
loes of  the  Campagna,  as  well  as 
horses,  were  run,  and  races  were 
even  made  for  children  and  for  Jews. 
Sixtus  V.  reformed  all  this  and  made 
new  regulations,  which,  with  slight 
modifications,  are  to  this  day  in 
force. 

LITERATURE    AND   THE    THEATRE. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  treat, 
there  existed  a  decided  taste  for  the 
drama — such  as  it  then  was — but  it 

*  The  reader  will,  of  course,  remember  that 
these  were  races  of  horses  without  riders. 


366 


How  Rome  Looked  Three  Centuries  Ago, 


was  a  taste  exercised  under  difficul- 
ties. During  the  carnival  of  1588, 
permission  was  obtained,  as  a  great 
favor,  from  Sixtus  V.  to  allow  repre- 
sentations by  the  Desiosi  troupe,  at 
that  time  the  most  celebrated  in  Italy. 
But  the  license  was  hampered  with  the 
following  conditions : 

first.  The  representations  should 
take  place  in  the  daytime. 

Second.  No  woman  should  appear 
on  the  stage. 

Third.  No  spectator  should  be 
admitted  with  arms  about  his  person. 

Such  a  public  edifice  as  a  theatre 
was  at  that  time  unknown  in  Italy. 
True,  many  princes  had  halls  con- 
structed in  their  palaces  for  dramatic 
representations,  and  the  Olympic 
Academy  of  Vicenza  erected  a  build- 
ing for  the  purpose,  which  was  com- 
pleted on  the  designs  of  Palladio. 

As  for  the  dramas  represented,  it  is 
easy  to  understand  their  inferiority 
when  we  know  that  Guarini's  Pastor 
Fido  gained  a  reputation  not  yet  en- 
tirely lost,  by  reason  not  of  its  merit, 
but  because  of  the  inferiority  of  every 
dramatic  production  of  the  time. 

The  costumes,  decorations,  and 
mise  en  scene  formed  the  main  attrac- 
tions, but  the  plays  themselves  loudly 
proclaimed  the  decay  of  literature. 
They  possessed  neither  originality, 
invention,  nor  poetry.  When  we 
contemplate  our  own  elevated  and 
purified  stage  of  the  present  period, 
with  its  bouffe,  Black  Crook,  blondes, 
and  brigands,  how  profoundly  should 
we  not  pity  the  benighted  Italians  of 
1585! 


About  this  time,  the  first  edition 
of  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered  made  , 
its  appearance.  Issued  without  the 
author's  consent,  it  was  both  defec- 
tive and  incorrect.  In  spite  of  the 
enmity  of  the  Grand  Duke  Francis 
and,  what  was  more  to  be  feared, 
of  the  opposition  of  the  Delia  Crus- 
can  Academy,  the  Jerusalem  at  once 
achieved  an  immense  success — a  suc- 
cess purely  due  to  its  beauty  of  dic- 
tion. Contemporary  criticisms  of 
Italian  poets  whose  names  have 
since  become  immortal  read  strange- 
ly now.  Tasso  was  sneered  at,  Ari- 
osto's  merit  seriously  contested,  and 
Dante  absolutely  condemned. 

"  This  poet,"  says  Guiseppe  Mala- 
testa,  a  distinguished  writer  of  that- 
day,  "has  borrowed  the  wings  of 
Icarus  to  remove  himself  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  vulgar,  and,  by 
dint  of  searching  for  the  sublime,  he 
lias  fallen  into  an  obscure  sea  of  ob- 
scurities. He  is  both  philosopher 
and  theologian.  Of  the  poet  he  has 
only  the  rhyme.  To  measure  his 
hell,  his  purgatory,  his  paradise,  one 
needs  astrolabes.  To  understand 
them,  one  should  constantly  have 
at  hand  some  theologian  capable  of 
commenting  upon  his  text.  He  is 
crude  and  barbarous ;  he  strives  to 
be  disgusting  and  obscure  when  it 
would  really  cost  him  less  effort  to 
be  clear  and  elegant,  resembling  in 
this  certain  great  personages  who, 
possessed  of  an  admirable  calligra- 
phy, nevertheless,  through  pure  affec- 
tation, write  as  illegibly  as  possi- 
ble." 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  PRINCE  GALITZIN.* 


IN  presenting  our  American  Cath- 
olic readers  with  a  notice  of  the  Life 
of  the  Princess  Amelia  Galitzin,  it 
would  be  sufficient  apology  to  men- 
tion that  this  illustrious  lady  was  the 
mother  of  the  great  religious  pioneer 
of  Pennsylvania — that  worthy  priest 
whose  services  in  the  cause  of  Cath- 
olicity in  our  country  have  endeared 
his  name  to  the  American  church 
and  have  kept  his  memory  still  alive 
in  the  filial  love  born  of  a  new  gene- 
ration whose  fathers  he  evangelized, 

But  even  if  this  apostle-prince  had 
never  landed  on  American  shores ; 
never  sacrificed  an  opulent  position 
and  a  brilliant  career,  to  labor  as  a 
humble  missionary  in  the  wild  west- 
ern forests  of  Pennsylvania;  never 
indelibly  engraved  his  name,  as  he 
has  done,  on  that  soil,  now  teeming 
with  industrial  and  religious  life, 
there  is  that  in  the  life  of  the  prin- 
cess, his  mother,  which  would  amply 
recommend  it  to  our  interested  at- 
tention. 

Her  career  was  beyond  the  com- 
mon run  of  lives.  It  was  wonderful 
in  its  blending  of  the  ordinary  with 
the  extraordinary.  It  is  the  story  of  a 
great,  strong  mind — a  high-principled 
soul,  entrammelled  in  circumstances 
commonplace,  disadvantageous,  and 
entirely  beneath  it,  struggling  for  as- 
cendency to  its  own  level  above 
them.  A  notice,  then,  of  her  life 
possesses  a  double  interest  for  our 
readers— its  own  intrinsic  interest,  and 
that  which  it  borrows  from  the  fore- 

*  Particularites  de  la.  Vie  tie  la  Princesse  A  me  fie 
Galitzin.  Par  Theod.  Katerkamp  MUnster.  1828. 

La.  Princesse  Galitzin  et  les  Amis.  Schlick- 
ing:  Cologne.  1840. 


shadowing  of  the  great  and  useful 
life  spent  in  our  country,  with  which 
we  have  already  been  made  ac- 
quainted, and  of  which,  we  are 
glad  to  learn,  we  are  soon  to  have  a 
more  extended  account. 

The  Princess  Amelia  Galitzin  was 
born  at  Berlin,  in  August,  1748.  Her 
father,  the  Count  de  Schmettau,  a 
field-marshal  of  Prussia,- was  a  Prot- 
estant. Her  mother,  the  Baroness 
de  Ruffert,  was  a  Catholic.  This 
difference  in  the  religion  of  the  pa- 
rents led  to  the  understanding  that 
the  children  of  the  marriage  should 
receive,  according  to  their  sex,  a  dif- 
ferent religious  education.  Amelia, 
the  only  daughter,  was  destined,  then, 
to  be  educated  in  the  Catholic  faith. 
For  this  purpose  she  was  sent,  at  the 
early  age  of  four  years,  to  a  Catholic 
boarding-school  at  Breslau. 

It  seems  that  at  this  establishment 
the  religious  as  well  as  the  secular 
training  was  sadly  defective;  for,  at 
the  end  of  nine  years,  the  young 
countess  left  the  pensionnat  with  no 
instruction,  little  piety — even  that 
little  of  a  false  kind — and  with  but 
one  accomplishment,  a  proficiency  in 
music,  the  result  of  the  cultiva- 
tion of  a  great  natural  talent.  As 
for  literary  acquirements,  she  scarce 
could  read  or  write.  Another  school 
was  now  selected  for  her,  and 
this  selection  reveals  the  negligent 
character  of  her  mother,  who,  from 
failing  to  use  a  wise  discretion, 
or  to  exert  that  softening  and  mould- 
ing influence  that  mothers  hold  as  a 
gift  from  nature,  may  be  held  ac- 
countable for  the  troubled  darkness 
and  painful  wanderings  of  mind  that 


368 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitsin. 


afflicted  her  daughter  in  her  curious 
after-career.  At  thirteen  she  was 
placed  at  a  kind  of  day-college,  in 
Berlin,  directed  by  an  atheist.  Such 
a  step  would  have  been  a  dangerous 
experiment,  even  with  a  child  of  the 
most  ordinary  mind,  whose  impres- 
sions are  easily  effaceable,  but  with 
the  self-reliant  spirit  and  keen  intel- 
lect that  were  destined  to  be  devel- 
oped in  Amelia,  it  was  more  than 
dangerous,  it  was  a  ruinous  trial. 
The  results  of  her  eighteen  months' 
attendance  at  this  school  were  not 
immediately  apparent,  at  least  they 
were  but  negatively  so.  At  scarcely 
fifteen  years  of  age,  she  left  this 
atheist  school  to  become  a  wo- 
man of  the  world,  by  making  what 
is  technically  called  her  entrance  into 
society.  What  that  entailed  on  a 
member  of  a  noble  house,  and  in  a 
gay  capital  like  Berlin,  especially  the 
Berlin  of  the  eighteenth  century,  we 
may  well  surmise.  There  was  an- 
other feature  in  its  society  worth 
attention,  beyond  the  stereotyped 
round  of  levies,  soirees,  and  midnight 
revels  of  high  life.  The  great  dark 
cloud  of  incredulity  had  just  settled 
on  sunny  France.  France  then 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  western  na- 
tions. A  reflection  of  her  brilliancy 
was  found  in  surrounding  societies. 
Imitation  of  her  tastes,  literary  and 
material,  was  deemed  no  disgrace. 
Even  her  quick,  dancing,  musical  lan- 
guage was  ludicrously  set,  by  fashion, 
to  the  rough,  guttural  tones  of  the 
Teutonic  tongue — so  great  was  her 
fascinating  influence.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  the  thick  shadows  of  that 
dark  cloud  in  which  she  had  shroud- 
ed her  faith  should  have  fallen  heav- 
ily around  her.  They  fell  on  Prus- 
sia, and  fell  heaviest  when  Vol- 
taire became  the  guest  of  Frederick. 
The  foetid,  contagious  atmosphere 
floated  in  on  the  society  of  her  cap- 
ital. To  be  rational  was  the  rage, 


when  rational  meant  incredulous* 
Statesmen  became  skilled  in  the  new 
philosophy.  Since  the  king  had 
turned  philosopher,  grand  ladies  sud- 
denly found  themselves  profoundly 
intellectual  and  controversial,  and 
their  drawing-rooms  became  like  the 
salons  de  Paris — no  longer  the  friv- 
olous halls  of  pleasmre,  the  depots  for 
the  lively  gossip  of  the  niaiseries  of 
life,  but  private  school-rooms,  inner 
circles  in  aid  of  the  grand  revolt  of 
reason  against  God  which  had  al- 
ready begun  throughout  Europe. 

In  such  society,  then,  did  this 
young  girl,  fresh  from  an  atheist 
school,  find  herself  at  the  age  of 
fifteen,  with  no  arm  of  a  Christian 
to  do  battle  for  her  soul ;  neither  the 
"  shield  of  faith  "  nor  "  the  sword  of 
the  Spirit,  which  is  the  Word  of 
God."  But,  happily,  that  society 
was  not  immediately  to  possess  her 
young  heart.  An  ennui — a  name- 
less weariness — intensified  by  a  mor- 
bid self-love,  now  settled  on  her  mind. 
And  it  was  in  this  trial  that  her  de- 
fective instruction  first  began  to  tell 
against  her.  The  only  relic  of  its 
early  impressions  left  her  was  a  con- 
fused notion  of  the  horrors  of  hell 
and  the  power  of  the  devil,  which 
now  rose  before  her  but  to  increase 
her  misery.  Beyond  that,  she  be- 
lieved in  nothing,  hoped  for  little  in 
this  life,  and  saw  not  the  next.  True, 
she  accompanied  her  mother  to  Mass 
on  Sunday,  but  to  her  it  was  as  an 
idle  show.  She  understood  as  little 
about  the  ceremonies  as  about  the 
text  of  the  delicately-bound  French 
prayer-book  she  was  obliged  to  hold 
in  her  hand.  She  could  find  noth- 
ing in  what  she  knew  oj  saw  of  re- 
ligion to  fill  the  void  that  caused  the 
weariness  of  her  heart.  She  deter- 
mined to  seek  relief  in  reading.  Her 
father's  library  was  scant.  So  she 
sent  rather  a  confiding  request  to 
the  proprietor  of  a  neighboring  read- 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


369 


ing-room  to  supply  a  young  lady 
who  was  anxious  to  improve  herself 
with  useful  books.  This  gentleman's 
ideas  of  improvement  and  utility 
were  somewhat  singular,  for  he  forth- 
with dispatched  a  large  packet  of  sen- 
sational romances.  With  the  same  con- 
fiding spirit  she  accepted  the  selection, 
and  novel  after  novel  she  fairly  de- 
voured, devoting  night  and  day  to 
her  new  occupation.  That  the  fri- 
volities of  a  gay  society  had  no  at- 
tractions for  her  as  a  resource  in  her 
extremity,  that  they  could  not "  minis- 
ter to  her  mind  diseased,"  shows  a 
soul  of  no  ordinary  mould,  and  shows, 
too,  that  it  was  not  through  the  senses, 
but  through  the  intellect,  that  its  crav- 
ings were  to  be  allayed.  Compara- 
tive peace  of  mind  returned,  for  she 
made  her  reading  a  very  preoccupy- 
ing labor  by  keeping  a  diary  of  its 
results  and  impressions.  Music,  al- 
ways her  favorite  pastime,  she  now 
made  her  recreation. 

She  was  just  beginning  to  taste 
the  sweets  of  living  in  a  little  peace- 
ful, busy  world  within  herself,  when 
a  young  lady,  who  had  been  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  hers,  was  admitted  to 
a  share  in  her  occupations.  This 
resulted  in  not  only  breaking  her  ut- 
ter isolation  from  society,  but  in  lead- 
ing her  to  mingle  in  it  once  more. 
The  calm  of  the  previous  months  was 
not  entirely  undisturbed.  At  inter- 
vals the  thoughts  of  her  utter  irreligi- 
ousness  would  conjure  up  again  those 
appalling  images  of  Satan  and  hell, 
and  their  recurrence  became  more 
frequent  as  she  relented  in  her  la- 
bors. But  now  in  the  gay  drawing- 
room  assemblies  she  met  many  ladies 
of  her  own  rank  who,  professing  to 
be  Catholics,  did  not  hesitate  to  ex- 
press freely,  in  their  brilliant  con- 
versations, the  sentiments  of  incre- 
dulity which  filled  her  own  mind. 
In  their  example  she  found  her  self- 
justification.  She  believed  it  fashion- 
VOL.  xni. — 24 


able  to  think  and  act  as  other  ladies, 
and  so,  dismissing  what  she  now 
deemed  her  idle  fancies,  she  permit- 
ted herself  undisturbed  to  glide  into 
the  easy  way  of  unbelief. 

But  an  unseen  mercy  followed  on 
her  path,  and  soon  again  cast  before 
her  warning  signs  of  her  danger. 
Her  fears  of  the  supernatural  grew 
again;  and  this  time,  in  spite  of  every 
example,  in  spite  of  every  effort  to 
treat  them  as  fancies  that  could  be 
laughed  away,  they  increased  to 
such  an  extent  that  her  health  became 
endangered.  Once  more  she  form- 
ed a  plan  of  escape  from  her  terrors 
of  mind  and  the  weariness  they  en- 
tailed— this  time  an  unaccountable 
and  for  her  an  unexpected  one. 
She  resolved  to  devote  herself  to  me- 
ditation, that,  as  she  said  in  her 
journal,  "  by  force  of  thought  she 
might  raise  herself  to  union  with  the 
Supreme  Being,"  and  thus  neutralize 
the  effects  of  the  frightful  pictures  of 
eternal  punishments  which  wearied 
her  imagination.  We  cannot  help 
seeing  in  this  effort  a  noble  struggle 
of  a  great  mind,  untutored  in  child- 
hood, and  left  in  early  youth  without 
guidance  or  encouraging  support. 

She  immediately  entered  on  her 
new  project,  and  made  great  and 
persevering  efforts;  but  she  groped 
in  the  dark  and  made  little  progress 
in  meditating.  Yet  these  efforts 
were  not  wholly  unavailing.  She 
succeeded  by  her  bare  strength  of 
thought  in  impressing  deeply  and 
thoroughly  on  her  mind  the  digni- 
ty of  a  highly  moral  life,  which  led 
her  to  the  conviction  that  everything 
gross  or  vile  was  utterly  unworthy 
of  the  noble  soul  that  dwelt  within 
us. 

What  child  of  sixteen  have  we 
ever  known  or  heard  of  whose  young 
life  presents  a  history  of  mind  so 
curious  and  so  wonderful  ?  Few 
even  of  riper  years  have  ever  display- 


3/o 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


ed  a  mere,  bare  natural  power  of 
soul  at  once  so  strong  and  so  refin- 
ed as  that  which  led  Amelia  to  so 
beautiful  a  conclusion. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  it  was  for  her 
a  saving  result  in  the  change  that 
was  now  about  to  come  over  her  posi- 
tion in  life.  It  was  arranged  at  this 
time,  by  her  parents,  that  the  young 
countess  should  join  the  court,  in 
the  capacity  of  lady  robe-keeper 
to  the  wife  of  Ferdinand,  Prince 
of  Prussia,  brother  to  Frederick 
II. 

If  we  called  the  court  society  of 
that  epoch  gilded  corruption,  we 
believe  we  would  be  epitomizing  the 
detailed  chronicle  of  its  character. 
Yet,  armed  with  her  high-souled 
conviction,  Amelia  glided  untainted 
through  its  seductions  and  scandals, 
though  her  youth  and  beauty  and 
the  affectionate  simplicity  of  her 
manners  made  her  the  object  of 
much  attention. 

From  the  character  of  her  mind 
we  may  well  imagine  that  she  had 
little  relish  for  her  new  duties.  To 
any  one  of  a  high  order  of  intellect, 
and  consequent  intellectual  aspira- 
tions, the  mean,  material  duties  of 
arranging  a  wardrobe,  sorting  dresses, 
seeing  them  set  out  in  their  respective 
turns,  and  changed  with  every  chang- 
ing fashion — in  a  word,  being  a  mere 
waiting-maid  to  any  one,  no  matter  of 
what  rank,  must  necessarily  be  irk- 
some and  distasteful.  And  though 
we  will  not  draw  the  exaggerated  sar- 
castic picture  that  Lord  Macaulay 
gives  of  Frances  Burney's  life  at  the 
court  of  England,  yet  the  fact  that 
the  young  countess  stole  many  an  hour 
from  her  irksome  post  and  still  more 
wearying  ceremonious  court-pleas- 
ures to  enjoy  the  instructive  conver- 
sation of  elderly  men  of  known  lite- 
rary tastes  and  acquirements,  gives 
•us  full  ground  for  at  least  compassion- 
•ating  her  in  a  position  so  evidently 


unbefitting  her  gifted  and  aspiring 
mind. 

In  her  twentieth  year  she  accom- 
panied the  princess  on  a  summer 
trip  to  the  waters  at  Aix-la-Chapelle 
and  Spa.  It  was  during  their  resi- 
dence at  the  former  place  she  first 
met  and  received  the  addresses  of  the 
Prince  Dmitri  Galitzen.  The  story 
of  their  love  does  not  seem  to  possess 
anything  above  the  ordinary  interest, 
and  even  extended  over  a  much 
shorter  period  than  is  usual  before 
marriage.  All  we  learn  about  it  is, 
that  the  match  seemed  very  advan- 
tageous in  the  eyes  of  her  protectress 
the  princess  and  her  brother,  General 
Count  de  Schmettau  (her  mother, 
long  extremely  delicate,  having  died 
during  her  residence  at  the  court), 
and  that  the  marriage  ceremony 
was  performed  with  great  Mat  in 
August  of  the  same  year  in  which 
the  proposal  had  been  made  and  ac- 
cepted. 

Almost  immediately  after  her  mar- 
riage she  had  to  set  out  with  her 
husband  for  the  court  of  St.  Peters- 
burg, of  which  he  was  an  attache. 
Her  sojourn,  however,  in  the  Russian 
capital  was  very  brief,  for  soon  after 
his  arrival  the  prince  was  sent  as 
ambassador  to  the  Hague,  in  Hol- 
land. Five  years  previously  he  had 
filled  the  same  post  at  Paris,  where 
he  became  the  intimate  friend  of  Vol- 
taire and  Helvetius.  For  the  latter 
he  paid  the  expenses  of  the  publica- 
tion of  his  famously  infamous  work, 
De  V Esprit.  He  himself  seems  to 
have  been  quite  a  litterateur.  He 
contributed,  while  in  Paris,  to  the 
Journal  des  Savants,  and  published 
two  or  three  works  of  a  scientific  and 
political  character.  But  to  return. 

A  new  life  now  opened  for  Amelia 
at  the  Hague.  She  became  the  star 
of  the  brilliant  society  that  daily  filled 
the  halls  of  the  palace  of  the  Prince 
Ambassador  of  Russia;  she  lived  in 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


371 


courtly  splendor,  and  received  the 
flattery  of  homage  that  queens  might 
have  coveted. 

She  had  now  resided  two  years  in 
Holland,  and  had  given  birth  to  two 
children,  a  daughter  and  a  son.  It 
may  be  naturally  expected  that  now 
the  duties  of  a  mother  would  bring 
her  life  and  her  mind  to  the  level  of 
ordinary  interest.  Not  so.  The  rou- 
tine duties  of  her  station  had  all 
along  been  tasteless  to  her.  The 
constant  round  of  pleasures  which  en- 
gaged her,  the  flatteries  she  received, 
in  which  meaner  minds  would  have 
loved  to  live  and  revel,  had  for  her 
no  soothing  or  beguiling  influence; 
not  even  the  total  change  of  existence 
and  occupation  which  married  life 
induces  wrought  any  change  upon 
her  spirit.  An  aching  void  was  still 
within  her  heart,  and,  seeing  nothing 
around  her  with  which  to  fill  it,  she 
began  to  pine  away.  At  length  a 
strong  inclination  seized  her,  one  of 
those  yearnings  for  some  one  project 
which  swallows  all  our  thoughts  and 
to  which  all  else  must  yield ;  we  may 
call  it  a  humor  precisely  in  Ben 
Jonson's  sense : 

"  \Vhen  some  one  peculiar  quality 
Doth  so  possess  a  man  that  it  doth  draw 
AH  his  effects,  his  spirits,  and  his  powers 
In  their  confluxions,  all  to  run  one  way, 
This  may  be  truly  said  to  be  a  humor." 

This  humor  was  nothing  less  than 
entire  abandonment  of  the  world  and 
its  cares.  Notwithstanding  the  ob- 
ligations of  her  married  life  or  those 
of  her  position  in  society,  she  deter- 
mined to  retire  to  some  solitary  spot, 
and  there  engage  her  mind  in  hard 
study  of  difficult  and  dry  subjects. 

Alarmed  for  her  health,  and  prob- 
ably deriving  little  comfort  from  such 
a  moody  consort,  her  husband  con- 
sented to  her  retiring  to  live  in  a 
small  country  villa  a  few  miles  from 
the  Hague.  She  engaged  a  distin- 
guished professor  of  the  city,  named 


Hemsterhuys,  to  give  her  lessons  in 
Greek,  with  a  view  to  following  under 
his  guidance,  too,  a  course  of  Greek 
philosophy. 

Strange  to  say,  the  moment  she 
entered  with  ardor  on  this  uninvit- 
ing task,  her  mind  became  complete- 
ly calmed,  and  she  felt  a  peace  and 
contentment  which  for  years  she  had 
not  known. 

Besides  the  seeking  of  her  own 
peace  of  mind,  the  resting  the  wea- 
riness of  her  heart,  she  had  another 
object  in  view — to  prepare  herself  to 
be  doubly  the  mother  of  her  children 
by  imparting  to  them  herself  a  tho- 
rough education.  In  the  six  years 
that  she  toiled  in  this  seclusion,  this 
was  the  great  sustaining  motive  of 
her  labors. 

When  the  children  grew  to  the 
years  of  discretion,  she  relented  in 
her  harder  studies  to  devote  her- 
self with  no  less  assiduity  to  their  ear- 
ly instruction.  Everything  was  made 
subservient  to  that  end.  Even  the  re- 
creations requisite  for  herself,  and  the 
amusements  necessary  for  them,  the 
pleasure  excursions  away  from  home, 
all  were  designed  to  open  and  ma- 
ture their  young  minds. 

But  in  these  respects  Holland  had 
but  poor  resources.  One  quickly 
wearies  of  its  changeless  lowlands. 
It  can  boast  of  no  wild  scenery 
which  grows  new  at  every  gaze  and 
invites  repeated  visits,  and  it  has  few 
places  of  any  peculiarly  instructive 
interest.  It  was  this  consideration 
that  determined  the  princess  to  re- 
move to  the  more  picturesque  and 
favored  land  of  Switzerland,  where 
her  husband  owned  a  country-house 
near  Geneva. 

Her  preparations  for  this  change 
of  residence  were  nearly  completed, 
when  news  reached  her  of  the  pro- 
jects of  the  Abbe  de  Furstenberg  for 
a  reform  in  the  method  of  public  in- 
struction. 


372 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


This  Abbe  de  Furstenberg  was 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of 
that  day  in  Germany. 

Of  noble  birth,  he  received  a  tho- 
rough civil  and  ecclesiastical  educa- 
tion, and  at  the  age  of  thirty-five 
found  himself  chief  administrator, 
spiritual  and  temporal,  of  the  princi- 
pality of  Minister,  under  the  prince- 
bishop.  His  administration  was  at- 
tended with  most  marked  success, 
and  had  brought  the  little  state  to  an 
unequalled  degree  of  prosperity,  not 
only  religious  and  political,  but  even 
commercial  and  military.  His  latest 
labor  was  his  educational  reform  re- 
garding the  method  of  teaching.  To 
mature  this  scheme,  he  had  studied, 
consulted,  and  travelled  much  during 
seven  years.  When,  at  length,  he 
published  the  result  of  his  researches, 
it  was  received  far  and  near  with 
much  applause,  whose  echoes  had 
now  reached  the  Princess  Amelia  in 
Holland  on  the  eve  of  her  depar- 
ture for  Switzerland.  She  at  once 
indefinitely  deferred  this  journey,  and 
resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  making 
the  acquaintance  of  this  accomplished 
ecclesiastic,  in  order  to  master  under 
his  own  guidance  the  details  of  this 
new  method  of  instruction.  For  this 
purpose,  in  the  May  of  the  year  1779, 
she  set  out  for  Minister,  intending  to 
pay  only  a  short  visit.  She  remain- 
ed nineteen  days,  and,  though  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  was  spent  in 
the  company  of  the  learned  abbe", 
she  found  it  impossible  in  so  short 
a  space  to  take  in  the  result  of  his 
experience.  This,  and  probably  a 
certain  charm  which  his  great  con- 
versational powers  exercised  over  her, 
made  her  determine  to  return  again, 
and,  with  the  permission  of  her  hus- 
band, remain  a  whole  year  in  Mini- 
ster before  setting  out  for  Switzer- 
land. Consequently,  in  the  same 
year,  she  took  leave  of  her  husband 
and  her  old  preceptor  Hemsterhuys, 


purposing  not  to  return  to  the  Hague, 
but  to  pursue  her  Swiss  project  af- 
ter her  year's  sojourn  at  Minister. 
But  this  programme  was  never  to  be 
carried  out.  Any  one  who  has  ever 
felt  the  influence  of  our  affections  on 
our  plans  and  schemes — how  plastic 
they  are  beneath  them,  how  readily 
they  yield  in  their  direction — will  easi- 
ly divine  the  cause  of  this.  In  fact, 
so  strong  had  grown  this  intellectual 
friendship  between  the  princess  and 
the  Abbe  de  Furstenberg  that  every 
idea  of  going  to  Switzerland  yielded 
before  it;  so  much  so  that,  before 
the  end  of  the  year,  she  had  purchas- 
ed a  house  in  Minister,  and  engaged 
a  country-chateau  for  the  summer 
months  of  every  year. 

All  this  time  she  had  kept  up  a 
frequent  correspondence  with  her 
husband  and  her  old  professor,  and 
she  had  made  them  promise  to  come 
and  spend  as  long  a  time  as  they 
could  spare  every  summer  at  her 
country-seat. 

She  was  yet  in  the  unchristian  por- 
tion of  her  life.  In  her  conversation 
and  communications  with  Hemster- 
huys, she  had  worked  out  a  com- 
plete scheme  of  natural  virtue  and 
happiness,  which  she  embodied  in  a 
work  entitled  Simon  ;  or,  The  Faculties, 
of  the  Soul.  While  we  must  admit 
that  this  is  a  curious  specimen  of  a 
mere  human,  religionless  view  of  a 
virtuous  and  happy  life,  yet  we  can- 
not allow  that  it  could  have  been 
drawn  up  had  not  some  faint  re- 
membrances of  early  Christian  teach- 
ing still  lingered  in  the  mind  of  the 
authoress;  much  less  can  we  grant 
that  it  could  have  been  realized  in 
any  life  without  the  sustaining  aid 
of  divine  grace.  Even  if  it  were 
practicable,  its  practicability  would, 
from  its  very  character,  be  necessarily 
limited  to  a  few  rarely  gifted  minds ; 
consequently,  lacking  the  generaliz- 
ing principles  of  the  truly  Christian 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


373 


code,  which  makes  a  life  of  Chris- 
tian virtue  accessible  to  all,  the  low- 
ly and  the  great,  the  rude  and 
the  wise  alike,  it  is  assuredly  a  fail- 
ure. 

She  now  applied  herself  with  great 
assiduity  to  her  children's  education. 
Not  content  with  imparting  the  mere 
rudimentary  portion,  she  aimed  at 
giving  them  a  higher  and  more  tho- 
rough course  of  instruction  than  most 
of  our  graduating  colleges  can  boast. 
It  was  a  bold  task  for  a  woman,  but 
the  order  of  her  day  at  Minister 
shows  us  how  little  its  difficulty  could 
bend  the  will  or  weary  the  mind  of 
one  who  could  unswervingly  follow 
the  regulations  it  contained. 

The  household  rose  early  every 
morning.  Some  hours  were  devoted 
to  study  before  breakfast,  and  soon 
after  the  lessons  of  the  day  began. 
To  these  she  gave  six  hours  daily. 
With  the  exception  of  classic  litera- 
ture and  German  history,  for  which 
she  engaged  the  services  of  the  two 
distinguished  professors,  Kistermaker 
and  Speiskman,  she  gave  unaided  all 
the  other  lessons. 

She  had  competent  persons  to  su- 
perintend the  studies  of  the  young 
prince  and  his  sister  while  she  was 
engaged  in  her  own,  but  she  reserv- 
ed the  teaching  exclusively  to  her- 
self. She  very  often  spent  entire 
nights  in  preparation  for  the  morrow's 
instruction.  After  the  labors  of  the 
day,  she  always  devoted  the  even- 
ings to  conversation.  It  was  then 
she  received  the  visits  of  Furstenberg 
and  a  number  of  his  literary  friends, 
among  whom  was  the  Abbe  Over- 
berg,  with  whom  she  was  afterwards 
to  be  so  intimately  related.  Her  old 
friend  Hemsterhuys  sometimes  made 
one  of  the  party,  and  he  was  the 
only  one  of  her  guests  at  that  time 
who  was  not  a  Catholic. 

This  was  the  beginning,  the  nu- 
cleus of  that  brilliant  literary  circle 


which,  a  little  later,  became  so  fa- 
mous throughout  Germany. 

Invitations  to  the  literary  soirees 
of  the  princess  soon  began  to  be  co- 
veted as  no  common  honor.  The 
most  distinguished  Protestant  authors 
and  savants  sought  introduction  to 
that  Catholic  society,  and  even  infi- 
dels who  did  not  openly  scoff  at  re- 
ligion were  soon  found  among  its 
members.  It  would  have  been  a 
sight  of  curious  interest,  standing 
aside  unseen  in  that  drawing-room 
on  any  evening  of  their  reunions,  to 
watch  that  strangely  mingled  crowd. 
The  Princess  Amelia  is  evidently  the 
ruling  spirit,  and  the  marks  of  re- 
spect and  homage  which  her  distin- 
guished visitors  pay  h8r  on  their  ar- 
rival tell  plainly  that  her  presence 
is  not  the  least  among  the  attractions 
of  that  pleasant  assembly.  Scattered 
through  the  room  are  men  of  the 
most  varied  minds  and  opposite 
views.  There  were  many  there  who 
had  already  acquired  literary  notorie- 
ty of  no  mean  degree.  There  were 
many  more,  the  history  of  whose 
minds  would  have  been  the  story  of 
the  anxious  doubts  and  bold  specu- 
lations of  unbelief  which  swayed  so- 
ciety in  the  waning  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

In  the  charm  of  that  literary  circle, 
Jacobi  found  rest  from  his  restless 
scepticism.  There  Hamann  could 
quiet  his  troubled  mind.  The  cold 
infidelity  of  Claude  thawed  in  the 
presence  of  venerable  ecclesiastics 
and  before  the  influence  of  their  dig- 
nity and  learning.  Even  Goethe  him- 
self confessed  that  the  pleasantest 
hours  of  his  life  were  passed  in  the 
society  of  the  Princess  Galitzin.  Dur- 
ing three  years,  these  reunions  were 
a  literary  celebrity. 

Though  the  princess  had  not  al 
lowed  her  mind  to  be  tainted  by  the 
impious  philosophy  of  her  time,  and 
had  formed,  with  the  assistance  of 


374 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


Hemsterhuys,  a  better  philosophical 
system  of  her  own,  founded  on  the 
idea  of  the  divinity,  yet  in  all  her 
views  she  was  completely  rationalis- 
tic, rejecting  all  positive  religion. 
And  she  had  to  confess,  too,  the  de- 
fectiveness  of  her  system  in  its  prac- 
tical bearing  on  her  life ;  for  at  this 
time  she  complained  feelingly,  in  one 
of  her  letters,  that  instead  of  grow- 
ing better,  according  to  her  idea  of 
virtue  and  happiness,  she  was  daily 
growing  worse. 

In  the  spring  of  1783,  she  fell  dan- 
gerously ill.  Furstenberg  took  this 
first  opportunity  to  persuade  her  to 
taste  of  the  consolations  of  religion, 
and  to  try  the  virtue  of  the  sacra- 
ments of  the  church.  But,  though 
he  actually  sent  her  a  confessor,  she 
declined  his  services,  alleging  that 
she  had  not  sufficient  faith,  promis- 
ing, however,  at  the  same  time,  that, 
if  her  life  were  spared,  she  would 
turn  her  thoughts  seriously  to  the 
subject  of  religion.  It  was  spared, 
and  she  kept  her  promise ;  but  it  was 
a  long  time  before  her  reflections 
took  any  definite  shape  or  had  any, 
practical  result.  This  was  undoubt- 
edly owing  to  a  want  of  direction, 
and  we  cannot  divine  why,  among 
so  many  distinguished  clerical  friends, 
one  was  not  found  to  do  her  this 
kindly  office.  Yet  so  it  was,  and, 
most  likely,  the  fault  was  all  her 
own. 

The  time  had  now  come  when 
her  children  were  of  an  age  to  re- 
ceive religious  instruction ;  and,  this 
being  a  part  of  the  self-imposed  task 
of  their  education,  she  determined 
not  to  shrink  from  it.  But  what  to 
teach  them,  when  she  herself  knew 
nothing,  was  a  most  perplexing  ques- 
tion. Hitherto  her  own  researches 
only  plunged  her  into  a  restless  un- 
certainty of  soul  which  betrayed  it- 
self even  in  her  sleep.  Her  conscience 
would  not  allow  her  to  impart  to  her 


children  her  own  unbelief,  nor  yet 
permit  her  to  instruct  them  in  a  reli- 
gion of  whose  truth  ~  she  herself  was 
not  convinced.  She  relieved  herself 
from  this  perplexity  by  deciding  not 
so  much  to  instruct  them  in  any  re- 
ligion as  to  give  them  a  history  of 
religion  in  general,  abstaining  from 
any  comments  that  might  betray  her 
own  incredulity,  or  be  an  obstacle  to 
the  choice  she  intended  they  should 
subsequently  make  for  themselves. 

To  fit  herself  for  "this  task,  she  com- 
menced the  study  of  the  Bible.  This 
was  the  turning-point  in  her  destiny ; 
she  held  in  her  hands,  at  length,  what 
was  designed  to  be  for  her  the  instru- 
ment of  divine  grace.  Long  years  ago, 
when  a  child,  at  the  Breslau  boarding- 
school,  it  had  been  remarked  that, 
when  nothing  else  co-uld  curb  her 
proud  and  self-willed  nature,  an  ap- 
peal to  her  affections  never  failed  of 
its  effect.  That  tenderness  of  her 
young  heart  was  to  be  her  salvation. 

She  opened  the  sacred  text  to  seek 
there  only  dry  historic  facts,  which 
she  was  to  note  down  and  relate  to 
her  children.  For  aught  that  con- 
cerned herself,  the  study  was  under- 
taken with  a  careless,  incredulous  dis- 
interestedness. But  as  she  went  on 
and  on  through  the  sacred  volume, 
and  the  sublime  character  of  the  Al- 
mighty was  unfolded  before  her  in 
all  the  beauty  and  tendernesses  of 
his  mercies,  and  shining  in  all  the 
brightness  of  his  wisdom,  her  soul 
was  moved,  her  heart  was  deeply 
touched ;  she  bowed  down  before  the 
omnipotent  Creator,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  felt  herself  a  creature. 
She  read  on  still;  she  came  to  the 
Gospel,  that  record  breathing  love 
— compassionate,  prodigal  love — on 
every  page,  and  before  its  charm 
her  heart  melted,  her  pride  of  in- 
tellect faded  away,  her  life  came 
before  her  as  a  useless  dream,  and 
her  tears  flowed  fast  upon  the  sacred 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin, 


375 


page;  for  now  she  not  only  felt  what 
it  was  to  be  a  creature,  but  had  real- 
ized what  it  was  to  be  saved. 

Her  work  now  became  a  labor  of 
love.  She  not  only  taught  her  chil- 
dren, but  she  instructed  herself.  With 
her  usual  intrepidity  of  intellect,  she 
was  soon  acquainted  with  every  mys- 
tery of  our  holy  religion,  and  with 
every  duty  of  the  Catholic  life.  From 
the  knowledge  to  the  fulfilment  of 
her  duty  was  always  with  Amelia  an 
easy  step;  consequently,  she  began 
immediately  to  prepare  herself  for  a 
general  confession.  After  a  long  and 
serious  examination  of  her  whole  life, 
she  at  length  made  it,  on  the  feast  of 
St.  Augdstine,  1786,  and,  a  few  days 
later,  approached  the  holy  commu- 
nion, for  the  first  time,  with  feelings  of 
deep  and  tender  devotion. 

From  this  moment,  a  complete 
change  was  wrought  in  her  whole 
manner.  Her  habitual  melancholy 
gave  way  to  a  cheering  serenity, 
which  was  as  consoling  as  it  was 
agreeable  and  charming  to  all  around 
her.  Her  children  and  her  many 
friends  were  greatly  struck  with  the 
visible  effects  which  divine  grace 
had  so  evidently  produced  in  her 
soul. 

She  now  wished,  for  her  more  rapid 
advancement  in  perfection,  to  place 
her  conscience  entirely  under  the 
direction  of  the  saintly  Abbe  Over- 
berg.  She  was  not  content  to  have 
him  merely  as  her  confessor,  but  she 
wished  to  enter  on  the  same  relations 
— to  have  the  same  intimate  friend- 
ship with  him — as  existed  between 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul  and  Mme.  de 
Gondi,  St.  Francis  de  Sales  and  St. 
Jane  de  Chantal,  St.  John  of  the 
Cross  and  St.  Teresa.  Though  she 
had  written  to  him  several  times  on 
the  subject  of  her  direction,  yet  she 
never  dared  fully  to  propose  her  pro- 
iect  to  him,  lest  he  might  reject  her 
request  altogether.  However,  she 


took  courage  at  last,  and,  to  her 
great  joy,  she  was  not  disappointed. 

This  holy  priest  took  up  his  resi- 
dence in  her  palace  in  1789,  and  re- 
mained there,  in  the  capacity  of  chap- 
lain, even  after  her  death. 

In  the  following  year,  Hemster- 
huys,  her  old  friend  and  preceptor, 
died ;  and  in  this  year,  also,  the  young 
Prince  Dmitri,  having  finished  an  ed- 
ucation which  would  have  fitted  him 
for  any  position  or  profession  in  life, 
took  leave  of  his  mother,  to  com- 
mence, in  accordance  with  the  fash- 
ion, his  post-educational  travels.  For 
what  particular  reason  he  turned  his 
steps  toward  the  New  World  does 
not  appear.  It  was  during  the  voy- 
age that  he  resolved  to  embrace  and 
profess  the  Catholic  faith.  But  Pro- 
vidence had  designed  for  him  more 
than  a  visit  to  the  United  States ;  his 
life  and  his  labors  in  our  country  have 
made  the  name  of  Galitzin  a  familiar 
and  much-loved  word  to  American 
Catholics. 

In  1803,  the  husband  of  the  prin- 
cess died  suddenly  at  Brunswick. 
This  loss  she  felt  most  keenly.  He 
had  ever  been  to  her  a  good  and 
indulgent  husband,  yielding,  with 
even  an  abundance  of  good  nature, 
to  all  her  plans,  and  never  interfering 
with  the  various  projects  of  her  life. 
We  may  suppose,  too,  that  her  grief 
was  deepened  as  his  unexpected 
death  suddenly  blighted  all  her 
hopes  for  his  conversion. 

But  sore  trials  of  another  kind  yet 
awaited  her.  The  property  of  the 
prince,  which,  by  the  marriage  con- 
tract, should  have  reverted  to  her  in 
trust  for  her  children,  was  seized  by 
his  relatives.  Penury  threatened  her 
for  a  time,  but  her  appeal  was,  at 
length,  heard  by  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander, and  the  property  was  re- 
stored. 

Meanwhile,  she  began  to  suffer 
from  a  painful  malady  which  pro- 


376 


The  Mother  of  Prince  Galitzin. 


duced  hypochondria.  The  patient, 
plaintless  manner  in  which  she  bore 
her  pains;  above  all,  the  calm  of 
mind  which  she  preserved  in  that 
terrible  physical  malady  which  poi- 
sons every  pleasure  and  clouds  every 
brightness  of  life,  shows  what  a  high 
state  of  perfection  she  had  already 
attained.  Religion  was  now  her 
solace  and  her  succor.  By  the  per- 
fection of  her  resignation  to  the 
divine  will,  she  not  only  succeeded 
in  concealing  from  her  friends  her 
painful  state,  by  joining  cheerfully 
in  every  conversation  and  pastime; 
but  she  cheered  the  melancholy  and 
depression  of  others  without  once 
evincing  that  she  herself  was  a  vic- 
tim to  its  living  martyrdom. 

With  equal  fortitude,  she  was  bear- 
ing at  the  same  time  yet  a  harder 
trial.  It  is  always  wounding  enough 
to  our  feelings  to  have  our  actions 
misappreciated,  our  whole  conduct 
misunderstood,  by  persons  merely  in- 
different to  us.  But  what  is  there 
harder  to  endure  in  life  than  to  be 
misunderstood  by  those  to  whom  we 
were  once  tenderly  devoted,  to  whom 
we  were  bound  in  the  closest  friend- 
ship of  intimacy,  and  to  bear  their 
consequent  coldness  and  slights,  and 
sometimes  cruel  wrongs  ?  Yet  this 
pang  was  added  to  the  other  trials 
of  Princess  Amelia.  But  her  great 
charity  checked  every  human  feeling. 
She  was  never  heard  to  complain  of 
any  neglect,  or  even  the  annoying 
treatment  of  false  friends,  and  she 
never  sought  to  soothe  the  sorrow  of 
her  tender  heart  by  any  human  con- 
solations. In  a  letter  regarding  the 
Abb6  de  Furstenberg,  she  described 
beautifully  the  rule  of  charity  she 


followed  in  this  sorest  of  her  trials. 
Whenever  the  memory  of  her  slight- 
ed friendship  would  send  a  pang 
through  her  soul,  her  love  of  God 
was  her  first  resource ;  then  she  re- 
solved never  to  intensify  the  sorrow 
of  the  moment  by  indulging  in  any 
dreams  of  the  imagination  with  re- 
gard to  an  irremediable  past,  or  in 
any  speculations  whatever  on  the  sub- 
ject which  would  strengthen  her  sor- 
row or  tend  to  an  uncharitable  feeling. 

Thus,  in  these  purifying  trials,  were 
passed  the  last  years  of  her  life ;  and 
when,  at  length,  the  gold  of  her  me- 
rits was  made  pure  enough  in  the 
crucible  to  be  moulded  into  her 
crown  of  glory,  she  rested  from  her 
sorrows. 

In  1806,  she  died  the  death  of  the 
holy,  and,  at  her  own  request,  she 
was  buried  beneath  the  chapel  of  her 
country-house  at  Angelmodde,  near 
Minister. 

Were  we  right  in  saying  that  her 
life  displays  the  struggle  of  a  great 
soul  for  its  own  level  above  dis- 
advantageous circumstances  ?  She 
struggled  above  the  sad  defects  of 
early  training,  then  above  the  com- 
monplace routine  of  ordinary  lives 
in  the  world,  and  finally  above  the 
clouds  of  infidelity  and  ignorance  of 
divine  things,  to  the  bright,  clear  at- 
mosphere of  the  faith,  where  the  love 
of  her  ardent  heart  was  sated,  and 
her  yearning  aspirations  found  their 
lasting  rest. 

It  may  be,  too,  that  we  now  have 
an  easier  clue  to  the  wonderful  cha- 
racter of  the  Apostle  of  Western 
Pennsylvania  since  we  have  become 
better  acquainted  with  the  mother  of 
Prince  Galitzin. 


Egbert  Stanway. 


377 


EGBERT     STANWAY. 


IF  Germany  was  the  cradle  of  the 
Reformation,  England  can  claim  to 
have  been  its  nurse,  and  to  have  fos- 
tered in  it  many  phases  even  at 
present  unknown  to  the  land  of  its 
originators.  In  its  last-born  and  per- 
haps most  dangerous  outgrowth, 
Ritualism,  we  see  the  English  spirit 
that  was  already  timidly  visible  long 
before,  now  fully  flowering  in  delu- 
sive self-existence,  uniting  in  this  no- 
vel combination  the  cherished  inde- 
pendence of  Rome,  that  Englishmen 
are  taught  instinctively  to  regard  as 
the  only  palladium  of  national  free- 
dom, and  those  aesthetic  aspirations 
which  come  down  to  them,  we  ven- 
ture to  think,  as  instinctively,  from 
their  forefathers  of  "  Merrie  England  " 
and  the  "  Island  of  Saints." 

But  if  there  are  in  the  English 
character  great  capabilities  for  evolv- 
ing unthought-of  theories  out  of 
stern  dogmatic  codes,  there  is  also 
a  strange  power  of  assimilation  by 
which  it  can  engraft  upon  itself  the 
alien  modes  of  thought  of  other  lands, 
and  yet  infuse  into  them  something 
that  is  not  their  own — something  that 
renders  them  unspeakably  more  at- 
tractive and,  withal,  more  hopelessly 
earnest. 

Such  a  power  was  most  likely  to 
have  been  encouraged  and  develop- 
ed in  Egbert  Stanway  by  his  almost 
foreign  education  and  most  sensitive 
and  contemplative  nature.  The  love 
of  German  philosophy  and  German 
literature  had  descended  to  him  from 
his  father,  who  had  been  a  disciple 
and  a  friend  of  Goethe,  and  who  had 
early  sent  him  to  the  university  at 
Heidelberg,  where  the  boy  still  was 
at  his  father's  death.  The  weird  old 


city,  with  its  castle  overlooking  the 
rushing  Neckar,  and  its  antique  houses 
enshrined  by  woods  of  chestnut,  was 
the  earliest  home  he  could  remember, 
and  as,  during  his  holidays  from  the 
school  where  he  had  been  preparing 
for  university  initiation,  he  had  never 
left  Germany,  it  was  almost  as  a  for- 
eigner and  a  stranger  that  he  visited 
Stanway  Hall  to  attend  his  father's 
funeral. 

The  evening  he  arrived,  the  gloom 
of  the  old  house,  and  the  long  sha- 
dows creeping  round  it,  the  hooting 
owl  in  the  dark  fir  plantations,  and 
the  grim  and  spreading  cedars  near- 
ly touching  the  hall-door,  every- 
thing he  saw,  in  fact,  seemed  to  make 
a  most  painful  impression  on  his  sen- 
sitive mind.  The  old  servants  crowd- 
ed round  him  in  affectionate  and 
mournful  welcome,  for  they  remem- 
bered the  little  fair-haired  child  that 
used  to  prattle  so  merrily  through  the 
house  many  years  ago,  and  they 
thought  they  saw  in  his  face  the 
same  expression  that  had  melted  their 
hearts  within  them  as  they  had  gaz- 
ed on  the  child's  dead  mother  the 
night  he  was  born.  One  of  his  guar- 
dians, a  cousin  of  his  father's,  a  kind, 
grave  man,  with  grizzling  hair  and 
soldier-like  bearing,  came  and  took 
his  hand  in  silence,  and  led  him  to 
the  low,  wide  dining-room  where  the 
coffin  lay  under  its  heavy  velvet  pall. 
There,  in  the  gloom  that  the  few  tall 
candles  near  the  bier  could  hardly 
brighten,  he  told  the  son  how  his  fa- 
ther had  fallen  from  his  horse  while 
returning  at  night  from  a  distant  farm 
where  he  had  been  to  see  the  sick 
tenant,  and  relieve  him  from  the  rent 
that  was  due  and  which  his  family 


573 


Egbert  Stamvay. 


could  not  meet.  Egbert's  face  glow- 
ed as  he  lifted  it  from  the  coffin 
against  which  he  had  been  resting 
his  forehead,  and  as  he  said  in  falter- 
ing accents  : 

"  So  like  him  !  I  am  glad  he  died 
like  that." 

The  words  were  simple,  but  the 
old  soldier  could  not  refrain  from  the 
tears  that  his  own  narrative  had  not 
yet  forced  from  him.  The  child's 
comment  unlocked  his  heart,  and  af- 
ter a  few  moments'  silence  he  said : 

"  My  boy,  you  will  try  to  live  like 
him,  and  try  to  do  your  duty  like 
him.  You  know  you  will  soon  have 
power  in  your  hands  :  use  it  as  he 
did.  In  a  few  years  you  will  be  your 
own  master ;  even  now  you  are  mas- 
ter of  this  house  and  this  estate. 
Never  forget  the  responsibilities  you 
will  have.  Always  be  kind  to  your 
servants,  and  just  to  your  tenants, 
and  charitable  to  the  poor.  Be  loved 
as  your  father  was,  so  that,  when  you 
die,  you  may  be  regretted  as  he  is." 

Egbert  pressed  his  guardian's  hand 
in  silence,  and  presently  knelt  down 
by  the  coffin.  There  was  a  wreath 
of  cypress  on  it,  and  he  broke  off 
a  little  twig  and  hid  it  in  his  bosom. 
His  lips  seemed  to  move — was  he 
praying,  or  thinking  half  aloud  ?  The 
old  man's  hand  was  on  his  shoulder, 
and  he  felt  its  pressure  weighing  him 
down.  When  he  stood  up  again,  he 
said  nothing,  only  motioned  his  guar- 
dian to  the  door,  and  followed  him. 
There  were  a  few  relations,  mostly 
men,  gathered  before  the  fire  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  as  the  boy  came 
in  there  was  a  general  welcome  of 
silent  sympathy,  and  then  a  pause. 
Some  few  spoke  in  whispers,  but  the 
gloom  was  too  deep  to  be  broken. 
There  seemed  in  the  dead  man's  son 
more  dignity  and  manliness  than  is 
usual,  even  under  such  circumstances, 
in  one  so  young,  and  there  was  defe- 
rence and  surprise  as  well  as  pity 


in  the  looks  that  were  bent  on  the 
boy  of  sixteen,  to  whom  nearly  all 
were  strangers,  and  to  whom  his  own 
home  and  his  own  household  were 
themselves  but  new  and  strange  as- 
sociations. 

As  night  came  on,  every  one  disap- 
peared noiselessly  from  the  room, 
Egbert  himself  having  left  it  at  an 
earlier  hour.  He  had  gone  out  into 
the  summer  moonlight  to  roam 
through  the  grounds  he  scarcely  re- 
membered, and  to  be  alone  with  his 
own  thoughts  that  would  not  let  him 
sleep.  The  tall  formal  evergreens 
that  skirted  the  broad  terrace  threw 
their  shadows  across  the  many  flights 
of  ornamental  steps  leading  to  the 
flower-garden ;  the  scent  of  the  helio- 
trope and  mignonnette  in  the  borders 
was  wafted  on  the  cool  breeze  that 
came  from  the  sedge-encircled  pond 
where  the  water-fowl  played  and  hid 
in  the  rushes ;  the  smooth-stemmed 
beeches  stood  like  columns  of  silver 
in  the  moonlight,  supporting  their 
vaulted  arches  of  interlacing  leaves  ; 
the  rooks  cawed  solemnly  from  their 
restless  homes  as  the  soft  wind  blew 
the  branches  backward  and  forward 
across  the  mossy  mound ;  squirrels 
made  cracking  noises  as  they  chat- 
tered in  careless  gaiety  on  the  slender 
twigs  of  the  spruce-fir;  and  hares  and 
rabbits  scudded  away  with  terror-im- 
pelled swiftness  as  they  heard  human 
footfalls  on  the  dewy  grass. 

The  tall  church-spire  seemed  to 
speak  when  the  bell  tolled  out  the 
hours  through  the  night,  and  Egbert 
gazed  longingly  toward  it,  not  as  one 
who  answers  a  well-known  voice,  but 
rather  as  one  who  strives  painfully  to 
guess  the  meaning  of  words  he  would 
gladly  understand  and  yet  cannot 
fathom. 

"  Oh  !"  he  thought,  "  my  father 
knows  now  all  I  wish  to  know ;  but 
he  cannot  come  and  tell  me,  and  I 
shall  have  to  live  on,  perhaps  as  long 


Egbert  Stanivay. 


379 


as  he  did,  and  never  know  what  I 
seek,  and  never  find  the  satisfaction 
and  peace  I  look  for.  If  /  too  could 
die,  and  know  all  at  once !" 

He  thought,  too,  of  the  ceremony 
that  would  take  place  in  that  church 
to-morrow,  and  of  the  cold,  damp 
vault  his  father's  body  would  be  laid 
in.  And  so  great  was  the  horror  of 
this  to  his  mind  that  the  beauty  of 
the  night  turned  to  hideousness  for 
him,  and  its  wooing  sounds  were 
changed  into  ghoul-like  beckoning. 
Tears  would  not  come  to  relieve  his 
heart,  and  he  felt  as  if  an  icy  grasp 
were  upon  him,  crushing  out  his 
young  life,  his  ather,  he  could  only 
think  of  as  he  was,  mute  and  help- 
less, not  as  he  once  had  been,  a  true 
guide  and  monitor ;  his  home,  where 
was  it  ?  his  duty,  to  what  dreary 
fields  of  thankless  labor  might  it  not 
carry  him  ?  his  friends,  who  were 
they  ?  friends  of  yesterday  ?  friends 
of  the  amily,  perhaps,  but  that  was 
conventional  friendship  to  him  —  or 
friends  to  him  as  the  young  landlord, 
but  that  was  interested  friendship ! 

And  then  came  back  a  rush  of 
Heidelberg  memories,  of  the  reckless 
young  companions  of  his  scarce-be- 
gun career,  of  the  kind  old  professor, 
Herr  Lebnach,  and  of  his  child-daugh- 
ter Christina,  of  rambles  among  the 
chestnut  woods,  when  the  band  had 
done  playing  in  the  castle  gardens, 
and  of  two  or  three  darker  and  more 
solemn  rambles  when  he  had  -  gone 
to  follow  a  dead  comrade  to  his  self- 
made  grave. 

The  chill  morning  dew  roused  him 
at  last,  just  when  a  faint-breaking 
light  was  to  be  seen  over  the  fir- 
planted  hill  behind  the  house,  and 
he  went  hi  and  threw  himself,  all 
dressed,  on  his  bed  in  the  dim 
haunted-looking  room  he  remember- 
ed as  his  nursery  in  days  so  long 
past  that  he  could  remember  nothing 
else  of  them.  The  sun  rose  and  gild- 


ed the  many-hued  flower  -  garden, 
and  lighted  red  fires  in  the  diamond- 
pan  ed  windows  on  the  east  side  of 
the  house,  and  sent  long  arrows  of 
light  into  the  tapestried  and  wain- 
scoted chambers  where  the  guests 
slept ;  it  took  the  church-steeple  by 
storm,  and  poured  in  floods  of  mol- 
ten gold  through  the  stained-glass 
windows  of  chancel  and  clerestory; 
it  flashed  through  the  dark  beech 
grove,  and  blinded  the  uneasy  rooks 
whom  it  roused  to  a  new  and  jan- 
gling chorus;  it  threw  rosy  sparks 
across  the  pond,  on  the  margin  of 
which  floated  the  water-lily  and  nest- 
led the  forget-me-not;  and,  lastly,  it 
penetrated  the  sombre  curtains  of  the 
darkened  dining-room,  and,  braving 
death  on  his  throne,  threw  a  coronal 
of  light  on  the  very  cypress  wreath 
on  the  bier.  And  had  it  not  a  royal 
right,  nay,  a  God-given  mission,  so  to 
do  ?  For  the  morning  of  the  resur- 
rection is  ever  near,  and  each  morn- 
ing's sun  is  its  fit  representative  and 
the  forerunner  of  its  joy. 

The  same  consoling  ray  that  would 
not  leave  the  dead  alone  in  death's 
own  shadow  shone  on  the  boy's  fair 
curls  as  he  bent,  half  in  sorrow,  half 
in  slumber,  over  the  hidden  coffin. 
Soon,  very  soon,  that  coffin  would 
not  be  there  in  the  dear  sunshine.  It 
would  be  away  in  the  darksome  earth, 
in  a  lonely  vault,' with  no  one  save 
the  bats  to  make  any  moan  over  it, 
and,  if  ever  the  sun's  darts  made  their 
way  to  it  through  low,  grated  air- 
holes or  widening  cracks  in  the 
stone,  they  would  be  pale  and  spec- 
tral themselves,  like  torches  in  a  dead- 
ly atmosphere,  like  phantom  lights 
over  the  quaking  bog. 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  the  time 
came  for  the  funeral.  Again  there 
was  a  gathering  together  of  friends 
and  relatives,  and  a  'marshalling  of 
tenants  and  servants,  a  whispering 
among  the  awed  assemblage,  and  the 


Egbert  Stanway. 


boy  asked  once  to  have  the  pall  lift- 
ed and  the  lid  removed.  In  silence 
it  was  done,  and  in  silence  Egbert 
Stanway  came  near,  and  laid  his  right 
hand  on  his  father's  cold,  calm  fore- 
head. His  lips  seemed  to  move,  and 
a  deeper  expression  of  mingled  sor- 
row and  resolution  settled  upon  his 
features ;  and  thus,  without  a  tear,  he 
took  leave  of  the  best  friend  and  best 
lover  he  had  ever  had  on  earth.  He 
seemed  much  quieter  after  this,  and 
the  funeral  procession  now  started 
on  its  way  to  the  church,  Egbert 
walking  next  the  coffin  as  chief 
mourner. 

The  next  day,  he  was  far  on  his 
road  to  Heidelberg. 

Four  years  passed  by.  Egbert 
Stanway  was  high  in  honors  at  the 
university,  renowned  among  the  read- 
ing set  as  an  indefatigable  scholar, 
beloved  by  his  favorite  professor, 
Herr  Lebnach,  and  his  no  longer 
child-daughter,  courted  by  all  the 
best  men,  and  respected  by  all  the 
worst,  in  the  old  city  of  Heidelberg. 
Having  resolutely  set  his  face  against 
duelling  and  all  kinds  of  brawls,  and 
even  against  all  innocent-seeming 
meetings  that,  nevertheless,  were  like- 
ly to  end  in  brawls,  he  had  yet  not 
acquired  the  unenviable  notoriety  of 
a  misanthrope,  and,  though  many 
called  him  proud,  still  none  called 
him  churlish.  Herr  Lebnach  used 
often  to  gather  a  few  real  friends  about 
him,  and  there  was  generally  some 
musical  banquet  provided  for  his  de- 
licate and  discriminating  guests. 

His  room  was  one  of  those  that 
are  dreamt  of,  but  seldom  seen,  home- 
ly and  artistic  at  once,  quaint  and 
suggestive  as  one  of  the  mysterious 
dens  of  those  sages  whom  modern 
times  have  called  sorcerers  and  tam- 
perers  with  arts  forbidden.  There 
stood  on  one  side  a  great  oak  book- 
case, massive  and  plain,  filled  with 


huge  folios,  and  smaller  books  laid 
carelessly  across  their  dust-covered 
edges,  old  tomes  that  looked  black 
enough  for  magic,  though  they  might 
contain  nothing  more  than  medical 
lore  and  visionaries'  dreams;  over 
the  carved  mantelpiece,  where  a  dark 
stove  hid  itself  in  the  wide  space  it 
could  not  fill,  was  an  array  of  pipes, 
meerschaum  silver  -  mounted,  and 
rare  wood  cunningly  wrought;  pipes 
of  tarnished  Eastern  splendor,  and 
calumets  of  Indian  workmanship;  a 
real  old  spinning-wheel,  where  Gretch- 
en  might  have  sat  as  she  sang  of  her 
demon-lover  Faustus,  stood  in  one 
corner,  and  a  collection  of  antique 
armor  hung  on  all  the  spaces  on  the 
wall  that  were  not  occupied  by  me- 
dical portraits  and  angel-crowded 
tryptichs  in  twisted  golden  frames. 
Here,  in  one  oak  -  carved  case, 
was  Venetian  ruby  glass  and  old 
Dresden  ware,  and  there,  on  the 
quaint  low  tables,  lay  illuminated 
missals  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
alongside  of  dainty  woman's  embroid- 
ery-frames, and  the  last  new  pamph- 
let on  the  last  new  philosophical  in- 
comprehensibility. Then,  as  the  dim 
light  of  the  lamp  fi'ashed  when  some 
motion  was  made  near  the  long  table 
by  the  stove,  there  appeared  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  a  great  organ, 
with  golden  pipes  and  carved  case — a 
world  within  a  world,  the  kingdom  of 
music  enshrined  within  the  surround- 
ing kingdom  of  science  and  of  litera- 
ture. The  treble  manual,  with  its  tiers 
of  smooth  white  notes  sheathing  the 
melodies  a  moment's  touch  might  set 
free,  shone  under  the  golden  arbor  of 
the  spreading  pipes,  and  beneath  the 
dark  carved  garlands  of  oak-leaves 
and  hanging  fruit  and  sporting  beasts, 
that  seemed  only  as  petrified  embo- 
diments of  the  thoughts  that  had  once 
been  living  and  breathing  in  those 
keys. 

A  girl  sat  by  the  organ,  her  hair 


Egbert  Stamvay. 


seeming  to  have  caught  the  golden 
reflection  of  the  music-laden  pipes, 
and  her  slender  fingers  the  litheness 
of  those  easily-moulded  keys.  Be- 
side her  was  a  large  basket,  where 
balls  of  wool  mingled  with  half- 
finished  garments  of  domestic  myste- 
ry, while  in  her  own  hands  she  held 
a  piece  of  knitting.  A  kitten  played 
at  her  feet,  and  now  and  then  tang- 
led the  long  thread  that  fell  from  her 
work.  Egbert  Stan  way  sat  quite 
close,  one  hand  resting  on  the  organ- 
notes,  reading  aloud  by  the  dark 
light  of  one  little  candle  in  the  fixed 
organ  candlestick. 

A  few  men  began  to  drop  in,  but 
the  reading  was  not  interrupted,  for 
the  room  was  large,  and  the  professor 
was  sitting  not  far  from  the  door. 
Some  came  in  with  rolls  of  white 
music;  some  with  instruments  ten- 
derly imprisoned  in  warmly-lined 
cases ;  some,  again,  with  their  hands 
unoccupied,  but  their  large  pockets 
bursting  with  the  treasures  of  meer- 
schaum and  tobacco ;  some  thought- 
ful, student-like,  long-haired;  some 
gay  and  rubicund,  as  if  dinner  were 
but  a  late  and  cherished  memory; 
some  young  and  uneasily  conscious 
of  the  stranger  by  the  organ.  Pre- 
sently one  came  in  who  was  neither 
student  nor  professor,  but  long-haired 
and  quaint-looking  nevertheless,  with 
iron-gray  locks,  straight  and  wiry, 
strongly-marked  features,  tall,  spare 
figure,  and  almost  kingly  demeanor, 
so  mixed  was  it  of  haughtiness  and 
courtesy. 

Christina  rose  and  signed  to  her 
companion  to  close  the  book.  She 
went  forward,  and  said  a  few  words 
of  blushing  welcome  to  the  royal 
stranger,  and  then  turned  to  Egbert, 
saying : 

"  Mein  herr,  this  is  my  father's 
young  friend  who  was  so  anxious  to 
know  you." 

He  put  out   his  hand  with  kind 


eagerness,  and,  as  he  did  so,  Egbert 
noticed  the  long,  slender,  nervous 
fingers,  like  iron  sheathed  in  age- 
tinted  ivory. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Herr 
Stanway,"  he  said,  "  and  very  glad  to 
see  you  here,  for  I  have  no  better 
friend  than  Christina's  father." 

The  girl  fell  back  as  he  spoke,  and 
passed  through  the  room,  speaking, 
now  and  then,  to  the  bearded  guests, 
who  all  smiled  at  her  like  the  Flemish 
saints  in  the  old  pictures  of  the  Maid- 
en-mother and  her  mystic  court ;  and 
made  her  way  to  an  inner  apartment 
where  a  gnand  piano  occupied  most  of 
the  space,  and  round  the  walls  of  which 
were  many  brackets  with  bronze  and 
marble  busts  of  sages  and  poets,  philo- 
sophers and  musicians,  gleaming  out, 
ghost  like,  against  the  heavy  crimson 
draperies  that  fell  round  window  and 
doorway. 

The  stranger  was  still  talking  to 
•Egbert  in  German  when  the  sounds 
of  tuning  instruments  in  the  next  room 
drew  his  attention.  He  took  the  young 
man's  arm,  and  hurried  in,  casting  a 
glance  over  the  sheets  of  music  scat- 
tered on  the  piano.  A  flush  of  plea- 
sure and  surprise  came  over  his  coun- 
tenance ;  they  were  headed,  "  Over- 
ture— St.  Elizabeth."  Egbert  looked 
across  to  Christina,  but  she  was  busy- 
ing herself  with  a  refractoiy  violoncel- 
lo-case, whose  huge  fastenings  would 
not  open,  and  whether  or  no  she  saw 
the  maestro's  puzzled  air  remained  a 
mystery  both  to  the  young  man  and 
to  his  companion,  whose  glance  had 
followed  his  own,  as  if  half-guessing 
what  it  meant. 

Herr  Lebnach  struck  his  friend  on 
the  shoulder  as  he  approached  the 
wondering  musician. 

"You  must  forgive  my  boldness," 
he  said ;  "  in  fact,  I  can  only  call  it 
smuggling.  I  got  a  copy  from  a 
pupil  of  yours — one  whose  enthusi- 
asm was  stronger  than  his  sense  of 


382 


Egbert  Stanway. 


obedience;  but,  of  course,  this  is  all 
among  friends — it  shall  go  no  further. 
Indeed,  if  you  wish  it,  I  will  burn  the 
manuscript  after  the  performance." 

"  No,  no,  dear  friend,"  returned 
the  composer;  "it  will  be  publicly 
performed  and  given  to  the  world  in 
a  month  or  two,  and  I  am  glad  you 
should  have  the  first-fruits." 

The  amateur  orchestra  was  in  a 
state  of  nervous  delight  at  these 
words,  and  as  the  maestro  took  the 
baton  in  his  hand  there  was  a  hush 
that  said  far  more  than  words  could 
have  embodied.  Christina  and  her 
father  and  Egbert  sat  aloof  near  the 
doorway,  and  a  few  others  gather- 
ed in  silent  groups  round  the  room. 
The  music  came  forth,  at  last,  like 
the  rush  of  an  elfin  cavalcade  out  of 
darksome  caverns  and  cloven  rocks 
of  unimagined  depth,  wild  and  weird, 
like  the  cry  of  the  storm-tossed  sea- 
gulls among  the  reverberating  crago 
of  foam- washed  granite.  It  was  the 
music  of  delirium,  the  music  of  mad- 
ness, the  music  of  despair.  It  was 
the  voice  of  a  soul  that  had  lost  its 
way  in  a  labyrinth  of  dreams  so  fan- 
tastic that  they  had  thrown  a  spell 
over  its  returning  footsteps,  and  so 
made  it  for  ever  an  enchanted  exile 
among  their  mazy  paths.  It  was  un- 
intelligible, yet  full  of  meaning;  un- 
approachable, yet  full  of  allurement; 
impregnable,  yet  full  of  sympathy. 
Later  on,  in  great  cities,  and  before 
critical  audiences,  it  was  held  to  be 
the  music  of  a  maniac,  while  it  lacked 
the  charm  or  the  interest  of  Shake- 
speare's maniac-heroes  and  their  too- 
faithful  rhapsodies;  and  even  now, 
though  the  performance  was  a  labor 
of  love,  it  was  not  without  difficulty 
that  many  phrases  were  interpreted. 

Christina  seemed  to  think  more  of 
the  composer  than  of  his  work,  and 
more  of  his  pleasure  in  seeing  his 
music  appreciated  than  of  his  actual 
skill  in  composition.  Indeed,  her 


father  and  Egbert  shared  her  feel- 
ings, as  was  apparent  from  their  care- 
ful watching  of  the  conductor's  face 
rather  than  of  the  performers'  bows. 
But  when  the  long  piece  was  over, 
and  every  one  started  forward  to  con- 
gratulate and  be  congratulated,  there 
was  a  general  appearance  of  satisfac- 
tion at  having  mastered  something 
that  was  no  little  difficulty,  and  offer- 
ed such  a  grateful  and  acceptable 
homage  to  one  whose  heart  seemed 
to  value  it  so  highly.  Soon  there 
was  a  hush  again,  and  Christina 
glided  to  the  piano,  where  the  maes- 
tro was  now  sitting. 

"  You  will  not  refuse  to  reward  us 
now,  will  you  ?"  she  said. 

A  sniile  and  a  soft  chord  were  the 
speedy  answer ;  and  now  the  piano 
spoke  and  wailed,  pleaded  and  wept, 
as  the  strong,  supple  fingers  swept  its 
astonished  keys.  It  seemed  as  if 
there  were  within  it  an  imprisoned 
and  hitherto  dumb  spirit,  whose 
voice  was  now  unshrouded  and  al- 
lowed full  power  over  the  hearts  of 
those  who  had  scarcely  before  sus- 
pected its  hidden  existence.  Far 
different  from  the  tempestuous  over- 
ture was  this  soft  and  swift  blending 
of  chords  in  garlands  of  sweet  sound. 
Flowers  were  dropping  around  the 
feet  of  the  artist;  clouds  of  faintly- 
suggested  and  dream-like  fancies 
were  fanning  the  air  around  his 
head;  a  spell,  as  of  Eastern  lan- 
guor, was  slowly  deadening  the 
senses  of  the  listeners  to  any  other 
sound  save  that  of  the  marvellous 
melody  the  piano  was  sighing  forth, 
when,  with  a  wild  toss  of  the  head 
and  a  sudden  bending  forward  of  the 
body,  the  maestro  changed  the  key, 
and  burst  into  a  half-triumphant, 
half-defiant  paean — a  chant  of  patri- 
otic and  maddened  enthusiasm — 
which  soon  merged  into  the  last 
movement  of  his  impromptu  and  the 
last  appeal  of  every  Christian  to  the 


Egbert  Stan  way. 


333 


God  that  made  him  ;  a  solemn,  dirge- 
like  hymn,  full  of  unspoken  sadness, 
full  of  expressed  confidence,  a  lifting 
up  of  the  soul  above  everything  of 
earth,  a  consecration,  a  supplication, 
a  thanksgiving,  and  a  sacrifice. 

Never  before  had  Egbert  heard 
anything  like  that  prayer j  never 
after  was  he  destined  to  hear  it 
again. 

Christina  drew  a  long  sigh,  as  if 
such  beauty  were  too  heavenly  to  be 
gazed  upon  without  pain,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  young  man  : 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot 
play  the  piano.  One  could  not  dare 
to  touch  the  instrument  after  that,  un- 
less it  were  to  destroy  it !" 

"  You  are  right,"  he  answered 
slowly  and  musingly ;  "  but  where 
can  he  have  learnt  the  things  he 
puts  into  his  music  ?" 

"  In  his  prayers,  Herr  Stanway." 

A  dark  shade  of  melancholy  passed 
over  Egbert's  face ;  there  was  pain 
at  the  implied  rebuke,  and  a  vague 
sorrow,  as  for  something  lost,  in  that 
fugitive  expression,  but  the  music 
chased  it  away  as  the  violins  were 
tuning  up  again  for  Beethoven's 
"  Septet." 

So  the  evening  wore  away,  and  cho- 
rus and  concerted  piece  followed  fast 
upon  one  another,  till  the  musicians 
were  so  excited  they  could  hardly 
speak.  The  maestro  conducted  all 
through,  and  as  he  shook  his  hair 
like  a  mane  about  his  eyes  and 
swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  intensity 
of  his  enthusiasm,  Egbert  whispered 
to  Christina  : 

"  He  is  the  magician  of  music,  is 
he  not  ?" 

When  all  was  over,  and  some  of 
the  guests  had  left  in  singing  groups 
that  would  probably  serenade  the 
town  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  the 
great  artist  called  the  young  English- 
man, and  asked  him  to  show  him  the 
way  home. 


"  I  am  somewhat  of  a  stranger 
here,  my  friend,  and  there  is  no  one 
whose  company  I  would  more  gladly 
ask  under  the  pretence  of  wanting  a 
guide  home." 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the 
house,  he  turned  suddenly  on  his 
companion,  and,  lingering  so  as  to 
stay  for  a  few  moments  in  the  full 
moonlight,  he  said  : 

"  And  so  you  are  the  betrothed  of 
my  old  friend's  daughter  ?" 

A  start  and  a  blush  that  he  could 
not  repress  were  Egbert's  first  an- 
swers to  this  abrupt  but  not  unkind 
question,  yet  the  old  man  saw  that 
his  arrow  had  perhaps  overshot  the 
mark. 

"  Is  it  not  so  ?"  he  said  again,  but 
doubtfully  now, 

"  No,  mfin  herr"  replied  Egbert, 
with  slow  and  sorrowful  composure ; 
"  and  I  fear  it  never  will  be." 

"  You  fear,  dear  friend  ?  Therefore 
you  hope  ?" 

"  I  have  hoped,  but  I  see  now  how 
useless  it  must  ever  be  for  me  to 
think  of  her  except  as  a  friend." 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  that 
her  own  favor  could  not  do  ?" 

"  I  have  never  asked  her  for  any- 
thing, and  I  never  shall,  and  it  suf- 
fices that  she  knows  as  well  as  I  do 
what  the  reason  of  my  silence  is." 

"  Then  she  does  know  that  you 
love  her?" 

'•'  She  knows  it  as  the  angels  do — 
if  there  be  angels  !" 

"  If!     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Only  this,  that,  if  there  are  angels, 
they  are  not  more  remote  from  me 
than  she  is." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles.  I  have 
no  wish  to  force  your  confidence,  my 
friend ;  but  I  have  known  that  child 
from  her  cradle,  and  I  cannot  help 
being  interested  in  anything  concern- 
ing her." 

"  O  mein  herr  !  I  have  nothing  to 
conceal;  you  misunderstand  me. 


384 


Egbert  Stanway. 


She  is  a  Catholic ;  that  is  why  she  is 
so  far  from  me." 

"  And  you  are  a  Protestant  ?  But 
so  is  her  father." 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  Protestant,  though 
I  am  English." 

"  Ah !  perhaps  you  have  no  set- 
tled outward  form  of  religion  ?" 

"  That  is  it.  But,  if  I  were  Protest- 
ant, she  would  not  marry  me." 

"  In  a  few  years,  dear  young 
friend,  you  may  think  differently.  I 
was  very  like  you  once,  only  far 
worse ;  yet,  you  see,  I  too  am  a  Cath- 
olic now." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head  in 
silence.  They  had  journeyed  through 
the  dark  winding  streets  very  near  to 
the  maestro's  temporary  home,  and 
the  old  artist  turned  now  solemnly 
and  affectionately  to  his  companion, 
putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  : 

"  Herr  Stanway,"  he  said,  "  I  may 
never  see  you  again,  and  you  must 
forgive  an  old  man  for  speaking  so 
plainly  to  you ;  but  I  cannot  bear  to 
leave  Heidelberg,  where  your  friends 
and  mine  have  made  me  so  happy, 
without  trying  to  do  something 
towards  your  happiness,  and,  I  am 
sure,  towards  hers.  Do  not,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  give  way  to  those 
foolish  and  yet  wrecking  tendencies 
of  the  young  men  of  your  day. 
Stand  by  religion,  for  I  tell  you  by 
experience  she  is  the  best  philoso- 
pher, as  well  as  the  best  comforter; 
she  is  the  only  friend  for  the  student, 
as  well  as  for  the  priest ;  and,  above 
all,  she  is  the  only  guardian  for  the 
home,  and  the  only  giver  of  true 
peace.  Remember  that  as  an  old 
man's  advice,  and,  if  you  trust  to  the 
word  of  one  who  has  run  the  round 
of  all  pleasures  without  finding  true 
ones  till  very  late,  you  will  save  your- 
self the  long  struggle  of  experience 
that  wears  the  body  and  sears  the 
mind,  and  leaves  you  in  your  old  age 
but  a  shattered  wreck  to  carry  back 


to  the  feet  of  him  who  sent  you  forth 
a  perfect  man.  Will  you  remember 
this,  dear  young  friend  ?" 

"  I  will  try  to  do  so,"  Egbert  an- 
swered slowly,  with  intense  but  hope- 
less yearning  to  be  able  to  do  so. 
He  kissed  the  hand  of  the  old  man 
whose  words  seemed  to  him  but  a 
mortal  record  of  that  other  one  writ- 
ten in  notes  of  fire  on  the  awakened 
instrument  at  Christina's  home,  and 
the  artist  took  him  in  his  arms  and 
embraced  him  as  a  son.  They  parted, 
the  one  to  go  to  his  peaceful  rest,  the 
other  to  turn  for  consolation  and  for 
calm  to  the  wild  woods  above  the 
castle,  whence  through  vistas  could 
be  seen  the  silver-flashing  river,  with 
here  and  there  its  dark  semblances 
of  reversed  houses,  and  spires,  and 
turrets.  "  My  father  !  my  father  ! " 
thought  the  young  man,  "  why  can 
you  not  tell  me  what  you  know — why 
can  you  not  assure  me  of  all  I  long  to 
believe,  yet  cannot  ?  She  has  often 
said  that  the  dead  are  all  of  her 
faith  when  they  reach  God's  throne, 
and  that  they  believe  in  it  even  more 
firmly,  if  possible,  than  those  of  her 
creed  do  on  earth — because  to  them 
evidence  has  been  given.  Perhaps 
to  some  the  evidence  is  eternal  fire — 
if  that  exist!  But  surely,  he  who 
made  this  earth  so  fair,  he  who  gave  us 
this  solemn  night-beauty  to  enjoy, 
and  a  mind  fitted  to  admire  it, 
he  cannot  have  meant  to  bind 
us  to  cruel,  unyielding  formulas. 
If  one  heart  feels  its  love  go  out  to 
him  in  one  way,  and  another  in  a 
different  way,  why  should  not  both  be 
as  welcome  to  him  as  is  the  varied 
beauty  of  the  many  different-tinted  and 
different-scented  flowers  ?  Who  has 
been  to  God's  feet  and  learned  his 
secrets,  and  come  back  to  tell  us 
with  certainty  that  he  loathes  one 
heart's  worship,  and  accepts  an- 
other's ?  Not  till  I  have  such  an  as- 
surance will  I,  or  can  I,  if  I  would; 


Egbert  Stamvay. 


385 


go  to  Christina,  and  say,  '  I  am  a 
Catholic.' " 

And  so  the  specious  and  seemingly 
religious  poison  worked  on  and  can- 
kered his  heart,  notwithstanding  the 
solemn  warning  of  his  new-found 
friend,  whose  voice,  he  should  have 
known  it,  was  near  akin  to  that  of 
the  spirit-witness  he  was  but  now 
invoking. 

The  night  was  very  lovely,  and  re- 
minded him  of  that  one  preceding 
his  father's  funeral,  when  already 
wandering  dreams  of  a  self-revealed 
faith  were  turning  him  away  from  the 
belief  in  a  just  and  personal  God. 
The  Church  of  England  Catechism, 
which  he  had  learnt  by  heart  as  a 
child,  the  teachings  of  a  zealous 
Episcopalian  clergyman  who  had 
.'  prepared  him  for  confirmation  in 
Germany  itself,  rushed  back  upon 
his  memory  as  he  looked  on  the  sym- 
bolic beauty  of  the  dying  night ;  but 
in  the  dawn  that  already  stirred 
the  birdlings  in  their  nests  and  shot 
pale  darts  of  virgin  light  across  the 
purple-blue  heaven,  he  could  see  no 
emblem  of  truer  life  coming  to  his 
soul  nor  any  sign  of  silent  joy  offer- 
ing itself  to  his  weary  heart.  And 
yet  the  dawn  was  shining  into  a  little 
flower-scented  chamber,  and  striking 
a  sweeter  perfume  from  the  silent 
prayer  of  its  occupant  than  it  could 
draw  even  from  the  fragrant  blos- 
soms of  the  golden  lime  and  the 
starry  pendent  clusters  of  flowering 
chestnut  gathered  in  the  large  earthen 
vases  near  the  window. 

That  prayer  was  for  Egbert,  but 
he  could  not  feel  it  yet. 

Night  again,  summer  again,  but  a 
year  has  passed,  and  the  German 
student  is  now  an  English  landlord. 
To-morrow  he  will  assume  the  duties 
of  his  new  position ;  to-day  he  re- 
ceived the  first-fruits  of  its  honors. 

The  customary  rejoicings  attend- 
VOL.  xm. — 25 


ant  on  a  "  coming  of  age  "  in  Old  Eng- 
land had  been  duly  gone  through; 
there  had  been  banqueting  in  the 
hall,  and  feasting  in  the  dining-room; 
healths  had  been  drunk  and  speeches 
had  been  made,  and  every  one  was 
supposed  to  be  in  a  superlative  state 
of  happiness.  Probably  every  one 
was — that  is,  according  to  their  kind, 
and  to  their  capability  of  enjoyment. 
Egbert  alone  seemed  thoughtful  and 
preoccupied;  his  assembled  relations 
thought  him  reserved  and  cold ;  some 
said  a  foreign  education  could  be  no 
good  to  an  Englishman,  and  he  would 
never  be  popular  in  the  country; 
others  thought  he  would  marry 
abroad,  some  said  he  would  turn 
Roman  Catholic,  and  the  sporting 
squires  wondered  whether  he  would 
ride  and  would  subscribe  to  the 
hunt. 

Contrary  to  the  expectation  of  the 
marriageable  young  ladies  of  the 
neighborhood,  there  was  no  ball 
included  in  the  programme  of  the 
birthday  fetes,  and  the  guests  who 
were  not  staying  at  the  house  all 
left  towards  dark,  lighted  on  their 
way  by  the  last  explosions  of  the 
fantastic  fireworks  that  had  been  in- 
troduced as  a  finale  to  the  rejoicings. 
After  dinner,  Egbert  and  his  guar- 
dian, the  one  we  alluded  to  in  the 
beginning  of  this  tale,  sauntered  out 
on  the  terrace,  talking  in  a  desultory 
way  about  the  little  incidents  of  the 
day. 

"  You  gave  us  so  little  time,  my 
dear  boy,"  he  said  presently,  "  to 
make  your  acquaintance  over  again, 
considering  the  time  you  have  been 
abroad,  that  I  feel  almost  as  a  stran- 
ger to  you." 

"  I  should  not  like  ever  to  be  a 
stranger  to  you"  replied  Egbert; 
"  but  I  own  I  felt  a  shrinking  from 
coming  here  at  all,  much  more  upon 
such  an  occasion,  and  to  meet  such 
people." 


386 


Egbert  Stamvay. 


"  You  have  grown  fastidious,  I  am 
afraid." 

"  I  have  led  a  very  quiet  life  for 
the  last  few  years,  and  I  feel  much 
older  than  I  am,  and  quite  different 
from  all  the  young  people,  both  men 
and  girls,  I  have  met  to-day ;  and,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  felt  shy,  so  I 
delayed  coming  to  the  last  moment. 
But  if  you  will  stay  when  the  house 
is  quiet  again,  I  am  sure  we  shall 
understand  eac^h  other." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  my  dear  fel- 
low ;  your  father  was  my  earliest 
friend,  and  I  should  like  his  son  to 
be  as  my  own." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  alone  in  the 
world,  Charles,  if  you  will  allow  me 
that  cousinly  freedom;  for  I  own  I 
should  have  been  scared  at  a  bevy 
of  ladies,  and  probably  committed 
some  dreadful  solecism,  and  have 
got  myself  ostracized  for  ever." 

"  Well,  well ;  it  will  all  come  in 
time,  no  doubt ;  and  now  tell  me  all 
about  your  life  at  Heidelberg." 

Could  Charles  Beran  have  looked 
back  at  that  life,  and  known  what  was 
called  back  to  existence  by  his  care- 
less question,  perhaps  he  might  have 
asked  it  less  carelessly,  and  been  less 
astonished  at  the  effect  it  produced. 
His  cousin  grew  pale. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  added  hurried- 
ly, "  if  there  is  any  painful  recollec- 
tion I  have  stirred  up  without  know- 
ing it,  pray  forgive  me." 

"  No,"  answered  Egbert  slowly, 
"  I  have  no  painful  recollection  in 
all  my  life,  not  even  my  father's 
death  (Beran  looked  at  him  anxious- 
ly) ;  for  nothing  has  happened  to  me 
without  making  me  sadder  and  wiser, 
that  is,  teaching  me  more  and  more 
that  I  know  nothing." 

His  companion  did  not  answer. 
Egbert  was  getting  beyond  him,  but 
he  pressed  his  hand  to  show  him 
that,  whatever  he  might  mean,  he 
had  one  to  sympathize  with,  even  if 


he  could  not  share,  his  sorrow.  Eg- 
bert understood  the  wistful,  loving 
sign  of  the  old  man  whose  happy 
disposition  most  fortunately  kept 
him  ignorant  of  the  paths  of  gloom 
through  which  he  himself  was  pass- 
ing, and  went  on  to  tell  him,  in  gen- 
eral terms,  of  his  outward  life  and 
habits  at  Heidelberg.  He  made  no 
concealment  of  his  intimacy  with 
the  family  of  his  old  professor,  but 
simply  and  truthfully  said  that,  on 
account  of  her  religion,  Christina, 
he  felt  sure,  could  never  be  his  wife. 

"  Perhaps,"  interrupted  the  old 
man,  "it  is  better  so,  and  Provi- 
dence meant  you  to  marry  an  Eng- 
lish wife,  and  think  more  of  your 
property  and  your  own  country." 

Egbert  smiled  at  this  innocent 
pressing  of  Providence  into  the  up- 
holding of  a  mere  actional  preju- 
dice; and  said,  unconsciously  using 
the  endearing  phraseology  of  his 
adopted  language : 

"I  knew  you  would  think  so,  dear 
friend;  but  do  you  fancy  that,  com- 
ing from  the  feet  of  an  angel,  one 
would  be  likely  to  rush  into  the 
arms  of  a  child  of  earth  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  have  grown 
too  German  by  far  !  Excuse  me,  but 
this  will  never  do  for  England,  you 
know." 

"  I  am  afraid  England  will  not  do 
for  me,"  Egbert  replied,  laughing; 
"  that  is,  if  England  is  to  mean  Eng- 
lishmen and  Englishwomen. 

"  Oh !  you  will  think  differently 
when  you  have  mixed  with  them  a  lit- 
tle; we  really  must  try  and  cure  you." 

"Well,  you  can  try,  if  you  like. 
Perhaps  we  had  better  go  in  and 
begin  with  the  assembled  company 
around  that  piano,"  said  the  young 
man,  as  he  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  pointed  to  a  white-robed  girl 
attitudinizing  before  a  splendid  in- 
strument, which,  I  think,  could  it 
have  spoken,  would  have  begged  to 


Egbert  Stanway. 


387 


be  delivered  from  the  attacks  of  un- 
musical school-girls  on  the  matri- 
monial lookout. 

But  every  one  was  tired  now,  even 
school-girls  and  croquet-playing  young 
gentlemen — and  heir-huntresses,  and 
heiress-hunters,  and  diggers  after  co- 
ronets, and  the  various  other  pliers 
of  unhallowed  trades — so  Egbert  was 
soon  left  to  himself  again,  which  with 
him  always  meant  a  long  night-ram- 
ble in  the  whispering  woods. 

The  English  beauty  of  his  own  un- 
known possessions  was  new  to  him  ; 
it  was  also  sad,  for  it  was  associated 
with  the  memory  of  his  father's  fu- 
neral ;  but,  because  of  its  very  sad- 
ness, it  was  the  less  new,  the  more 
familiar.  Across  the  flower-garden 
across  the  terraced  lawn  dotted  with 
rare  trees  from  Rocky  Mountain 
gorges  and  California  valleys,  across 
the  network  of  gravel  paths,  he  walk- 
ed thoughtfully  over  to  where  an 
old  ruin  stood,  with  its  mantle  of 
ivy,  shrouding  crumbled  wall  and 
broken  buttress,  climbing  over  scut- 
cheon and  carven  doorway,  and  fling- 
ing its  tendrils  like  falling  lace  across 
the  tall  mullioned  windows.  This 
gray  ruin  had  been  a  house  once, 
but  now  it  was  disused  and  had  fall- 
en into  decay.  Opposite,  only  parted 
from  it  by  a  shrubbery,  was  the 
church  where  Egbert's  father  was 
buried,  and  to  the  left  stretched  a 
wide  and  long  quadrangle  with  walls 
of  coral-berried  yew,  and  hedges  of 
trailing  rose  and  honeysuckle  within, 
enclosing  a  tract  of  wild,  rank  grass, 
and  little,  nestling,  creeping  flowers 
hidden  among  the  tall  tufts.  In  the 
centre  stood  a  sun-dial,  lichened  over 
in  brown  and  yellow  patches,  catch- 
ing the  moonbeams  now,  as  if  it  were 
a  solitary  tombstone  in  a  desecrated 
graveyard.  The  long  shadows  from 
church  and  ruin  stretched  themselves 
across  the  lonely  enclosure;  the 
sweetbrier  gave  forth  soft  perfume 


that  carried  on  its  breath  some  re- 
membrance of  the  Heidelberg  limes 
and  chestnuts;  falling  twigs  made 
a  ghost-like  rustling  in  the  tall  trees 
beyond,  and  the  voice  of  the  night 
seemed  to  say  to  the  young  man's 
heart,  "  Peace  is  nigh." 

Egbert  wandered  on  till  he  came 
to  the  sun-dial;  he  leaned  upon  it 
and  looked  around.  His  thoughts 
were  deep  and  sad,  but  something 
within  him  seemed  changed  —  he 
himself  knew  not  what.  "  Is  it  my 
father's  spirit  calling  me,  or  Christi- 
na's heart  sending  me  some  heaven- 
ly message  ?  Is  it  that  I  am  going  to 
die,  or  to  live  and  know  God  ?" 
Such  were  the  flitting  thoughts  that 
sped  like  restless  wanderers  through 
his  mind,  and  all  night  through,  as 
he  walked  backward  and  forward  in 
the  yew  quadrangle,  and  then  by  the 
edge  of  the  beech-shadowed  pond, 
these  same  thoughts  pursued  him, 
and  shaped  themselves  to  his  fancy 
into  the  whispering  of  the  ever-quiv- 
ering leaves  and  the  trembling  of 
the  unrestful  grass. 

It  was  dawn  'again  before  he  left 
the  grounds,  and  he  had  scarcely 
been  asleep  a  few  hours  when  a  hasty 
message  came  to  him  that  a  poor 
woman  from  the  village  was  asking 
for  him  in  great  distress,  and  was 
sure  he  would  not  refuse  to  see  her. 
It  seemed  that  she  came  to  say  her 
little  gill  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and 
the  doctor  thought  she  would  not  live. 
Egbert  had  specially  noticed  this  little 
one,  and  played  with  her  during  the 
preceding  day,  when  the  school-chil- 
dren were  enjoying  their  share  of 
the  day's  delight;  and,  without  the 
slightest  hesitation,  he  followed  the 
poor  mother  to  her  cottage,  where  he 
found  a  whole  nest  of  children  ;  some 
old  enough  to  look  sorry  and  fright- 
ened, some  hardly  able  to  do 
aught  else  than  crow  and  laugh 
and  give  trouble  to  the  elder  ones. 


388 


Egbert  Stanway. 


Up-stairs  in  a  poor  little  garret  lay 
the  sick  child,  rocked  on  the  knees 
of  its  eldest  sister,  and  looking  very 
pinched  and  white  and  mournful. 
A  Catholic  priest  was  in  the  room,  and 
there  were  a  few  rude  prints  and  a 
crucifix  on  the  walls.  The  little  one 
was  very  silent,  but  the  mother  said 
it  had  asked  piteously  for  the  "  pretty 
gentleman  "  to  bring  it  some  flowers. 
Egbert  took  its  hand  and  stroked  its 
small,  thin  face.  The  child  was  not 
pretty,  but  it  had  that  patient,  con- 
fiding look  that  always  stirs  the  heart, 
that  prematurely  yet  unconsciously 
sad  expression  that  is  a  thousand 
times  more  winning  and  more  touch- 
ing than  beauty.  For  this  very  rea- 
son had  Egbert  noticed  it  the  day 
before,  and  asked  its  name  and  age 
with  an  interest  that  made  all  its 
companions  jealous. 

As  he  bent  down  to  it,  it  said 
something  he  could  not  make  out, 
and  turning  to  the  mother  for  expla- 
nation, "  She  says,  sir,"  answered  the 
poor  woman,  "  would  you  please  say 
a  prayer  ?"  The  young  man  reddened 
and  looked  at  the  priest.  Again  the 
child  spoke.  The  priest  said  to  Eg- 
bert :  "  She  has  a  fancy  for  it.  Will 
you  not  say  an  Our  Father  for  her  ?" 

He  had  chosen  a  prayer  on  which 
there  could  be  no  controversy,  he 
thought,  and  was  surprised  when 
Egbert,  instead  of  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
began  a  beautiful  and  impromptu  sup- 
plication. For  some  time  he  went 
on,  and  the  child  listened  bewil- 
dered ;  but  as  he  stretched  his  hand 
towards  her,  and  drew  her  head  upon 
his  arm,  she  said  with  a  soft,  child- 
ish accent,  as  if  recovering  from  an 
unintelligible  surprise :  "  No ;  say  the 
Hail  Mary." 

The  priest  saw  his  head  suddenly 
droop,  and  his  fair  hair  touch  the 
child's  darker  locks;  his  voice  sank, 
and  sobs  came  instead  of  words; 
then  there  was  silence. 


"Say  the  Hail  Mary,"  said  the 
child. 

Egbert  never  raised  his  head,  but 
in  a  broken  voice  he  said  the  prayer 
as  the  little  one  directed,  and  the 
Our  Father  directly  after.  But  the 
priest  noticed  that  he  said  it  as  Cath- 
olics do,  omitting  the  superadded 
words  of  Jhe  Protestant  liturgy. 

A  few  moments  after,  the  child's 
father  came  in;  he  had  been  sent 
for  from  his  work. 

It  was  not  long  before  God  count- 
ed another  angel  in  his  train,  and 
the  mother  one  treasure  less  upon 
earth. 

Egbert  left  the  cottage  with  the 
priest,  promising  to  send  flowers  for 
the  little  one's  coffin,  and  to  return 
to  see  it  once  more  in  the  evening. 

He  was  silent  for  some  minutes, 
his  companion  watching  him  in  ap- 
preciative sympathy,  half-guessing 
the  truth,  and  giving  thanks  to  God 
for  his  double  accession  to  his  church 
in  one  and  the  same  hour.  At  last 
the  young  man  said  : 

"  Mr.  Carey,  you  were  surprised  I 
knew  your  prayers  ?" 

"  I  own  I  was,  Mr.  Stanway,  but 
I  was  happy  to  see  you  did." 

"  I  know  more  than  them,  and  I 
always  thought  that,  could  I  make 
any  form  of  faith  my  own,  it  would 
be  yours." 

"  And  what  you  saw  this  morning 
has,  I  think,  induced  you  to  do  so  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr. 
Carey.  Up  to  this  morning  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  any  tangible  be- 
lief; at  this  moment,  thank  God,  I 
think  I  may  venture  to  say  I  am 
a  Catholic." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Stanway,  this  is 
indeed  happy  news.  And  see  the 
instrument  God  has  chosen  for  your 
conversion  !" 

"I  have  only  one  more  question 
to  ask  you.  I  have  studied  the 
Catholic  faith  a  long  time;  I  may 


Egbert  Stanway. 


389 


say  I  have  loved  it  long,  and,  now 
that  I  feel  it  to  be  the  faith  of  my 
understanding  as  well  as  of  my 
heart,  may  I  not  be  received  at 
once  ?" 

"  Of  course,  if  you  will  only  come 
to  my  house,  and  we  will  have  a 
few  moments'  conversation.  I  have 
no  doubt  you  can  be  made  one  of 
us  before  to-night." 

The  priest's  house  was  a  humble 
little  cottage  beyond  the  village 
green,  and  it  had  indeed  needed  all 
the  Oxford  scholar's  taste  to  make 
its  evangelical  poverty  the  type 
rather  of  voluntary  detachment  than 
of  necessary  want. 

Here,  in  a  modest  little  room,  whose 
only  ornaments  were  two  or  three 
Diisseldorf  prints  and  a  book-case 
of  theological  and  controversial 
books  uniformly  bound,  Egbert  and 
Carey  sat  down  for  a  short  time,  that 
a  few  questions  might  satisfy  the  lat- 
ter's  judgment  as  to  the  propriety  of 
at  once  receiving  the  new  convert. 
He  rose  at  last,  and  pointed  to  a 
temporary  confessional  that  stood  in 
one  corner.  Egbert  was  soon  pre- 
pared, and  every  ceremony  was  ra- 
pidly performed.  The  priest  could 
not  help  noticing  the  look  of  perfect 
peace  that  seemed  to  be  the  expres- 
sion of  the  young  man's  predominant 
frame  of  mind.  As  he  was  still  fast- 
ing, Egbert  pleaded  hard  to  be  al- 
lowed to  receive  communion  directly 
after  baptism,  and,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  the  request  was  granted. 
He  then  paid  another  visit  to  the 
poor  cottage  where  God  had  wrought 
this  marvellous  change  in  him,  and 
reverently  kissed  the  tiny  white  fore- 
head of  the  little  angel  who  had  gone 
before  him.  And. from  that  hour, 
there  was  not  one  in  the  village  that 
would  not  have  died  for  the  "  dear, 
kind  gentleman  that  never  said  one 
hard  word  to  a  poor  man."  That 
day  was  remembered  long  years  after, 


when  the  children  of  the  girl  he  had 
seen  nursing  her  little  sick  sister  fol- 
lowed his  own  honored  remains  to 
their  last  earthly  abode,  and  when 
another  and  a  less  kind  master  had 
come  to  reign  over  Stanway  Hall. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  great  dining- 
room  where  the  guests  were  assem- 
bled for  breakfast,  conjectures  were 
rife  about  the  absent  host,  and  laugh- 
ing questions  were  put  about  his 
idleness  on.  his  too-romantic  morning 
wanderings,  until  Mr.  Beran,  who 
also  came  in  rather  late,  dispelled 
the  whole  mystery  by  an  explanation 
consisting  of  one  word,  itself  a  mys- 
tery to  many  there  present  —  busi- 
ness ;  and  a  courteous  apology  from 
Egbert,  who  hoped  his  friends  would 
consider  Mr.  Beran  as  his  delegate 
for  the  house.  A  few  portly  matrons 
and  unmusical  school-girls  looked 
rather  black  at  this  substitution;  but 
against  fate  what  avails  impatience  ? 
and  against  Beran,  what  availed 
black  looks  ? 

But  when  at  luncheon  Egbert  did 
not  appear,  and  when  at  dinner  he 
came  in  with  a  saddened,  grave  de- 
meanor, the  discontented  ones  thought 
it  really  was  time  to  throw  up  the 
game  and  go  to  other  and  more 
tempting  hunting-grounds.  So  the 
party  broke  up  the  next  day,  and 
Egbert  and  his  Cousin  Charles  were 
free  again.  The  old  man  was  soon 
made  acquainted  with  what  had  tak- 
en place,  and  two  days  after  both  he 
and  the  young  lord  of  the  hall  fol- 
lowed the  little  child's  funeral  to  the 
Catholic  cemetery. 

But  Egbert's  heart  was  not  yet  sa- 
tisfied. Heidelberg's  memories  were 
with  him  night  and  day,  and  it  was 
not  many  weeks  before  he  started 
for  his  German  home  with  his  new 
English  friend  as  companion.  He 
had  not  cared  to  trust  his  precious 
news  to  the  slender  certainty  of  for- 
eign posts.  He  wanted  to  see  the 


390 


Egbert  Stanw-cty. 


very  first  glimmering  of  the  expres- 
sion he  knew  it  would  call  forth  on 
one  ever-dreamt-of  face,  and  the 
journey  was  to  him  a  ceaseless  pre- 
paration for  a  joy  that  would  come 
suddenly  after  all. 

Leaving  Beran  at  the  "  Golden 
Kranz-Hof,"  he  walked  through  the 
darkling  streets,  past  the  silent  platz, 
up  to  the  old  house  he  knew  and 
loved  so  well.  He  never  rang,  for 
the  door  was  open,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment he  stood  in  the  organ-room. 
It  was  empty — so  was  the  next  apart- 
ment. A  fear  came  over  him,  and 
he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and 
Herr  Lebnachcame  in,  looking  aged 
and  haggard.  There  was  no  surprise 
on  his  face  as  he  saw  his  pupil  and 
friend.  "  I  knew  thou  wouldst  come," 
he  said  simply. 

"  Is  she — "  began  Egbert,  fearing 
to  shape  his  dread  in  words. 

"  No ;  come  to  her.  She  has  asked 
for  thee.  Didst  thou  not  get  my  let- 
ter ?" 

"  Letter  !  No,  I  came  of  my  own 
accord." 

"  God  be  thanked !  she  will  be  so 
happy  !" 

And  this  was  his  welcome  !  this 
the  home  he  had  been  journeying  to ! 
Christina  was  lying  in  a  small  iron 
bed  by  the  window,  a  vase  of  golden- 
lime  blossoms  on  the  table  near  her, 
and  a  prayer-book  beside  it.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  carelessly  on  her 
knees,  and  her  head  propped  up  very 
high  with  pillows.  Egbert  took  her 
white,  cold  fingers  in  his,  and  knelt 


down  by  the  bed.  She  only  said  his 
name — it  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  done  so. 

"  Christina,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I 
came  to  tell  you  something.  Your 
faith  is  mine  now." 

A  faint  cry,  and  a  pale,  momenta- 
ry flush,  and  then  a  long  look  in  si- 
lence. 

"My  God,  I  thank  thee!  My 
prayer  is  answered  !"  So  she  "spoke 
after  a  few  minutes. 

"  And  I  came  to  ask  you  some- 
thing also,"  continued  Egbert.  "  Do 
you  love  me  as  I  always  hoped  you 
did  ?" 

"  Egbert,"  she  answered  solemnly, 
"  I  loved  you  from  the  first  time  I 
saw  you ;  but,  when  I  found  you  did 
not  love  and  know  the  dear  God, 
I  offered  my  life  to  him  for  your 
conversion,  and  he  has  answered 
me." 

Egbert  told  her  briefly  the  circum- 
stances that  had  occurred.  A  few 
days  passed,  and  one  evening,  when 
the  red  sunset  was  firing  the  case- 
ment, and  her  father,  her  lover,  and 
Charles  Beran,  were  around  her,  she 
suddenly  said,  taking  the  two  former 
by  the  hand  : 

"  God  is  calling  me — do  not  forget 
me.  Your  blessing,  dearest  father ! 
O  Egbert !" 

And  so  died  Egbert's  first  and  only 
love. 

Strangers  often  asked,  when  they 
came  to  see  the  beautiful  Catholic 
Church  adjoining  Stan  way  Hall  why 
it  was  dedicated  to  the  virgin  mar- 
tyr St.  Christina. 


The  Scepticism  of  the  Age.  ' 


ktiirio. 


THE   SCEPTICISM    OF   THE   AGE. 


1  HE  strong  current  of  scepticism 
which  set  in  during  the  eighteenth 
century  extends  into  the  nineteenth. 
Among  the  lower  strata  of  society, 
among  the  dwellings  of  the  poor — 
long  the  last  refuge  of  religion — and 
especially  among  the  factories  and 
workshops,  this  scepticism  has  made 
various  inroads  on  the  ancient  foun- 
dations of  faith.  By  the  sulphurous 
glare  of  the  ominous  flashes  which 
momentarily  relieve  the  clouded  Euro- 
pean horizon,  we  often  catch  glimpses 
of  the  horrors  that  are  steadily  accu- 
mulating in  the  lowest  social  depths. 
A  powerful  Christian  current,  whose 
volume  has  as  usual  increased  with 
persecution,  runs  evidently  by  the 
side  of  this  scepticism,  but  the  latter, 
nevertheless,  preponderates,  and  it  is 
therefore  not  surprising  that  the  ba- 
rometric mean  of  our  civilization 
should  be  such  a  low  one. 

The  frivolous  scepticism  of  the 
Voltairean  school,  now  almost  extinct 
in  the  French  army,  still  survives 
among  a  majority  of  the  political  and 
military  leaders  of  the  other  Latin 
nations,  as,  for  instance,  in  Spain  and 
Piedmont.  For  this  reason  the  noble 
Spanish  people,  in  spite  of  their  here- 
ditary virtues  and  high  spirit,  are  still 
accursed  with  mediocre  party  lead- 
ers, while  statesmen  like  the  pious 
and  chivalrous  Valdegamas  are  only 
too  rare.  In  Piedmont,  unbelief, 
leagued  with  Italian  cunning  and  ra- 
pacity, has  during  the  last  years 
borne  blossoms  which  may  well  make 
us  blush  for  our  boasted  civilization. 
"  The  proclamation  of  Cialdini  and 
Pinelli  "  (one  of  which  calls  the  Pope 
a  clerical  vampire  and  vicegerent  of 


Satan),  observed  Nicotera,  speaking  in 
the  National  Assembly  of  the  con- 
duct of  these  generals  in  Naples  and 
Sicily,  "  would  disgrace  a  Gengis- 
Khan  and  an  Attila !"  "  Such  acts," 
exclaimed  Aversano,  alluding  to  the 
same  subject  in  the  Italian  Parliament, 
"  must  disgrace  the"  whole  nation  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  !"  "  It  is  literal- 
ly true,"  said  Lapena,  President  of 
the  Assizes  at  Santa  Maria,  "  that  in 
this  second  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century  a  horde  of  cannibals  exists  in 
our  beautiful  Italy  !" 

Other  nations  may*perhaps  thank 
God  with  the  "Pharisee  in  Scripture 
that  they  are  not  like  the  Italians.  But 
if  they  have  not  gone  to  the  length 
of  fusillading  defenceless  priests  (the 
case  of  Gennaro  d'Orso,  Gazette  du 
Midi,  February  i,  1861) — if  they  have 
never  trodden  under  foot  the  cruci- 
fix— if  their  mercenaries  have  never 
raised  blasphemous  hands  against 
the  consecrated  Host  ( Giornale  di 
Roma,  January  24,  1861) — in  short, 
if  other  European  nations  have  not 
yet  been  guilty  of  such  atrocities  as 
the  Italians,  very  few  have  much 
cause  to  pride  themselves  upon  their 
godliness  and  piety.  Even  in  Ger- 
many, the  fanaticism  of  infidelity  has 
brought  men  close  to  the  boundary- 
line  which  divides  a  false  civilization 
from  barbarism,  and  in  some  cases  this 
line  has  already  been  crossed.  At 
Mannheim  the  cry,  "  Kill  the  priests, 
and  throw  them  into  the  Rhine !"  was 
raised  in  1865.  In  many  parts  of 
Southern  Germany,  the  members  of 
certain  religious  orders  have  been 
grossly  ill-treated  by  an  ignorant  and 
brutal  populace.  "  It  is  but  too  true," 


392 


The  Scepticism  of  tJie  Age. 


says  the  Archbishop  of  Freiburg,  in 
his  pastoral  of  May  7,  1868,  "that 
the  servants  of  the  church  are  often 
exposed  to  insult  and  violence." 

Ascending  from  the  levels  of  ordi- 
nary life  into  the  higher  regions  of 
civilization,  science,  and  art,  we  dis- 
cover that  the  scepticism  of  the  last 
century  has  made  more  progress 
among  our  philosophers  and  poets. 
It  is  especially  among  the  former 
that  this  scepticism  seems  to  have 
gained  ground,  for  materialism  ranks 
lower  in  the  scale  of  intelligence  than 
the  deification  of  the  human  mind. 
This  return  to  the  atomic  theory  of 
Epicurus  is  calculated  rather  to  stupe- 
fy than  to  enlighten,  for  Humboldt 
remarks  that  a  multiplicity  of  ele- 
mentary principles  is  not  to  be  met 
with  even  among  the  savages.  Ma- 
terialism is  utterly  incapable  of  ele- 
vating the  heart,  and  destroys  there- 
fore a  branch  of  civilization  quite  as 
essential  as  intellectual  culture  itself. 
Where  all  this  tends  to,  how  it  bru- 
talizes man  and  degrades  him  below 
the  anjmal,  how  it  obliterates  every 
distinction  between  good  and  evil, 
how  it  robs  our  accountability  of  all 
meaning,  how  it  makes  the  savage 
state  with  its  attendant  ignorance 
and  barbarism  our  normal  condition, 
has  been  forcibly  pointed  out  in 
Haeffner's  admirable  treatise  on  The 
Results  of  Materialism.  "  The  mate- 
rialist," says  Haeffner,  "  virtually  tells 
man  :  You  are  wrong  to  set  yourself 
in  aristocratic  pride  over  the  other 
brutes ;  you  are  wrong  to  claim  de- 
scent from  a  nobler  race  than  the 
myriads  of  worms  and  grains  of  sand 
that  lie  at  your  feet ;  you  are  wrong 
to  build  your  dwelling  above  the  stalls 
of  the  animals:  descend,  therefore, 
from  your  grand  height,  and  embrace 
the  cattle  in  the  fields,  greet  the  trees 
and  grasses  as  equals,  and  extend  your 
hand  in  fellowship  to  the  dust  whose 
kindred  you  are." 


As  in  modern  philosophy,  so  the 
scepticism  of  the  preceding  century- 
is  equally  manifest  in  modern  poetry. 
"  No  department  of  human  activity," 
observes  a  profound,  thinker  of  the 
present  day,  "  is  so  feeble  and  occu- 
pies so  low  a  moral  standpoint  as 
poetry,  through  which  all  the  demor- 
alization of  the  eighteenth  century 
has  been  transmitted."  It  is  a  sort 
of  confessional,  from  which  we  pub- 
lish to  the  world  our  own  effeminacy 
and  degradation — not  to  regret  and 
repent,  but  to  defend  and  make  pa- 
rade of  them.  What  we  feel  asham- 
ed to  say  in  simple  prose,  we  pro- 
claim boldly  and  complacently  in 
rhyme.  If  a  poet  soars  now  and 
then  to  virtue,  it  is  generally  only 
virtue  in  the  ancient  heathen  sense. 
Hence  it  conies  that,  when  a  political 
storm  impends  in  the  sultry  atmo- 
sphere of  the  Old  World,  the  night- 
birds  and  owls  of  anarchy  fill  the 
air  with  their  cries.  In  times  of 
peace  they  luxuriate  in  our  modern 
political  economism  with  the  law  of 
demand  and  supply,  by  whose  agen- 
cy human  labor  has  been  reduced  to 
a  mere  commodity.  In  literature 
they  preach  the  evangel  of  material- 
ism under  the  flimsy  guise  of  so-call- 
ed popularized  science,  and  even  the 
school  has  been  perverted  into  an 
institution  whose  sole  object  seems 
to  be  to  supply  labor  for  the  white 
slave  mart. 

Those  who  desire  to  behold  the 
fruits  which  spring  from  this  unchris- 
tian culture  of  material  interests 
should  go  to  England  for  an  illustra- 
tion. Though  the  Anglican  sect  is  the 
state  religion,  infidelity  has  made  no- 
where greater  progress  than  in  that- 
country.  Its  principal  church,  St. 
Paul's,  London,  gives  no  evidences 
of  Christianity.  The  interior  does 
not  address  itself  like  Paul  to  the 
Areopagus,  but  like  the  Areopagus 
to  Paul,  for  it  inculcates  an  unadul- 


The  Scepticism  of  the  Age. 


393 


terated  heathenism.  The  first  monu- 
ment that  arrests  the  attention  of  the 
visitor  is  dedicated  to  the  pagan 
Fama,  who  consoles  Britannia  for  the 
loss  of  her  heroic  sons.  The  next 
monument  belongs  to  the  heathen 
goddess  of  Victory,  who  crowns  a 
Pasenby ;  while  a  Minerva  calls  the 
attention  of  budding  warriors  to  La 
Marchand's  death  at  Salamanca. 
Then  come  a  Neptune  with  open 
arms,  Egyptian  sphinxes,  the  East 
India  Company  seal.  When  the 
principal  religious  edifice  of  a  nation 
is  thus  turned  into  a  heathen  temple, 
the  people  themselves  must  become 
heathenized,  and  this  we  find  to  be 
so  here.  In  Liverpool  40,  in  Man- 
chester 51,  in  Lambeth  6ivin  Shef- 
field 62  per  cent,  profess  no  religion 
at  all.  So  says  the  London  Times 
of  May  4,  1860.  In  the  city  of 
London  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands know  no  more  of  Christianity 
than  the  veriest  pagans.  In  the  par- 
ish of  St.  Clement  Danes,  en  the 
Strand,  the  rector  discovered  an  ir- 
religiousness  incredible  to  believe 
( Quarterly  Review,  April,  1 86 1 ).  For 
generations  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  coal  miners  have  lived  in  utter  ig- 
norance of  such  a  book  as  the  Bible. 
In  answer  to  the  question  whether 
he  had  ever  heard  of  Jesus  Christ, 
one  of  them  replied :  "  No,  for  I 
have  never  worked  in  any  of  his 
mines."  Innumerable  facts  attest 
that  civilization  retrogrades  in  a  ratio 
with  this  deplorable  religious  igno- 
rance. "  Among  all  the  states  of 
Europe,"  remarked  Fox  in  the  House 
of  Commons  (Feb.  26,  1850),  "  Eng- 
land is  the  one  where  education  has 
been  most  neglected."  The  justice 
of  this  observation  is  fully  sustained 
by  the  report  presented  in  May  of 
die  same  year  by  the  board  of  school 
trustees  of  Lancashire :  "  Nearly  half 
the  people  of  this  great  nation,"  say 
they,  "  can  neither  read  nor  write, 


and  a  large  part  of  the  remainder 
possesses  only  the  most  indispensa- 
ble education.  Out  of  11,782  chil- 
dren, 5,805  could  barely  spell,  and 
only  2,026  could  read  with  fluency. 
Out  of  14,000  teachers,  male  and 
female,  7,000  were  found  grossly  in- 
competent for  their  positions.  Among 
the  troops  sent  to  the  Crimea,  no 
more  than  one  soldier  in  every 
five  was  able  to  write  a  letter 
home. 

A  glance  at  a  few  statistics  will 
clearly  show  that  moral  deterioration 
keeps  even  pace  with  the  intellectual. 
From  1810  to  1837,  the  number  of 
criminals  has  annually  increased,  in 
certain  districts,  from  89  to  3,117; 
from  1836  to  1843,  the  average  num- 
ber of  persons  arrested  each  year  in 
the  manufacturing  districts  of  York 
and  Lancaster  increased  over  100 
per  cent.,  and  the  number  of  mur- 
derers 89  per  cent.;  from  1846  to 
1850,  the  number  of  criminals  in  the 
Dorset  district  increased  from  726  to 
1,300,  giving,  in  a  population  of 
115,000  souls,  i  criminal  to  every 
60  individuals.  In  london,  the  num- 
ber of  persons  arrested  in  1856 
amounted  to  73,260,  whence  it  ap- 
pears that  about  i  inhabitant  in 
every  40  passes  through  the  hands 
of  the  police.  Of  the  200,000  crimi- 
nal offences  tried  each  year  before 
the  English  tribunals,  one-tenth  part 
are  committed  by  children,  and 
50,000  by  persons  less  than  twenty 
years  of  age.  In  London  alone, 
'  17,000  minors  are  yearly  tried, 
which  is  i  inhabitant  in  every  175; 
whereas  the  ratio  for  Paris  is  only 
i  inhabitant  in  every  400.  Mayhew 
computes  that  ^£42,000  are  stolen 
during  the  year  in  the  metropolis ; 
and  the  London  Examiner  lately  de- 
plored that  there  should  be  less  dan- 
ger in  crossing  the  great  desert  than 
in  passing  through  some  of  the  more 
remote  suburbs  of  London  at  night. 


394 


The  Scepticism  of  the  Age. 


The  story  of  a  Professor  Fagin,  who 
gave  private  lessons  in  stealing,  has 
often  been  regarded  as  a  canard ; 
but  we  read,  in  the  Morning  Chroni- 
cle, an  advertisement  in  which  one 
Professor  Harris  announces  a  similar 
course  of  instruction,  and  even  pro- 
mises his  pupils  to  take  them,  for 
practice,  to  the  theatres  and  other 
places  of  public  resort.  Among 
these  startling  fruits  of  British  civil- 
ization must  be  included  the  28 
cases  of  polygamy  which  occurred 
in  London  in  a  single  twelvemonth ; 
the  12,770  illegitimate  children  born, 
during  1856,  in  the  workhouses  alone; 
the  children  market,  held  openly  in  a 
London  street  every  Wednesday  and 
Thursday,  between  the  hours  of  six 
and  seven,  where  parents  exhibit  their 
offspring  for  sale,  or  hire  them  out  for 
infamous  purposes.  Such  being  the 
condition  of  an  overwhelming  majo- 
rity of  the  people,  it  is  no  longer  dif- 
ficult to  credit  the  existence  of  the 
new  race  which  is  now  said  to  be 
growing  up  in  England — a  race  whose 
civilization  Dr.  Shaw  contrasts,  rather 
disparagingly,  with  that  of  the  African 
and  the  Indian.  "After  a  careful  in- 
vestigation," says  Dr.  Shaw,  "  I  have 
been  forced  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion 
that,  while  the  moral,  physical,  intel- 
lectual, and  educational  status  of  the 
lowest'  English  classes  is  about  on  the 
same  level  with  that  of  the  savage, 
they  rank  even  below  him  in  morals 
and  customs." 

And  what  has  England,  politically 
considered,  done  for  the  cause  of 
civilization  since  cotton  achieved  its 
great  triumph  over  corn  ?  As  one 
of  the  great  powers  of  the  Christian 
world,  she  has  virtually  abdicated. 
For  national  right  and  justice,  for 
really  oppressed  nationalities,  she  has 
long  ceased  to  upraise  her  voice  or 
her  arm.  It  is  only  when  some 
Manchester  cotton-lord  suffers  an  in- 
jury in  his  pocket  that  her  fleets 


threaten  a  bombardment.  She  is  an 
asylum  for  the  refuse  of  all  nations, 
and  freely  permits  the  torch  of  the 
incendiary  to  be  cast  into  the  dwell- 
ings of  her  neighbors.  Her  litera- 
ture, philosophy,  religion,  as  well  as 
her  industry,  trade,  and  diplomacy, 
are  intended  to  hand  the  nations 
completely  over  to  materialism. 
Wherever  England's  policy  predom- 
inates, there  virtue  and  simplicity, 
happiness  and  peace,  disappear  from 
the  earth,  and  out  of  the  ruins  rises 
an  arrogant  and  inordinate  craving 
for  the  goods  of  this  world.  British 
influence  has  destroyed  Portugal, 
weakened  Spain,  distracted  Italy, 
and  impaired  the  moral  prestige  of 
France.  Her  religious  apathy  en- 
courages a  degrading  heathenism. 
Britain's  political  economy  has  in- 
augurated in  Europe  not  only  a  serf- 
dom of  labor,  but  a  serfdom  of  mind. 
The  Scotchman,  Ferguson,  predicted 
that  thought  would  become  a  trade, 
and  Lasalle  remarks  that  it  has  al- 
ready become  one  in  the  hands  of 
most  English  scholars.  And  these 
are  the  results  of  our  much-vaunted 
civilization  ! 

The  pernicious  example  set  by 
England  in  philosophy,  poetry,  and 
letters  has  unfortunately  found  but 
too  many  imitators  on  the  Continent 
of  Europe  and  elsewhere.  Our  lite- 
rature is  at  present  in  the  same  con- 
dition in  which  it  was  in  the  days  of 
Sophists  and  Greek  decadence.  When . 
God  desires  to  punish  a  civilized  peo- 
ple— remarked  some  years  ago  an 
eloquent  French  pulpit  orator — he 
visits  them  with  such  a  swarm  of 
unbelieving  scholars  as  the  clouds 
of  locusts  which  he  inflicted  upon 
ancient  Egypt.  Men  of  perverse 
heads  and  corrupted  hearts  generate, 
in  centuries  which  are  called  enlight- 
ened, a  darkness  upon  which  the 
goddess  Genius  of  Knowledge  sheds 
uncertain  flashes,  resembling  the 


Mater  Christi. 


395 


lightning  which  relieves  the  evening 
sky  on  the  approach  of  a  storm: 
The  Sophists  of  ancient  Greece  were 
such  heralds  of  impending  wrath  and 
desolation,  and  this  class  of  men 
closely  resemble  the  majority  of  our 
modern  literati.  If  we  compare  the 
atheistic,  material  tendencies  of  a 
Protagoras,  Antiphon,  or  CEnopides 
with  our  present  progressive  science ; 
if  we  recall  the  time  when  Prodikus 
or  Critias,  in  their  efforts  to  destroy 
the  religion  of  Greece,  represented  it 
as  an  invention  of  selfishness  or  of 
the  ancient  lawgivers;  if  Hippias 
offered  himself  to  lecture  on  every 
conceivable  subject,  just  as  prominent 
writers  now  undertake  to  discuss  all 


topics  ;  if  the  latter  again  cloak  their 
designs  under  the  same  phraseology  ; 
in  short,  when  all  this  is  once  more 
re-enacted,  then  the  parallel  between 
that  age  and  our  own  will  be  found 
almost  perfect.  The  same  class  of 
scholars  flourished  in  both  eras ;  in 
both  they  claimed  to  be  the  high- 
priests  of  truth,  although  they  are  no 
more  entitled  to  this  honor  than 
those  whom  Lucian  describes  leading 
the  Syrian  goddess  on  asses  about 
the  land.  We  live,  in  fact,  in  the 
days  of  a  declining  civilization,  and 
nothing  but  a  speedy  return  to  the 
cardinal  principles  of  Christianity 
can  save  us  from  relapsing  into  bar- 
barism. 


MATER     CHRISTI. 


MOTHER  of  Christ — then  mother  of  us  all : 

Mother  of  God  made  man,  of  man  made  God :  * 
The  thornless  garden,  the  immaculate  sod, 

Whence  sprang  the  Adam  that  reversed  the  fall. 

Mother  of  Christ  the  Body  Mystical ; 

Of  us  the  members,  as  of  him  the  Head  : 

Of  him  our  life,  the  first-born  from  the  dead ;  t 

Of  us  baptized  into  his  burial.  | 

Yes,  Mother,  we  were  truly  born  of  thee 
On  Calvary's  second  Eden — thou  its  Eve  : 

Thy  dolors  were  our  birth-pangs  by  the  tree 
Whereon  the  second  Adam  died  to  live — 

To  live  in  us,  thy  promised  seed  to  be, 

Who  then  his  death-wound  to  the  snake  didst  give. 


*  "  God  became  man  that  man  might  become  God." — St.  Augustine. 
tCol.  i.  18. 
t  Rom.  vi.  4. 


396 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


OUR     LADY    OF    LOURDES. 


FROM   THE   FRENCH    OF   HENKl   LASSERRE. 


PART   VII. 


THE  clergy  still  kept  away  from 
the  grotto  and  aloof  from  all  share 
in  the  movement.  The  orders  of 
Mgr.  Laurence  were  strictly  observed 
throughout  the  diocese. 

The  people,  cruelly  harassed  by 
the  persecuting  measures  of  the  ad- 
ministration, turned  with  anxiety  to- 
ward the  authority  charged  by  God 
with  the  conduct  and  defence  of  the 
faithful.  They  expected  to  see  the 
bishop  protest  energetically  against 
the  violence  offered  to  their  religious 
liberty.  A  vain  hope  !  His  lordship 
kept  absolutely  silent,  and  let  the  pre- 
fect have  everything  his  own  way. 
Shortly  afterward,  M.  Massy  caused 
to  be  circulated  in  print  a  report  that 
he  acted  according  to  agreement 
with  the  ecclesiastical  authority ;  then 
astonishment  became  general,  for  the 
bishop  did  not  publish  a  line  in  con- 
tradiction. 

The  heart  of  the  people  was  trou- 
bled. 

Hitherto  the  ardent  faith  of  the 
multitude  had  been  at  a  loss  to  ex- 
plain the  extreme  cautiousness  of  the 
clergy.  At  the  present  juncture,  af- 
ter so  many  proofs  of  the  reality  of 
the  apparitions,  the  springing  up  of 
the  fountain,  and  so  many  cures  and 
miracles,  this  excessive  reserve  of 
the  bishop  during  the  persecution  of 
the  civil  power  seemed  to  them  like 
a  defection.  Neither  respect  for  his 
private  character  nor  even  his  office 


could    restrain     the     popular     mur- 
murs. 

Why  not  pronounce  upon  the  matter, 
now  that  the  elements  of  certainty  were 
flowing  in  from  all  quarters  ?  Why 
not,  at  least,  order  some  inquiry  or 
examination  to  guide  the  faith  of  all  ? 
Were  not  events  which  might  suffice 
to  overthrow  the  civil  power  and 
raise  a  sedition  worth  the  attention 
of  the  bishop  ?  Did  not  the  pre- 
late's silence  justify  the  prefect  in 
acting  as  he  did  ?  If  the  apparition 
were  false,  ought  not  the  bishop  to 
have  warned  the  faithful  and  nipped 
error  in  the  bud  ?  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  were  true,  ought  he  not  to 
have  set  his  face  against  this  persecu- 
tion of  believers,  and  courageously 
defended  the  work  of  God  against 
the  malice  of  men  ?  Would  not  a 
mere  sign  from  the  bishop,  even  an 
examination,  have  stopped  the  pre- 
fect from  entering  upon  his  course  of 
persecution  ?  Were  the  priests  and 
the  bishop  deaf  to  all  the  demands 
for  recognition  which  came  from  the 
foot  of  this  rock,  ever  to  be  celebrat- 
ed as  the  place  where  the  Mother  of 
our  crucified  God  had  set  her  virgin- 
al foot?  Had  the  letter  succeeded 
in  killing  the  spirit,  as  among  the 
priests  and  Pharisees  of  the  Gospel, 
so  that  they  were  blind  to  the  most 
striking  miracles?  Were  they  so  oc- 
cupied with  the  administration  of 
church  affairs,  so  absorbed  by  their 
clerical  functions,  that  the  almighty 
hand  of  God  outside  the  temple  was 
for  them  an  affair  of  little  account  ? 
Was  this  time  of  miracles  and  perse- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


397 


cution  a  proper  season  for  the  bishop 
to  take  the  last  place,  as  in  proces- 
sions ? 

Such  was  the  clamor  that  arose 
and  daily  swelled  from  the  crowd. 
The  clergy  were  accused  of  indiffer- 
ence or  hostility,  the  bishop  of  weak- 
ness and  timidity. 

Led  by  events  and  the  natural 
bent  of  the  human  heart,  this  vast 
movement  of  men  and  ideas,  so  es- 
sentially religious  in  spirit,  threatened 
to  become  opposed  to  the  clergy. 
The  multitude,  so  full  of  faith  in  the 
Trinity  and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  seem- 
ed about  to  go  where  the  divine  pow- 
er was  plainly  manifest,  and  to  desert 
the  sanctuary,  where,  under  the  priest- 
ly vestment,  the  weaknesses  of  men 
are  too  often  to  be  found. 

Nevertheless,  Mgr.  Laurence  con- 
tinued immovable  in  his  attitude  of 
reserve.  What  was  the  reason  that 
made  the  prelate  resist  the  popular 
voice,  so  often  taken  for  the  voice  of 
Heaven  ?  Was  it  divine  prudence  ? 
Was  it  human  prudence  ?  Was  it 
shrewdness  ?  Or  was  it  mere  weak- 
ness ? 


ii. 


IT  is  not  always  so  easy  to  believe, 
and  in  spite  of  the  striking  proof, 
Mgr.  Laurence  still  retained  some 
doubts,  and  hesitated  to  act.  His 
well-instructed  faith  was  not  as  quick 
as  the  faith  of  the  simple.  God,  who 
shows  himself,  so  to  speak,  to  souls 
who  cannot  pursue  human  studies,  is 
often  pleased  to  impose  a  long  and 
patient  search  upon  cultivated  and 
informed  minds  who  are  able  to  ar- 
rive at  truth  by  the  way  of  labor,  ex- 
amination, and  reflection.  Even  as 
the  Apostle  St.  Thomas  refused  to 
believe  the  testimony  of  the  disci- 
ples and  the  holy  women,  so  Mgr. 
Laurence  desired  to  see  with  his  own 
eyes  and  touch  with  his  own  hands. 


Exact,  and  far  more  inclined  to  the 
practical  than  to  the  ideal,  by  nature 
distrustful  of  popular  exaggeration, 
the  prelate  belonged  to  that  class 
who  are  chilled  by  the  passionate 
sentiments  of  others,  and  who  readi- 
ly suspect  self-deception  in  anything 
like  emotion  or  enthusiasm.  Al- 
though at  times  he  was  startled  by 
such  extraordinary  events,  he  so  fear- 
ed to  attribute  them  rashly  to  the  su- 
pernatural that  he  might  have  put 
off  his  acknowledgment  of  their  true 
source  until  it  was  too  late,  were  it 
not  that  his  natural  bent  had  been 
well  tempered  by  the  grace  of  God. 

Not  only  did  Mgr.  Laurence  hesi- 
tate to  pronounce  judgment,  but  he 
could  not  even  make  up  his  mind  to 
order  an  official  inquiry.  As  a  Ca- 
tholic bishop  penetrated  with  the  ex- 
ternal dignity  of  the  church,  he  fear- 
ed to  compromise  it  by  engaging 
prematurely  to  examine  facts  of  which 
he  himself  had  insufficient  personal 
knowledge,  and  which,  after  all,  might 
have  no  better  foundation  than  the 
dreams  of  a  little  peasant  and  the 
illusions  of  poor  fanatical  souls. 

Of  course  the  bishop  never  had 
counselled  the  measures  taken  by 
the  civil  power,  and  warmly  disap- 
proved them.  But,  since  the  wrong 
had  been  committed,  was  it  not  pru- 
dent to  draw  from  it  an  accidental 
good  ?  Was  it  not  well — if,  perchance, 
there  were  some  error  in  the  popular 
stories  and  belief — to  abandon  the 
pretended  miracle,  and  allow  it  to 
sustain  single-handed  the  hostile  ex- 
aminations and  persecution  of  M. 
Massy,  the  free-thinkers,  and  scien- 
tists leagued  together  against  super- 
stition ?  Was  it  not  proper  to  wait, 
and  not  to  hasten  a  conflict  with  the 
civil  power  which  might  prove  en- 
tirely unnecessary  ?  The  bishop  pri- 
vately answered  after  this  manner 
all  who  pressed  him  to  interfere : 
"  I  deplore  as  much  as  you  the  mea- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


sures  which  have  been  taken  ;  but  I 
have  no  charge  of  the  police,  I  have 
not  been  consulted  with  regard  to 
their  proceedings,  what  then  can  I 
do  ?  Let  everybody  answer  for  his 
own  acts.  ...  I  have  had  no- 
thing to  do  with  the  action  of  the 
civil  power  in  reference  to  the  grotto ; 
and  I  am  glad  of  it.  By-and-by 
the  ecclesiastical  authority  will  see  if 
it  is  necessary  to  move."  In  this 
spirit  of  prudence  and  expectation, 
the  bishop  ordered  his  clergy  to 
preach  calmness  and  quiet  to  the 
people,  and  to  employ  all  means  to 
make  them  submit  to  the  prohibitions 
of  the  prefect.  To  avoid  all  disturb- 
ance, not  to  create  any  new  difficul- 
ties, and  even  to  favor,  out  of  respect 
for  the  principle  of  authority,  the 
measures  adopted  in  the  name  of 
government,  and  to  let  events  take 
their  course,  seemed  to  the  bishop 
by  far  the  wisest  plan. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  of  Mgr. 
Laurence,  as  is  manifest  from  his  cor- 
respondence about  this  time.  Such 
were  the  considerations  which  deter- 
mined his  position  and  inspired  his 
conduct.  Perhaps,  if  he  had  pos- 
sessed the  strong  faith  of  the  multi- 
tude, he  would  have  reasoned  other- 
wise. But  it  was  well  that  he  rea- 
soned and  acted  as  he  did.  Because, 
if  Mgr.  Laurence,  with  the  pru- 
dence becoming  a  bishop,  looked 
from  the  standpoint  of  possible  error, 
God  with  infinite  wisdom  saw  the 
certainty  of  his  own  acts  and  the 
truth  of  his  work.  God  willed  that 
his  work  should  undergo  the  test  of 
time,  and  should  affirm  itself  by  sur- 
mounting without  human  aid  the 
trials  of  persecution.  If  the  bishop 
had  from  the  start  believed  in  the 
apparitions  and  miracles,  could  he 
have  refrained  from  a  generous  out- 
burst of  apostolic  zeal  and  energetic 
interference  in  behalf  of  his  persecut- 
ed flock  ?  If  he  really  had  believed 


that  the  Mother  of  God  had  appear- 
ed in  his  diocese,  healing  the  sick 
and  demanding  a  temple  in  her  ho- 
nor, could  he  have  balanced  against 
the  will  of  heaven  the  pitiful  oppo- 
sition of  a  Massy,  a  Jacomet,  or  a 
Rouland  ?  Certainly  not.  With 
what  an  ardent  faith  he  would  have 
set  himself  with  mitred  brow  and 
cross  in  hand  against  the  civil  pow- 
er, as  St.  Ambrose  of  old  met  the 
emperor  at  the  church-door  of  Milan ! 
Openly  and  at  the  head  of  his  flock, 
he  would  have  gone  without  fear  to 
drink  at  the  miraculous  fountain,  to 
kneel  in  the  place  sanctified  by  the 
footsteps  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
to  lay  the  corner-stone  of  a  magnifi- 
cent temple  in  honor  of  Mary  Im- 
maculate. 

But  in  thus  defending  the  work  of 
God  at  that  time,  the  prelate  would 
have  infallibly  weakened  it  in  the  fu- 
ture. The  support  which  he  gave  it 
at  the  start  would  hereafter  render  it 
suspected  as  emanating  from  man 
and  not  from  God.  The  more  that 
the  bishop  kept  aloof  from  the  move- 
ment, the  more  rebellious  or  even 
hostile  he  may  be  showed  to  have 
been  to  the  popular  faith,  so  much 
the  more  clearly  is  the  supernatural 
manifested  by  its  triumph,  singly  and 
in  virtue  of  its  truth,  over  the  hatred 
or  neglect  of  all  that  bears  the  name 
of  power. 

Providence  resolved  that  so  it 
should  be,  and  that  the  great  appa- 
rition of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the 
nineteenth  century  should  pass 
through  trials,  as  did  Christianity, 
from  its  very  tyrth.  He  wished  that  uni- 
versal faith  should  commence  among 
the  poor  and  humble,  in  the  same 
way  as,  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
the  first  were  last  and  the  last  first. 
It  was  then  necessary,  according  to 
the  divine  plaji,  that  the  bishop,  far 
from  taking  the  initiative,  should  he- 
sitate the  longest,  and  finally  yield 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


399 


last  of  all  to  the  irresistible  evidence 
of  facts. 

See  how,  in  his  secret  designs,  he 
had  placed  at  Tarbes  on  its  episcopal 
throne  the  eminent  and  reserved  man 
whose  portrait  we  have  just  sketched. 
See  how  he  had  kept  Mgr.  Laurence 
from  putting  faith  in  the  apparition, 
and  maintained  him  in  doubt  in  spite 
of  the  most  striking  facts.  Thus,  he 
confirmed  in  the  prelate  that  spirit 
of  prudence  which  he  had  bestowed 
upon  him,  and  left  to  his  episcopal 
wisdom  that  character  of  long  hesi- 
tation and  extreme  mildness  which, 
in  the  midst  of  their  excitement,  the 
people  could  not  comprehend,  but 
whose  providential  usefulness  and  ad- 
mirable results  the  future  was  about 
to  manifest  to  the  eyes  of  all. 

The  people  had  the  virtue  of  faith, 
but  in  their  ardor  they  wished  to  force 
the  clergy  into  premature  interfer- 
ence. The  bishop  possessed  the 
virtue  of  prudence,  but  his  eyes  were 
not  yet  opened  to  the  supernatural 
events  which  were  taking  place  in 
the  sight  of  all.  Complete  wisdom 
and  the  just  measure  of  all  things 
were  then  as  ever  in  the  mind  of 
God  alone,  who  directed  them  to- 
ward the  end  and  made  use  both  of 
the  ardor  of  the  people  and  the  pre- 
late. He  willed  that  his  church,  re- 
presented by  the  bishop,  should  ab- 
stain from  taking  an  active  part,  and 
keep  out  of  the  struggle  until  the 
supreme  moment,  when  she  was  to 
step  forward  as  the  final  arbiter  in 
the  debate  and  proclaim  the  truth. 


in. 

LESS  calm  and  less  patient  than 
the  bishop  by  their  very  nature,  and 
now  carried  away  by  enthusiasm  at 
sight  of  the  miraculous  cures  which 
took  place  daily,  the  people  could 
not  bear  themselves  so  indifferently 


toward  the  measures  of  the  adminis- 
tration. 

The  more  intrepid,  braving  the  tri- 
bunals and  their  fines,  broke  through 
the  barriers,  and,  flinging  their  names 
to  the  guards,  went  to  pray  before 
the  grotto.  Among  these  same 
guards  many  shared  the  faith  of  the 
crowd,  and  commenced  their  watch 
by  kneeling  at  the  entrance  to  the 
venerable  spot. 

Placed  between  the  morsel  of 
bread  which  their  humble  employ- 
ment procured  and  the  repulsive 
duty  which  was  demanded  by  it,  these 
poor  men,  in  their  prayer  to  the  Mo- 
ther of  the  weak  and  needy,  cast  all 
the  responsibility  upon  the  authori- 
ty which  controlled  their  acts.  Nev- 
ertheless, they  strictly  fulfilled  their 
duty  and  reported  all  the  delinquents. 

Although  the  impetuous  zeal  of 
many  believers  caused  them  to  ex- 
pose themselves  willingly  in  order  to 
invoke  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the 
place  of  her  apparition,  nevertheless 
the  jurisprudence  of  M.  Duprat, 
whose  fine  of  five  francs  could  be 
raised,  as  we  have  explained,  to  enor- 
mous sums,  was  sufficient  to  terrify 
the  great  mass.  For  most  of  them, 
such  a  condemnation  would  have 
been  utter  ruin. 

And  yet  a  great  number  endeavor- 
ed to  escape  the  rigorous  surveillance 
of  the  police.  Sometimes  the  faith- 
ful, respecting  the  barriers  where  the 
guards  were  stationed,  came  to  the 
grotto  by  secret  paths.  One  of  the 
number  watched  and  gave  notice  of 
the  approach  of  the  police  by  an  ap- 
pointed signal.  It  was  with  the  ut- 
most difficulty  that  the  sick  could  be 
transported  to  the  miraculous  foun- 
tain. The  authorities,  being  notified 
of  these  infractions,  doubled  the  num- 
ber of  sentries  and  intercepted  all  the 
paths. 

Still,  many  swam  across  the  Gave 
to  kneel  before  the  grotto  and  drink  at 


400 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


the  holy  fountain.  Night  favored  such 
infractions,  and  they  multiplied  con- 
tinually in  spite  of  the  vigilance  of 
the  police.  The  influence  of  the  cler- 
gy was  greatly  lessened  and  almost 
compromised  on  account  of  the  rea- 
sons which  we  have  set  forth. 

In  spite  of  the  efforts  which  they 
made  to  carry  out  the  orders  of  the 
bishop,  the  priests  were  powerless 
to  calm  the  general  agitation  or  to 
cause  their  flock  to  respect  the  arbi- 
trary measures  of  the  civil  power. 
"  We  ought  to  respect  only  that 
which  is  respectable,"  such  was  the 
revolutionary  motto  which  every- 
where found  echo.  The  personal 
ascendency  of  the  cure  of  Lourdes, 
who  was  so  universally  loved  and 
venerated,  began  to  give  way  before 
popular  irritation. 

Order  was  threatened  by  the  very 
means  that  were  taken  to  maintain  it. 
The  people,  wounded  in  their  most 
cherished  beliefs,  wavered  between 
violence  and  submission.  While  on 
one  hand  petitions  to  the  emperor 
were  signed  in  all  parts  demanding 
the  withdrawal  of  the  orders  of  the 
prefect  in  the  name  of  liberty  of  con- 
science, on  the  other 'hand  the  planks 
which  closed  the  grotto  were  several 
times  torn  off  during  the  night  and 
thrown  into  the  Gave.  Jacomet 
vainly  strove  to  find  out  these  be- 
lievers, so  wanting  in  respect  for  the 
civil  power  as  to  abandon  them- 
selves without  shame  to  a  crime  hith- 
erto unknown  to  our  laws,  nocturnal 
prayer  with  trespass  and  breach  of 
enclosure. 

Sometimes  they  prostrated  them- 
selves at  the  stakes  which  formed  the 
boundary  of  the  forbidden  ground — a 
mute  protest  against  the  measures  of 
the  government,  and  a  mute  appeal 
to  Almighty  God. 

On  .the  day  which  saw  the  sen- 
tence of  the  tribunal  of  Lourdes  set 
aside  by  the  court  of  Pau  with  re- 


ference to  several  women  who  were 
prosecuted  for  innocent  conversation 
about  the  grotto,  and  two  others  who 
were  acquitted,  then  an  enormous 
crowd  gathered  around  the  stakes, 
they  shouted  victory,  and  passed  the 
barriers  in  compact  masses  without 
a  word  in  answer  to  the  cries  and  ef- 
forts of  the  police.  The  latter,  dis- 
concerted by  the  recent  check  at 
Pau  and  overpowered  by  the  multi- 
tude, gave  way  and  let  the  torrent 
pass.  The  following  day  orders  and 
remonstrances  from  the  prefect  came 
to  comfort  them  and  to  prescribe  a 
stricter  watch.  The  force  was  in- 
creased. Threats  of  dismissal  were 
bruited  by  the  agent  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  vigilance  redoubled. 

Sinister  reports  of  imprisonment 
absolutely  false,  but  cleverly  circu- 
lated, were  readily  accepted  by  the 
multitude.  The  real  penalties  not 
being  sufficient,  it  was  necessary  to 
resort  to  imaginary  ones  in  order  to 
make  a  stronger  impression  on  the 
souls  of  the  faithful.  By  such  means 
they  succeeded  in  hindering  for  a 
time  any  renewal  of  the  open  infrac- 
tions of  the  law. 

Occasionally,  unfortunate  victims 
of  blindness  or  palsy  from  a  dis- 
tance, who  had  been  abandoned  by 
the  physicians  and  whose  ills  God 
alone  knew  how  to  cure,  would  come 
to  the  mayor  and  entreat  him  with 
clasped  hands  to  give  their  lives  one 
last  chance  at  the  miraculous  spring. 
The  mayor  was  inflexible,  showing 
in  his  execution  of  the  prefect's  or- 
ders that  energy  of  detail  by  which 
feeble  natures  so  often  deceive  them- 
selves. He  refused  in  the  name  of 
the  superior  authority  the  desired 
permission. 

The  greater  number  then  went 
along  the  right  bank  of  the  Gave  to 
a  point  opposite  the  grotto.  Here 
on  certain  days  an  immense  throng 
collected,  beyond  the  reach  of  the 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs, 


401 


prefectoral  power ;  for  the  land  be- 
longed to  private  parties,  who  believ- 
ed that  the  benediction  of  Heaven 
would  fall  upon  the  footprints  of  the 
pilgrims,  and  gladly  permitted  them 
to  kneel  upon  their  land,  and  to  pray 
with  eyes  turned  toward  the  place  of 
the  apparition  and  the  miraculous 
fountain. 

About  this  time,  Berriadette  fell  sick, 
affected  by  her  asthma  and  also  fa- 
tigued by  the  number  of  visitors  who 
wished  to  see  and  speak  with  her. 
In  hopes  of  quieting  souls  by  re- 
moving every  cause  of  agitation,  the 
bishop  availed  himself  of  this  circum- 
stance to  advise  Bernadette's  parents 
to  send  her  to  the  baths  of  Cauterets, 
which  are  not  far  from  Lourdes. 

It  would  serve  to  withdraw  her 
from  those  conversations  and  in- 
quiries which  served  to  increase 
popular  emotion.  The  Soubirous, 
alarmed  at  her  state,  and  observ- 
ing the  bad  effect  of  these  continual 
visits,  confided  Bernadette  to  one  of 
her  aunts  who  was  about  to  go  to 
Cauterets,  and  who  undertook  the 
care  and  expenses  of  her  little  niece. 
The  cost  of  such  a  visit  is  consid- 
erably less  at  that  time  of  the  year 
than  any  other,  as  the  baths  are  al- 
most deserted.  The  rich  and  privi- 
leged come  later  in  the  season. 
Here,  as  an  invalid  seeking  repose 
and  quiet,  Bernadette  used  the  waters 
for  two  or  three  weeks. 

IV. 

As  the  month  of  June  draws  to  a 
close,  the  fashionable  watering  season 
begins  in  the  Pyrenees.  Bernadette 
returned  to  her  home  at  Lourdes. 
And  now,  tourists,  bathers,  travellers, 
and  scientific  men  from  a  thousand 
different  parts  of  Europe  began  to 
arrive  at  the  various  thermal  stations. 
The  rugged  mountains,  so  wild  and 
lonely  during  the  rest  of  the  year, 
VOL.  xm. — 26. 


were  peopled  with  a  throng  of  visit- 
ors belonging  for  the  most  part  to 
the  higher  social  class  of  the  great 
cities. 

By  the  close  of  July,  the  Pyrenees 
became  suburbs  of  Paris,  London, 
Rome,  and  Berlin. 

Frenchmen  and  foreigners  met  in 
the  dining-halls,  jostled  one  another 
in  the  salons,  rambled  among  the 
mountain-paths,  or  rode  in  every  di- 
rection, along  the  streams,  over  the 
ridges,  or  through  the  flowery  and 
shaded  valleys. 

Ministers  worn  out  by  labor,  de- 
puties and  senators  fatigued  by  too 
much  listening  or  speaking,  bankers, 
politicians,  merchants,  ecclesiastics, 
magistrates,  writers,  and  people  of 
the  world,  all  came  to  provide  for 
their  health,  not  only  at  the  famous 
springs,  but  in  the  pure  and  bracing 
mountain  air,  which  gives  energy  to 
the  pulse  and  fills  the  mind  with  vi- 
gor and  activity. 

This  motley  society  represented 
all  beliefs  and  disbeliefs,  all  the 
philosophic  systems,  and  all  the 
opinions  under  the  sun.  It  was  a 
microcosm.  It  was  an  abridged  edi- 
tion of  Europe — that  Europe  which 
Providence  thus  wished  to  place  in 
presence  of  his  supernatural  works. 
Nevertheless,  as  of  old  in  Bethlehem 
he  showed  himself  to  the  shepherds 
before  his  manifestation  to  the  Ma- 
gian  kings;  so  at  Lourdes  he  first 
called  the  humble  and  the  poor  to 
behold  his  wonders,  and  only  after 
them  the  princes  of  wealth,  intelli- 
gence, and  art. 

From  Cauterets,  from  Bareges, 
from  Luz,  from  St.  Sauveur,  strangers 
hastened  to  Lourdes.  The  city  was 
filled  with  rattling  coaches,  drawn, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try, by  four  powerful  horses,  whose 
harness  and  trappings  are  of  many 
colors  and  adorned  with  strings  of 
little  bells.  .  The  greater  proportion 


4O2 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


of  the  pilgrims  paid  no  attention  to  the 
barriers.  They  braved  the  law  and 
went  into  the  grotto,  some  out  of 
motives  of  faith,  and  others  led  by 
mere  curiosity.  Bernadette  received 
innumerable  visits.  Everybody  wish- 
ed to  see  and  could  see  the  persons 
who  had  been  miraculously  cured. 
In  the  salons  at  the  baths,  the 
events  which  we  have  recounted  form- 
ed the  universal  topic  of  conversa- 
tion. Little  by  little,  public  opinion 
began  to  be  formed,  no  longer  the 
opinion  of  an  insignificant  nook  at 
the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  extend- 
ing only  from  Bayonne  to  Toulouse 
or  Foix,  but  the  opinion  of  France 
and  Europe,  now  represented  among 
the  mountains  by  visitors  of  all  class- 
es, of  every  intellectual  shade,  and 
from  every  place. 

The  violent  measures  of  Baron 
Massy,  which  vexed  curiosity  as  much 
as  piety,  were  highly  censured  by 
all.  Some,  said  that  they  were  ille- 
gal, others  that  they  were  misplaced, 
but  all  agreed  that  they  were  utterly 
inadequate  to  suppressing  the  pro- 
digious movement  of  which  the 
grotto  and  the  miraculous  spring 
were  the  centre. 

The  evidences  of  this  total  ineffi- 
ciency drew  upon  the  prefect  severe 
criticism  from  those  who  shared  his 
horror  of  the  supernatural,  and  who 
at  the  start  would  have  loudly  ap- 
plauded his  policy.  Men  in  gener- 
al, and  free-thinkers  in  particular, 
judge  the  acts  of  government  rather 
by  their  results  than  by  philosophic 
principles. 

Success  is  the  most  certain  means 
of  winning  their  approval;  failure,  a 
twofold  misfortune,  since  universal 
blame  is  added  to  the  humiliation  of 
defeat.  M.  Massy  was  subject  to 
this  double  mishap. 

There  were  circumstances,  how- 
ever, which  put  the  zeal  of  the  po- 
lice and  even  the  official  courage  of 


M.  Jacomet  to  a  rude  test.  Illus- 
trious personages  violated  the  en- 
closure. 

What  was  to  be  done  in  such  em- 
barrassing cases  ? 

Once  they  suddenly  halted  a  stran- 
ger, of  strongly  marked  and  power- 
ful features,  who  passed  the  stakes 
with  the  manifest  intention  of  going 
to  the  Massabielle  rocks. 

"  You  can't  pass  here,  sir." 

"  You  will  soon  see  whether  I  can 
or  cannot  pass,"  answered  the  stran- 
ger, without  for  a  moment  arresting 
his  progress  towards  the  place  of  the 
apparition. 

"  Your  name  ?  I  will  enter  a 
complaint  against  you." 

"  My  name  is  Louis  Veuillot,"  re- 
plied the  stranger. 

While  the  process  was  being  drawn 
up  against  the  celebrated  writer,  a 
lady  crossed  the  limits  a  short  dis- 
tance behind  him,  and  went  to  kneel 
before  the  planks  that  shut  up  the 
grotto.  Through  the  cracks  of  the 
palisade  she  watched  the  bubbling 
miraculous  spring  and  prayed.  What 
was  she  asking  of  God  ?  Was  her 
prayer  directed  towards  the  past  or 
the  future  ?  Was  it  for  herself  or 
others,  whose  destiny  had  been  con- 
fided to  her  ?  Did  she  ask  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  for  one  person 
or  for  a  family  ?  Never  mind ! 

This  lady  did  not  escape  the 
watchful  eyes  of  him  who  represent- 
ed at  once  the  prcfectoral  policy,  the 
magistracy,  and  the  police. 

Argus  quitted  M.  Veuillot,  and 
rushed  towards  the  kneeling  figure. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not 
permitted  to  pray  here.  You  are 
caught  in  open  violation  of  the  law; 
you  will  have  to  answer  for  it  before 
the  police  court.  Your  name  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  lady ;  "  I 
am  Madame  1'Amirale  Bruat,  gover- 
ness to  his  highness  the  Prince  Im- 
perial." 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


403 


The  terrible  Jacomet  had,  above 
all  things,  a  respect  for  the  social 
hierarchy  and  the  powers  that  be. 
He  did  not  pursue  the  proces-rerbal. 
Such  scenes  were  often  renewed. 
Certain  of  the  proces-verbaux  fright- 
ened the  agents,  and  may  possibly 
have  frightened  the  prefect  himself. 

A  deplorable  state  of  things :  his 
orders  were  violated  with  impuni- 
ty by  the  powerful,  and  cruelly 
maintained  at  the  expense  of  the 
weak.  He  had  two  sets  of  weights 
and  measures. 


v. 


THE  question  raised  by  the  vari- 
ous supernatural  occurrences,  by  the 
apparitions — true  or  false — of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  by  the  breaking  out 
of  the  fountain,  and  by  the  real  or 
imaginary  cures,  could  not  remain 
for  ever  in  suspense.  Such  was  the 
conviction  of  everybody.  It  was 
necessary  that  the  matter  should 
be  submitted  to  severe  and  compe- 
tent inquiry. 

Strangers,  who  spent  but  a  short 
season  in  the  place,  who  had  not 
witnessed  from  the  first  the  miracu- 
lous events,  and  who  could  not  form 
a  conviction  from  personal  know- 
ledge, as  could  the  inhabitants  of  the 

O     ' 

surrounding  country,  amid  the  vari- 
ous accounts  and  opinions  that  were 
to  be  heard  from  all  quarters,  were 
unanimous  in  their  astonishment  at 
the  apparent  indifference  of  the  cler- 
gy. And,  while  they  blamed  the 
inopportune  meddling  .of  the  civil 
power,  they  also  censured  the  pro- 
longed inaction  of  the  religious  au- 
thority, personified  in  the  bishop. 

The  free-thinkers,  interpreting  the 
hesitation  of  the  prelate  to  their  own 
advantage,  felt  confident  of  his  final 
verdict.  The  partisans  of  Baron 
Massy  began  to  announce  an  en- 


tire accord  between  the  sentiments 
of  the  bishop  and  those  of  the  pre- 
fect. They  cast  the  entire  responsi- 
bility of  the  violent  measures  upon 
Mgr.  Laurence. 

"  The  bishop,"  they  said,  "  might, 
by  a  single  word,  have  put  a  stop  to 
this  superstition.  It  was  only  neces- 
sary for  him  to  deliver  his  judgment 
on  the  matter.  But  in  default  of  his 
action,  the  civil  authority  has  been 
forced  to  proceed." 

But  in  view  of  the  evidence  for 
the  miracles,  the  faithful  considered 
the  final  judgment  as  certainly  fa- 
vorable to  their  belief.  Moreover,  a 
great  number  of  strangers  who  had 
no  conviction  nor  party  prejudices, 
sought  to  be  relieved  of  their  uncer- 
tainty by  a  definitive  examination. 
"  Of  what  use,"  said  they,  "  is  re- 
ligious authority  if  not  to  decide  such 
matters,  and  to  fix  the  faith  of  those 
whom  distance,  or  lack  of  documents, 
or  other  causes,  prevent  from  exam- 
ining and  settling  the  question  for 
themselves  ?'" 

Continual  demands  reached  the 
ears  of  the  bishop.  The  murmur  of 
the  crowd  was  swelled  by  the  voice 
of  those  that  are  usually  styled  the 
"enlightened  class,"  although  their 
lesser  lights  sometimes  cause  them  to 
lose  sight  of  brighter  ones.  Every- 
body demanded  a  formal  inquest. 

Supernatural  cures  continued  to 
manifest  themselves.  Hundreds  of 
authentic  affidavits  of  miraculous 
cures,  signed  by  numerous  witnesses, 
were  daily  received  at  the  bishop's 
palace.* 


*  We  find  in  a  letter  of  Dr.  Dozous,  who  had 
followed  closely  the  course  of  events,  a  list  of  the 
various  chronic  maladies  of  which  he  testifies 
the  extraordinary  cure  by  the  water  of  the 
grotto. 

"  Continual  headache  ;  weakness  of  sight ;  am 
aurosis  ;  chronic  neuralgia ;  partial  and  general 
paralysis;  chronic  rheumatism;  partial  or  gen- 
eral debility  of  the  system  ;  debility  of  early  child- 
hood. In  these  cases  the  healing  action  was  so  sud- 
den, that  many  who  had  not  previously  believed 


404 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


On  the  1 6th  of  July,  the  Feast  of 
Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel,  Berna- 
dette  heard  again  within  herself  the 
voice  which  had  been  silent  for  some 
months,  and  whch  no  longer  called 
her  to  the  Massabielle  rocks,  then 
fenced  and  guarded,  but  to  the  right 
bank  of  the  Gave,  to  the  meadow  where 
the  crowd  knelt  and  prayed  beyond 
reach  of  proces-verbatix  and  annoy- 
ance of  the  police.  It  was  now  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening. 

Scarcely  had  the  child  prostrated 
herself  and  commenced  to  recite  her 
beads,  when  the  divine  Mother  ap- 
peared to  her.  The  Gave,  which  sep- 
arated her  from  the  grotto,  had  no 
existence  for  her  ecstatic  vision.  She 
saw  only  the  blessed  rock,  quite 
close  to  her,  as  formerly,  and  the  im- 
maculate Virgin,  whose  sweet  smile 
confirmed  all  the  past  and  vouched 
for  all  the  future.  No  word  escaped 
her  heavenly  lips.  At  a  certain  mo- 
ment she  bent  towards  the  child  as  if 
to  take  a  long  farewell.  Then  she 
re-entered  paradise.  This  was  the 
eighteenth  apparition :  it  was  to  be 
the  last. 

In  a  different  or  opposite  sense, 
strange  facts  now  took  place  which 
it  is  necessary  to  notice.  On  three 
or  four  occasions,  certain  women  and 
children  had,  or  pretended  to  have, 
visions  similar  to  those  of  Berna- 
dette. 

Were  these  visions  real  ?  Was  dia- 
bolical mysticism  endeavoring  to 
mix  with  the  divine  in  order  to 
trouble  it  ?  Was  there  at  the  bottom 
of  these  singular  phenomena  a  mental 
derangement  or  the  ill-timed  trickery 
of  naughty  children  ?  Or  was  there  a 
hostile  hand  secretly  at  work  pushing 

in  the  reality  of  such  cures  were  forced  to  accept 
them  as  real  and  incontestable. 

"Diseases  of  the  spine  ;  leucorrhea,  and  other 
diseases  of  women  ;  chronic  maladies  of  the  di- 
gestive organs ;  obstructions  of  the  liver,  and 
bile. 

"Sore-throat;  deafness  from  feebleness  of  the 
auricular  nerves,"  etc.,  etc. 


forward  these  visionaries  in  order  to 
cast  discredit  on  the  miracles  at  the 
grotto  ?  We  cannot  tell. 

The  multitude,  whose  eyes  were 
fixed  on  all  the  details,  and  who 
eagsrly  sought  to  draw  conclusions 
from  what  they  already  knew,  were 
less  reserved  in  their  judgment. 

The  supposition  that  the  false  vis- 
ionaries were  incited  by  the  police  im- 
mediately took  possession  of  the 
public  mind  as  being  very  consistent 
with  the  policy  of  the  authorities. 
The  children  who  pretended  to 
have  had  visions  mingled  their  ac- 
counts with  most  extravagant  incohe- 
rencies.  Once  they  scaled  the  barrier 
which  enclosed  the  grotto,  and,  under 
pretence  of  offering  their  services  to 
the  pilgrims,  of  procuring  the  water 
for  them,  and  of  touching  their  beads 
on  the  rock,  they  received  and  ap- 
propriated money.  Strange  to  say, 
Jacomet  did  not  interfere  with  their 
proceedings,  although  it  would  have 
been  quite  easy  to  have  arrested 
them.  He  even  affected  not  to  no- 
tice these  strange  scenes,  ecstasies, 
and  violations  of  the  enclosure.  From 
this  surprising  behavior  of  the 
shrewd  and  far-sighted  chief,  every- 
body concluded  the  existence  of  one 
of  those  secret  plots  of  which  the 
police,  and  even  the  administration, 
are  sometimes  thought  capable. 

"  Baron  Massy,"  so  they  said, 
"sees  that  public  opinion  is  with- 
drawing from  him,  and,  convinced 
that  open  violence  is  insufficient  to 
put  a  stop  to  these  events,  has  sought 
to  dishonor  them  in  principle  by  en- 
couraging the  false  visionaries,  full 
accounts  of  whom  we  shall  soon  see 
in  the  journals  and  the  official  re- 
ports. Is  fecit  cui  prodest" 

Whatever  might  have  been  the 
truth  of  these  suspicions,  perhaps  in- 
correct, such  scenes  could  not  but 
disturb  the  peace  of  souls.  The 
cure  of  Lourdes,  moved  by  these 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


405 


scandals,  immediately  expelled  the 
pretended  seers  from  the  catechisme, 
and  declared  that,  if  similar  occur- 
rences took  place  in  the  future,  he 
would  not  rest  until  he  had  exposed 
their  true  instigators. 

The  position  and  threats  of  the 
cure  produced  a  sudden  and  radical 
effect.  The  pretended  visions  ceased 
at  once,  and  nothing  more  was  heard 
of  them.  They  had  only  lasted  four 
or  five  days. 

M.  Peyramale  notified  the  bishop 
of  this  occurrence.  M.  Jacomet,  on 
his  part,  addressed  to  the  authorities 
an  exaggerated  and  romantic  state- 
ment, of  which  we  will  have  future 
occasion  to  speak.  This  audacious 
attempt  of  the  enemy  to  destroy  the 
true  nature  and  honor  of  the  move- 
ment only  added  to  the  reasons 
which  called  peremptorily  for  action 
on  the  part  of  the  bishop.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  indicate  that  the 
moment  for  interference  had  come, 
when  the  religious  authority  should 
set  about  examining  and  giving  sen- 
tence. 

Men  of  distinction  in  the  Catholic 
world,  such  as  Mgr.  de  Salines,  Arch- 
bishop of  Auch  ;  Mgr.  Thibaud,  Bish- 
op of  Montpellier;  Mgr.  de  Garsi- 
gnies,  Bishop  of  Soissons ;  M.  Louis 
Veuillot,  chief  editor  of  the  Univers  ; 
and  persons  less  widely  celebrated, 
but  of  national  reputation,  such  as 
M.  de  Ressegnier,  formerly  a  deputy  ; 
M.  Vene,  chief  engineer  of  mines, 
and  inspector-general  of  thermal 
waters  in  the  Pyrenees ;  and  a  great 
number  of  eminent  Catholics,  were 
at  that  time  in  the  country. 

All  had  examined  these  extraordi- 
nary facts  which  form  the  subject  of 
our  history ;  all  had  interrogated 
Bernadette  ;  all  were  either  believers 
or  strongly  inclined  to  believe.  They 
tell  of  one  of  the  most  venerated 
bishops,  that  he  was  unable  to  con- 
trol the  emotion  awakened  bv  the 


naif  statement  of  the  little  seer. 
Gazing  upon  the  open  brow  which 
had  received  the  glance  of  the  ineffa- 
ble Virgin  Mother  of  God,  the  prelate 
could  not  restrain  the  first  movement 
of  piety.  The  prince  of  the  church 
bowed  before  the  majesty  of  that 
humble  peasant. 

"  Pray  for  me ;  bless  me  and  my 
flock,"  he  cried,  choked  with  emo- 
tion, and  sinking  on  his  knees. 

"  Rise !  rise  !  my  lord !  It  is  yours 
to  bless  her,"  said  the  cure  of  Lourdes, 
who  was  present,  and  instantly  seized 
the  bishop's  hand. 

Although  the  priest  had  sprung  for- 
ward quickly,  Bernadette  had  already 
advanced,  and,  all  abashed  in  her  hu- 
mility, bowed  her  head  for  the  bless- 
ing of  the  prelate. 

The  bishop  gave  it,  but  not  with- 
out shedding  tears. 


vr. 

THE  entire  course  of  events,  the 
testimony  of  such  grave  men,  and 
their  evident  conviction  after  exam- 
ining, were  facts  which  made  a  lively 
impression  on  the  clear  and  sagacious 
mind  of  the  Bishop  of  Tarbes.  Mgr. 
Laurence  thought  that  the  time  had 
now  come  to  speak,  and  he  came 
forth  from  his  silence.  On  July  28, 
he  published  the  following  orders, 
which  were  immediately  known 
throughout  the  entire  diocese,  and 
produced  intense  excitement;  for 
every  one  understood  that  the 
strange  position  which  he  had  hith- 
erto assumed  was  now  about  to 
have  its  solution  : 

"  ORDER  or  His  LORDSHIP  THE  BISHOP 
OF  TARBES,  CONSTITUTING  A  COMMIS- 
SION TO  REPORT  ON  THE  AUTHENTI- 
CITY AND  NATURE  OF  CERTAIN  FACTS 
WHICH  HAVE,  FOR  SIX  MONTHS,  BEEN 
TAKING  PLACE  ON  OCCASION  OF  A  REAL 
OR  PRETENDED  APPARITION  CF  THE 


406 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


BLESSED  VIRGIN  IN  A  GROTTO    SITU- 
ATED WEST  OF  THE  TOWN   OF   LOURDES. 

"  Bertrand-Severe-Laurence,  by  the  mer- 
cy of  God  and  the  apostolic  favor  of  the 
Holy  See,  Bishop  of  Tarbes. 

"  To  the  clergy  and  faithful  of  our  dio- 
cese, health  and  benediction  in  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ. 

"  Facts  of  grave  importance,  and  inti- 
mately connected  with  religion,  have  been 
occurring  at  Lourdes  since  the  eleventh 
of  last  February.  They  have  stirred  our 
whole  diocese,  and  their  fame  has  been 
re-echoed  in  foreign  parts. 

"  Bernadette  Soubirous,  a  young  girl 
of  Lourdes,  fourteen  years  of  age,  has 
had  visions  in  the  Massabielle  grotto, 
situated  west  of  that  town.  The  Blessed 
Virgin  has  appeared  to  her.  A  fountain 
has  risen  on  the  spot.  The  water  of  this 
fountain,  having  been  drunk  or  used  as  a 
wash,  has  operated  a  great  number  of 
cures,  which  are  considered  miraculous. 
Many  persons  have  come  from  parts  of 
Our  own  and  from  neighboring  dioceses 
to  seek,  at  this  fountain,  the  cure  of  vari- 
ous diseases,  invoking  the  Immaculate 
Virgin. 

"  The  civil  power  has  been  alarmed  by 
this.  The  ecclesiastical  authority  has 
been  urged  by  all  parties,  since  the 
month  of  March,  to  make  some  decla- 
ration concerning  this  improvised  pil- 
grimage We  have  delayed,  up  to  the 
present  time — believing  that  the  hour 
was  not  come  for  us  to  deal  successfully 
with  this  matter,  and  also  that,  to  give 
due  weight  to  our  judgment,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  proceed  with  wise  modera- 
tion, to  distrust  the  prejudices  of  the  first 
days  of  popular  enthusiasm,  to  allow  agi- 
tation to  quiet  itself,  to  give  time  for  re- 
flection, and  to  procure  light  for  an  atten- 
tive and  clear  investigation. 

"Three  classes  appeal  to  our  decision, 
but  with  different  views  : 

"  First  are  those  who,  refusing  all  ex- 
amination, see  in  the  events  at  the  grotto, 
and  in  the  cures  attributed  to  its  water, 
only  superstition,  jugglery,  and  deceit. 

"  It  is  evident  that  we  cannot,  a  priori, 
share  their  opinion  without  serious  ex- 
amination. Their  journals  have,  from 
the  start,  cried,  and  loudly  too,  supersti- 
tion, fraud,  and  bad  faith.  They  have 
affirmed  that  the  affair  of  the  grotto  has 
had  its  rise  in  sordid  and  guilty  cupidity, 
and  have  thus  wounded  the  moral  sense 
of  our  Christian  people.  The  plan  of  de- 


nying everything  and  of  accusing  inten- 
tions seems  to  us  very  convenient  for  cut- 
ting off  difficulties  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  very  disloyal  to  sound  reason,  and 
more  apt  to  irritate  than  to  convince.  To 
deny  the  possibility  of  supernatural  facts 
is  to  follow  a  superannuated  school,  to  ab- 
jure Christianity,  and  to  proceed  in  the 
ruts  of  the  infidel  philosophy  of  the  last 
century.  We,  as  Catholics,  cannot  take 
counsel  in  such  a  matter  with  those  who 
deny  God's  power  to  make  exceptions  to 
his  own  laws,  nor  even  join  them  in  ex- 
amining whether  a  given  fact  is  natural 
or  supernatural,  knowing  in  advance  that 
they  proclaim  the  impossibility  of  the  su- 
pernatural. By  this,  do  we  shrink  from 
thorough,  sincere,  and  conscientious  dis- 
cussion enlightened  by  advanced  science  ! 
By  no  means.  On  the  contrary,  we  desire 
it,  with  all  our  heart.  We  wish  these  facts 
to  be  submitted  to  the  severest  tests  of 
evidence  compatible  with  sound  philoso- 
phy, and,  accordingly,  to  determine  whe- 
ther they  are  natural  or  divine,  that  pru- 
dent men,  learned  in  the  sciences  of  mys- 
tical theology,  medicine,  physics,  chemis- 
try, geology,  etc.,  etc.,  be  invited  to  the 
discussion,  in  order  that  science  shall  be 
consulted  and  give  her  sentence.  And 
we  desire,  above  all,  that  no  means  be 
neglected  to  ascertain  the  truth. 

"Another  class  neither  approve  nor 
condemn  the  events  which  are  every- 
where recounted,  but  suspend  their  judg- 
ment. Before  pronouncing  definitely, 
they  wish  to  know  the  views  of  com- 
petent authority,  and  earnestly  ask  for 
them. 

"  Finally,  a  third  and  very  numerous 
class  have  become  thoroughly,  though 
perhaps  prematurely,  convinced.  They 
impatiently  look  to  the  bishop  to  pro- 
nounce immediately  on  this  grave  affair. 
Although  they  expect  from  us  a  decision 
favorable  to  their  own  pious  sentiments, 
we  know  their  obedient  spirit  well  enough 
to  be  assured  that  they  will  agree  with  our 
judgment,  whatever  that  may  be,  as  soon 
as  it  is  known. 

"  It  is,  therefore,  to  enlighten  the  piety 
of  so  many  thousands  of  the  faithful,  to 
correspond  with  an  urgent  public  appeal 
to  settle  the  uncertainty  and  quiet  the  agi 
tation  of  souls,  that  we  yield  to-day  to  in 
stances  repeated  and  continued,  from  al( 
parts.  We  desire  light  on  facts  in  the  high 
est  degree  important  to  the  faithful,  the 
worship  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  religion 
itself.  To  this  end  we  have  resolved  tc 


Our  Lady  of  Lonrdes. 


407 


Institute  in  our  diocese  a  permanent  com- 
mission for  collecting  and  reporting  upon 
the  facts  which  have  occurred,  and  which 
may  hereafter  occur,  at  or  concerning  the 
grotto  of  Lourdes,  in  order  to  make  known 
their  character  and  supply  us  with  the 
means  indispensable  to  arriving  at  a  true 
judgment. 

"  WHEREFORE, 

"The  holy  name  of  God  having  been 
invoked, 

"  We  have  ordered  and  hereby  order  as 
follows : 

"  Art.  I.  A  commission  is  hereby  insti- 
tuted in  the  diocese  of  Tarbes,  to  examine 
the  following  points : 

"  i.  Whether  cures  have  been  worked 
by  drinking,  or  by  bathing  with  the  water 
of  the  grotto  of  Lourdes  ;  and  whether 
these  cures  can  be  explained  naturally  or 
are  to  be  attributed  to  something  above 
nature. 

"  2.  Whether  the  visions  which  are  said 
to  have  been  seen  by  the  child  Bernadette 
Soubirous  have  been  real ;  and,  in  the  lat- 
ter case,  whether  they  can  be  explained 
naturally  or  are  to  be  invested  with  a 
supernatural  character. 

"  3.  Whether  the  object  which  is  said 
to  have  appeared  manifested  its  inten- 
tions to  the  child  ;  whether  she  has  been 
charged  to  communicate  them,  and  to 
whom  ;  and  what  were  the  said  inten- 
tions or  demands. 

"4.  Whether  the  fountain  which  is  now 
running  in  the  grotto  existed  before  the 
alleged  visions  of  Bernadette  Soubirous. 

"  Art.  II.  The  commission  will  present 
for  our  consideration  only  facts  estab- 
lished by  solid  evidence,  concerning 
which  it  will  prepare  minute  reports 
containing  its  own  judgment  on  the 
matter. 

"  Art.  III.  The  deans  of  the  diocese  will 
be  the  principal  correspondents  of  the 
commission. 

"  I.  They  are  desired  to  call  attention 
to  facts  which  have  taken  place  in  their 
respective  deaneries. 

"  2.  The  persons  who  are  allowed  to 
testify  concerning  such  acts  are : 

"  3.  Those  who,  by  their  science,  can 
enlighten  the  commission. 

"4.  The  physicians  who  have  had 
charge  of  the  sick  before  their  cure. 

"  Art.  IV.  After  having  received  no- 
tices, the  commission  will  proceed  to 
examination.  Evidence  must  be  ren- 
dered under  oath.  When  investiga- 


tions refer  to  localities,  at  least  two 
members  of  the  commission  must  visit 
the  spot. 

"Art.  V.  We  earnestly  recommend  the 
commission  to  invite  to  its  sessions  men 
well  versed  in  the  sciences  of  medicine, 
physics,  chemistry,  geology,  etc.,  in  ocder 
to  hear  them  discuss  the  difficulties  which 
may  arise  on  points  familiar  to  them,  and 
in  order  to  learn  their  opinion.  The  com- 
mission will  neglect  no  means  of  acquir- 
ing light  and  arriving  at  the  truth,  what- 
ever that  may  be. 

"Art.  VI.  The  commission  shall  be 
composed  of  nine  members  of  our  chap- 
ter, the  superiors  of  the  great  and  little 
seminaries,  the  superior  of  the  mission- 
aries of  our  diocese,  the  cure  of  Lourdes, 
and  the  professors  of  dogmatic  and  moral 
theology  and  physics  of  the  great  semi- 
nar)-. The  professor  of  chemistry  in  our 
little  seminary  shall  be  often  consulted. 

"Art.  VII.  M.  Nogaro,  canon-arch- 
priest,  is  hereby  named  president  of  the 
commission.  The  Canons  Tabaries  and 
Soule  are  named  vice-presidents.  The 
commission  will  appoint  for  itself  a  secre- 
tary and  two  vice  secretaries  from  its  own 
number. 

"Art.  VIII.  The  commission  will  im- 
mediately enter  upon  its  labors,  and  meet 
as  often  as  it  shall  deem  necessary. 

"Given  at  Tarbes,  in  our  episcopal 
palace,  under  our  sign  and  seal,  and  the 
countersign  of  our  secretary,  July  28, 
1858. 

"»fr  BERTRAND-SRE, 

"  Bishop  of  Tarbes. 

"  By  command,  FOURCADE, 

"  Canon-C-ecretary." 

His  lordship  had  scarcely  issued 
this  order  when  he  received  a  letter 
from  M.  Rouland,  Minister  of  Public 
Worship,  entreating  him  to  interfere 
and  arrest  the  movement. 

In  order  to  comprehend  the  full 
meaning  of  this  letter,  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary for  us  to  turn  back  a  short 
distance. 

VII. 

WHETHER  the  police  or  administra- 
tion had  incited  the  false  visionaries 
or  were  the  innocent  victims  of  uni- 
versal suspicion,  it  is  impossible  to 


408 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


know  with  certainty ;  it  is  still  more 
impossible  to  establish  either  opinion 
by  authentic  documents.  In  such 
cases  the  proof,  if  there  be  any,  is 
always  destroyed  by  interested  hands. 
There  are,  consequently,  no  other 
means  of  getting  at  the  truth,  except 
the  general  appearance  of  things  and 
the  unanimous  sentiment  of  the  con- 
temporary public,  sometimes  assured- 
ly just,  though  often  tinged  by  passion 
or  infected  with  error.  In  view  of 
this  chaotic  state  of  the  elements,  the 
historian  can  only  relate  facts  both 
authentic  and  alleged,  express  his 
own  doubts  and  scruples,  and  leave 
the  reader  to  determine  upon  the 
most  probable  explanation. 

Whatever  the  cause  or  hidden  hand 
might  have  been  which  pushed  for- 
ward two  or  three  little  ragamuffins 
to  make  seers  of  them,  M.  Jacomet, 
M.  Massy,  and  his  friends  felt  bound 
to  magnify  and  spread  their  silly  story. 
They  endeavored  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  people,  and  withdraw  it 
from  such  grave  events  as  the  divine 
ecstasies  of  Bernadette,  the  bursting 
forth  of  the  fountain,  and  the  miracu- 
lous cures  which  had  laid  hold  of 
popular  faith.  When  the  battle  had 
been  lost  on  one  point,  these  able 
strategists  sought  to  lure  the  enemy 
on  to  a  field  surrounded  by  ambus- 
cades and  mined  in  advance ;  in 
short,  to  make  a  diversion. 

The  sudden  disappearance  of  the 
false  visions  and  visionaries  before 
the  threatened  scrutiny  of  M.  Peyra- 
male  upset,  for  several  days  at  least, 
the  fond  hopes  of  the  free-thinking 
strategists.  The  common  sense  of 
the  public  remained  firm  on  the  true 
ground  of  controversy,  and  did  not 
permit  itself  to  be  deceived.  The 
enlightened  intellect  of  Minister  Rou- 
land  did  not  fare  so  well.  What  fol- 
lows will  explain  how  this  indepen- 
dent spirit  was  overthrown. 

MM.   Jacomet   and    Massy  were 


striving  against  a  triumphant  and  ir- 
resistible force,  and  taxed  the  utmost 
resources  of  their  genius  to  make  out 
of  these  slight  events  a  final  pretext 
for  repairing  their  losses  and  reassum- 
ing  an  offensive  part.  They  sent  to 
the  Minister  of  Public  Worship  an 
exaggerated  and  fantastic  account  of 
these  childish  scenes. 

Now,  by  an  illusion  barely  conceiv- 
able in  a  politician  acquainted  with 
ordinary  practice,  M.  Rouland  placed 
blind  confidence  in  their  official  re- 
ports. He  was  not  without  faith, 
although  injudicious,  one  may  say, 
in  selecting  the  object  of  his  trust. 
The  philosopher  Rouland  had  no 
faith  in  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  assert- 
ing herself  by  cures  and  miracles, 
but  he  had  perfect  faith  in  Massy 
and  Jacomet.  These  two  gentlemen 
made  him  believe  that,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Massabielle  rocks, 
children  officiated  as  priests,  that  the 
people,  represented  by'  creatures  of 
dishonest  life,  crowned  them  with 
laurels  and  flowers,  etc.,  etc. 

They  did  not  disguise  the  useless- 
ness  of  violent  measures  against  the 
general  excitement  of  spirits.  Accor- 
ding to  their  account,  material  force 
was  vanquished  and  the  civil  author- 
ity completely  brought  to  naught. 
The  religious  authority  alone  could 
save  the  day  by  energetic  action 
against  the  popular  belief.  Desper- 
ate as  to  their  own  straits,  and  little 
considering  the  dignity  of  a  Christian 
bishop,  they  presumed  to  think  that 
strong  pressure  from  the  upper  heights 
of  the  administration  could  force 
Mgr.  Laurence  to  condemn  what  had 
transpired  and  to  follow  their  views. 
Accordingly  they  signified  to  the 
minister  their  judgment  that  the  so- 
lution of  all  difficulties  would  be  the 
direct  interference  of  the  prelate. 

This  was  to  push  his  excellency 
in  the  direction  towards  which,  as 
is  well  known,  he  naturally  inclined, 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


409 


viz.,  to  mix  himself  in  religious  ques- 
tions, and  to  foster  the  desire  of  mak- 
ing out  a  programme  for  the  bishops. 

The  minister,  although  he  had 
once  been  procureur-general,  did  not 
think  of  asking  how  it  was  that  the 
police  had  not  prosecuted  in  the 
courts  the  profanations  which  they 
reported.  The  strange  abstinence  of 
the  magistracy  in  view  of  the  pretend- 
ed disorders  did  not  occasion  him  the 
slightest  suspicion. 

Accepting  with  more  than  minis- 
terial candor  the  romance  of  the  po- 
lice and  the  prefect,  and  imagining 
that  he  saw  the  whole  truth ;  more- 
over, believing  himself  nothing  less 
than  a  theologian,  and,  because  Min- 
ister of  Public  Worship,  something 
more  than  an  archbishop,  M.  Rouland 
settled  the  whole  affair  in  his  cabinet, 
and  wrote  to  Mgr.  Laurence  a  letter, 
in  all  respects  a  worthy  mate  of  the 
one  he  had  formerly  addressed  to  the 
prefect,  and  which  we  have  cited.  It 
was  strongly  impregnated  with  the 
same  official  piety,  and  whilst  we 
read  it  to-day  by  the  light  of  true 
history,  we  cannot  restrain  a  smile 
at  the  manner  in  which  rulers  are 
sometimes  hoodwinked  and  mocked 
by  their  inferior  agents.  Indeed,  it 
is  not  without  a  sad  irony  that  one 
sees  the  following  letter  written  by 
the  very  minister  who,  in  a  short 
time,  was  to  sign  the  permission  to 
build  a  splendid  church  on  the  Mas- 
sabielle  rocks  in  eternal  memory  of 
the  apparition  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary : 

"  My  lord,"  wrote  M.  Rouland,  "  the 
recent  advice  which  I  have  received  about 
that  affair  at  Lourdes  seems  to  me  calcu- 
lated to  afflict  deeply  the  hearts  of  all 
sincerely  religious  men.  This  blessing 
of  rosaries  by  children,  these  public  dem- 
onstrations in  the  first  ranks  of  which 
are  to  be  seen  women  of  doubtful  charac- 
ter, this  coronation  of  the  visionaries, 
and  other  grotesque  ceremonies  which 
parody  the  rites  of  religious  worship,  will 


not  fail  to  open  a  free  avenue  of  attack  to 
Protestant  and  other  journals,  unless  the 
central  authority  interferes  to  moderate 
the  ardor  of  polemics.  Such  scandalous 
scenes  degrade  religion  in  the  eyes  of 
the  people,  and  I  feel  it  my  duty  again  to 
call  your  most  serious  attention  to  them. 
.  .  .  These  deeply  to  be  regretted 
demonstrations  seem  to  me  of  such  a  char- 
acter as  to  summon  the  clergy  from  the 
reserve  which  it  has  hitherto  maintained. 
On  this  point  I  can  do  no  more  than  to 
make  a  pressing  appeal  to  the  prudence 
and  firmness  of  your  grace  by  demanding 
if  you  do  not  think  it  proper  to  rebuke  pub- 
licly such  profanity.  Receive,  etc., 
The  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  and  Worship, 

"  ROULAND." 

VIII. 

THIS  missive  reached  Mgr.  Lau- 
rence just  after  he  had  issued  the  or- 
dinance already  known  to  the  reader, 
and  had  appointed  a  commission  to 
examine  the  extraordinary  works 
wrought  by  the  hand  of  God. 

Although  singularly  astonished  and 
indignant  at  the  fantastic  account  so 
gravely  offered  by  the  good  minister 
as  the  truth  itself,  nevertheless,  the 
bishop  answered  his  letter  in  measur- 
ed terms.  Without  expressing  a  com- 
plete judgment,  in  order  not  to  hasten 
a  premature  solution  of  the  matter, 
he  rehabilitated  the  facts  which  had 
been  so  shamefully  misrepresented. 
He  set  forth  with  great  frankness  the 
line  of  conduct  which  he  and  his 
clergy  had  pursued,  until  events  had 
got  to  such  a  pass  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  interfere  and  order  a  commis- 
sion of  inquiry.  To  the  minister, 
who,  without  knowledge  or  examina- 
tion, had  said,  "  Condemn,"  he  an- 
swered, "  I  will  examine." 

"  Monsieur  le  Ministre,"  wrote  the  pre- 
late, "  great  was  my  amazement  on  read- 
ing your  letter.  I  also  am  informed  as 
to  what  takes  place  at  Lourdes,  and,  as 
a  bishop,  deeply  interested  in  reproving 
all  that  can  harm  religion  and  the  faith- 
ful. Now,  I  can  assure  you  that  no  such 
scenes  as  you  describe  exist,  and,  if  there 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


have  been  any  occurrences  worthy  of  re- 
gret, they  have  been  transitory  and  have 
left  no  traces  behind  them. 

"  The  facts  to  which  your  excellency 
alludes  transpired  after  the  grotto  was 
shut  up,  and  after  the  first  week  in  July. 
Two  or  three  children  of  Lourdes  pre- 
tended to  have  visions,  and  behaved  ex- 
travagantly in  the  streets.  The  grotto 
being  then  shut  up,  as  I  have  said,  they 
found  means  to  get  into  it,  and  to  offer 
their  services  to  visitors  stopped  at  the 
barricades,  in  order  to  touch  their  chap- 
lets  on  the  rock  inside  the  grotto,  and  to 
appropriate  the  offerings  received  from 
them.  One  of  them  who  was  most  re- 
markable for  his  eccentricities  was  a 
choir-boy  in  the  church  of  Lourdes.  The 
cure  rebuked  and  drove  him  out  of  the 
catcchisme,  and  excluded  him  from  the 
service  of  the  church.*  The  disorder 
was  only  transitory,  and  amounted 'only 
to  the  mischief  of  a  few  boys,  which  ceas- 
ed as  soon  as  it  was  reprehended.  Such 
are  the  facts  which  overzealous  persons 
have  magnified  into  permanent  scenes. 

"  I  would  be  much  gratified,  M.  le  Min- 
istre,  if  you  would  seek  a  fair  statement 
of  what  has  occurred  from  honorable 
persons  who  have  remained  here  for  some 
time  in  order  to  make  personal  observa- 
tions of  places,  and  to  interrogate  the 
child  who  is  said  to  have  had  the  vision. 
Such  are  Mgrs.  the  bishops  of  Montpel- 
lier  and  Soissons,  Mgr.  the  Archbishop 
of  Auch,  M.  Vene,  inspector  of  thermal 
waters,  Madame  1'Amirale  Bruat,  M.  L. 
Veuillot,  etc.,  etc. 

"The  clergy,  M.  le  Ministre,  have  up 
to  this  time  maintained  a  complete  re- 
serve with  regard  to  the  occurrences  at 
the  grotto.  The  clergy  of  the  town  have 
shown  a  most  admirable  prudence.  They 
have  never  gone  to  the  grotto  to  give  cre- 
dit to  the  pilgrimage,  nor,  on  the  other 
hand,  favored  the  measures  of  the  admi- 
nistration. Nevertheless,  they  have  been 
represented  to  you  as  encouraging  super- 
stition. I  do  not  accuse  the  head  magis- 

*  Every  one  will  understand  the  reserve  which 
prevents  the  bishop  from  mentioning  the  univer- 
sal suspicion  at  Lourdes.Cauterets,  Bareges,  and 
Tarbes,  of  the  secret  action  of  the  police  in  the 
affair  of  the  visionaries. 

It  would  have  teen  somewhat  difficult  for  the 
prelate  to  say  to  the  minister :  "  The  pretended 
scandal,  which  you  lament  and  magnify  out  of 
all  natural  proportion  to  the  point  of  making  it 
a  pure  romance,  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
yourself  in  the  persons  of  your  agents.1' 


trate  of  the  department,  whose  intentions 
have  always  been  good  ;  but  in  this  mat- 
ter he  has  had  an  exclusive  confidence 
in  his  subordinates. 

"  In  my  reply  to  the  prefect,  dated  nth 
of  last  April,  which  has  been  submitted 
to  your  perusal,  I  offered  my  hearty  con- 
currence with  the  magistrate  in  order  to 
bring  this  affair  to  a  happy  conclusion. 
But  I  have  not  been  able  to  do  what  was 
desired  of  me,  namely,  to  condemn  from 
the  pulpit,  without  examination,  inquiry, 
or  apparent  reason,  the  persons  who  go 
to  pray  at  the  grotto,  and  to  forbid  all  ap- 
proach to  it,  especially  when  no  disorder 
had  been  noticed,  although  on  certain 
da3-s  the  visitors  amounted  to  thousands. 
Moreover,  while  the  church  has  always 
some  motive  for  her  prohibitions,  and 
while  I  myself  was  not  sufficiently  posted 
as  to  facts,  I  was  also  certain  that  amid 
the  general  excitement  my  words  would 
have  passed  unheeded. 

"  The  prefect,  during  the  council  of  re- 
vision at  Lourdes,  on  May  4th,  caused 
the  chief  of  police  to  remove  the  religious 
emblems  left  at  the  grotto,  and,  in  an  ad- 
dress to  the  mayors  of  the  canton,  stated 
that  he  had  taken  this  measure  by  agree- 
ment with  the  diocesan  bishop,  an  asser- 
tion which  was  repeated  a  few  days  after- 
ward by  the  official  organ  of  the  prefec- 
ture. I  was  informed  of  this  measure 
only  by  the  journals  and  the  cure  of 
Lourdes. 

"I  hastened  to  write  to  the  latter  to 
cause  the  prefect's  order  to  be  respected. 
I  made  no  complaint  at  that  time  or  after- 
ward of  having  been  made  an  apparent 
party  to  a  measure  of  which  I  had  been 
left  in  ignorance.  Although  numerous 
letters  were  addressed  to  me  entreating 
me  to  disclaim  any  share  in  it,  I  have  re- 
frained from  adding  any  difficulty  to  the 
situation. 

"  After  the  religious  objects  had  been  re- 
moved from  the  grotto,  we  might  have  hop- 
ed to  see  the  number  of  visits  diminish, 
and  the  pilgrimage,  so  inconsiderately  im- 
provised, brought  to  an  end.  It  was  not 
so,  however.  The  public  rightly  or  wrong- 
ly pretended  that  the  water  from  the 
grotto  worked  marvellous  cures.  The 
concourse  became  more  numerous,  and 
crowds  came  from  the  neighboring  de- 
partments. 

"On  the  8th  of  June,  the  mayor  of 
Lourdes  issued  a  prohibition  forbidding 
all  access  to  the  grotto.  This  was  stated 
to  be  in  the  interest  of  religion  and  pub 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


411 


lie  welfare.  Although  religion  might 
have  been  encouraged  by  it  ;  and,  again, 
although  the  bishop  had  not  been  con- 
sulted, he  published  no  reclamation 
against  these  assertions  ;  he  kept  silence 
for  reasons  above  stated. 

"  You  see,  M.  le  Ministre,  by  these  de- 
tails, that  the  reserve  of  the  clergy  has 
not  been  complete  in  this  matter  ;  it  has 
been,  in  my  judgment,  prudent.  When 
able,  I  have  lent  my  aid  to  the  measures 
of  the  civil  authority,  and,  if  they  have 
not  met  with  success,  it  is  not  the  bishop 
who  is  to  blame. 

"  To-day,  yielding  to  the  petitions  which 
have  been  addressed  me  from  all  quar- 
ters, I  have  concluded  that  the  time  has 
come  when  I  can  interest  myself  to  good 
purpose  in  this  affair.  I  have  named  a 
commission  to  collect  the  elements  ne- 
cessary for  me  to  form  a  decision  on  a 
question  which  has  moved  the  whole 
country  around  us,  and  which,  judging 
from  reports,  seems  likely  to  interest  the 
whole  of  France.  I  am  confident  that  the 
faithful  will  receive  it  with  submission, 
since  they  are  aware  that  no  effort  will 
be  spared  to  get  at  the  truth.  The  com- 
mission having  been  at  work  for  some 
days,  I  have  determined  to  render  my  or- 
dinance public  by  having  it  printed,  in 
hopes  that  it  may  help  to  calm  spirits  un- 
til the  decision  shall  have  been  made 
known.  I  shall  soon  have  the  honor  of 
sending  your  excellency  a  copy. 
"  I  am,  etc., 

"  B.  S.,  Bishop  of  Tarbes." 

Such  was  the  letter  from  Mgr.  Lau- 
rence to  M.  Rouland.  It  was  clear 
and  decisive,  and  left  nothing  to  be 
said  by  either  party.  The  Minister 
of  Public  Worship  did  not  reply.  He 
re-entered  his  former  silence.  This 
was  very  wise.  Perhaps,  however,  it 
would  have  been  wiser  for  him  never 
to  have  come  out  of  it. 


IX. 

Ax  the  very  moment  when  Mgr. 
Laurence,  in  the  name  of  religion, 
ordered  an  inquiry  into  the  unwonted 
events  which  the  civil  authority  had 
condemned  and  persecuted  and  wish- 
ed to  reject  a  priori,  without  conde- 


scending even  to  examine ;  on  the 
very  same  day  on  which  the  bishop's 
letter  was  mailed  for  the  minister,  M. 
Filhol,  the  illustrious  professor  of  the 
faculty  of  Toulouse,  delivered  the 
final  verdict  of  science  on  the  water 
from  the  grotto  of  Lourdes.  The  con- 
scientious and  perfectly  thorough  la- 
bor of  the  great  chemist  reduced  to 
nothing  the  official  analysis  of  M.  La- 
tour  de  Trie,  the  expert  of  the  prefec- 
ture, about  which  Baron  Mfissy  had 
made  such  a  noise.  M.  Filhol  tes- 
tifies as  follows : 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  Professor  of 
Chemistry  to  the  Scientific  Faculty  of 
Toulouse,  Professor  of  Pharmacy  and 
Toxicology  to  the  School  of  Medi- 
cine of  the  same  city,  and  Knight 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  certify  that 
I  have  analyzed  the  water  from  a 
spring  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lour- 
des. From  this  analysis  it  appears 
that  the  water  of  the  grotto  of  Lourdes 
is  of  such  composition  that  it  may 
be  considered  good  for  drinking  pur- 
poses, and  of  a  character  similar  to 
that  which  is  generally  met  with 
among  those  mountains  whose  soil  is 
rich  in  calcareous  matter. 

"  The  extraordinary  effects  which  are 
said  to  have  been  produced  by  the  use 
of  this  water  cannot,  at  least  in  the 
present  state  of  science,  be  explained  by 
the  nature  of  the  salts  whose  existence 
in  it  is  detected  by  analysis.  * 

"  This  water  contains  no  active  sub- 
stance capable  of  giving  it  marked  the- 
rapeutic qualities.  It  can  be  drunk 
without  inconvenience. 

"  TOULOUSE,  August  7,  1858. 

"  (Signed)  FiLHOL."t 

*  Letter  from  M.  Filhol  to  the  Mayor  of 
Lourdes,  transmitting  his  analysis. 

t  We  give  complete  details  of  the  analysis  con- 
tained in  I  he  report  of  M.  Filhol.  The  eminent 
chemist  continues: 

I  certify  to  having  obtained  the  following 
results : 

PHYSICAL   AND   ORGANOLHPTIC    PROPERTIES    OP   THIS 
WATER. 

It  is  clear,  colorless,  odorless :  it  has  no  decid 


412 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


Thus,  all  the  pseudo-scientific  scaf- 
folding, on  which  the  free-thinkers 
and  wise  counsellors  of  the  prefect 
had  painfully  built  their  theory  of  the 
extraordinary  cures,  on  the  exami- 
nation of  this  celebrated  chemist 
toppled  and  fell.  According  to  true 
science,  the  water  of  the  grotto  was 
by  no  means  mineral  water,  and 


ed  taste.     Its  density  is  scarcely  greater  than 
that  of  distilled  water. 

CHEMICAL  PROPERTIES. 

The  water  of  the  grotto  of  Lourdes  acts  as  fol- 
lows, with  reagents : 

With  Red  Tincture  of  Turnsol.—lt  becomes 
blue. 

Lime-mater. — The  mixture  becomes  milky  ; 
an  excess  of  the  water  of  grotto  redissolves  the 
precipitate  first  formed. 

Soapsuds.— It  becomes  very  cloudy. 

Chloride  of  Barium.— No  apparent  action. 

Nitrate  of  Silver. — Slight  white  precipitate, 
which  partly  dissolves  in  nitric  acid. 

Oxalate  of  A  mmonia.— Scarcely  any  sensible 
action. 

Submitted  to  the  action  of  heat  in  a  glass  retort 
communicating  with  a  receiver,  the  water  yield- 
ed a  gas  partly  absorbed  by  potassa.  The  por- 
tion thus  left  undissolved  was  partly  absorbed 
by  phosphorus ;  finally,  there  remained  a  gase- 
ous residuum  possessing  all  the  properties  of 
nitrogen.  At  the  same  time  that  this  gas  was  dis- 
engaged, the  water  was  slightly  clouded  and  pre- 
cipitated a  white  deposit,  slightly  tinged  with 
red.  Treated  with  hydrochloric  acid,  this  de- 
posit was  dissolved,  producing  a  lively  efferve- 
scence. 

I  saturated  the  acid  solution  with  an  excess  of 
ammonia;  this  reagent  caused  the  precipitation 
of  several  light  flakes  of  a  reddish  color,  which  I 
carefully  separated.  These  flakes  washed  with 
distilled  water  I  treated  with  caustic  potash, 
which  took  nothing  from  them.  I  washed  the 
flakes  again,  and  dissolved  them  in  chlorhydric 
acid ;  then  I  further  diluted  the  -solution  with 
water,  and  submitted  it  to  the  action  of  several 
reagents,  whose  effects  I  will  proceed  to  indi- 
cate: 

Yellow  Cyanide  of  Potassium  and  Iron. — Blue 
precipitate. 

A  mmonia.— Reddish  brown  precipitate. 

Tannin. — Principally  black. 

Sttlpho-  Cya  nide  of  Potassiztm.— Blood-red  color. 

The  liquid,  separated  from  the  flaky  deposit, 
gave  with  oxalate  of  ammonia  an  abundant  white 
precipitate.  Having  separated  this  precipitate 
by  a  filter,  I  threw  phosphate  of  ammonia  into 
the  clear  liquid ;  this  reagent  determined  the 
formation  of  a  new  white  precipitate. 

I  evaporated  to  dryness  five  litres  of  the  water, 
and  treated  the  dry  residuum  with  a  small  quan- 
tity of  distilled  water  in  order  to  dissolve  the 
soluble  salts.  The  solution  thus  obtained  was 
turned  blue  by  red  tincture  of  turnsol.  I  again 
evaporated  the  solution  thus  obtained,  and  pour- 
ed alcohol  over  the  dry  residuum  ;  this  being  set 
on  fire,  gave  a  pale  yellow  flame,  such  as  is  pro- 
duced by  salts  of  soda.  I  again  dissolved  the 


had  no  healing  property.  Neverthe- 
less, it  did  heal.  Nothing  was  now 
left  for  those  who  had  so  rashly  put 
forward  imaginary  explanations,  but 
the  confusion  of  their  attempt 
and  the  impossibility  of  withdrawing 
their  public "  acknowledgment  that 
cures  had  been  effected.  Falsehood 
and  error  were  taken  in  their  own 
net. 


residuum  in  a  few  drops  of  distilled  water,  and 
mixed  the  solution  with  chloride  of  platina;  a 
slight  canary-colored  precipitate  was  formed  in 
the  mixture. 

Having  acidulated  two  litres  of  the  water  of 
the  grotto  of  Lourdes  with  chlorhydric  acid,  I 
evaporated  it  to  dryness,  and  found  the  residuum 
taken  by  the  acidulated  water  to  be  but  partly 
dissolved.  The  insoluble  part  presented  all  the 
appearance  of  silica. 

I  submitted  to  evaporation  ten  litres  of  the 
water  of  the  grotto  of  Lourdes,  in  which  I  found 
a  very  pure  carbonate  of  potassa  had  been  pre- 
viously dissolved.  The  result  of  the  evaporation 
was  moistened  with  boiling  alcohol,  and,  again 
evaporated  to  dryness,  the  residuum  was  heated 
to  a  dull  red. 

The  product  of  this  operation  was  dissolved, 
after  cooling,  in  a  few  drops  of  distilled  water} 
and  mixed  with  a  little  starch  paste.  Carefully 
treating  this  mixture  with  weakly  chlorated 
water,  I  saw  the  liquid  take  a  blue  tint. 

Submitted  to  distillation,  the  water  of  the  grotto 
of  Lourdes  gives  a  slightly  alkaline  distilled  pro- 
duct. 

From  these  facts  it  follows  that  the  water  of  the 
grotto  of  Lourdes  holds  in  solution  : 

1.  Oxygen. 

2.  Nitrogen. 

3.  Carbonic  acid. 

4.  Carbonates  of  lime,  of  magnesia,  and  a  trace 
of  carbonate  of  iron. 

5.  An  alkaline  carbonate  or  silicate,  chlorides 
of  potassium  and  sodium. 

6.  Traces  of  sulphates  of  potassa  and  soda. 

7.  Traces  of  ammonia. 

8.  Traces  of  iodine. 

The  quantitative  analysis  of  this  water,  made 
according  to  the  ordinary  methods,  gives  the  fol- 
lowing results : 

Water,  i  kilogramme. 

Centig. 
Carbonic  acid          .  .8 

Oxygen     5 

Nitrogen 17 

Ammonia          .        .        traces. 

Gr.  millig. 

Carbonate  of  Lime  .  .  .  .096 
Magnesia  .  .  0.012 
Iron  traces. 

"  Soda  " 

Chloride  of  Sodium         .        .        .    0.008 

"  Potassium    traces. 

Silicate  of  Soda,  and  traces  of  Sili- 
cate of  Potassa     ....     0.018 
Sulphates  of  Potassa  and  Soda,  traces. 
Iodine  " 


o  134 


King  Cor  mac  s  CJioice.  413 


KING    CORMAC'S    CHOICE* 


A   LEGEND   OF   THE    BOYNE. 

BESIDE  the  banks  of  Boyne,  where  late 
The  dire  Dutch  trumpets  blared  and  rang, 

'Mid  wounded  kernes  the  harper  sate, 
And  thus  the  river's  legend  sang: 

Who  shall  forbid  a  king  to  lie 

Where  lie  he  will,  wherr  life  is  o'er  ? 
King  Cormac  laid  him  down  to  die ; 

But  first  he  raised  his  hand,  and  swore : 

"  At  Brugh  ye  shall  not  lay  my  bones : 
Those  pagan  kings  I  scorn  to  join 
Beside  the  trembling  Druid  stones, 
And  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Boyne. 

"  A  grassy  grave  of  poor  degree 

Upon  its  southern  bank  be  mine 
At  Rossnaree,  where  of  things  to  be 
I  .saw  in  vision  the  pledge  and  sign. 

"  Thou  happier  Faith,  that  from  the  East 

Slow  travellest,  set  my  people  free ! 
I  sleep,  thy  Prophet  and  thy  Priest, 
By  southern  Boyne,  at  Rossnaree." 

He  died :  anon  from  hill  and  wood 

Down  flocked  the  black-robed  Druid  race, 

And  round  the  darkened  palace  stood, 
And  cursed  the  dead  king  to  his  face. 

Uptowering  round  his  bed,  with  lips 

Denouncing  doom,  and  cheeks  death-pale, 

As  when  at  noontide  strange  eclipse 
Invests  gray  cliffs  and  shadowed  vale ; 

*  According  to  the  old  Irish  chronicles,  Corrnac,  King  of  all  Ireland,  renounced  the  worship  of 
idols  about  two  centuries  before  the  arrival  of  St.  Patrick,  having  received  in  a  vision  the  promise 
of  the  true  faith. 


414  King  Cor  mac  s  Choice. 

And  proved  with  cymball'd  anthems  dread 
The  gods  he  spurned  had  bade  him  die  : 

Then  spake  the  pagan  chiefs,  and  said, 
"  Where  lie  our  kings,  this  king  must  lie." 


In  royal  robes  the  corse  they  dressed, 
And  spread  the  bier  with  boughs  of  yew ; 

And  chose  twelve  men,  their  first  and  best, 
To  bear  him  through  the  Boyne  to  Brugh, 

But  on  his  bier  the  great  dead  king 

Forgot  not  so  his  kingly  oath ; 
And  from  sea-marge  to  mountain  spring, 

Boyne  heard  their  coming,  and  was  wroth. 

He  frowned  far  off,  'mid  gorse  and  fern, 

As  those  ill-omened  steps  made  way ; 
He  muttered  'neath  the  flying  hern ; 

He  foamed  by  cairn  and  cromlech  gray; 

And  rose,  and  drowned  with  one  black  wave 
Those  twelve  on-wading ;  and  with  glee 

Bore  down  King  Cormac  to  his  grave 
By  southern  Boyne,  at  Rossnaree ! 

Close  by  that  grave,  three  centuries  past, 

Columba  reared  his  saintly  cell ; 
And  Boyne's  rough  voice  was  changed  at  last 

To  music  by  the  Christian  bell. 

So  Christ's  true  Faith  made  Erin  free, 

And  blessed  her  women  and  her  men ; 
And  that  which  was  again  shall  be, 

And  that  which  died  shall  rise  again. 

He  ceased :  the  wondering  clansmen  roared 

Accordance  to  the  quivering  strings, 
And  praised  King  Cormac,  Erin's  Lord. 

And  Prophet  of  the  King  of  kings. 

AUBREY  DE  VERB. 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


415 


THE    APOSTASY    OF    DR.    DOLLINGER. 


THE  formal  and  public  act  of  re- 
nunciation of  the  Catholic  faith  by 
Dr.  Dollinger  which  has  been  looked 
for  as  a  probable  event  for  many 
months  past,  has  at  length  been 
made.  In  itself,  such  an  act  cannot 
be  regarded  by  any  sound  Catholic 
as  of  any  moment  whatever  to  re- 
ligion or  the  church.  It  is  only  one 
suicide  more,  which  destroys  an  indi- 
vidual, but  does  not  hurt  the  stability 
of  the  church,  whose  life  is  in  God, 
and,  therefore,  immortal.  It  may 
have  more  or  less  of  accidental  im- 
portance, however,  on  account  of  its 
effect  upon  certain  persons  who  are 
weak  or  ill-instructed  in  the  faith, 
and  the  use  which  may  be  made  of  it 
by  the  enemies  of  the  church.  We 
think  it  proper,  therefore,  to  make 
some  explanations  concerning  the 
past  and  present  acts  and  opinions 
by  which  Dr.  Dollinger  has  gradually 
but  surely  approached  and  finally 
reached  his  present  position  of  open, 
declared  rebellion  against  the  infalli- 
ble authority  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

Dr.  Dollinger  has  been  living,  until 
a  recent  period,  upon  the  reputation 
which  he  had  acquired  during  his 
earlier  career  as  a  professor  and  an 
author,  supported  by  his  high  rank 
in  the  church  as  a  mitred  prelate, 
and  in  the  state  as  a  member  of  the 
Bavarian  House  of  Peers.  His  great 
intellectual  gifts  and  extensive  learn- 
ing in  the  department  of  history  have 
never  been  questioned,  and  he  was 
deservedly  honored  through  a  long 
course  of  years  as  one  of  the  chief 
ornaments  and  ablest  advocates  of 
the  Catholic  religion  in  Germany. 
The  relative  superiority  very  com- 


monly assigned  to  him,  however,  we 
are  inclined  to  think,  is  only  imagin- 
ary. Even  in  history  he  has  met 
with  some  very  severe  defeats  from 
antagonists  more  powerful  than  him- 
self, and  in  philosophy  and  theology 
he  has  never  shown  himself  to  be  a 
master.  He  is  now  an  old  man, 
seventy-three  years  of  age,  having 
spent  above  forty  ye^rs  of  this  pe- 
riod in  his  professorial  chair  at  the 
University  of  Munich.  During  the 
earlier  part  of  his  life,  as  is  proved 
by  unimpeachable  testimony,  he  was 
a  strict  Ultramontane  in  his  theolo- 
gy. The  gradual  progress  by  which 
he  went  slowly  down  the  declivity 
towards  his  present  position  we  can- 
not pretend  to  trace  accurately.  It 
is  certain,  however,  that  no  public 
expression  of  opinions  having  a  hete- 
rodox tendency,,  on  his  part,  excited 
any  general  notice  before  the  year 
1  86  1.  Even  then,  although  the  mur- 
mur of  dissatisfaction  which  has  been 
growing  louder  ever  since  began  to 
be  heard,  and  the  sure  Catholic  in- 
stinct began  to  make  its  wounded 
susceptibilities  known,  the  substantial 
orthodoxy  and  loyalty  of  Dr.  Dollin- 
ger were  not  questioned  or  even 
doubted.  This  is  proved  by  the  lan- 
guage used  by  the  editor  of  Der 
Katholik  at  that  time,  in  which  he 
says  that  the  book  which  had 
given  offence,  namely,  the  celebrated 
"  Church  and  Churches,"  "  is  imbued 
with  the  genuine  color  of  sincere 
Catholic  faith  and  immovable  fidelity 
to  the  church  and  her  siipreme  head."* 
From  that  date  to  the  present  ti 


*  See  the  second  volume  of  this  periodical  foi 
1861,  and  also  the  number  for  March,  1870. 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


these  first  indistinct  intimations  of 
what  now  appears  as  a  full-blown 
hereby  can  be  seen  in  their  successive 
stages  of  clearer  manifestation  in  the 
writings  and  acts  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 
The  language  used  by  him  is  ambig- 
uous, and  generally  capable  of  being 
understood  in  a  good  sense,  and  his 
steps  are  cautious.  There  is  nothing 
to  compromise  him  seriously,  before 
the  time  of  the  intrigues  which 
went  on  under  his  direction  for  the 
purpose  of  defeating  the  Vatican 
Council.  Looking  back,  however, 
upon  the  dark  ways  in  which  he  has 
been  walking,  and  the  dark  sayings 
which  he  has  been  uttering,  in  the 
light  which  his  present  open  decla- 
ration of  rebellion  casts  behind  him, 
everything  becomes  clear  and  appa- 
rent to  the  day.  There  is  a  continu- 
ity and  a  logical  sequence  manifest  in 
those  ambiguous  utterances,  when 
explained  in  a  schismatical  and  heret- 
ical sense,  which  they  otherwise  could 
not  have.  The  acts  and  expressions 
of  Dr.  Dollinger's  disciples  in  Ger- 
many, France,  and  England  appear 
in  their  coherence  and  in  their  rela- 
tion to  the  instruction  which  they 
received  from  their  master.  More- 
over, a  series  of  historical  facts,  in 
connection  with  the  University  of 
Munieh  and  with  Dr.  Dollinger  him- 
self, show  themselves  in  their  proper 
bearing ;  and  among  other  things  of 
this  kind,  the  secret  end  and  object 
of  the  famous  scientific  congress  of 
Munich  become  perfectly  manifest. 
In  a  word,  Dr.  Dollinger  has  had  an 
idea  which  has  gradually  supplanted 
the  Catholic  idea  in  his  mind,  and 
for  the  sake  of  which  he  has  at  last 
sacrificed  the  last  lingering  remnant 
of  honor,  conscience,  loyalty,  and 
divine  grace  in  his  soul,  and  stooped 
so  low  as  to  write  his  name  at  the 
bottom  of  that  long  and  infamous 
list  of  traitors  and  heretics  against 
whom  none  have  ever  pronounced 


sterner  sentence  of  condemnation 
than  himself.  This  great  idea  has 
been  nothing  less  than  the  reunion 
of  Christendom  on  a  basis  of  compro- 
mise between  the  Catholic  Church 
and  the  Eastern  and  Western  sects, 
excluding  the  supremacy  of  the  Ro- 
man Church  and  Pontiff.  This  is  no 
new  idea  of  Dollinger's.  The  only 
thing  which  was  new  and  original  in 
it  was  the  particular  scheme  or  plan 
of  operation  for  carrying  it  into  effect. 
Even  this  was  not  originated  by  Dol- 
linger himself,  but  first  planted  in  the 
mind  of  Maximilian  II.,  King  of  Ba- 
varia, during  his  youth,  by  Schelling. 
When  this  able  and  enterprising 
prince  ascended  the  throne,  he  un- 
dertook the  extraordinary  task  of  ef- 
fecting a  universal  intellectual  and 
moral  unification  of  Germany,  of 
which  Munich  should  be  the  radi- 
ating centre.  The  union  of  the  diffe- 
rent religious  confessions  formed  a 
principal  part  of  this  plan.  More- 
over, Germany  was  to  become  the 
mighty  power,  after  being  united  in 
herself,  to  bring  all  the  rest  of  Chris- 
tendom into  unity  in  a  perfect  Chris- 
tian civilization,  which  would  then 
extend  itself  triumphantly  through  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  great  lever 
by  which  this  mighty  work  was  to 
be  accomplished  was  to  be  a  society 
of  learned  men  and  able  statesmen, 
directed  by  the  sovereign  authority 
of  the  king  himself.  The  gathering 
point  for  these  learned  men  was  nat- 
urally the  University  of  Munich,  and 
from  the  chairs  of  this  university 
would  proceed  that  teaching,  and 
influence  which  should  train  up  a 
body  of  disciples  ready  to  sustain 
and  carry  out  in  their  various  profes- 
sions and  posts  of  influence  the  grand 
project  conceived  in  the  philosophic 
brain  of  Schelling  and  eagerly  adopt- 
ed by  his  royal  pupil.  As  a  matter 
of  course,  those  professors  of  the 
university  who  were  thoroughly  loyal 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


417 


to  Rome  must  either  submit  to  the 
royal  dictation  or  be  removed.  Phil- 
lipps  and  several  other  distinguished 
professors  sacrificed  their  places  to 
their  conscience.  Dollinger  submit- 
ted. This  was  the  fatal  rock  on 
which  he  split,  the  one  which  has 
caused  injury  or  total  shipwreck  in 
every  age  of  the  church  to  so  many 
eminent  ecclesiastics.  It  was  necessary 
to  choose  between  unconditional  loy- 
alty to  the  spiritual  sovereignty  of  the 
Pope,  or  subserviency  to  the  usurpa- 
tion of  the  temporal  prince.  This 
was  the  real  question  from  the  outset, 
and  hence  Dr.  Dollinger's  utter 
abjuration  of  the  Papal  supremacy  is 
but  the  last  logical  consequence  of 
this  weak  yielding  at  the  beginning. 
Bossuet  yielded  to  Louis  XIV.  in  a 
similar  manner.  But  Bossuet  was  a 
thoroughgoing  theologian,  priest,  and 
bishop.  He  yielded  against  the 
grain,  and  his  heart  was  always  Ro- 
man and  on  the  side  of  the  Pope. 
Therefore  Bossuet  only  marred  but 
did  not  destroy  his  character  -  and 
work  as  a  great  bishop  and  a  great 
writer.  His  Gallicanism  is  only  a 
single  flaw  in  a  majestic  statue.  But 
in  the  case  of  Dollinger,  the  Ger- 
man, the  ambitious  scholar,  the  court- 
ier has  predominated  over  and  fin- 
ally cast  out  entirely  the  Catholic, 
the  theologian,  and  the  priest.  He 
has  not  been  a  passive  tool,  but  a 
most  active  and  energetic  master- 
workman  in  carrying  out  the  plan  of 
Schelling  and  Maximilian.  Never- 
theless, he  has  been  cautious,  secret, 
and  indirect  in  his  method  of  work- 
ing, not  attacking  openly,  but  art- 
fully undermining  the  citadel  of  the 
faith,  throwing  out  hints  and  scatter- 
ing seeds  which  he  left  to  germinate 
in  other  minds,  in  his  published 
works,  and  chiefly  intent  upon  pri- 
vately initiating  certain  chosen  per- 
sons into  his  doctrines.  In  this  way, 
a  subtle  and  deadly  poison  has  long 
VOL.  XIIL — 27 


been  spreading  its  baleful  influence 
among  a  certain  class  of  intellectual 
Catholic  young  men  not  only  in 
Germany,  but  also  in  France  and 
England.  Thank  God!  this  secret 
poisoning  by  concealed  heresy  has 
been  stopped.  The  poison  is  now 
openly  exposed  to  view,  and  adver- 
tised as  a  pleasant  refrigerant  or 
gentle  purgative  medicine,  but  is 
likely  to  deceive  no  one  who  is  in 
good  faith,  for  its  color,  taste,  and 
smell  betray  it;  and  whoever  has 
made  his  head  dizzy  for  awhile  by 
hastily  swallowing  a  few  drops  by 
mistake  is  likely  to  be  trebly  cautious 
for  the  future. 

We  have  already  described  in  ge- 
neral terms  the  Munich  heresy,  but 
we  will  make  a  more  precise  and 
analytical  statement  of  its  principal 
component  elements.  As  we  have 
already  said,  it  proposes  certain  prin- 
ciples and  methods  for  the  recon- 
struction of  Christendom.  First,  the 
Catholic  Church  must  be  reformed 
in  doctrine  and  discipline.  The 
(Ecumenical  Councils  as  far  back  as 
the  Seventh  are  to  be  set  aside.  The 
authority  of  any  (Ecumenical  Council 
is  only  final  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  wit- 
ness of  the  traditional  belief  of  the 
whole  body  of  the  faithful.  The  au- 
thority of  the  decisions  of  the  Holy 
See  must  be  set  aside,  and  the  su- 
premacy of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  be 
reduced  to  a  mere  patriarchal  prima- 
cy. The  state  is  completely  supreme 
and  independent.  Sacred  and  secu- 
lar science  are  exempt  from  all  con- 
trol except  that  of  the  dogmas  of 
faith.  When  the  Catholic  Church  is 
purified  in  doctrine  and  discipline, 
the  other  portions  of  Christendom 
are  to  be  united  with  it  in  one  grand 
whole,  combining  all  that  is  good  in 
each  one  of  them,  and  itself  more 
perfect  than  any.  The  supreme  and 
ultimate  judgment  in  regard  to  reli- 
gious dogmas  is  in  the  universal 


4i8 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


Christian  sentiment  or  consciousness, 
enlightened  and  directed  by  men 
of  science  and  learning. 

To  certain  minds,  there  is  some- 
thing specious  and  high-sounding 
about  this  theory.  It  is,  however,  a 
mere  Russian  ice  palace,  which  melts 
when  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  fall 
upon  it.  It  is  essentially  no  better 
than  the  doctrine  of  Huss  and  Lu- 
ther. It  is  very  nearly  identical  with 
that  of  Dr.  Pusey.  It  is  old  Protest- 
antism revamped,  and  varnished  with 
a  mixture  of  rationalism  and  oriental- 
ism. The  supreme  authority  of  the 
Holy  See  being  set  aside,  and  the 
decrees  of  general  councils  submitted 
to  the  judgment  of  the  great  body 
of  the  clergy  and  people,  where  is 
the  rule  of  faith  ?  Pure  Protestant- 
ism gives  us,  in  lieu  of  -the  infalli- 
ble teaching  authority  of  the  living 
church,  the  Bible,  interpreted  by  the 
private  judgment  of  each  individ- 
ual. The  Munich  theory  gives  us  the 
Bible  and  apostolic  tradition,  inter- 
preted by  the  public  judgment  of  the 
aggregate  mass  of  the  faithful.  But 
how  .is  the  individual  to  determine 
what  that  judgment  is  ?  The  histo- 
rical and  other  documents  by  which 
the  common  and  universal  tradition 
of  all  ages  can  be  ascertained 
are  voluminous.  Moreover,  it  is  a 
matter  of  controversy  how  these  do- 
cuments are  to  be  understood.  Only 
the  learned  can  fully  master  and  un- 
derstand them.  The  common  people 
must,  therefore,  be  instructed  by  the 
learned.  But  the  learned  do  not 
agree  amoug  themselves.  What, 
then,  is  left  for  the  individual,  except 
a  choice  among  these  learned  doctors 
or  among  several  schools  of  doctors 
which  one  he  wiH  follow  ?  This  choice 
must  be  made  by  his  private  judg- 
ment, and,  if  not  a  blind  following  of 
a  leader  or  a  party,  it  must  be  made 
by  a  careful  examination  of  the  evi- 
dences proving  that  this  or  that  man, 


Dr.  Dollinger,  for  example,  thoroughly 
understands  the  Scripture,  the  Fa- 
thers, and  ecclesiastical  history,  and 
truly  interprets  them.  Is  there  any 
hope  of  unity  by  such  a  method  ? 
Is  there  any  hope  of  any  individual, 
even,  arriving  at  certainty  by  it  ?  It 
is  a  return  at  last  to  the  old  Protest- 
ant principle  of  private  judgment, 
with  a  substitution  of  something  far 
more  difficult  than  the  Bible  in  place 
of  the  Bible  which  Luther  substitut- 
ed for  the  church. 

Practically  it  amounts  to  this :  Dr. 
Dollinger  is  the  greatest  and  wisest 
of  men ;  he  knows  all  things.  Take 
his  word  that  so  much  and  no  more 
is  the  sound  orthodox  doctrine  hand- 
ed down  from  the  apostles  and  be- 
lieved in  all  ages,  and  you  are  right. 
Let  the  Pope  and  the  bishops  and  the 
whole  world  believe  and  obey  Dr. 
Dollinger.  It  is  Luther's  old  saying 
repeated  by  a  man  of  less  strength 
and  audacity,  but  equally  absurd  and 
insupportable  pride.  Sic  voleo,  sic  ju- 
beo:  &et  pro  ratione  volutitas*  Pius 
IX.  and  the  bishops  in  the  Vatican 
Council,  so  far  from  complying  with 
the  modest  desires  of  Dr.  Dollinger, 
have  condemned  the  very  radical 
idea  of  his  heresy,  and  all  other  here- 
sies cognate  with  "it,  have  crushed  his 
conspiracy,  and  blown  away  into 
thin  air  the  painted  bubble  of  a  re- 
formed Catholic  Church,  and  a  re- 
union of  Christendom  on  a  basis  of 
compromise.  There  was  no  alterna- 
tive for  Dr.  Dollinger  and  his  parti- 
sans except  submission  to  the  decrees 
of  the  council,  or  to  the  anathema 
by  which  they  were  fortified.  Am- 
ple time  for  reflection  and  delibera- 
tion was  allowed  him,  and  now,  seven 
months  after  the  solemn  promulga- 
tion of  the  decrees  of  the  Council  of 
the  Vatican,  he  has  deliberately  and 


*  Thus  I  will,  thus  I  command  :  let  my  will 
stand  for  a  reason. 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


419 


coolly  refused  submission,  thereby 
openly  and  manifestly  cutting  him- 
self off  from  the  communion  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  His  manner  of 
doing  it  is  a  signal  illustration  of  the 
ridiculous  attitude  which  a  man  of 
sense  is  often  driven  to  assume  when 
he  has  given  himself  up  to  the  sway 
of  pride.  He  desires  the  Archbishop 
of  Munich  to  permit  him  to  be  heard 
in  his  own-  defence  before  a  council 
of  German  bishops,  or  a  court  form- 
ed from  the  Cathedral  Chapter.  If 
this  is  to  be  considered  as  an  appeal 
from  the  Council  of  the  Vatican  to 
another  tribunal,  whose  decision  he 
is  willing  to  submit  to  as  final,  noth- 
ing can  be  more  absurd.  An  appeal 
from  the  supreme  tribunal  to  an  in- 
ferior court  is  certainly  something  un- 
heard of  either  in  civil  or  canon  law. 
The  dogmas  denied  and  rejected  by 
Dr.  Dollinger  have  been  thoroughly 
examined  and  discussed  in  a  general 
council.  Judgment  has  been  pro- 
nounced, and  the  case  is  closed  for 
ever.  The  Archbishop  of  Munich 
and  the  German  prelates  are  bound 
by  this  judgment,  have  assented  to 
it,  and  have  proclaimed  it  to  their 
subjects.  They  have  no  authority  to 
bring  it  under  a  new  examination,  or 
reverse  it,  in  a  judicial  capacity.  If 
they  sit  in  judgment  on  Dr.  Dollin- 
ger, or  any  other  individual  impeach- 
ed of  heresy,  that  judgment  is  their 
paramount  law,  according  to  which 
they  must  decide.  The  only  ques- 
tions which  can  come  before  them  in 
such  a  case  are,  whether  the  person 
who  is  a  defendant  before  their  court 
has  contravened  the  decisions  of  the 
Vatican  Council  by  word  or  writing, 
and  whether  he  is  contumacious  in 
his  error.  It  can  scarcely  be  suppos- 
ed that  a  man  who  refuses  submis- 
sion to  a  general  council  and  the 
Holy  See  could  have  any  intention 
or  disposition  to  submit  to  a  national 
council  or  an  episcopal  court.  The 


only  alternative  supposition  is  that 
he  desired  to  prolong  the  controver- 
sy, to  gain  time,  to  inflame  the 
minds  of  men,  to  create  a  party  and 
inaugurate  a  schism.  Really  and 
truly,  his  demand  amounts  to  this  : 
"  The  majority  of  the  bishops  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  having  been  misled 
by  their  theological  instruction,  have 
made  an  erroneous  decision  in  a  mat- 
ter of  dogma.  I  therefore  request  the 
bishops  of  Germany  to  permit  me  to 
give  them  better  instruction,  and  per- 
suade them  to  recall  their  adhesion 
to  that  decision.  If  that  cannot 
be  done,  I  request  the  Archbishop 
of  Munich  to  do  me  that  favor." 
The  silliness  of  such  a  demand  is 
only  equalled  by  its  effrontery.  Dr. 
Dollinger  must  be  very  far  gone  in- 
deed in  pride  to  fancy  that  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Munich  or  the  German 
prelates  could  think  for  an  instant  of 
making  themselves  his  docile  disci- 
ples, or  entertain  the  thought  of  fol- 
lowing him  into  schism  and  heresy. 
It  is  an  act  of  parting  defiance,  the 
impotent  gesture  of  a  desperate  man, 
whose  last  stronghold  is  crumbling 
under  his  feet,  but  who  prefers  to  be 
buried  under  its  ruins  rather  than  to 
repent  and  return  to  his  allegiance. 

The  appeal  to  German  national 
sympathy  and  prejudice  is  worthy  of 
a  man  whose  worldly  and  selfish 
ambition  has  extinguished  the  last 
spark  of  genuine  Catholic  feeling  in 
his  bosom.  It  is  a  cry  for  sympathy 
to  the  bad  Catholics,  the  Protestants, 
and  the  infidels  of  Germany.  It  is  a  re- 
petition of  that  old  saying  of  Caiphas 
against  Jesus  Christ,  "  The  Romans 
will  come  and  take  away  our  place 
and  nation."  Nothing  can  be  more 
unhistorical  than  the  assertion  that 
Papal  supremacy  wrought  division 
in  the  past  German  Empire,  or  more 
contrary  to  sound  political  wisdom 
than  the  assertion  that  the  same 
threatens  division  in  the  German 


420 


The  Afostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


Empire  of  the  present.  Martin  Lu- 
ther sowed  the  dragon's  teeth  from 
which  sprang  civil  war,  disastrous 
foreign  war,  internal  dissension,  and 
all  the  direful  miseries  which  have 
come  upon  Germany  since  his  inaus- 
picious rebellion  against  the  Holy 
See.  The  so-called  Reformation 
turned  the  Protestant  princes  against 
the  Emperor,  stirred  up  the  revolt  of 
the  peasants,  inspired  the  treachery 
which  opened  the  gates  to  Gustavus 
Vasa,  and  instigated  that  alliance 
with  Louis  XIV.  which  lost  Lorraine 
and  Alsace  to  Germany.  That  infi- 
del liberalism  which  is  the  legitimate 
offspring  of  the  revolt  against  Rome 
is  the  most  dangerous  internal  ene- 
my which  the  present  empire  has  to 
fear.  It  is  summed  up  in  the  list  of 
errors  condemned  by  Pius  IX.  in  his 
Encyclical  and  Syllabus.  On  the 
contrary,  the  complete  restoration  of 
Catholic  unity  and  Papal  supremacy 
in  Germany  would  bring  back  more 
than  the  glories  of  the  former  em- 
pire, and  renew  the  epoch  of  Char- 
lemagne. 

As  for  the  vain  and  feeble  effort 
of  two  or  three  cabinets  to  prohibit 
the  promulgation  of  the  decrees  of 
the  Vatican  Council,  it  is  too  absurd 
to  argue  about,  and  too  harmless  to 
excite  any  alarm  or  indignation. 
Neither  is  there  any  danger  that  Dr. 
Dollinger' s  apostasy  will  cause  any 
serious  defection  among  the  Catholic 
people  of  Germany.  The  professors 
of  the  University  of  Munich  have 
been  appointed  by  the  king.  Some 
are  Protestants,  others  are  infidels, 
and  others  have  been  hitherto  Cath- 
olics in  profession,  but  followers  of 
the  heresy  of  Janus  in  their  heart. 
There  are  many  laymen  and  some 
clergymen  of  the  same  sort  among 
the  professors  of  Germany,  and  a 
certain  number  of  persons  in  other 
walks  of  life,  whose  faith  has  been 
undermined  and  corrupted.  We  have 


always  expected  that  the  Council  of 
the  Vatican  would  cause  a  consider- 
able number  of  defections  from  the 
communion  of  the  church.  But 
we  have  no  expectation  that  this  de- 
fection of  individuals  will  consolidate 
into  a  new  concrete  heresy.  John 
Huss  and  Martin  Luther  have  ex- 
hausted the  probabilities  of  pseudo- 
orthodox  reformation.  Its  race  is 
run.  The  time  for  heresy  is  past. 
Organized  opposition  to  the  Catholic 
Church  in  these  days  must  take  a 
more  consistently  an ti- Christian  form. 
Pius  IX.  and  Garibaldi  represent 
the  only  two  real  parties.  Dollinger 
is  nobody,  and  has  no  place.  That 
a  great  many  baptized  Catholics  have 
totally  renounced  the  faith  is  un- 
doubtedly true.  But  the  Catholic 
people  who  still  retain  the  principles 
and  the  spirit  of  their  traditional  faith 
are  with  Pius  IX.  This  is  true  of 
the  Bavarian  and  other  German  pop- 
ular masses,  as  well  as  of  the  people 
of  other  nations.  The  German  pre- 
lates, the  clergy,  the  nobility,  are 
strong  and  enthusiastic  in  their  al- 
legiance to  the  Holy  See.  The  or- 
thodox theologians  and  savants  can 
wield  the  ponderous  hammer  of 
science  with  as  much  strength  of  aim 
as  any  of  the  scholars  who  have 
been  fostered  in  the  sunshine  of 
royal  favor.  The  boast  made  by 
Dr.  Dollinger  at  the  Congress  of 
Munich  of  the  pre-eminence  which 
Germany  will  gain  in  Catholic  theol- 
ogy and  sacred  science  will  probably 
be  in  part  fulfilled,  though  not  in  the 
sense  which  he  had  in  his  mind.  It 
will  be  fulfilled,  not  by  men  who  bid 
a  haughty  defiance  to  the  saints  and 
doctors  of  the  church,  who  utter 
scornful  words  against  the  scholars 
of  other  nations,  who  are  governed 
by  narrow-minded  national  prejudice - 
and  unreasoning  obstinacy,  and  who 
are  faithless  in  their  allegiance  to 
their  spiritual  sovereign,  while  they 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


421 


are  servilely  obsequious  to  a  tempo- 
ral monarch.  It  will  be  done  by 
true,  genuine  Catholics,  the  legiti- 
mate offspring  of  the  great  men  who 
founded,  governed,  taught,  and  made 
illustrious  the  old  church  and  em- 
pire of  Germany  in  past  ages. 

The  gist  of  the  entire  quarrel  of 
Dr.  Dollinger  with  the  Archbishop 
of  Munich  consists  in  an  appeal  from 
the  supreme  authority  in  the  church 
to  the  principle  of  private  judgment. 
In  form,  it  is  an  appeal  to  the  Holy 
Scriptures  and  the  Fathers,  but  this  is 
only  an  appeal  to  Dr.  Dollinger's 
own  private  interpretation  of  the  true 
sense  of  Scripture  and  the  Fathers. 
It  is  the  same  appeal  which  heretics 
and  schismatics  have  made  in  all 
ages :  Arius,  Nestorius,  Pelagius, 
Huss,  Luther,  Cranmer,  Photius, 
Mark  of  Ephesus,  the  Armenian 
schismatics  of  Constantinople,  and 
all  others  who  have  rebelled  against 
the  Holy  See.  It  is  the  essence  of 
Protestantism,  and  in  the  end  trans- 
forms itself  into  rationalism  and  in- 
fidelity. The  ancient  heretics,  the 
Oriental  schismatics,  Anglicans,  Lu- 
therans, Calvinists,  Unitarians,  all 
have  a  common  principle,  all  are 
Protestants.  That  principle  is  the 
right  of  private  judgment  to  resist 
the  supreme  authority  of  the  Catho- 
lic Church.  So  long  as  private 
judgment  is  supposed  to  be  directed 
by  a  supernatural  light  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  to  possess  in  Scripture  and 
tradition,  or  in  Scripture  alone,  a 
positive  revelation,  Protestantism  is 
a  kind  of  Christianity.  When  the 
natural  reason  is  made  the  arbiter, 
and  the  absolute  authority  of  the 
doctrine  of  Jesus  Christ  as  taught  by 
the  apostles  is  denied,  it  is  a  ration- 
alistic philosophy,  which  remains 
Christian  in  a  modified  and  general 
sense  until  it  descends  so  low  as  to 
become  simply  unchristian  and  infi- 
del. The  Catholic  principle  which 


is  constitutive  of  the  Catholic  Church 
as  a  body,  and  of  each  individual 
Catholic  as  a  member  of  it,  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  authority.  There  is  no  log- 
ical alternative  between  the  two.  One 
or  the  other  must  be  final  and  su- 
preme, the  authority  of  the  church 
or  the  authority  of  the  individual 
judgment.  If  the  authority  of  the 
church  is  supreme,  no  individual  or 
aggregate  of  individuals  can  reject  or 
even  question  its  decisions.  It  is  the 
Catholic  doctrine  that  authority  is 
supreme.  The  church  is  constituted 
by  the  organic  unity  of  bishops, 
clergy,  and  people,  with  their  Head, 
the  Bishop  of  Rome,  the  successor  of 
St.  Peter.  He  is  the  Vicar  of  Christ, 
and  possesses  the  plenitude  of  apos- 
tolic and  episcopal  authority.  His 
judgment  is  final  and  supreme,  Avheth- 
er  he  pronounces  it  with  or  without 
the  judicial  concurrence  of  an  oecu- 
menical council.  This  has  always 
been  the  recognized  doctrine  and 
practice  of  the  church.  It  is  nothing 
more  or  less  than  Papal  supremacy 
as  existing  and  everywhere  believed, 
as  much  before  as  after  the  Council 
of  the  Vatican.  The  word  "  infalli- 
bility," like  the  words  "  consubstan- 
tial  "  and  "  transubstantiation,"  is  only 
the  precise  and  definite  expression  of 
that  which  has  long  been  a  dogma 
defined  under  other  terms,  and  al- 
ways been  contained  in  the  universal 
faith  of  the  church  based  on  Scripture 
and  apostolic  tradition.  The  first 
Christians  were  taught  to  obey  im- 
plicitly the  teachings  of  St.  Peter  and 
the  apostles,  because  they  had  re- 
ceived authority  from  Jesus  Christ. 
There  was  nothing  said  about  infalli- 
bility, because  the  idea  was  sufficient 
ly  impressed  upon  their  minds  in  a 
more  simple  and  concrete  form. 
Their  descendants,  in  like  manner, 
believed  in  the  teaching  of  the  suc- 
cessors of  the  apostles  because  they 
had  inherited  their  divine  authority. 


422 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dbllinger. 


Whoever  separated  from  the  Roman 
Church  and  was  condemned  by  the 
Roman  Pontiff  was  at  once  known 
to  have  lost  all  authority  to  teach. 
The  teaching  of  the  bishops  in  com- 
munion with  the  Roman  Church,  and 
approved  by  the  Roman  Pontiff,  was 
always  known  to  be  the  immediate 
and  practical  rule  of  faith.  Who- 
ever taught  anything  contrary  to 
that  was  manifestly  in  error,  and, 
if  contumacious,  a  heretic,  who 
must  be  cast  out  of  the  church, 
however  high  his  rank  might  be. 
Moreover,  the  Roman  Pontiff  decid- 
ed all  controversies,  and  issued  his 
dogmatic  decrees  to  all  bishops,  who 
were  required  to  receive  and  promul- 
gate them  under  pain  of  excommu- 
nication. This  unconditional  obedi- 
ence to  an  external  authority  evi- 
dently presupposes  that  the  authority 
obeyed  is  rendered  infallible  by  the 
supernatural  assistance  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  Hence,  the  express  and  ex- 
plicit profession  of  the  infallibility  of 
the  church  as  a  dogma  of  faith  has 
been  universal  ever  since  it  has 
been  made  a  distinct  object  of  thought 
and  exposition.  It  is  nothing  more 
than  a  distinct  expression  of  one  part 
of  the  idea  that  the  church  has  divine 
and  supreme  authority  to  teach,  with  a 
corresponding  obligation  on  the  faith- 
ful to  believe  her  teaching.  In  like 
manner,  the  divine  and  supreme  au- 
thority of  the  Pope  to  teach  includes 
and  implies  infallibility,  as  the  vast 
majority  of  bishops  and  theologians 
have  always  held  and  taught.  The 
erroneous  opinion  that  the  express 
or  tacit  acquiescence  of  the  bishops  is 
necessary  to  the  finality  of  pontifi- 
cal decrees  in  matters  pertaining  to 
faith  and  doctrine,  was  tolerated  by 
the  Holy  See  until  the  definitions  of 
the  Council  of  the  Vatican  were  pro- 
mulgated. The  infallibility  of  the 
church  itself  produces  this  agreement 
of  the  episcopate  with  its  head.  In 


fact,  therefore,  and  practically,  the 
pontifical  decrees  were  always  sub- 
mitted to  by  good  Catholics,  and 
the  Holy  See  did  not  formally  and 
expressly  exact  any  more  than  this 
as  a  term  of  Catholic  communion. 
Dr.  Dollinger  and  others  of  the  same 
stamp  took  advantage  of  this  tolera- 
tion of  an  illogical  and  erroneous 
opinion  to  undermine  the  doctrine  of 
Papal  supremacy  and  the  authority 
of  oecumenical  councils.  The  Pope 
cannot  possess  the  supreme  power 
of  teaching  and  judging,  they  argu- 
ed, without  infallibility.  He  is  not 
infallible,  therefore,  he  is  not  su- 
preme. Moreover,  the  only  certain 
criterion  by  which  we  know  that  a 
council  is  oecumenical  is  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  Pope.  If  he  is  not  infal- 
lible, he  may  err  in  giving  this  sanc- 
tion. Thus,  the  way  was  opened  to 
dispute  the  authority  of  the  Coun- 
cils of  Trent,  Lateran,  Florence,  etc., 
and  to  rip  up  the  whole  texture  of 
Catholic  doctrine,  just  so  far  as  suit- 
ed the  notions  of  these  audacious 
innovators.  The  event  has  proved 
how  opportune  and  necessary  was 
that  distinct  and  precise  definition 
of  the  infallibility  of  the  Roman  Pon- 
tiff which  has  for  ever  shut  out  the 
possibility  of  sheltering  a  fundamen- 
tal heresy  like  that  of  Dollinger  be- 
hind an  ambiguous  expression.  There 
is  now  no  more  chance  for  evading 
the  law  and  remaining  ostensibly  a 
Catholic.  The  law  is  clear  and  plain. 
All  dogmatic  decrees  of  the  Pope, 
made  with  or  without  his  general 
council,  are  infallible  and  irreforma- 
ble.  Once  ma.de,  no  pope  or  coun- 
cil can  reverse  them.  There  is  no 
choice  left  to  the  prelates  about 
enforcing  them  on  their  clergy  aad 
people.  No  clergyman  holds  his  po- 
sition, and  no  one  of  the  faithful  is 
entitled  to  the  sacraments,  on  any 
other  terms  than  entire  submission 
and  obedience.  This  is  the  Catholic 


The  Apostasy  of  Dr.  Dollinger. 


423 


principle,  that  the  church  cannot  err 
in  faith.  She  has  declared  it  to  be 
an  article  of  faith  that  the  Roman 
Pontiif,  speaking  ex  cathedrd,  as  the 
supreme  doctor  of  the  church,  is  in- 
fallible. It  is  therefore  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms  for  a  person  who  denies 
or  doubts  this  doctrine  to  call  himself 
a  Catholic.  We  cannot  too  con- 
stantly or  earnestly  impress  this  truth 
on  the  minds  of  the  Catholic  people, 
that  the  rule  of  faith  is  the  present, 
concrete,  living,  and  perpetual  teach- 
ing of  that  supreme  authority  which 
Christ  has  established  in  the  church. 
We  believe,  on  the  veracity  of  God, 
by  a  supernatural  faith  which  is  giv- 
en by  the  Holy  Ghost  in  baptism, 
those  truths  which  the  holy  church 
proposes  to  our  belief.  The  church 
can  never  change,  never  reform  her 
faith,  never  retract  her  decisions,  ne- 
ver dispense  her  children  from  an  ob- 
ligation she  has  once  imposed  on 
them  of  receiving  a  definition  as  the 
true  expression  of  a  dogma  contain- 
ed in  the  divine  revelation.  To  do 
so,  would  be  to  destroy  herself,  and 
fall  down  to  the  level  of  the  sects. 
The  idle  talk  of  writers  for  the  secu- 
lar press,  whether  they  pretend  to 
call  themselves  Catholics  or  not, 
about  the  church  conforming  herself 


to  liberal  principles  and  the  spirit  of 
the  age  is  simply  worthy  of  laughter 
and  derision.  No  Catholic  who  has 
a  grain  of  sense  will  pay  any  heed 
to  opinions  or  monitions  coming 
from  such  an  incompetent  source. 
The  church  is  the  only  judge  of  the 
nature  and  extent  of  her  own  pow- 
ers, and  of  the  proper  mode  of  exer- 
cising them.  The  pontiffs,  prelates, 
pastors,  priests,  and  theologians  of 
the  church,  are  her  authorized  expo- 
sitors and  interpreters,  her  advocates 
and  defenders.  Those  who  desire  to 
be  her  worthy  members,  and  those 
who  wish  to  learn  what  she  really  is, 
will  seek  from  them,  and  from  them 
only,  or  from  authors  and  writings 
which  they  have  sanctioned,  instruc- 
tion in  the  true  Catholic  doctrine. 
The  unhappy  man  whose  defection 
has  called  forth  these  remarks  has 
lost  his  place  in  the  Catholic  hierar- 
chy, and  henceforth  he  is  of  no  more 
account  than  any  other  sectarian 
of  past  times  or  of  the  present. 
The  ecclesiastical  historian  Avill  re- 
cord his  name  in  the  list  of  the 
heretics  of  the  'nineteenth  century, 
and  his  peculiar  ideas  will  pass 
into  oblivion,  except  as  a  matter 
of  curious  research  to  the  scho- 
lar. 


False   Views  of  Saintship. 


FALSE   VIEWS   OF   SAINTSHIP. 


WE  often  hear  the  saints  spoken 
of  as  men  of  another  race  and  sta- 
ture than  ourselves,  splendid  master- 
pieces of  perfection  meant  to  be  ad- 
mired from  a  distance,  but  certainly 
not  to  be  copied  with  loving  and 
minute  care. 

Now,  this  is  a  mistake — the  most 
fatal  mistake  for  ourselves;  for  we 
thus  tie  clown  our  faculties  to  com- 
monplace life,  and  refuse  to  give 
them  the  wider  scope  that  nature 
herself  meant  for  their  exercise;  the 
most  unfortunate  mistake  for  religion, 
because  in  making  her  heroes  inac- 
cessible and  almost  unnatural,  we  de- 
ter others  from  laudable  efforts,  and 
attach  to  our  faith  the  stigma  of  pre- 
sent sterility. 

Not  only  can  each  one  of  us  be- 
come a  saint,  and  that  by  a  simple 
and  ordinary  course  of  life,  but  the 
canonized  saints  themselves  bear  wit- 
ness that  they  reached  heaven  in  no 
other  way,  and  attained  their  crowns 
by  no  other  means.  The  saint,  be 
assured  of  it,  is  the  truest  gentleman, 
the  pleasantest  companion,  and  most 
faithful  friend. 

He  is  no  morose  misanthrope,  no 
disenchanted  cynic;  he  is  a  man 
with  all  the  natural  feelings  of  hu- 
manity, all  the  amiable  traits  of  good- 
fellowship,  all  the  nameless  graces  of 
good  society.  There  is  no  pleasing, 
amenity  of  human  intercourse,  no 
rational  exchange  of  human  senti- 
ments, no  harmless  relaxation  of  a 
refined  mind,  that  need  be  foreign 
to  his  nature,  and  a  stranger  to  his 
heart. 

All  men  prize  honor  and  straight- 
forwardness ;  they  welcome  cheerful- 


ness and  vivacity ;  they  admire  a 
strong  will ;  love  of  nature  and  art, 
sympathy  with  suffering  and  with 
poverty,  zealousness  in  the  cause  of 
learning,  are  all  passports  to  their 
favor,  and  incline  them  to  seek  the 
friendship  and  trust  the  advice  of 
those  in  whom  these  qualities  shine. 

Now,  if  we  show  them  that  canon- 
ized saints  and  great  men  well  known 
in  the  annals  of  the  church  have  al- 
ways been  distinguished  by  these 
traits,  will  they  refuse  to  admit  that 
the  more  a  man  loves  his  God,  the 
fitter  he  is  to  win  human  sympathy 
and  command  human  imitation  ? 

The  saints  have  not  seldom  been 
unfairly  treated,  and  chiefly  by  their 
overzealous  biographers ;  for  their 
holiness  has  been  distilled  into  such 
ethereal  and  miraculous  abstractions 
that  we  no  more  dream  of  grasping 
it  as  a  means  of  encouragement  than 
we  do  of  seizing  for  nourishment  up- 
on the  summer  clouds  whose  lovely 
shapes  entrance  our  eyes  in  the  west- 
ern heavens. 

Every  one  of  the  saints  had  an  in- 
dividual character,  touching  weak- 
nesses of  disposition  and  innocent 
partialities  of  nature.  Every  one  of 
them  went  to  heaven  by  a  separate 
road,  and  his  specialty  of  human 
and  natural  character  alone  deter- 
mined that  road.  Some  were  kings 
and  emperors,  princes  and  popes, 
and  great  men  of  the  earth;  they 
had  to  wear  soft  garments  and  er- 
mine robes,  and  spend  much  time  in 
the  display  their  state  required.  Now, 
many  sanctimonious  persons  would 
have  us  believe  that  such  display  is 
absolutely  and  in  itself  wrong,  and 


False   Vicivs  of  SaintsJiip. 


425 


can  under  no  circumstances  be  al- 
lowable. The  church  thinks  other- 
wise, and  more  generously,  and  has 
canonized  these  men. 

Some  were  beggars  or  servants, 
mechanics  or  husbandmen ;  passed 
their  days  in  menial  pursuits,  and  ap- 
parently had  their  minds  occupied 
only  by  the  sordid  necessities  of  their 
humble  degree.  Many  presumptu- 
ous people  like  to  tell  us  that  servile 
work  deteriorates  the  mind,  that  beg- 
gary is  invariably  a  criminal  state, 
that  poverty  dwarfs  the  understand- 
ing and  hardens  the  heart.  The 
church  thinks  otherwise,  and  more 
charitably,  and  these  too  she  has  ca- 
nonized. 

Again,  some  were  statesmen  and 
scholars,  and  the  wranglings  of  courts, 
the  tumult  of  embassies,  the  disputes 
of  universities,  were  the  daily  atmo- 
sphere they  breathed.  Some  officious 
persons  tell  us  plainly  that  solitude  is 
the  only  nurse  of  holiness,  and  that, 
with  these  surroundings,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  live  unbewildered  by  the  world's 
noise  and  untainted  by  the  world's 
corruption.  The  church  thinks  oth- 
erwise, and  more  liberally,  and  has 
canonized  these  men  also. 

No  station  in  life  is  too  low  or 
too  high  for  Go'd  to  look  upon,  and 
therefore  not  too  low  nor  too  high 
for  God's  saints  to  thrive  in. 

The  secret  of  saintship  lies  in  the 
power  of  a  man  to  fashion  his  sur- 
roundings, and  mould  the  circum- 
stances attendant  on  his  lot  in  life, 
till  he  makes  them  into  a  ladder 
wherewith  to  climb  to  heaven. 

Suppose  a  man  is  born  to  high 
destinies,  and  a  great  fortune  :  they 
are  ready-made  instruments  in  his 
hand  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the 
good  of  his  neighbor.  Let  him  re- 
collect that  Jesus  was  of  a  royal  race, 
and  was  visited  by  Eastern  kings. 

Suppose,  on  the  contrary,  he  is 
born  poor,  and  sees  no  means  of  fu- 


ture advancement  all  his  life  :  there 
again  are  his  weapons  chosen  for 
him  to  fight  the  good  fight.  Let 
him  remember  that  Jesus  was  born 
in  a  stable,  and  lived  in  a  carpenter's 
shop. 

If  a  man  is  clever,  intellectual,  ta- 
lented, his  road  to  heaven  lies  in  the 
good  use  he  makes  of  these  gifts  of 
mind ;  if  he  is  cheerful,  good-humor- 
ed, well-bred,  his  road  to  heaven  lies 
in  the  charitable  use  he  makes  of  his 
natural  attractiveness ;  if  he  is  plac- 
ed in  circumstances  that  grievously 
try  his  temper  and  his  patience,  long- 
suffering,  resignation,  and  gentleness 
will  be  the  evident  path  for  him ;  if 
surrounded  by  difficulties  and  occu- 
pying a  responsible  position,  discre- 
tion and  delicacy  will  be  his  appoint- 
ed road. 

There  is  no  forcing  the  spiritual 
life ;  it  grows  out  of  the  natural  life, 
and  is  only  the  natural  life,  shorn  of 
self  and  self-love,  supernaturalized. 

Life  is  a  battle ;  we  all  have  to 
fight  it,  but  even  in  a  material  com- 
bat, what  general  would  arm  all  his 
soldiers  alike  ?  Are  there  not  caval- 
ry and  infantry,  lancers  and  riflemen  ? 
Do  not  some  wield  the  sword,  others 
man  the  guns  ?  So  in  the  combat 
whose  promised  land  is  paradise ;  we 
fight  each  with  diverse  weapons,  and 
our  one  thought  should  be,  not  to 
envy  others  their  arms,  but  do  effec- 
tual service  with  our  own.  Men  fight 
one  way,  women  another.  Both  can 
fight  as  well ;  but  only  by  using  their 
own  weapons. 

There  is  an  old  French  fable  that 
speaks  of  the  frog  who  sought  to 
swell  himself  to  the  size  of  the  ox, 
forgetting  that  he  could  be  as  happy 
and  as  useful  in  his  small  fish-pond  as 
the  larger  animal  in  his  spacious  mea- 
dow. He  would  not  be  a  frog,  but 
of  course  he  could  not  become  an  ox, 
so  he  died  of  his  effort,  and  the  world 
counted  one  worker  less.  Just  so  do 


420 


False   Views  of  SaintsJiip. 


some  of  us  act  when  we  sigh  over  the 
life  of  some  great  saint  of  old,  and, 
putting  down  the  book  in  sentimental 
admiration  as  barren  as  it  is  use- 
less, cry  out,  "  If  only  /  could  be  an 
Augustine,  a  Theresa,  a  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas !"  To  such  might  we  answer  : 
"  Do  you  know  why  they  were 
saints?  Because  they  acted  up  to 
the  lights  they  had.  \iyou  act  up  to 
your  inferior  but  no  less  true  lights, 
you  too  will  be  a  saint."  If  Augus- 
tine, and  Theresa,  and  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas had  spent  their  lives  in  sterile 
sentimentality,  calling  upon  the  dead 
saints  before  them,  where  would  they 
have  been,  and  who  would  have 
heard  of  their  names  ?  At  that  rate, 
there  would  have  been  no  saints  at 
all  after  the  twelve  apostles,  and  even 
they  would  have  sat  down  in  profit- 
less discouragement  because  their 
holiness  could  not  equal  that  of  the 
Son  of  God ! 

Did  not  the  Creator  say  to  all 
things  living,  vegetable  or  animal, 
"  Increase  and  multiply,"  and  "  Let 
the  earth  bring  forth  the  green  herb, 
and  such  as  may  seed,  and  the  fruit- 
tree  bearing  fruit  after  its  kind"  ?  In 
that  one  commandment  lies  the  se- 
cret spring  of  the  energy  and  fruitful- 
ness  of  every  created  thing,  spiritual 
no  less  than  temporal.  Let  each  one 
of  us  bear  fruit  according  to  his  kind, 
and  God  will  be  satisfied.  Augustine 
and  Gregory,  Thomas  and  Bonaven- 
ture,'  Francis  of  Assisium  and  Francis 
of  Sales,  Charles  Borromeo  and  Vin- 
cent of  Paul,  Philip  Neri  and  Igna- 
tius Loyola,  were  men,  very  men, 
and,  had  they  not  been  men,  they 
could  not  have  been  saints.  We 
mean,  their  sanctity  would  have  been 
other  than  it  actually  was ;  it  would 
have  been  even  as  the  holiness  of 
the  angels,  the  untempted  steadfast- 
ness of  pure  spirits.  Had  they  been 
born  as  the  Blessed  Virgin,  immacu- 
late in  the  very  initial  moment  of  ex- 


istence, they  would  not  have  been  the 
saints  they  are,  the  imitable,  human, 
weakling  beings  we  yearn  over  and 
love  with  a  natural  and  sympathetic 
love. 

Nature,  whatever  people  may  say 
of  her,  is  not  contrary  to  grace  :  not 
in  this  sense  at  least,  that  she  is  the 
field,    and   grace   the   plough.     The 
plough   does  not  alter  the  earth    it 
furrows ;  it  only  prepares  it,  stirs  it, 
turns   its   better   surface   uppermost, 
and  displays  its  richest  loam  to  re- 
ceive the  grain.     As  neither  rain,  nor 
dew,  nor  manure  can  turn  one  soil 
into  another,  so   can  no   efforts   of 
overstrained  piety,  no  devices  of  am- 
bitious   perseverance,    re-create    the 
soul  and  portion  it  anew.     As  God 
made   us,  so   we   stand :   by   taking 
thought,  we  cannot  add  to  our  sta- 
ture one  cubit,  neither  can  we  force  a 
foreign  growth  to  bloom  on  the  low- 
lying  lands  of  our  soul.     One  sort  of 
grain  grows  best  in  one  sort  of  earth. 
Would   any  husbandman  dream  of 
planting  the  wrong  grain  in  it  ?     God 
is  a  husbandman,  and  shall  he  do 
less  well  than  mortal  man,  and  shall 
he  endeavor  to  force  one  soil  to  bear 
the  crop  it  cannot  nourish  ?     No,  no ! 
God  gave  us  one  nature  as  well  as 
the  graces  he  plants  therein,  and  we 
may  trust  to  him  to  see  the   harvest 
reaped.     It  is  men,  it  is  ourselves, 
who  interfere  with  our  sowing  and 
reaping  time ;  it  is  ourselves,  who  am- 
bitiously seek  to  grow  grain  we  can 
never  rear,  or  it  is  others  who  mali- 
ciously sow  tares  in  a  soil  they  too 
quickly   overrun.      Then   the  world 
will  see  in  us  her  saints,  men  going 
simply  through   the   round   of  their 
daily    duties,   very   unostentatiously, 
very  quietly,  never  boasting,  because 
to   have   time   to   boast    they   must 
needs   leave   off  their  work ;   never 
lamenting,    because   to   lament  they 
would  have  to  leave  off  their  prayer; 
but  letting  their  nature  fill  itself  to 


New  Publications. 


427 


the  brim  with  God,  and,  when  it  is 
full,  letting  it  quietly  overflow  to  their 
neighbor. 

That  sounds  very  simple,  does  it 
not  ?  Yes,  because  everything  that 
belongs  to  God  is  simplicity  itself, 
and  the  more  simple  a  man  is,  the 
nearer  God  he  is. 

All  the  great  men  and  women 
whose  names  stud  the  calendar  of 
the  church  owed  their  greatness  to 
their  simplicity,  and  the  words  of  the 
greatest  saint  that  ever  lived,  the 
words  of  her,  were  they  not  the  sim- 


plest ever  found  on  record :  "  Be  it 
done  unto  me  according  to  thy 
word  "  ? 

Saints  of  our  timid  generation, 
saints  of  our  half-hearted  century, 
saints  of  our  hitherto  barren  civiliza- 
tion, start  up,  and  fill  the  plains  and 
the  valleys  of  all  lands,  fill  the  offices 
of  the  city  and  the  homes  of  the 
citizens,  fill  the  church,  the  courts, 
the  universities,  fill  the  lowly  serried 
ranks  of  the  poor,  fill  the  more  bur- 
dened and  more  responsible  phalanx 
of  the  noble  and  the  rich  ! 


NEW   PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ST.  THOMAS  OF  AQUIN.  By 
Father  Vaughan,  O.S.B.  London :  Long- 
mans, Brown,  Green  &  Co.  Vol.  I 
For  sale  by  The  Catholic  Publication 
Society,  New  York. 

This  is  a  good  stout  volume,  like 
St.  Thomas  himself.  It  is  a  book 
for  its  outward  appearance  such  as 
we  seldom  see.  We  have  many  well- 
printed  books,  but  this  one  is  re- 
markable for  its  large,  clear  type, 
which  makes  it  pleasant  and  easy 
to  read.  The  subject  is  one  of  the 
greatest  interest  and  importance. 
The  life  and  times  of  St.  Thomas 
have  a  peculiar  charm  about  them, 
aside  from  the  history  of  his  genius, 
and  of  his  philosophical  and  theolo- 
gical system.  The  two  together 
make  a  theme  which  far  surpasses 
in  grandeur  and  attractiveness  even 
the  history  of  the  majority  of  great 
saints.  St.  Thomas  is  the  great  doc- 
tor of  the  church.  His  intellectual 
sway  is  something  without  a  parallel. 
The  study  of  his  works  is  on  the  in- 
crease, and  he  is  likely  to  acquire 
even  a  greater  and  more  universal 
sway  than  he  enjoyed  before  the  Re- 
formation. We  have  never  before  had 


a  really  good  biography  of  St.  Tho- 
mas in  English.  Father  Vaughan  has 
taken  hold  of  the  work  with  zeal 
and  ability.  It  is  only  half  publish- 
ed as  yet,  but  the  first  volume  pre- 
sents so  large  a  portion  of  the  angel- 
ic doctor's  life  before  us  that  we 
can  estimate  its  value  as  well  as  if 
we  had  the  whole.  An  analysis  of 
some  of  the  principal  works  of  St. 
Thomas  is  given  by  F.  Vaughan,  and 
he  endeavors  to  present  to  the  rea- 
der a  picture  of  the  times  when  he 
lived,  as  well  as  to  describe  the 
events  of  his  personal  history. 
Every  student  should  have  this 
book.  It  is  indeed  a  wonderful 
thing  to  see  such  a  specimen  of 
genuine  old  monastic  literature  is-  \ 
suing  from  the  English  press.  It 
makes  us  hope  that  England  may 
yet  become  once  more  the  merrie 
Catholic  England  of  the  olden  time. 

MY  STUDY  WINDOWS.  By  James  Russell 
Lowell,  A.M.,  Professor  of  Belles- 
Lettres  in  Harvard  College.  Boston  : 
James  R.  Osgood  &  Co.  1871. 

Met  with  in  the  pages  of  a  review 
or  magazine,  Mr.  Lowell's  prose  is 


428 


Neiv  Publications. 


always  sure  to  be  more  or  less  plea- 
sant reading.  His  wit,  his  refine- 
ment, and  a  certain  something  which 
we  are  only  unwilling  to  call  his  de- 
licacy of  appreciation,  because,  in 
spite  of  his  generally  acknowledg- 
ed merits  as  a  critic,  he  seems  to  us 
not  always  perfectly  reliable  in  that 
capacity,  always  find  him  willing 
and  amused  readers.  But  when  he 
shuts  up  too  much  of  his  work  at 
once  between  a  pair  of  covers,  and 
gives  whoever  will  a  too  easy  oppor- 
tunity of  comparing  him  with  him- 
self, we  doubt  whether  even  his  ad- 
mirers— a  class  in  which  we  are  not 
unwilling  to  include  ourselves — do 
not  find  him  a  little  wearisome,  and 
discover  in  him  a  poverty  of  sugges- 
tion and  a  timidity  of  thought  which 
gibbet  him  as  a  book-maker,  al- 
though, being  in  a  measure  counter- 
balanced by  an  abundance  of  lighter 
merits,  they  would  have  left  him 
an  easy  pre-eminence  over  most  of 
his  contemporaries  as  a  magazinist. 
Nor,  if  we  may  for  once  adopt  a 
method  of  criticism  from  which  our 
author  himself  is  not  averse^  and 
trust  our  instinct  to  read  between 
the  lines,  is  Mr.  Lowell  altogether 
free  from  a  suspicion  that  such  may 
possibly  be  the  case — and  that,  as 
affecting  his  own  culture  and  habit 
of  mind  also,  it  was  a  far-reaching 
mistake  in  our  Puritan  ancestors  to 
cut  themselves  quite  asunder  from 
the  traditions  of  the  past  before 
they  came  here  to  establish  free 
thinking  and  free  religion  along  with 
a  free  government.  However  it 
may  be  with  government,  neither 
thought  nor  faith  seems  to  flourish 
well  without  having  its  roots  in 
,the  past.  Like  their  transcenden- 
talist  sons,  our  New  England  proge- 
nitors were  themselves  "  Apostles 
of  the  Newness,"  and  simply  ante- 
dated them  by  a  few  generations  in 
the  experiment  of  throwing  over- 
board a  great  deal  of  valuable  freight, 
and  trying  to  right  themselves  by 
laying  in  a  supply  of  useless  ballast. 
The  sentiment  which  they  dignified 
by  the  name  of  trust  in  Providence 


appears  nowadays  under  a  less  equi- 
vocal disguise  as  self-reliance  ;  and 
while  it  produces  certain  easily  ap- 
preciable results  both  in  society  and 
literature,  it  makes  instability,  a 
want  of  solidity,  and  an  absence  of 
germinative  force  permanent  cha- 
racteristics of  both  of  them.  Not, 
however,  to  make  an  essay  on  a 
sufficiently  suggestive  topic,  but  to 
confine  ourselves  to  the  particular 
matter  in  hand,  it  is  perhaps  Mr. 
Lowell's  thin-skmnedness  as  an  au- 
thor, and  a  characteristic  modesty 
as  to  the  value  of  his  utterances, 
none  the  less  apparent  for  being  put 
carefully  out  of  sight,  which  give 
him,  to  our  thinking,  his  best  claim 
to  the  liking  of  his  readers — while 
at  the  same  time  it  is  a  modesty  so 
well  justified  by  the  actual  state  of 
the  case  as  to  explain  why  it  is  that 
one  is  always  more  ready  to  accept 
with  satisfaction  what  he  has  to  say 
about  an  author  whose  claims  have 
been  tested  by  more  than  one  gen- 
eration of  critics,  than  to  trust  him 
for  a  thoroughly  reliable  estimate  of 
a  literary  workman  of  to-day.  Even 
in  the  former  case  one  inclines  to 
believe  that  he  may  sometimes  feel 
a  just  preference  for  his  own  opin- 
ions in  contradistinction  to  those  of 
Mr.  Lowell — who  is  not,  for  instance, 
likely  to  elicit  much  intelligent  sym- 
pathy with  his  verdict  on  the  poeti- 
cal merits  of  the  "  Rape  of  the 
Lock."  By  far  the  pleasantest  por- 
tions of  the  present  volume  are  the 
three  opening  essa)rs,  in  which  Mr. 
Lowell  quite  forgets  that  he  is  a 
critic,  or,  at  least,  that  he  is  a  critic 
of  books.  The  essays  on  Carlyle 
and  Thoreau  contain  also  a  good 
deal  of  sound,  if  not  particularly 
subtle,  criticism  ;  and  in  general,  al- 
though the  book  does  not  show  Mr. 
Lowell  in  his  most  characteristic 
vein,  it  pleases  us  all  the  better  on 
that  account,  as  giving  us  what  sub- 
stance there  is  in  his  thought,  with 
much  less  than  ordinary  of  the 
technical  brilliancy  which  wea- 
ries quite  as  often  as  it  enter- 
tains. 


Publications. 


429 


DION  AND  THE  SIBYLS.  A  Classic  Chris- 
tian Novel.  By  Miles  Gerald  Keon, 
Colonial  Secretary,  Bermuda,  author 
of  "Harding  the  Money- Spinner,"  etc. 
New  York  :  Catholic  Publication  So- 
ciety. 1871.  I  vol.  Svo,  pp.  224. 

Dion  and  the  Sibyls  is  a  work  of 
uncommon  merit,  and  may  be  class- 
ed, in  our  opinion,  with  Fabiola  and 
Callista,  which  is  the  highest  com- 
pliment we  could  possibly  pay  to  a 
romance  of  the  early  period  of  Chris- 
tian history.  The  Dion  of  the  story 
is  Dionysius  the  Areopagite  in  his 
youth,  and  before  his  conversion. 
The  Sibyls  are  introduced  in  refer- 
ence to  their  predictions  of  a  com- 
ing Saviour  of  mankind.  The  ob- 
ject of  the  author  is  to  exhibit  the 
fearful  need  which  existed  in  heath- 
en society  for  a  divine  intervention, 
and  the  general,  widespread  desire 
and  expectation  of  such  an  event 
at  the  time  when  our  Lord  actually 
appeared  on  the  earth.  This  is  done 
by  means  of  a  plot  which  is  woven 
from  the  personal  history  of  a  ne- 
phew of  Lepidus  the  Triumvir,  a 
young  Roman  noble  of  Greek  edu- 
cation, and  an  intimate  friend  of 
Dionysius,  who  came  to  Rome  with 
his  mother  and  sister  at  the  close 
of  the  reign  of  Augustus,  to  claim 
the  sequestrated  estate  of  his  father, 
one  of  the  generals  who  helped  to 
win  the  battle  of  Philippi.  The  ap- 
peal of  the  young  Paulus  yEmilius 
Lepidus,  to  Augustus  at  a  time  when 
the  latter  was  visiting  the  wealthy 
Knight  Mamurra  at  his  superb  villa 
at  Formiae,  and  a  plot  of  Tiberius 
Csesar  to  carry  off  Agatha,  the  young 
man's  sister,  afford  an  occasion  of 
describing  the  principal  persons  of 
the  Roman  court.  This  is  done  in 
a  graphic  and  masterly  manner.  The 
representation  of  the  aged  Augus- 
tus is  something  perfect  in  its  kind. 
The  portraits  of  Tiberius,  Germani- 
cus,  Caligula,  then  a  child,  the  royal 
ladies,  Sejanus  the  Praetorian  pre- 
fect,Velleius  Paterculus,  Thellus  the 
chief  of  the  gladiators,  and  a  num- 
ber of  other  persons  representing 
various  classes  of  Romans,  are  ad- 


mirably and  vividly  drawn.  The 
breaking  of  the  ferocious  Sejan 
horse  by  the  young  /Emilius  at  the 
public  games  of  Formioe  is  a  scene 
of  striking  originality  and  power. 
The  campaign  of  Germanicus  against 
the  Germans  is  also  well  described. 
In  fact,  Mr.  Keon  makes  the  old 
Roman  world  reappear  before  us 
like  a  panorama.  He  shows  himself 
to  be  a  thorough  and  minute  classi- 
cal scholar  and  historian  on  every 
page  and  in  every  line.  But  beyond 
and  above  all  this,  he  exhibits  a 
power  of  philosophical  reasoning, 
and  an  insight  into  the  deepest  sig- 
nificance of  Christianity,  which  ele- 
vate his  thrilling  romance  to  the 
rank  of  a  work  of  the  highest  mo- 
ral and  religious  scope.  The  de- 
scription of  the  demons  by  the  Lady 
Plancina  is  an  original  and  awfully 
sublime  conception  surpassing  any- 
thing in  the  Mystique  Diaboiique  of 
Gorres.  The  author's  great  master- 
piece, however,  is  the  argument  of 
Dionysius  on  the  being  of  One  God 
before  the  court  of  Augustus,  a 
piece  of  writing  of  which  any  pro- 
fessed philosopher  might  be  proud. 
The  history  of  Paulus  ^Emilius, 
who  is  really  the-  hero  of  the  work, 
brings  him  at  last  to  Judasa  at  the 
time  of  the  murder  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist,  and  the  closing  scenes  of 
the  life  of  our  Lord.  This  gives  the 
author  the  opportunity  of  describ- 
ing a  momentary  glimpse  which  the 
brave  and  virtuous  Roman  was  fa- 
vored with  of  the  form  and  counte- 
nance of  the  Divine  Redeemer,  as 
he  was  passing  down  the  Mount  of 
Olives.  Mr.  Keon  undertook  a  dif- 
ficult task,  one  in  which  many  have 
failed,  when  he  ventured  on  intro- 
ducing the  august  figure  of  our  Lord 
into  his  picture.  We  are  fastidious 
in  matters  of  this  kind,  and  not  easi- 
ly satisfied  by  an}-  attempt  at  giving 
in  language  what  sculptors  and 
painters  usually  fall  short  of  express- 
ing in  marble  and  on  canvas.  Mr. 
Keon's  bold  effort  pleases  us  so 
much  that  we  cannot  help  wishing 
he  would  try  his  hand  at  some  more 


430 


Nezv  Publications. 


sketches  of  the  same  kind.  We 
should  like  to  see  some  scenes  from 
the  evangelical  history  and  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  produced  under  an 
ideal  and  imaginative  form  with  an 
ability  equal  to  that  which  our  au- 
thor has  displayed  in  his  pictures 
of  the  Augustan  age.  The  success 
of  Kenan's  Life  of  Jesus  is  due  not 
so  much  to  the  popularity  of  his  de- 
testable and  absurd  theories,  as  to 
the  attraction  of  his  theme  and  the 
charm  of  a  vivid,  lifelike  represen- 
tation of  the  scenes,  manners,  and 
events  of  the  period  when  our  Lord 
lived  and  taught  in  Judaea.  A  simi- 
lar work,  produced  in  accordance 
with  the  true  Catholic  idea  of  the 
august,  divine  person  of  the  Son  of 
God  made  man,  would  do  more  to 
counteract  the  poison  of  the  infa- 
mous infidel  literature  of  the  day 
in  the  popular  mind  than  any  grave 
argumentative  treatise.  We  pro- 
nounce Mr.  Keon's  Dion  and  the  Si- 
byls  without  hesitation  to  be  a  dra- 
matic and  philosophical  master- 
piece, and  we  trust  that  he  will  not 
allow  his  genius  to  lie  idle,  but  will 
give  us  more  works  of  the  same  sort. 
Whether  the  vitiated  taste  of  the 
novel-reading  world  will  appreciate 
works  of  so  classical  a  stamp,  we 
are  unable  to  say.  But  all  those 
who  relish  truth  conveyed  through 
the  forms  of  the  purest  art  will 
thank  Mr.  Keon  for  the  pleasure  he 
has  given  them,  if  they  shall,  as  we 
did,  by  chance  take  up  his  book 
and  peruse  it  attentively,  and  will 
concur  with  us  in  wishing  that  a 
work  of  so  much  merit  and  value 
might  be  better  known  and  more 
widely  circulated. 

LITERATURE  AND  LIFE.  Edwin  P.  Whip- 
pie.  Enlarged  Edition.  Boston:  James 
R.  Osgood  &  Co.  1871. 

The  essays  contained  in  this  vol- 
ume are  ten  in  number:  Authors  in 
their  Relations  to  Life  ;  Novels  and 
Novelists ;  Wit  and  Humor ;  The 
Ludicrous  Side  of  Life  ;  Genius  ;  In- 
tellectual Health  and  Disease  ;  Use 
and  Misuse  of  Words  ;  Wordsworth  ; 


;  Stupid  Conservatism  and 
Malignant  Reform. 

Of  these  the  first  six  were  original- 
ly delivered  by  Mr.  Whipple  as  popu- 
lar lectures  many  years  ago,  and 
were  collected  and  published  in  1849. 

The  last  four  articles  are  later 
productions  of  the  author,  and  are 
first  published  together  in  this  en- 
larged edition  of  his  early  work. 

In  a  somewhat  extended  notice 
of  Mr.  Whipple's  essays  on  the  "  Lit- 
erature of  the  Age  of  Elizabeth" 
more  than  a  year  ago,  we  pointed 
out  some  of  his  excellences  and  de- 
fects xs  they  appeared  to  us.  Both 
are  perhaps  even  more  apparent  in 
this  book. 

Its  style  is  marked  by  that  com- 
mand of  expression  for  which  the 
author  is  always  so  remarkable,  and 
is  at  the  same  time  clear,  pointed, 
and  unaffected. 

Yet  the  essays  sometimes  bear 
marks  of  the  object  for  which  they 
were  written,  and  one  cannot  help 
wishing  that  the  author  had  not 
been  so  evidently  restricted  in  the 
materials  he  used  and  in  the  charac- 
teristics of  his  style  by  the  necessi- 
ty of  their  adaptation  to  the  audi- 
ence of  lecture-goers  to  which  they 
were  addressed. 

The  distinctively  critical  essays 
are  the  best,  and  it  is  in  literary  cri- 
ticism that  Mr.  Whipple  is  always 
most  at  home. 

His  appreciative  estimates  of  the 
genius  of  Dickens  and  of  Words- 
worth have,  we  think,  been  very  sel- 
dom equalled  in  force  and  justice  by 
any  of  the  numerous  criticisms  of 
those  authors  which  have  been 
published. 

Those  who  are  familiar  with  Mr. 
Whipple's  essays  will  be  glad  to  see 
them  republished  in  so  elegant  and 
convenient  a  form,  and  those  who 
are  not  cannot  now  do  better  than 
to  make  their  acquaintance. 


FIFTY  CATHOLIC  TRACTS  ON  VARIOUS  SUB- 
JECTS. First  Series.  New  York  :  The 
Catholic  Publication  Society,  9  Warren 
Street.  1871 


New  Publications. 


431 


The  wish  so  often  expressed  of 
seeing  "  The  Catholic  Tracts  "  in  a 
book  form  has  been  met  by  this 
volume.  The  variety  of  its  con- 
tents makes  it  a  book  for  circulation 
among  all  classes  of  society.  Short, 
popular,  and  conclusive  answers 
are  given  on  questions  of  the  day, 
making  it  of  great  value  as  a  work 
of  actual  controversy,  while  not  a 
few  of  the  tracts  are  instructive  and 
devotional,  rendering  it  equally  im- 
portant to  Catholics. 

The  volume  is  printed  on  good 
paper,  and  its  price  brings  it  within 
the  reach  of  every  one.  We  recom- 
mend it  to  the  attention  of  clergy- 
men, and  the  confraternities,  sodali- 
ties, and  Rosary  societies,  as  a  book 
for  distribution  among  a  read- 
ing and  thinking  people  seek- 
ing after  religious  truth.  We  give 
the  preface  entire  : 

"In  the  spring  of  1866,  the  Catholic 
Publication  Society  issued  its  first  tract. 
Since  that  time  it  has  published  fifty 
tracts  on  different  subjects.  More  than 
two  and  one  half  millions  (2,500,000)  of 
these  short  and  popular  papers  have  been 
sold  and  circulated.  This  is  sufficient 
evidence  of  their  value  and  popularity. 

"  Some  of  the  ablest  writers  in  our 
country  have  contributed  to  this  work. 
Although  we  have  never  given  the  names 
of  the  authors,  we  feel  at  liberty  to  say 
that  eminent  prelates  and  learned  theo- 
logians— men  who  have  a  world-wide  re- 
putation—  have  written  many  of  these 
tracts.  A  well-written  tract  often  costs 
more  labor  than  an  essay  or  an  article 
for  a  magazine. 

"  Nor  have  these  tracts  been  written 
and  circulated  without  good  effect.  We 
know  of  Protestants  converted  and  re- 
ceived into  the  church  by  their  means. 
Countless  prejudices  against  our  reli- 
gion have  been  removed,  even  when  per- 
sons have  not  been  led  to  become  Catho- 
lics. Their  minds  have  been  thus  pre- 
pared for  accepting  the  truth  at  some 
future  day.  In  addition  to  this,  we  must 
remember  that  many  of  the  tracts  are 
written  for  the  instruction  of  Catholics. 
Numerous  letters  from  those  in  charge 
of  hospitals,  asylums,  and  prisons,  in  va- 
rious sections  of  our  country,  bear  testi- 
mony to  their  value  in  this  respect. 


"  An  objection  is  sometimes  made  to 
the  word  '  tract.'  We  do  not  altogether 
like  the  word  ourselves.  If  any  friend 
can  suggest  a  better,  we  will  cheerfully 
adopt  it.  Until  then,  we  must  continue 
to  use  it.  Surely  Catholics  have  a  right 
to  any  word  in  the  English  language. 
Sometimes  an  objection  is  made  to  the 
tract  form  of  publication.  Those  who 
have  scruples  on  this  score  are  relieved 
by  the  publication  of  this  volume.  These 
tracts  now  form  a  book.  No  one  can 
fairly  object  to  the  matter  it  contains. 

"  We  trust,  therefore,  that  they  who 
find  benefit  from  this  little  volume  of 
tracts  will  endeavor  to  increase  its  cir- 
culation. To  the  clergy  we  recommend 
Tract  50  as  one  intended  to  place  before 
them  a  practical  method  of  circulating 
Catholic  literature  among  their  people. 
We  cannot  close  without  expressing  the 
strong  desire  to  see  this  volume  spread 
over  the  length  and  breadth  of  our  land." 


MEDITATIONS  ON  THE  LITANY  OF  THE 
MOST  HOLY  VIRGIN.  By  the  Abb6 
Barthe.  Translated  from  the  French 
by  a  Daughter  of  St.  Joseph.  Phila- 
delphia:  P.  F.  Cunningham.  1871. 

This  handsome  work  supplies  a 
want  long  felt.  It  contains  medi- 
tations on  each  phrase  of  the  Litany 
from  the  Kyrte  eleison  to  the  Agnus 
Dei.  These  meditations  are  of  sui- 
table length  for  May  devotions,  and 
are  admirable  for  their  solidity  no 
less  than  for  their  piety.  The  Abbe 
Barthe  is  an  honorable  Canon  of 
Rodey  (France) ;  and  we  cannot  do 
better  than  quote  the  letter  of  his 
bishop.  He  says  :  "  I  rejoice  that  a 
priest  of  my  diocese  .  .  .  has 
given  to  learned  and  Christian 
France  a  work  which  will  be  widely 
diffused,  and  which  will  make  the 
august  Mary  loved,  admired,  and 
venerated  in  these  lines,  when,  more 
than  ever,  we  need  to  place  our- 
selves under  her  glorious  protec- 
tion." 

There  are  also  letters  of  commen- 
dation from  Cardinal  Giraud,  Arch- 
bishop of  Cambria,  and  his  grace  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  to  which  is 
added  the  approbation  of  the  Bishop 
of  Philadelphia. 


43- 


New  Publications, 


May  this  "  Monument  to  the  Glo- 
ry of  Mary  "  (as  it  is  called)  meet 
in  this  country  with  the  circulation 
it  deserves,  and  be  the  means  of 
spreading  wide  and  deep  the  love 
and  worship  of  her  whose  Immacu- 
late Conception  is  our  patronal 
feast. 


THE  WONDERS  OF  THE  HEAVENS.  By 
Camille  Flammarion.  From  the 
French,  by  Mrs.  Norman  Lockyer. 
With  iorty- eight  illustrations.  New 
York:  Charles  Scribner  &  Co.  1871. 

To  those  who  take  a  delight  in 
reading  about  the  planets  and  stars, 
this  work  will  prove  both  instruc- 
tive and  interesting.  The  illustra- 
tions are  very  fine,  and  the  work  is 
got  up  in  uniform  style  with  the 
other  volume  of  "  The  Library  of 
Wonders,"  noticed  in  these  pages 
before,  of  which  it  is  one  of  the  se- 
ries. 


THECLA  ;  or,  The  Malediction.  By  Ma- 
dame A.  R.  De  La  Grange.  I  vol.  I2mo. 
New  York  :  P.  O'Shea. 

This  is  an  interesting  story  de- 
scriptive of  a  family  living  in  the 
Roman  province  of  Cappadocia  in  the 
fifth  century,  giving  quaint  pictures 
of  life  in  those  early  days,  and  love- 
ly glimpses  of  the  natural  beauties  of 
the  country.  The  object  of  the  tale 
is  to  illustrate  the  special  judgments 
of  Almighty  God  on  disobedient  chil- 
dren and  an  overindulgent  parent, 
who  out  of  a  weak  fondess  put 
no  restraints  upon  her  children  in 
their  youth.  The  terrible  retribution 
that  follows  a  parent's  curse,  and  the 
remorse  and  bitterness  of  heart  that 
must  be  the  portion  of  neglectful  pa- 
rents, are  well  portrayed  by  Madame 
De  La  Grange.  The  volume  will  be 
an  excellent  addition  to  our  Sunday- 
school  libraries. 

We  would  suggest  to  the  publish- 
er the  propriety  of  a  thinner  and  bet- 
ter paper.  It  does  not  look  seem- 
ly to  print  books  on  common  paste- 
board. 


THE  THEOLOGY  OF  THE  PARABLES.  By 
Father  Coleridge,  S.J.  With  an  Ar- 
rangement of  the  Parables,  by  Fa- 
ther Salmeron.  London  :  Burns, 
Gates  &  Co.  For  sale  by  The  Catho- 
lic Publication  Society. 


This  is  a  paper  of  no  great  length, 
but  of  great  service  to  the  cause  of 
faith.  It  is  in  every  respect  worthy 
of  the  pen'  of  Father  Coleridge. 
He  sets  before  us  the  parables  in 
quite  a  new  light,  as  meant  to  teach 
us  the  ways  of  God  to  men.  Why 
our  Lord  chose  the  parabolic  form 
of  teaching  and  why  he  said  so  much 
about  his  Father  are  shown  with 
great  force  and  clearness 


NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK.  PA- 
LAEONTOLOGY. Vol.  IV.  Part.  I.  Alba- 
ny :  Printed  by  C.  Van  Benthuysen  & 
Sons.  March,  1867. 


This  is  a  continuation  of  Professor 
Hall's  able  researches  on  the  fossils 
of  this  state.  It  contains  descrip- 
tions and  figures  of  the  Brachiopo- 
da  of  the  Helderberg,  Hamilton, 
Portage,  and  Chemung  groups.  The 
plates  are  admirably  executed,  like 
those  in  the  previous  volumes,  and 
the  name  of  the  author  is  a  suffi- 
cient proof  of  the  accuracy  and  va- 
lue of  the  descriptions  which  they 
illustrate.  The  work  is  a  solid  and 
valuable  contribution  to  science. 


BOOKS    RECEIVED. 

From  JOHN  MURPHY  <ft  Co.,  Baltimore :  The 
Child's  Prayer  and  Hymn  Book.  For  the  use 
of  Catholic  Sunday-schools. — The  Expiation. 
A  Drama  in  Three  Acts.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  James  Kehoe.  Paper. 

From  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  Co.,  Philadelphia,  Pa. : 
The  Virginia  Forest.  A  Handbook  of  Travel 
in  Virginia.  By  E.  A.  Pollard,  i  vol.  i6mo, 
paper.— History  of  Florida  from  its  Disco- 
very by  Ponce  de  Leon  in  1512,  to  the  Close 
of  the  Florida  War  in  1842.  By  George  R. 
Fairbanks,  i  vol.  lamo.— The  Conservative 
Reformation  and  its  Theology :  as  Represent- 
ed in  the  Augsburgh  Confession,  and  in  the 
History  and  Literature  of  the  Evangelical  Lu- 
theran Church.  By  Charles  P.  Krauth  D.D. 
i  vol.  8vo. 


THE 


CATHOLIC  WORLD. 


VOL.  XIII.,  No.  76.— JULY,  1871. 


AN   IRISH    MARTYR. 


TOWARDS  the  close  of  the  year 
1645,  the  venerable  oratorian,  Father 
Peter  Francis  Scarampo,  who  had 
spent  two  years  in  Ireland  on  a  spe- 
cial mission  from  the  Holy  See,  was 
permitted  to  resign  his  position  and 
return  to  Rome.  He  was  accom- 
panied thither  by  five  young  students 
whose  relatives  desired  that  they 
should  complete  their  theological 
studies  in  the  colleges  of  the  Eternal 
City.  Of  these,  the  most  distin- 
guished for  early  proficiency  and 
gentleness  of  disposition  was  a  youth 
named  Oliver  Plunket,  then  in  his 
sixteenth  year,  having  been  born  at 
Loughcrew,  county  of  Meath,  in  1629, 
a  near  relative  and  protege  of  the 
Bishop  of  Ardagh,  Doctor  Patrick 
Plunket,  and  closely  connected  by 
ties  of  kindred  with  some  of  the 
noblest  families  of  Ireland,  and  with 
many  distinguished  ecclesiastics  at 
home  and  on  the  Continent.  Father 
Scarampo  had  borne  himself  so 
wisely  and  with  so  much  charity  and 
discretion  while  in  Ireland,  that  his 
departure  was  regarded  as  a  public 


misfortune,  and  his  retiring  footsteps 
were  followed  to  the  sea-coast  by 
thousands  of  pious  and  grateful  peo- 
ple; and,  though  his  humble  spirit 
would  not  allow  him  to  accept  the 
distinguished  post  of  Papal  Nuncio, 
and  so  remain  among  them,  he  never 
ceased  to  remember  their  hospitality 
and  long-suffering  and  to  befriend 
their  cause  at  Rome  upon  all  oc- 
casions. On  the  young  men  en- 
trusted to  his  care  he  bestowed  every 
possible  favor,  and  especially  on 
young  Plunket,  in  whom  he  took  a 
fatherly  interest  up  to  the  day  of  his 
untimely  death  on  the  plague-stricken 
Island  of  St.  Bartholomew,  even  to 
the  extent  of  defraying  that  student's 
expenses  for  the  first  three  years  of 
his  novitiate. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  in  Rome, 
Oliver  Plunket  entered  the  Irish 
College  of  that  city,  then  under  the 
charge  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  and 
for  eight  years  devoted  himself  with 
great  industry  and  success  to  the 
study  of  philosophy,  mathematics, 
and  theology,  subsequently  attending 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by  REV.  I.  T.  HECKER,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


434 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


the  usual  course  of  lectures  on  can- 
on and  civil  law  in  the  Roman  Uni- 
versity. Previous  to  his  appointment 
to  the  See  of  Armagh,  the  Rector  of 
the  Irish  College,  in  response  to  an 
enquiry  of  the  Sacred  Congregation 
of  Propaganda,  presented  the  follow- 
ing honorable  testimony  of  the  char- 
acter and  abilities  of  the  future  Pri- 
mate :  • 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  certify  that  the 
Very  Reverend  Dr.  Oliver  Plunket, 
of  the  diocese  of  Meath,  in  the  pro- 
vince of  Armagh,  in  Ireland,  is  of 
Catholic  parentage,  descended  from 
an  illustrious  family;  on  the  father's 
side,  from  the  most  illustrious  Earls 
of  Fingal  ;  on  the  mother's  side, 
from  the  most  illustrious  Earls  of  Ros- 
common,  being  also  connected  by  birth 
with  the  most  illustrious  Oliver  Plunket, 
Baron  of  Ltiuth,  first  nobleman  of  the 
diocese  of  Armagh ;  and  in  this  our 
Irish  College  he  devoted  himself  with 
such  ardor  to  philosophy,  theology,  and 
mathematics,  that  in  the  Roman  College 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus  he  was  justly 
ranked  among  the  foremost  in  talent, 
diligence,  and  progress  in  his  studies  ; 
these  speculative  studies  being  com- 
pleted, he  pursued  with  abundant  fruit 
the  course  of  civil  and  canon  law  un- 
der Mark  Anthony  de  Mariscotti,  Pro- 
fessor of  the  Roman  Sapienza,  and  every- 
where and  at  all  times  he  was  a  model 
of  gentleness,  integrity,  and  piety." 

Having  at  length  received  his  or- 
dination in  1654,  Dr.  Plunket  was 
obliged  by  the  rules  of  the  college 
either  to  proceed  forthwith  on  the 
Irish  mission  or  to  obtain  leave  from 
his  superiors  to  remain  to  further  per- 
fect his  studies.  He  chose  the  latter 
course,  and  at  his  own  request  the 
General  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  to 
whom  he  applied,  permitted  him  to 
enter  San  Girolamo  della  Charita, 
where  for  three  years  he  quietly  de- 
voted himself  to  the  accumulation  of 
knowledge  and  the  duties  of  his  sa- 
cred calling.  Marangoni,  in  his  life 
of  Father  Cacciaguerra,  speaks  of 
Doctor  Plunket's  conduct  while  in 


that  secluded  retreat  in  the  following 
eulogistic  terms  : 

"  Here  it  is  incredible  with  what  zeal 
he  burned  for  the  salvation  of  souls.  In 
the  house  itself,  and  in  the  city,  he 
wholly  devoted  himself  to  devout  exer- 
cises ;  frequently  did  he  visit  the  sanc- 
tuaries steeped  with  the  blood  of  so 
many  martyrs,  and  he  ardently  sighed  for 
the  opportunity  of  sacrificing  fiimself  for 
the  salvation  of  his  countrymen.  He, 
moreover,  frequented  the  Hospital  of 
Santo  Spirito,  and  employed  himself 
even  in  the  most  abject  ministrations, 
serving  the  poor  infirm,  to«the  edification 
and  wonder  of  the  officials  and  assistants 
of  that  place." 

The  disturbed  condition  of  his 
native  country  has  been  alleged  as 
the  cause  of  Dr.  Plunket's  delay  in 
Rome,  and  this  in  itself  would  be 
sufficient  reason,  if  we  reflect  that  at 
that  time  the  soldiers  of  Cromwell 
were  in  full  possession  of  every  nook 
and  corner  of  it,  and  that  hundreds 
of  priests,  left  without  congregations, 
were  obliged  to  fly  for  their  lives  to 
the  Continent,  or  to  seek  refuge  in 
mountains  and  morasses ;  but  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  the  young 
ecclesiastic  had  an  additional  mo- 
tive for  remaining  longer  in  the 
Holy  City,  and,  having  a  forecast  of 
his  future  eminence  in  the  church, 
and  of  the  vast  benefits  he  was 
capable  of  rendering  to  the  cause 
of  religion  and  his  country,  desired, 
as  far  as  possible,  to  qualify  himself 
for  the  glorious  task  to  which  he  was 
afterwards  assigned  at  the  fountain- 
head  of  Catholicity,  before  under- 
taking a  labor  which  he  must  have 
known  would  be  accompanied  by 
many  trials  and  dangers. 

But  even  from  the  seclusion  of  San 
Girolamo  his  fame  as  an  accomplish- 
ed and  profound  scholar  soon  spread 
to  the  outer  world,  and  in  1657  Dr. 
Plunket  was  appointed  professor  of 
theology  and  controversy  in  the  Col- 
lege of  the  Propaganda,  a  position 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


which  he  held  with  great  credit  for 
twelve  years,  until  his  departure  from 
Rome.  Though  thus  occupied  in 
the  responsible  and  laborious  duties 
of  his  professorship,  he  was  also  con- 
suitor  of  the  Sacred  Congregation  of 
the  Index  and  of  other  congregations. 
In  the  performance  of  the  high  trusts 
thus  imposed  upon  him,  the  young 
professor  was  frequently  brought  in 
contact  with  many  of  the  most  exalt- 
ed personages  of  the  Roman  Court, 
some  of  whom  subsequently  filled  the 
chair  of  St.  Peter,  from  all  of  whom 
he  experienced  the  greatest  kindness 
and  repeated  proofs  of  affection,  as 
he  frequently  mentions  with  gratitude 
in  his  correspondence.  Still  the  con- 
fidence reposed  in  him  and  the  com- 
panionship of  so  many  holy  and  eru- 
dite men  failed  to  satisfy  the  cravings 
of  his  soul  or  reconcile  him  to  his  en- 
forced exile.  Of  a  highly  sensitive 
and  even  poetic  nature,  his  patriot- 
ism and  attachment  to  his  family 
were  second  only  to  his  love  for 
learning  and  religion,  and  his  mind 
was  constantly  tormented  by  the  ac- 
counts daily  received  in  Rome  of 
the  barbarities  practised  on  his  com- 
patriots and  co-religionists  by  the  li- 
centious soldiery  of  the  English  Com- 
monwealth. In  writing  to  Father 
Spada,  in  1656,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  death  of  his  friend  and  counsellor 
Father  Scarampo,  he  exclaims  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  spirit : 

"  God  alone  knows  how  afflicting  his 
death  is  to  me,  especially  at  the  present 
time,  when  all  Ireland  is  overrun  and  laid 
waste  by  heresy.  Of  my  relations,  some 
are  dead,  others  have  been  sent  into  exile, 
and  all  Ireland  is  reduced  to  extreme 
misery:  this  overwhelmed  me  with  an  in- 
expressible sadness,  for  I  am  now  depriv- 
ed of  father  and  of  friends,  and  I  should 
die  through  grief  were  I  not  consoled  by 
the  consideration  that  I  have  not  alto- 
gether lost  Father  Scarampo  ;  for  I  may 
say  that  he  in  part  remains,  our  good  God 
having  retained  your  reverence  in  life, 


who,  as  it  is  known  to  all,  were  united 
with  him  in  friendship  and  in  charity  and 
in  disposition,  so  as  even  to  desire  to 
be  his  companion  in  death,  from  which, 
though  God  preserved  you,  yet  he  did 
not  deprive  you  of  its  merit." 

But,  notwithstanding  his  own  af- 
flictions, he  was  ever  ready  to  succor 
by  his  slender  purse  and  powerful 
influence  such  of  his  destitute  young 
countrymen  who  sought  an  opportu- 
nity in  Rome  to  procure  an  educa- 
tion, of  which  they  were  so  systema- 
tically deprived  at  home  ;  and  it  was 
doubtless  from  a  just  perception  of  his 
great  repute  and  thorough  acquain- 
tance with  ecclesiastical  affairs  in 
Rome  that,  in  the  early  part  of  1669, 
he  was  requested  by  the  Irish  bishops 
to  act  as  their  representative  at  the 
Papal  Court,  an  office  which  he 
cheerfully  accepted  and  filled  to  the 
entire  satisfaction  of  his  venerable 
constituency. 

But  he  was  not  long  allowed  to 
occupy  this  subordinate  position  in 
connection  with  the  church  in  Ire- 
land, nor  even  to  retain  his  chair  in 
the  Propaganda.  He  had  now  en- 
tered on  his  fortieth  year,  his  mind 
fully  developed  and  stored  with  all 
the  sacred  and  profane  learning  be- 
fitting one  called  to  a  higher  destiny, 
and  his  soul  imbued  with  a  zeal  so 
holy  and  so  far  removed  from  world- 
ly ambition  that  no  temptation  was 
likely  to  overcome  his  faith,  and  no 
persecution,  no  matter  how  severe,  to 
shake  his  constancy.  He  was  there- 
fore appointed  Archbishop  of  Armagh 
and  Primate  of  all  Ireland,  to  suc- 
ceed Dr.  Edmond  O'Reilly,  recently 
deceased  in  Paris.  Like  the  great 
apostle  of  his  country,  of  whom  he 
was  about  to  become  the  spiritual 
successor,  he  had  spent  a  long  pro- 
bation in  the  society  of  men  remark- 
able for  the  purity  of  their  lives  and 
the  extent  of  their  knowledge,  and 
as  St.  Patrick  longed  to  revisit  the 


43^ 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


land  of  his  adoption,  he  also  yearned 
to  be  once  again  among  the  Irish 
people.  Yet  his  appointment  to  the 
primacy  of  Ireland  was  neither  sought 
nor  anticipated  by  Dr.  Plunket  at 
this  time,  as  we  learn  from  a  letter 
from  the  Archbishop  of  Dublin  to 
Monsignor  Baldeschi,  Secretary  of 
the  Propaganda,  in  which  he  says : 

"  Certainly,  no  one  could  be  appointed 
bettter  suited  than  Dr.  Oliver  Plunket, 
whom  I  myself  would  have  proposed  in 
the  first  place,  were  it  not  that  he  had 
written  to  me,  stating  his  desire  not  to 
enter  for  some  years  in  the  Irish  .mission, 
until  he  should  have  completed  some 
works  which  he  was  preparing  for  the 
press." 

The  names  of  many  clergymen 
distinguished  for  piety,  devotion,  and 
learning  had  been  forwarded  to 
Rome,  from  which  to  select  a  fitting 
successor  to  Dr.  O'Reilly ;  but,  while 
their  various  merits  were  under  dis- 
cussion, the  Holy  Father,  Clement 
IX.,  it  is  said,  simplified  the  matter 
by  suggesting  Dr.  Plunket  as  the  per- 
son best  qualified  to  fill  the  vacant 
see,  and  to  govern  by  his  experience 
and  force  of  character  the  hierarchy, 
and,  through  it,  the  priesthood  of 
Ireland.  The  views  of  the  Pope  met 
with  unanimous  approval,  and,  the 
selection  being  thus  made,  it  was  out 
of  the  power  of  Dr.  Plunket,  no  mat- 
ter how  diffident  he  might  have  been 
of  his  own  abilities  to  fill  so  elevated 
a  position,  to  decline.  We  have 
seen  how  this  important  decision  of 
the  Sacred  Congregation  was  viewed 
by  Dr.  Talbot,  of  Dublin,  and  his 
opinions  seemed  to  have  been  shared 
by  all  the  bishops  and  priests  in  Ire- 
land. Dr.  O'Molony,  of  St.  Sulpice, 
Paris,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Killaloe, 
writes : 

"  You  have  already  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  our  edifice,  erected  the  pillars, 
and  given  shepherds  to  feed  the  sheep 


and  the  lambs  ;  but,  now  that  the  work 
should  not  remain  imperfect,  you  have 
crowned  the  edifice,  and  provided  a  pas- 
tor for  the  pastors  themselves,  appoint- 
ing the  Archbishop  of  Armagh,  for  it  is 
not  of  the  diocese  of  Armagh  alone  that 
he  has  the  administration,  to  whom  the 
primacy  and  guardianship  of  all  Ireland 
is  entrusted.  One,  therefore,  in  a  thou- 
sand had  to  be  chosen,  suited  to  bear  so 
great  a  burden.  That  one  you  have 
found — one  than  whom  none  other  better 
or  more  pleasing  could  be  found  ;  with 
whom  (that  your  wise  solicitude  for  our 
distracted  and  afflicted  country  should 
be  wanting  in  nothing)  you  have  been 
pleased  to  associate  his  suffragan  of 
Ardagh,  a  most  worthy  and  grave  man." 

The  Bishop  of  Ferns,  also,  in 
addressing  the  Secretary  of  the  Sa- 
cred Congregation,  says :  "  Applaud- 
ing and  rejoicing,  I  have  hasten- 
ed hither  from  Gand,  to  the  Most 
Reverend  and  .Illustrious  Internun- 
zio  of  Belgium,  to  return  all  pos- 
sible thanks  to  our  Holy  Father, 
in  the  name  of  my  countrymen,  for 
having  crowned  with  the  mitre  of 
Armagh  the  noble  and  distinguished 
Oliver  Plunket,  Doctor  of  Theology  ;" 
and  Dr.  Dowley,  of  Limerick,  adds, 
"  Most  pleasing  to  all  was  the  ap- 
pointment of  Dr.  Plunket,  and  I 
doubt  not  it  will  be  agreeable  to  the 
government,  to  the  secular  clergy,  and 
to  the  nobility." 

These  warm  expressions  of  esteem 
and  regard,  if  known  to  the  new  pri- 
mate, must  have  inspired  him  with 
renewed  courage  to  accept  the  grave 
responsibilities  imposed  upon  him, 
and  truly,  if  ever  man  required  the 
support  of  friends  to  nerve  him  to 
encounter  dangers  and  unheard-of 
opposition,  he  did.  But  he  seems  to 
have  had  within  himself  a  courage 
not  of  this  world,  but  superior  to  all 
earthly  considerations.  It  is  record- 
ed on  the  very  best  authority  that, 
when  about  to  leave  Rome,  he  was 
thus  accosted  by  an  aged  priest, 
"  My  lord,  you  are  now  going  to 


An  IrisJi  M-artyr. 


437 


shed  your  blood  for  the  Catholic 
faith."  To  which  he  replied,  "  I  am 
unworthy  of  such  a  favor ;  neverthe- 
less, aid  me  with  your  prayers,  that 
this  my  desire  may  be  fulfilled."  * 
The  condition  of  the  country  to 
which  the  primate  was  hastening  ful- 
ly justified  this  prophecy.  It  was  to 
the  last  degree  forlorn  and  full  of 
discouragement.  The  sufferings  of 
the  Irish  people  at  this  period  defy 
description;  and  were  it  not  that  we 
have  before  us  the  penal  acts  of  par- 
liament, numerous  authenticated  state 
papers,  and  the  published  statements 
of  some  of  the  highest  officials  of 
the  crown  and  the  agents  of  the 
Commonwealth,  we  would  be  inclin- 
ed to  believe,  if  only  for  the  credit 
of  human  nature,  that  the  relation 
of  the  atrocities  at  this  time  perpe- 
trated by  English  authority  on  the 
Catholics  of  Ireland  was  the  work 
of  some  diseased  mind  that  delight- 
ed in  horrors  and  revelled  in  the  con- 
templation of  an  imaginery  pande- 
monium. The  Tudors  and  the  Stu- 
arts as  persecutors  of  Catholics  were 
bad  enough,  but  their  ineffectual 
fires  paled  before  the  cool  atrocity 
and  sanctimonious  villany  of  the 
followers  of  Cromwell ;  men,  if  we 
must  call  them  such,  who,  arrogating 
to  themselves  not  only  the  honorable 
title  of  champions  of  human  liberty, 
but  claiming  to  be  the  exemplars  of 
all  that  was  left  of  what  was  pure 
and  holy  in  this  wicked  world,  per- 
petrated in  the  name  of  freedom  and 
religion  a  series  of  such  deeds  of 
darkness  that  not  even  a  parallel  can 
be  found  for  them  in  the  annals  of 
the  worst  days  of  the  Roman  empe- 
rors. So  deep  indeed  has  the  detes- 
tation of  the  barbaritie^  of  Cromwell 
taken  root  in  the  popular  mind  of 
Ireland,  that,  though  more  than  two 
centuries  have  elapsed  since  his 

*  Marangoni  :    Life  of  the  Servant  of  God, 
Father  Buonsignore  Cacciaguerra. 


death,  his  name  is  as  thoroughly  and 
as  heartily  detested  there  to-day  as 
if  his  crimes  had  been  committed  in 
our  own  generation.  Previous  to 
the  Reformation,  though  wars  were 
frequent  and  oftentimes  bloody  be- 
tween the  English  invaders  and  the 
natives,  they  were  generally  conduct- 
ed in  a  certain  spirit  of  chivalry  and 
with  some  degree  of  moderation, 
which  usually  characterize  hostile 
Catholic  nations  even  in  times  of 
the  greatest  excitement.  Churches 
and  the  nurseries  of  learning  and  cha- 
rity were  respected,  or,  if  destroyed 
through  the  stem  necessities  of  war- 
fare, were  apt  to  be  replaced  by  oth- 
ers. But  the  followers  of  the  new 
religion  knew  no  such  charitable 
weakness,  for  from  the  first  they 
seemed  actuated,  probably  as  a  pun- 
ishment for  their  sin  of  wilful  rebel- 
lion against  the  authority  of  God's 
law,  with  an  unquenchable  hatred 
of  everything  holy,  and  a  craftiness 
in  devising  measures  to  destroy  the 
faith  and  pervert  the  minds  of  the 
Catholics  so  preternatural  in  its  in- 
genuity that  we  can  only  account 
for  it  by  supposing  it  the  emanation 
of  the  enemy  of  mankind.  That 
any  people  stripped  of  all  worldly 
possessions,  debarred  so  long  from 
religious  worship  and  the  means  of 
enlightenment,  outlawed  by  the  so- 
called  government,  ensnared  by  the 
spy  and  the  magistrate,  and  ground 
to  dust  beneath  the  hoofs  of  the 
trooper's  horse,  should  not  only  have 
preserved  their  existence  and  the 
faith,  but  have  multiplied  amazingly, 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  is  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  incidents  in  all 
history,  as  well  as  one  of  the  strong- 
est proofs  of  the  enduring  and  un- 
conquerable spirit  of  Catholicity. 

There  were  probably  at  this  time 
in  Ireland  nearly  a  million  and  a 
half  of  Catholics,  though  Sir  William 
Petty  estimates  their  number  at  about 


438 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


1,200,000;  the  native  population 
having  been  fearfully  reduced  by  the 
late  war  and  the  pestilence  and  fa- 
mine which  succeeded  it,  by  the  emi- 
gration of  forty  or  fifty  thousand 
able-bodied  men  to  Spain  and  other 
countries,  and  by  the  deportation  of 
an  equal  number  of  women  and  chil- 
dren, as  slaves,  to  the  West  Indies 
and  the  British  settlements  on  our 
Atlantic  coast.  Yet,  notwithstand- 
ing the  immense  loss  of  life  occasion- 
ed soon  after  by  the  Williamite  war, 
the  constant  drain  on  the  adult  male 
population  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
seventeenth  and  the  first  half  of  the 
eighteenth  centuries,  to  fill  up  the 
decimated  ranks  of  the  Catholic  ar- 
mies of  Europe,  amounting,  it  is  said, 
to  three-quarters  of  a  million,  the 
periodical  famines  to  which  the  pea- 
santry were  constantly  exposed,  and 
the  great  famine  of  1846-7  and 
1848,  which  swept  away  at  least  two 
millions,  the  Irish  Catholics  of  to- 
day and  their  descendants  in  all  quar- 
ters of  the  globe  number  at  least  fif- 
teen million  souls.  It  is  a  singular 
and  interesting  fact  that  the  Irish 
Catholics  resident  in  London  out- 
number the  entire  population  of  the 
city  of  Dublin ;  that  in  the  cities  and 
towns  of  England  and  Scotland  there 
are  more  Catholics  of  Irish  birth  than 
existed  in  every  part  of  the  world 
two  hundred  years  ago;  and  that, 
while  the  children  of  St.  Patrick  count 
nearly  five  millions  on  the  soil  which 
he  redeemed  from  paganism,  many 
more  millions  of  them  and  their  de- 
scendants born  within  the  present 
century  are  planting  the  cross  of 
Christ  everywhere  in  America  and 
Australasia.  This  indestructibility 
of  the  Irish  race  seems  to  have  rais- 
ed an  insurmountable  barrier  against 
the  designs  of  the  reformers.  James 
I.  having  -planted  part  of  Ulster 
with  some  success,  the  Long  Parlia- 
ment determined  to  follow  his  exam- 


ple on  a  more  comprehensive  scale, 
and  to  utterly  exterminate  the  peo- 
ple who  persisted  in  adhering  to  their 
ancient  faith.  Accordingly,  in  1654, 
all  Catholics  were  ordered  under  the 
severest  penalties  to  remove  before  a 
certain  day  from  the  provinces  of  Ul- 
ster, Leinster,  and  Munster,  and  take 
up  their  abodes  in  Connaught,  the  least 
fertile  and  most  inaccessible  division 
of  the  island.  In  their  front  a  strip 
of  land  some  miles  in  width,  follow- 
ing the  sinuosity  of  the  sea-coast,  and 
another  in  their  rear  along  the  line 
of  the  Shannon,  were  reserved  for 
the  victors  and  protected  by  a  cor- 
don of  military  posts,  the  penalty 
of  passing  which,  without  special  li- 
cense, was  death.  Thus  encompass- 
ed by  the  stormy  Atlantic  and  the 
broad  river,  with  an  inner  belt  of 
hostile  settlements,  it  was  fondly  hop- 
ed that  the  remnant  of  the  gallant 
Irish  nation,  completely  segregated 
from  the  world,  would  speedily  per- 
ish, unnoticed  and  unknown,  among 
the  sterile  mountains  of  the  west. 
A  more  diabolical  attempt  on  the 
lives  of  a  whole  people  is  not  to  be 
found  recorded  in  either  ancient  or 
modern  history,  and,  to  do  but  jus- 
tice to  the  canting  fanatics  who  con- 
ceived the  plan,  no  means  were  left 
untried  to  carry  it  out  to  a  successful 
issue.  But  Providence,  with  whose 
designs  the  Cromwellians  assumed 
to  be  well  acquainted,  decreed  other- 
wise, and  no  sooner  had  their  leader 
sunk  into  a  dishonored  grave,  and 
the  legitimate  sovereign  been  restor- 
ed to  the  throne,  than  every  part  of 
the  country  swarmed  again  with  Ca- 
tholics, who  seemed  to  spring,  as  if 
by  magic,  from  the  very  soil.  The 
people,  it  was  found,  had  actually 
increased  in  numbers,  and  the  clergy, 
who  it  was  supposed  had  been  ef- 
fectually destroyed  by  expatriation, 
famine,  or  the  sword,  still  amounted 
to  over  sixteen  hundred  seculars  and 


An  Irish  -Martyr. 


439 


regulars,  as  devoted  as  ever  to  the 
spiritual  interests  of  their  flocks. 

The  restoration  of  Charles  II.  in 
1660  was  hailed  by  the  Catholics  as 
a  favorable  omen.  They  had  faith- 
fully supported  his  father,  and  had 
lost  all  in  defending  his  own  cause, 
and  hence  they  naturally  expected, 
if  not  gratitude,  at  least  simple  jus- 
tice. But  Charles  was  a  true  Stuart. 
Opposed  to  persecution  from  a  con- 
stitutional love  of  ease  and  pleasure, 
as  much  as  from  any  innate  sense  of 
right,  he  had  neither  the  capacity  to 
plan  a  reform  nor  the  manhood  to 
carry  out  the  tolerant  designs  of  oth- 
ers. He  was,  moreover,  weak-mind- 
ed, vacillating,  and  .insincere,  more 
disposed  to  conciliate  his  enemies  by 
gifts  and  honors  than  to  reward  his 
well-tried  friends  by  the  commonest 
acts  of  justice.  The  greatest  favor 
that  the  Catholics  could  obtain  was 
a  toleration  of  their  worship  in  re- 
mote and  secret  places,  and  even 
this  qualified  boon  was  dependent  on 
the  whim  of  the  viceroy,  and  was 
soon  withdrawn  at  the  command  of 
parliament. 

But  the  evils  of  the  English  Prot- 
estant system  did  not  stop  here.  The 
death  or  involuntary  exile  of  most  of 
the  Irish  bishops  and  the  dispersion 
of  the  clergy  created  a  relaxation  of 
ecclesiastical  discipline,  particularly 
among  the  regulars,  and  the  impossi- 
bility of  obtaining  proper  religious  in- 
struction at  home,  and  the  difficulty 
of  procuring  it  elsewhere,  necessarily 
lowered  the  standard  of  education 
among  the  priests  of  all  ranks.  Left 
for  the  most  part  to  their  own  guid- 
ance, and  only  imperfectly  trained 
for  the  ministry,  many  friars,  partic- 
ularly of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis,  so 
illustrious  for  its  many  distinguished 
scholars  and  eloquent  preachers, 
were  disposed  to  rebel  against  their 
superiors  when  the  least  restraint  was 
placed  upon  their  irregular  modes  of 


living,  and  some  were  found  base 
enough  to  lend  the  weight  attached 
to  their  sacred  calling  to  further  the 
designs  of  the  worst  enemies  of  their 
creed  and  country.  Ormond  and 
other  so-called  statesmen,  while  avow- 
ing unqualified  loyalty  to  their  sov- 
ereign and  a  secret  attachment  to  the 
church,  were  insidiously  betraying 
the  one  by  placing  him  in  a  false 
position  before  Catholics  and  Prot- 
estants, Avhile  vainly  endeavoring  to 
strike  a  blow  at  the  other  by  using 
these  apostates  to  create  a  schism  in 
her  ranks.  In  the  latter  scheme  they 
signally  failed,  and  their  defeat  was 
mainly  due  to  the  untiring  energy 
and  profound  foresight  of  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Armagh  during  the  ten 
years  of  his  administration.  The 
very  announcement  of  Dr.  Plunket's 
appointment  seems  to  have  struck 
terror  into  the  secret  enemies  of  the 
church  in  Ireland,  and  to  have  given 
new  hope  to  the  friends  of  religion. 
This  event  occurred  on  the  gth  of 
July,  1669,  when  the  bulls  for  his  con- 
secration were  immediately  forwarded 
to  the  Internunzio  at  Brussels.  Dr. 
Plunket  was  desirous  of  receiving  the 
mitre  in  Rome,  and  even  made  a 
strong  request  to  be  granted  that 
privilege,  but  the  prudential  motives 
which  induced  the  Sacred  Congrega- 
tion to  select  Belgium  in  the  first  in- 
stance still  remained,  and  the  favor 
was  reluctantly  refused.  As  his  first 
act  of  obedience,  the  archbishop 
bowed  cheerfully  to  this  decision, 
and  after  presenting  his  little  vine- 
yard, his  only  real  property,  and  a 
few  books  to  the  Irish  College,  he 
bade  a  final  adieu  to  his  Roman 
friends  in  the  following  month,  and 
commenced  his  homeward  journey — 
his  first  step  to  a  glorious  .immortality. 
He  arrived  during  November  in  the 
capital  of  Belgium,  and  was  cor- 
dially welcomed  by  the  Internunzio, 
who  was  not  unacquainted  with  his 


440 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


extensive  learning  and  unaffected 
piety.  At  the  request  of  that  pre- 
late, the  Bishop  of  Ghent  consented 
to  administer  consecration  to  Dr. 
Plunket,  and  the  solemn  ceremony  was 
duly  performed  on  the  3oth  of  No- 
vember, in  the  private  chapel  of  the 
episcopal  palace  in  that  ancient  city. 
Dr.  Nicholas  French,  Bishop  of 
Ferns,  one  of  the  few  persons  pres- 
ent on  the  occasion,  thus  describes  it : 

"  I  present  a  concise  narrative  of  the 
consecration  of  the  most  illustrious  Arch- 
bishop of  Armagh.  His  excellency  the 
Internunzio  wrote  most  kind  letters  to 
the  bishop  of  this  diocese  requesting  him 
to  perform  it,  and  he  most  readily  acqui- 
esced. But  I,  on  receiving  this  news, 
set  out  at  once  for  Brussels  to  conduct 
hither  his  Grace  of  Armagh,  bound  by 
gratitude  to  render  him  this  homage.  A 
slight  fever  seized  our  excellent  bishop 
on  the  Saturday  before  the  Twenty-fourth 
,  Sunday  after  Pentecost,  which  had 
been  fixed  for  Dr.  Plunket's  conse- 
cration ;  wherefore  that  ceremony  was 
deferred  till  the  first  Sunday  in 
Advent,  on  which  day  it  was  de- 
voutly and  happily  performed  in  the 
capella  of  the  palace,  without  noise,  and 
with  closed  doors,  for  such  was  the  de- 
sire of  the  Archbishop  of  Armagh.  Re- 
maining here  for  eight  days  after  his  con- 
secration, he  passed  his  time  in  despatch- 
ing letters  and  examining  my  writings." 

After  this  short  delay,  the  Primate 
continued  his  journey,  stopping  long 
enough  in  London  to  see  his  friends 
at  the  English  court,  and  to  present 
his  credentials  to  the  Queen,  who 
was  a  devout  Catholic,  and  who  re- 
ceived .  him  with  great  cordiality. 
He  had  also  leisure  to  become  some- 
what conversant  with  the  policy  and 
views  of  the  leading  public  charac- 
ters in  the  English  capital,  and  to 
study  the  workings  and  temper  of  the 
parliament.  After  a  tedious  and 
fatiguing  journey,  he  at  length  landed 
in  Ireland,  in  March,  1670,  having 
been  absent  from  that  country  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  where  he  was 
joyously  received  by  his  numerous 


relatives  and  friends.  Great  was  the 
change  which  had  been  wrought  in 
his  life  during  those  twenty-five  years, 
but,  alas !  how  much  greater  had 
been  the  alteration  in  the  circum- 
stances of  his  countrymen.  As  a 
lad  he  had  left  them  in  the  full  en- 
joyment of  their  religion  in  almost 
every  part  of  the  island,  their  nobility 
in  the  possession  of  their  estates,  the 
peasantry  and  farmers  prosperous, 
the  clergy  respected  and  freely  obey- 
ed, and  all  full  of  hope  for  the  future, 
and  sanguine  of  yet  attaining  their 
independence.  As  an  archbishop 
and  primate,  he  returned  to  find  no- 
thing but  desolation  and  ruin,  sorrow 
and  dejection.  The  nobility  had 
either  been  banished  or  reduced  to 
the  condition  of  mere  tenants  on 
their  own  property,  so  that  only  three 
Catholic  gentlemen  in  the  province 
of  Armagh,  which  embraces  eleven 
dioceses,  held  any  real  estate ;  the 
original  cultivators  of  the  soil  who 
had  been  spared  by  the  sword  and 
had  not  been  transported  or  com- 
pelled to  emigrate  were  formed  into 
bands  of  plunderers,  and  infested  the 
highways  under  the  name  of  tones, 
while  such  as  remained  of  the  bish- 
ops and  clergy  were  to  be  found 
only  in  bogs  and  mountains  or  in 
the  most  obscure  portions  of  the 
larger  towns  and  cities. 

Undaunted  by  the  scenes  of  woe 
and  destruction  around  him,  the  Pri- 
mate, like  a  diligent  servant  of  God, 
had  no  sooner  set  foot  on  his  native 
soil  than  he  proceeded  to  the  per- 
formance of  his  pastoral  labors.  Wri- 
ting to  Cardinal  Barberini,  Protector 
of  Ireland,  an  account  of  his  journey 
from  Rome,  he  says  : 

"  I  afterwards  arrived  in  Ireland  in  the 
month  of  March,  and  hastened  imme- 
diately to  my  residence  ;  and  I  held  two 
synods  and  two  ordinations,  and  in  a 
month  and  a-half  I  administered  con- 
firmation to  more  than  ten  thousand  per- 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


441 


sons,  though  throughout  my  province  I 
think  there  yet  remain  more  than  fifty 
thousand  persons  to  be  confirmed.  I  re- 
marked throughout  the  country,  wher- 
ever I  went,  that  for  every  heretic  there 
are  twenty  Catholics.  The  new  viceroy 
is  a  man  of  great  moderation  ;  he  will- 
ingly receives  the  Catholics,  and  he  treats 
privately  with  the  ecclesiastics,  and  pro- 
mises them  protection  while  the}'  attend 
to  their  own  functions  without  intriguing 
in  the  affairs  of  government." 

The  nobleman  here  alluded  to  was 
Lord  Berkeley,  who  held  office  in 
Ireland  for  a  few  years,  and  under 
whose  politic  and  tolerant,  if  not 
very  sincere,  administration  the  Ca- 
tholics enjoyed  at  least  comparative 
security.  Personally,  he,  as  well  as 
his  successor,  Lord  Essex,  entertained 
a  very  high  respect  for  the  primate, 
and  treated  him  with  great  kindness, 
when  it  was  possible  to  do  so  with- 
out incurring  the  displeasure  of  the 
ultra-Protestant  faction.  Indeed, 
Archbishop  Plunket,  well  aware  of 
the  difficulties  which  constantly  be- 
set his  path,  and  feeling  the  futility 
of  defying  the  government  authori- 
ties, set  his  mind  from  the  first  to 
conciliate  those  whom  he  knew  had 
the  power  to  thwart  or  second  his  ef- 
forts, without  yielding  anything  of 
his  episcopal  dignity  or  compromis- 
ing his  character  as  an  ardent  patriot. 
His  long  probationary  course  in 
Rome  and  his  intimate  association 
with  so  many  of  the  best  and  most 
accomplished  minds  at  the  Papal 
court  must  have  eminently  qualified 
him  for  dealing  with  the  leading  Bri- 
tish officials  in  Ireland.  In  his  vo- 
luminous correspondence  with  the 
Holy  See,  he  frequently  alludes  to 
his  interviews  with  the  lord-lieute- 
nant and  other  noblemen,  and  to 
the  judicious  use  he  was  able  to 
make  of  his  influence  with  them  for 
the  benefit  of  his  less  fortunate  or 
more  demonstrative  brethren  in  the 
ministry.  In  a  letter  addressed  to 


Pope  Clement,  dated  June  20,  1670, 
he  says : 

"  Our  viceroy  is  a  man  of  great  mode- 
ration and  equity  :  he  looks  on  the  Ca- 
tholics with  benevolence,  and  treats  pri- 
vately with  some  of  the  clergy,  exhorting 
them  to  act  with  discretion  ;  and  for  this 
purpose  he  secretly  called  me  to  his  pre- 
sence on  many  occasions,  and  promised 
me  his  assistance  in  correcting  any  mem- 
bers of  the  clergy  of  scandalous  life. 
I  discover  in  him  some  spark  of  religion, 
and  I  find  that  many  even  of  the  leading 
members  of  his  court  are  secretly  Catho- 
lics." 

Again,  to  Dr.  Brennan,  his  succes- 
sor as  Irish  agent,  he  writes : 

"  In  the  province  of  Armagh,  the  clergy 
and  Catholics  enjoy  a  perfect  peace.  The 
Earl  of  Charlemont,  being  friendly  with 
me,  defends  me  in  every  emergency.  Be- 
ing once  in  the  town  of  Dungannon  to 
administer  confirmation,  and  the  govern- 
or of  the  place  having  prevented  me  from 
doing  so,  the  earl  not  only  severely  re- 
proved the  governor,  but  told  me  to  go 
to  his  own  palace,  when  I  pleased,  to 
give  confirmation  or  to  say  Mass  there  if 
I  wished.  The  magistrate  of  the  city  of 
Armagh,  having  made  an  order  to  the  ef- 
fect that  all  Catholics  should  accompany 
him  to  the  heretical  service  every  Sunday, 
under  penalty  of  half-a-crown  per  head 
for  each  time  they  would  absent  them- 
selves, I  appealed  to  the  president  of  the 
province  against  this  decree,  and  he  can- 
celled it,  and  commanded  that  neither 
clergy  nor  Catholic  laity  should  be  mo- 
lested." 


It  is  not,  however,  to  be  suppos- 
ed from  these  isolated  instances  of 
toleration  that  the  new  primate  was 
allowed  the  full  exercise  of  his  func- 
tions in  the  land  of  his  nativity,  and 
where  his  flock  so  vastly  outnumber- 
ed their  opponents.  On  the  contra- 
ry, we  learn  from  a  letter  of  Lord 
Conway  to  his  brother-in-law,  Sir 
George  Rawdon,  that  even  before 
Dr.  Plunket  reached  Ireland  orders 
had  been  issued  by  the  lord-lieute- 


442 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


nant  for  his  arrest  as  being  one  of 
"  two  persons  sent  from  Rome,  that 
lie  lurking  in  the  country  to  do  mis- 
chief;" and  even  when  he  had  taken 
possession  of  his  see,  his  labors  for 
the  most  part  were  performed  in  se- 
cret or  in  the  night  time.  This  was 
more  particularly  so  after  1673,  when 
the  persecution  was  renewed  against 
the  Catholics,  that  we  have  his  own 
authority  and  that  of  his  companion 
in  suffering,  Dr.  Brennan,  Bishop  of 
Waterford,  for  saying  that  at  the 
most  tempestuous  times  he  was  oblig- 
ed to  seek  safety  by  flight,  and  fre- 
quently to  expose  himself  to  the  hor- 
rors of  a  northern  winter  and  almost 
to  starvation  in  order  to  be  amid  his 
people,  and  ready  to  administer  spi- 
ritual consolation  to  them. 


"  The  viceroy,"  he  says,  writing  in  Jan- 
uary, 1664,  "  on  the  loth  or  thereabouts 
of  this  month,  published  a  further  pro- 
clamation that  the  registered  clergy 
should  be  treated  with  the  greatest  rigor. 
Another  but  secret  order  was  given  to 
all  the  magistrates  and  sheriffs  that  the 
detectives  should  seek  out,  both  in  the 
cities  and  throughout  the  country,  the 
other  bishops  and  regulars.  I  and  my 
companions  no  sooner  received  intelli- 
gence of  this  than,  on  the  i8th  of  this 
month,  which  was  Sunday,  after  vespers, 
being  the  festival  of  the  Chair  of  St.  Pe- 
ter, we  deemed  it  necessary  to  take  to 
our  heels  ;  the  snow  fell  heavily  mixed 
with  hail-stones,  which  were  very  hard 
and  large  ;  a  cutting  north  wind  blew  in 
our  faces,  and  the  snow  and  hail  beat  so 
dreadfully  in  our  eyes  that  to  the  present 
we  have  been  scarcely  able  to  see  with 
them.  Often  we  were  in  danger  in  the 
valleys  of  being  lost  and  suffocated  in 
the  snow,  till  at  length  we  arrived  at  the 
house  of  a  reduced  gentleman,  who  had 
nothing  to  lose  ;  but  for  our  misfortune 
he  had  a  stranger  in  his  house,  by  whom 
we  did  not  wish  to  be  recognized  ;  hence 
we  were  placed  in  a  large  garret  without 
chimney  and  without  fire,  where  we  have 
been  during  the  past  eight  days.  May  it 
redound  to  the  glory  of  God,  the  salva- 
tion of  our  souls,  and  the  flocks  entrusted 
to  our  charge  !" 


So  great  indeed  was  the  danger 
of  discovery  at  this  time,  and  so 
watchful  were  the  emissaries  of  the 
law,  that  he  was  compelled  to  write 
most  of  his  foreign  letters  over  the 
assumed  signature  of  "  Mr.  Thomas 
Cox,"  and  was  usually  addressed  by 
that  name  in  reply.  He  even  tells 
us  that  he  was  sometimes  obliged  to 
go  about  the  performance  of  his  du- 
ties in  the  disguise  of  a  cavalier  with 
cocked  hat  and  sword. 

Dr.  Plunket  is  represented  by  his 
contemporaries  as  a  man  of  delicate 
physical  organization,  highly  sensitive 
in  his  temperament,  and  disposed 
naturally  to  prefer  the  seclusion  of 
the  closet  to  the  excitement  and  tur- 
moil of  the  world.  The  contrast  be- 
tween the  scholastic  retirement  in 
which  he  had  spent  so  many  years 
of  his  life,  and  the  circumstances  by 
which  he  now  found  himself  sur- 
rounded, must  have  been  indeed  strik- 
ing, but  like  a  true  disciple  he  did 
not  hesitate  a  moment  in  entering  on 
his  new  sphere  of  usefulness.  Short- 
ly after  his  arrival  in  Dublin,  on  the 
iyth  of  June,  1670,  he  called  togeth- 
er and  presided  over  a  general  synod 
of  the  Irish  bishops,  at  which  seve- 
ral important  statutes  were  passed, 
as  well  as  an  address  to  the  new  vice- 
roy declaring  the  loyalty  and  ho- 
mage, in  all  things  temporal,  of  the 
hierarchy  of  Ireland  to  the  reigning 
sovereign.  Two  synods  of  his  own 
clergy  had  already  been  held,  and 
in  September  following  a  provincial 
council  of  Ulster  met  at  Clones,  which 
not  only  reaffirmed  the  decrees  of 
the  synod  of  Dublin,  but  enacted 
many  long  required  reforms  in  disci- 
pline and  the  manner  of  life  of  the 
clergy.  In  a  letter  from  the  assem- 
bled clergy  of  the  province  of  Armagh, 
date  October  8,  1670,  and  address- 
ed to  Monsignor  Baldeschi,  they  thus 
speak  of  the  untiring  labors  of  their 
metropolitan : 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


443 


"In  the  diocese  of  Armagh,  Kilmore, 
Clogher,  Derry,  Down,  Connor,  and  Dro- 
more,  although  far  separated  from  each 
other,  he  administered  confirmation  to 
thousands  in  the  woods  and  mountains, 
heedless  of  winds  and  rain.  Lately,  too, 
he  achieved  a  work  from  which  great  ad- 
vantage will  be  derived  by  the  Catholic 
body,  for  there  were  many  of  the  more  no- 
ble families  who  had  lost  their  properties, 
and,  being  proclaimed  outlaws  in  public 
edicts,  were  subsequently  guilty  of  many 
outrages ;  those  by  his  admonitions  he 
brought  back  to  a  better  course  ;  he  more- 
over obtained  pardon  for  their  crimes, 
and  not  only  procured  this  pardon  for 
themselves,  but  also  for  their  receivers, 
and  thus  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  Ca- 
tholic families  have  been  freed  from  immi- 
nent danger  to  their  body  and  soul  and 
properties." 


But  the  good  pastor  was  not  con- 
tented with  these  extended  labors 
among  the  laity.  To  make  his  re- 
forms permanent  and  beneficial,  he 
felt  that  he  should  commence  with 
the  clergy,  who  as  a  body  had  al- 
ways been  faithful  to  their  sacred 
trust,  but,  owing  to  the  disturbed  state 
of  the  country  for  so  many  years  past, 
had  been  unable  to  perform  their  al- 
lotted duties  with  that  exactness  and 
punctuality  so  desirable  in  the  pre- 
sence of  a  watchful  and  unscrupu- 
lous enemy.  He  therefore  ordained 
many  young  students,  whom  he  found 
qualified  for  the  ministry,  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  temporary  cessation 
of  espionage  consequent  on  the  arrival 
of  Lord  Berkeley,  he  established  a 
college  in  Drogheda,  in  which  he  soon 
had  one  hundred  and  sixty  pupils 
and  twenty-five  ecclesiastics,  under 
the  care  of  three  learned  Jesuit  fa- 
thers. The  expenses  of  this  school 
he  defrayed  out  of  his  slender  means, 
never  more  than  sixty  pounds  per 
annum,  and  frequently  not  one-fifth 
of  that  sum,  with  the  exception  of 
150  scudi  (less  than  forty  pounds 
sterling),  annually  allowed  by  the 
Sacred  Congregation  of  Propaganda. 


When,  in  1674,  the  penal  laws  were 
again  put  in  force  in  all  their  original 
ferocity  of  spirit,  the  college  was  of 
course  broken  up ;  but  Dr.  Plunket  in 
his  letters  to  Rome  was  never  tired 
of  impressing  on  the  minds  of  the  au- 
thorities there  the  necessity  of  afford- 
ing Irish  students  more  ample  facili- 
ties for  affording  a  thorough  educa- 
tion. His  suggestions  in  regard  to 
the  Irish  College  at  Rome,  by  which 
a  larger  number  of  students  might  be 
accommodated  without  increased  ex- 
pense, though  not  acted  upon  at  the 
time,  have  since  been  carried  out, 
and  it  was  principally  at  his  instance 
that  the  Irish  institutions  in  Spain, 
previously  monopolized  by  young 
men  from  certain  dioceses  of  Ireland 
only,  were  thrown  open  to  all. 

In  the  latter  part  of  1671,  we  find 
Dr.  Plunket  on  a  mission  to  the  Hebri- 
des, where  the  people,  the  descend- 
ants of  the  ancient  Irish  colonists, 
still  preserved  their  Gaelic  language, 
and  received  him  with  all  the  grati- 
tude and  enthusiasm  of  the  Celtic  na- 
ture. In  1674,  notwithstanding  the 
storm  of  persecution  then  raging  over 
the  island,  he  made  a  lengthy  tour 
through  the  province  of  Tuam,  and  in 
the  following  year  we  have  a  detail- 
ed report  of  his  visitation  to  the 
eleven  dioceses  in  his  own  province, 
every  one  of  which,  no  matter  how 
remote  or  what  was  the  personal 
risk,  he  took  pains  to  inspect,  bring- 
ing peace  and  comfort  in  his  foot- 
steps, and  leaving  behind  him  the 
tears  and  prayers  of  his  appreciative 
children. 

If  we  add  to  this  multiplicity  of  oc- 
cupations the  further  one  of  being 
the  chief  and  almost  only  regular 
correspondent  of  the  Sacred  Congre- 
gation of  Propaganda  in  the  three 
kingdoms,  we  may  presume  that  the 
primate's  life  in  Ireland  was  fully  and 
advantageously  occupied.  The  num- 
ber of  his  letters  to  Rome  on  every  sub' 


444 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


ject  of  importance  is  immense,  when 
we  consider  the  difficulty  and  danger 
of  communication  in  those  days.  He 
was  also  in  constant  correspondence 
with  London,  Paris,  and  Brussels, 
and,  though  he  sometimes  complains 
of  the  weakness  of  his  eyesight,  caus- 
ed doubtless  by  exposure  and  change 
of  climate,  he  frequently  regrets  more 
his  poverty,  which  did  not  enable 
him  to  pay  the  postage  on  all  occa- 
sions. At  one  time,  indeed,  he  avers 
that  all  the  food  he  is  able  to  pro- 
cure for  himself  is  "  a  little  oaten 
bread  and  some  milk  and  water." 

The  last  important  act  of  the  pri- 
mate was  the  convocation  of  a  pro- 
vincial synod  at  Ardpatrick,  in  Au- 
gust, 1678,  at  which  were  present  the 
bishops  or  vicars-general  and  apos- 
tolic of  all  the  dioceses  of  Ulster. 
Many  decrees  of  a  general  and  special 
nature  were  there  passed  with  great 
solemnity,  and  upon  being  sent  to 
Rome  were  duly  approved.  It  was 
upon  this  occasion  that  the  represen- 
tatives of  the  suffragan  diocese  of 
Armagh,  deeply  impressed  and  edifi- 
ed as  they  were  by  the  labors  and 
sanctity  of  their  archbishop,  address- 
ed a  joint  letter  to  the  Sacred  Con- 
gregation, eloquently  describing  the 
extent  and  good  effect  of  his  constant 
solicitude  for  his  spiritual  charge. 

"  We  therefore  declare  (say  those  ven- 
erable men)  that  the  aforesaid  Most  Illus- 
trious Metropolitan  has  labored  much, 
exercising  his  sacred  functions  not  only 
in  his  own  but  also  in  other  dioceses  ;  du- 
ring the  late  persecution  he  abandoned  not 
the  flock  entrusted  to  him,  though  he 
was  exposed  to  extreme  danger  of  losing 
his  life  ;  he  erected  schools,  and  provided 
masters  and  teachers,  that  the  clergy  and 
youth  might  be  instructed  in  literature, 
piety,  cases  of  conscience,  and  other 
matters  relating  to  their  office  ;  he  held 
two  provincial  councils,  in  which  salutary 
decrees  were  enacted  for  the  reformation 
of  morals  ;  he,  moreover,  rewarded  the 
good  and  punished  the  bad,  as  far  as  cir- 
cumstances and  the  laws  of  the  kingdom 


allowed  ;  he  labored  much,  and  not 
without  praise,  in  preaching  the  word 
of  God  ;  he  instructed  the  people  by 
word  and  example  ;  he  also  exercised 
hospitality  so  as  to  excite  the  admi- 
ration of  all,  although  he  scarcely  re- 
ceived annually  two  hundred  crowns 
from  his  diocese  ;  and  he  performed  all 
other  things  which  became  an  arch- 
bishop and  metropolitan,  as  far  as  they 
could  be  done  in  this  kingdom.  In  fine, 
to  our  great  service  and  consolation,  he 
renewed,  or  rather  established  anew, 
at  great  expense,  correspondence  with 
the  Holy  See,  which,  for  many  years  be- 
fore his  arrival,  had  become  extinct.  For 
all  which  things  we  acknowledge  our- 
selves indebted  to  his  Holiness  and  to 
your  Eminences,  who,  by  your  solicitude 
provided  for  us  so  learned  and  vigilant  a 
metropolitan,  and  we  shall  ever  pray  the 
Divine  Majesty  to  preserve  his  holiness 
and  your  Eminences." 

Had  the  distinguished  body  of  ec- 
clesiastics who  thus  voluntarily  testi- 
fied to  the  merits  of  their  archbishop 
anticipated  the  awful  catastrophe  that 
was  soon  to  remove  him  from  them 
and  from  the  world,  they  could  not 
have  epitomized  his  career  in  more 
truthful  and  concise  language  for 
the  benefit  of  posterity.  The  end, 
however,  was  now  at  hand.  In  the 
same  year  that  the  provincial  synod 
was  held,  the  persecution  against  the 
Catholics,  intermittent  like  those  of 
the  early  ages  of  the  church,  broke 
out  with  redoubled  violence.  Forced 
to  the  most  extreme  measures  by  the 
parliament,  the  English  court  sent 
the  strictest  orders  to  Ireland  to 
have  arrested  and  removed  from  the 
country  the  entire  body  of  the  bish- 
ops and  the  clergy.  The  statute  of 
2d  Elizabeth,  declaring  it  prczmu- 
nire  or  imprisonment  and  confiscation 
for  any  person  to  exercise  the  au- 
thority of  bishop  or  priest  in  her  do- 
minions, was  revived,  and  liberal  re- 
wards for  the  discovery  of  such  of- 
fenders were  publicly  offered,  to  stim- 
uiate  the  energy  of  that  class  of 
spies  known  as  "  priest-hunters." 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


445 


Dr.  Talbot,  Archbishop  of  Dublin, 
was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison, 
where  during  a  long  confinement  he 
languished  and  finally  died.  Dr. 
Creagh,  Bishop  of  Limerick,  the 
Archbishop  of  Tuam,  and  several  of 
the  inferior  clergy,  were  also  impris- 
oned and  subjected  to  many  annoy- 
ances and  indignities  previous  to 
being  expelled  the  kingdom.  Dr. 
Plunket,  who  hoped  that  the  storm 
would  soon  blow  over,  while  pru- 
dently seeking  a  place  of  safety  in  a 
remote  part  of  his  diocese,  frequently 
avowed  his  determination  never  to 
forsake  his  flock  until  compelled  to 
do  so  by  superior  force.  Learning, 
however,  of  the  dangerous  illness  of 
his  relative  and  former  patron,  Dr. 
Patrick  Plunket,  he  cautiously  left 
his  concealment,  and  hastened  to 
Dublin,  to  be  with  the  good  old 
bishop  during  his  last  moments,  and 
it  was  in  that  city,  on  the  6th  of  De- 
cember, 1679,  that  he  was  discovered 
and  apprehended  by  order  of  the 
viceroy.  For  the  first  six  months 
after  his  arrest  he  was  confined  in 
Dublin  Castle,  part  of  the  time  a 
close  prisoner,  but,  as  the  only  charge 
openly  preferred  against  him  was,  to 
use  the  expression  of  one  of  his  rel- 
atives, "  only  for  being  a  Catholic 
bishop,  and  for  not  having  abandoned 
the  flock  of  our  Lord  in  obedience 
to  the  edict  published  by  parlia- 
ment," and  as  the  punishment  for 
this  at  the  worst  was  expatriation, 
his  friends  did  not  fear  for  his  life. 
They  were  not  aware  then  that  a 
conspiracy  had  been  formed  against 
him  by  some  apostate  friars  under 
the  patronage  of  the  infamous  Earl 
of  Shaftesbury,  the  leader  of  the 
English  fanatics,  with  the  object  of 
accusing  him  of  high  treason,  and 
thus  compassing  his  death.  On  the 
24th  of  July  following,  he  was  sent  un- 
der guard  to  Dundalk  for  trial ;  but  so 


monstrous  were  the  charges  of  treason 
against  him,  and  so  thoroughly  was 
his  character  for  moderation  and 
loyalty  known  to  all,  that,  though  the 
jury  consisted  exclusively  of  Prot- 
estants, his  accusers  dared  not  ap- 
pear against  him,  and  he  was  con- 
sequently remitted  back  to  Dublin. 
But  his  enemies  on  both  sides  of  the 
Channel  were  thirsting  for  his  blood, 
and,  in  October,  1680,  he  was  re- 
moved to  London,  ostensibly  to  an- 
swer before  the  king  and  parliament, 
but,  actually,  to  undergo  the  mock- 
ery of  a  trial  in  a  country  in  which 
no  offense  was  even  alleged  to  have 
been  committed,  where  the  infamous 
character  of  his  accusers  was  un- 
known, and  where  he  was  completely 
isolated  from  his  friends.  The  result 
could  not  be  doubtful.  Without 
counsel  or  witnesses,  in  the  presence 
of  prejudiced  judges  and  perjured 
witnesses,  and  surrounded  by  the  hoot- 
ing of  a  London  mob,  he  was  found 
guilty,  and,  on  the  i4th  of  June, 
1 68 1,  he  was  sentenced  to  be  exe- 
cuted at  Tyburn,  a  judgment  which 
was  carried  out  on  the  nth  of  July 
following,  with  all  the  barbaric  cere- 
monies of  the  period.  During  the 
trial  and  on  the  scaffold,  his  bearing 
was  singularly  noble  and  courageous, 
so  much  so,  indeed,  that  many  who 
beheld  him,  and  who  shared  the 
violent  anti-Catholic  prejudices  of 
the  hour,  were  satisfied  of  his  perfect 
innocence.  He  repeatedly  and  em- 
phatically denied  all  complicity  in 
the  treasonable  plots  laid  to  his 
charge,  but  openly  declared  that  he 
had  acted  as  a  Catholic  bishop,  and 
had  spent  many  years  of  his  life  in 
preaching  and  teaching  God's  word 
to  his  countrymen.  His  life  in 
prison  between  the  passing  and  the 
execution  of  the  sentence  is  best  de- 
scribed by  a  fellow-prisoner,  the 
learned  Benedictine,  Father  Corker, 


446 


An  Irish  Martyr. 


who  had  the  privilege  of  being  with 
him  in  his  last  hours.  In  his  nar- 
rative, he  says : 

"  He  continually  endeavored  to  im- 
prove and  advance  himself  in  the  purity 
of  divine  love,  and  by  consequence  also 
in  contrition  for  his  sins  past  ;  of  his  de- 
ficiency in  both  which  this  humble  soul 
complained  to  me  as  the  only  thing  that 
troubled  him.  This  love  had  extinguish- 
ed in  him  all  fear  of  death.  Perfccta  chari- 
tas  foras  mittit  timorem  :  a  lover  feareth 
not,  but  rejoiceth  at  the  approach  of  the 
beloved.  Hence,  the  joy  of  our  holy 
martyr  seemed  still  to  increase  with  his 
danger,  and  was  fully  accomplished  by 
an  assurance  of  death.  The  very  night 
before  he  died,  being  now,  as  it  were,  at 
heart's  ease,  he  went  to  bed  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  slept  quietly  and  soundly 
till  four  in  the  morning,  at  which  time 
his  man,  who  lay  in  the  room  with  him, 
awaked  him  ;  so  little  concern  had  he 
upon  his  spirit,  or,  rather,  so  much  had 
the  loveliness  of  the  end  beautified  the 
horror  of  the  passage  to  it.  After  he 
certainly  knew  that  God  Alnvghty  had 
chosen  him  to  the  crown  and  dignity  of 
martyrdom,  he  continually  studied  how 
to  divest  himself  of  himself,  and  become 
more  and  more  an  entire  and  perfect  ho- 
locaust, to  which  end,  as  he  gave  up  his 
soul,  with  all  its  faculties,  to  the  conduct 
of  God,  so,  for  God's  sake,  he  resigned 
the  care  and  disposal  of  his  body  to  un- 
worthy me,  etc.  But  I  neither  can  nor 
dare  undertake  to  describe  unto  you  the 
signal  virtues  of  this  blessed  martyr. 
There  appeared  in  him  something  be- 
yond expression — something  more  than 
human  ;  the  most  savage  and  hard-heart- 
ed people  were  mollified  and  attendered 
at  his  sight." 

About  two  years  afterward,  this 
pious  clergymen,  uponbeingliberated, 
disinterred  the  body  of  the  late  pri- 
mate, and  had  it  forwarded  to  the 


convent  of  his  order  at  Lambspring 
in  Germany;  the  trunk  and  legs  he 
had  buried  in  the  churchyard  attach- 
ed to  that  institution,  and  the  right 
arm  and  head  he  preserved  in  sepa- 
rate reliquaries.  The  former  is  still 
preserved  in  the  Benedictine  Con- 
vent; the  latter  is  in  Dundalk,  in  the 
Convent  of  St.  Catharine  of  Sienna, 
a  nunnery  founded  by  the  favorite 
niece  of  the  martyred  prelate. 

Dr.  Plunket's  judicial  murder  was 
the  source  of  great  grief  to  the 
friends  of  the  church  throughout  Eu- 
rope, and  even  many  contemporary 
Protestant  writers  expressed  their  re- 
gret at  his  unmerited  sufferings,  while 
the  unfortunate  agents  of  his  death, 
becoming  outcasts  and  wanderers,  ge- 
nerally ended  their  lives  on  the  scaf- 
fold or  in  abject  poverty,  bemoaning 
their  crimes,  to  the  pity  and  horror 
of  Christendom.  The  memory  of  Dr. 
Plunket,  one  of  the  most  learned  and 
heroic  of  the  long  line  of  Irish  bi- 
shops, is  sacredly  and  loving  preserv- 
ed in  his  own  country  and  in  the 
general  annals  of  the  church  ;  and  let 
us  hope,  in  the  language  of  the  Rev. 
Monsignor  Moran,  who  has  done  so 
much  by  his  researches  to  perpetuate 
the  name  and  fame  of  his  glorious 
countryman,  "  that  the  day  is  not 
now  far  distant  when  our  long-afflict- 
ed church  will  .be  consoled  with  the 
solemn  declaration  of  the  Vicar  of 
Christ,  that  he  who,  in  the  hour  of 
trial,  was  the  pillar  of  the  house  of 
God  in  our  country,  and  who  so  no- 
bly sealed  with  his  blood  the  doc- 
trines of  our  faith,  may  he  ranked 
among  the  martyrs  of  our  holy 
church." 


Mary  Clifford's  Promise  Kept. 


447 


MARY   CLIFFORD'S   PROMISE   KEPT. 


IT  was  the  day  after  a  storm.  The 
morning  had  been  cool,  almost  cold ; 
banks  of  cloud  were  piled  up  on  the 
horizon ;  the  summits  of  the  friendly 
Franconiaswere  shrouded;  the  White 
Mountains  were  invisible,  and  the 
wind  whistled  and  howled,  reminding 
one  of  "  the  melancholy  days "  to 
come.  By  afternoon,  however,  there 
was  a  change.  Every  cloud  had 
magically  disappeared,  the  wind  had 
gone  down,  fields  and  young  maples 
seemed  to  have  renewed  their  early 
green,  and  everything  stood  out  in 
clear  relief,  bathed  and  steeped  in 
September  sunshine.  Not  a  red-let- 
ter day,  but  a  golden  day ;  one  to  be 
remembered. 

I  believe  I  shall  remember  it  all 
my  life,  even  if  there  should  be  days  as 
bright  and  far  happier  in  store  for  me. 
I  was  in  an  open  buggy  with  a  gentle- 
man named  Mr.  Grey,  I  driving  and 
he  calling  my  attention  to  one  thing 
after  another,  and  both  of  us  rejoic- 
ing in  a  light-hearted  way  in  the 
sun,  and  sky,  and  yellow  leaves,  and 
roadside  trees  laden  with  crimson 
plums;  in  the  golden-rod,  and  pur- 
ple asters,  and  the  bee-hives,  and  pic- 
turesque, bare-footed,  white-headed 
children ;  and  in  ourselves  and  each 
other,  and  in  our  youth  and  strength; 
and  in  the  sunny  present,  and  the 
mysterious,  enchanted  future. 

"  I  never  knew  the  animal  go  so 
well  before,"  said  Mr.  Grey ;  "  you 
seem  to  understand  how  to  make 
him  do  his  best.  Only  remember 
that  the  faster  we  go,  the  sooner  we 
shall  get  home.  Will  you  not  sacri- 
fice your  fancy  for  fast  driving,  to 


my  enjoyment  of  the  drive  ?  Give 
me  time  to  realize  how  much  I  enjoy 
it." 

"  You  always  seem  to  feel  as  if 
stopping  to  think  about  it  will  make 
the  time  go  slower,"  I  said. 

"  It  does  to  me,  I  assure  you,  at 
least  at  the  moment.  Yet  I  do  not 
find,  in  looking  back,  that  this  past 
month  has  flown  any  less  fast,  for  all 
my  little  arts  to  detain  it.  Here 
comes  the  stage,  crowded  as  usual, 
inside  and  out.  I  wonder  whether 
we  make  a  part  of  the  picture  to 
them,  and  whether  they  will  remem- 
ber us  w,ith  it  ?  The  mountains  be- 
fore them — look  back,  Miss  Clifford, 
and  see  ;  that  crimson  maple  on  your 
side  of  the  road ;  and  this  green  hill 
with  its  firs  and  rocks  on  mine." 

I  laughed.  "  I  don't  believe  they 
will  ever  think  of  us  again." 

"  Then  they  are  not  appreciative. 
Don't  think  I  mean  to  take  any  of 
their  supposed  notice  to  myself,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  I  am  with  you.  To 
me,  all  the  rest,  all  that  we  can  see 
and  admire,  is  the  frame,  the  setting 
as  it  were,  to  your  face.  It  has  been 
so  ever  since  I  came  here." 

I  found  this  somewhat  embarrassing, 
of  course,  though  Mr.  Grey  spoke  in 
a  simple,  matter-of-fact  way,  that 
had  the  effect  of  veiling  the  compli- 
ment. He  did  not  seem  to  expect 
an  answer,  and  continued,  "  That 
reminds  me  of  '  In  Memoriam.'  Do 
you  recall  the  lines  about  the  '  dif- 
fusive power '  ?" 

"  No;  I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
Repeat  them,  won't  you  ?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  will  find 


448 


Mary  Clifford's  Promise  Kept. 


them  familiar,  yet  I  will  repeat  them, 
because  I  like  them  so  much."  And 
he  recited  these  lines,  which  I  write 
down,  because  they  bring  before  me 
the  whole  scene,  and  I  seem  to  hear 
again  the  low  voice  and  the  appre- 
ciating accent  with  which  he  spoke : 

"  Thy  voice  is  on  the  rolling  air  ; 

1  hear  thee  where  the  waters  run: 
Thou  standest  in  the  rising  sun, 
And  in  the  setting  thou  art  fair. 

"  What  art  thou,  then  ?    I  cannot  guess ; 
But,  though  I  seem  in  otar  and  flower 
To  feel  thee  some  diffusive  power, 
I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less. 

"  My  love  involves  the  love  before  ; 
My  love  is  vaster  passion  now  ; 
Though  mixed  with  God  and  nature  thou, 
I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more. 

"  Far  off  thou  art,  but  ever  nigh  ; 
I  have  thee  still,  and  I  rejoice, 
I  prosper,  circled  with  thy  voice  ; 
I  shall  not  lose  thee,  though  I  die." 

"  Can  you  imagine  feeling  so  about 
any  one  ?"  asked  Mr.  Grey. 

"  I  can  imagine  it.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  Mr.  Tennyson's  friend  was 
really  so  much  to  him  ?" 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I'll 
tell  you,  Miss  Clifford,  what  I  think 
about  that.  It  is  not  right  to  feel  so 
about  anybody,  because  that  is  ex- 
actly the  way  we  ought  to  feel  about 
God.  Don't  you  see  that  it  is  ?  If 
everything  reminded  us  of  him,  it 
would  be  just  right." 

"  I  can't  believe  it  would  be  possi- 
ble to  make  God  so  personal  to  us. 
We  think  naturally  of  what  we  know 
and  have  seen,  not  of  what  we  mere- 
ly believe  in." 

"  Ah !  but  God  may  be  '  personal 
to  us,'  as  you  say.  You  forget  that 
he  is  near  us,  with  us,  and  even  in  us. 
That  would  be  the  only  way,  it  seems 
to  me,  of  loving  him  with  our  mind, 
and  soul,  and  strength,  because  we 
can't  help  loving  all  this  beauty  in 
everything.  Just  as  Tennyson  says, 


'  My  love  involves  the  love  before, 
J  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more.' 


There  was  a  bough  of  deep-red 
leaves  overhead,  and  I  looked  long- 
ingly at  it,  for  they  were  just  the 
color  that  I  liked  to  wear  in  my  hair; 
yet  I  did  not  want  to  ask  for  it,  lest 
Mr.  Grey  should  think  that  I  had 
not  been  attending  to  him.  He  must 
have  seen  the  look,  though,  for  he 
jumped  out  of  the  buggy  and  ran 
up  the  bank  to  get  the  branch.  I 
stopped  the  horse,  thinking,  as  I 
watched  the  capturing  of  the  prize, 
"  I  might  have  known  my  wish  would 
be  anticipated.  Every  one  but  he 
waits  to  be  asked  and  thanked." 
When  he  came  back,  I  told  him  I 
was  tired  of  driving,  and  asked  him 
to  take  the  reins. 

"  May  I  spin  the  drive  out  ?"  he 
asked.  "  You  are  not  in  a  hurry  to 
have  it  over,  are  you  ?  Do  you 
know  it  is  the  only  time  we  have 
ever  driven  together  ?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  we  had  taken  a 
great  many  other  drives.  What  are 
you  thinking  of?" 

"  We  have  driven  often,  as  you 
say,  with  parties  of  other  people,  but 
have  we  ever  taken  a  drive  by  our- 
selves before  ?" 

"  No,"  I  returned;  "you  are  right." 

"  It  is  a  part  of  the  whole,"  con- 
tinued he.  "  I  have  been  in  a  kind 
of  dream  for  a  month.  I  dread  the 
awakening,  though  everything  re- 
minds me  of  it  now.  It  has  been  a 
new  experience  to  me,  this  boarding 
with  other  people  and  seeing  them 
so  familiarly.  There  is  no  way  of 
getting  into  easy  and  friendly  rela- 
tions with  others  in  a  very  short 
space  of  time  so  effective  as  this; 
and,  as  the  household  has  happened 
to  be  a  very  pleasant  one,  I  have 
enjoyed  the  experiment  greatly ; 
though  it  is  strange  to  think  that  I 
may  never  see  any  of  our  number 
again." 

"  You  are  really  very  flattering, 
Mr.  Grey,"  I  said,  a  little  hurt. 


Mary  Clifford's  Promise  Kept, 


449 


"  Then  I  am  never  to  see  you  again  ! 
I  am  glad  you  have  given  me  warn- 
ing, or  I  might  have  invited  you  to 
visit  us  in  Boston,  next  winter." 

"  You  are  kind,  very  kind,"  he  an- 
swered hastily ;  "  nothing  would  give 
me  greater  pleasure  than  to  meet 
you.  but  I  shall  not  be  in  America 
next  winter.  I  hope  to  be  in  Rome." 

"  Really  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  Why 
are  you  going  to  Rome  ?  To  be  a 
priest  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  that  vocation.  I  am  going 
abroad  to  try  to  find  a  wife,  singular 
as  it  may  appear." 

"  It  does  seem  strange  that  a  man 
with  such  strong  American  feelings 
as  you  should  wish  to  have  a  foreign 
wife." 

"  I  want  to  marry  a  Catholic,"  he 
said,  switching  off  the  tops  of  the 
golden-rod  with  the  whip. 

"  And  are  there  no  Catholic  wives 
to  be  obtained  here  ?"  I  asked,  smil- 
ing. 

"  No  doubt ;  though  I  have  not 
yet  found  the  one  I  am  looking  for. 
Among  converts  there  are  girls  who 
suffer  for  their  faith,  who  are  called 
upon  to  make  sacrifices,  to  lose  posi- 
tion, and  the  approbation,  even  the 
affection,  of  their  friends.  '  It  is  so 
odd !'  they  say,  '  so  unnecessary,  to 
break  away  from  early  associations, 
and  from  forms  of  worship  which 
have  been  sufficient  for  all  their 
friends — and  very  good  people  too — 
and  embrace  a  foreign  religion.' 
Haven't  you  heard  such  remarks  ?" 

I  acknowledged  that  I  had,  add- 
ing, "  And  I  don't  wonder  at  it." 

"  Among  these  brave  girls,"  he 
continued,  not  noticing  my  remark, 
"  one  meets  heroism,  fervor,  and  a 
practical  recommendation  of  the  re- 
ligion for  which  they  are  proud  to 
suffer ;  but  I  also  want  to  see  what 
I  shall  find  in  other  countries — wo- 
men who  have  grown  up  in  a  Catho- 
VOL.  xm. — 29. 


lie  atmosphere,  and  acquired  their 
faith  unconsciously,  as  the  breath  of 
their  lives.  These  have  developed 
into  beautiful  forms  of  grace  and 
piety,  as  delicate  as  flowers,  and, 
like  them,  breathing  innocence  and 
purity  such  as  no  other  education 
can  give  or  even  preserve." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  inno- 
cence and  purity  cannot  be  found 
among  Protestant  girls  ?"  I  asked 
sarcastically. 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  they  can,"  he 
answered  earnestly ;  "  yet  do  not  be 
offended  if  I  say,  not  in  the  same 
degree.  You  cannot  conceive,  Miss 
Clifford,  of  the  beauty  of  a  soul 
which  has  been  guarded  and  sustain- 
ed from  infancy  by  the  graces  and 
sacraments  of  the  church,  and  has 
kept  its  baptismal  whiteness  without 
stain.  It  is  not  often  found,  even 
within  the  church,  and  is,  I  believe, 
nearly  impossible  outside  it." 

"  I  hope  you'll  find  this  angel  next 
winter.  Please  let  me  know  when 
you  discover  her,  for  I  should  like  to 
see  her." 

He  was  silent,'  and  as  I  was  think- 
ing about  a  good  many  things,  we 
drove  on  very  quietly  for  some  time. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should 
remember  so  well  what  Mr.  Grey 
said  to  me  that  golden  September 
afternoon,  and  as  I  think  I  know  the 
reason  of  it,  I  will  write  it  down  as 
frankly  as  I  have  written  the  descrip- 
tion of  our  drive  so  far,  and  as  I 
mean  to  put  down  all  I  recall  of  it 
to  the  end. 

Mr.  Grey  had  boarded  for  a  month 
in  the  same  house  with  me  and  my 
sister,  and  a  dozen  other  people,  all 
of  whom  we  met  for  the  first  time. 
My  sister  and  I  were  the  only  per- 
sons whose  society  he  seemed  to  seek, 
and  as  she,  not  being  strong,  was  ob- 
liged to  keep  quiet,  I  had  seen  more 
of  him  than  any  one  else.  He  was 
very  polite  and  pleasant  to  every  one, 


450 


Mary  Clifford's  Promise  Kept. 


and  the  whole  household  liked  him ; 
yet  he  never  talked  to  the  other  la- 
dies as  he  did  to  me,  nor  paid  them 
the  same  watchful  little  attentions. 
He  thought  me  pretty,  and  had  a 
curious,  unconscious  way  of  alluding 
to  it  that  did  not  seem  offensive  like 
common  flattery,  and  there  was  a  de- 
licacy and  appreciation  about  his 
treatment  of  me  that  was  original 
and  very,  very  pleasant. 

True,  he  was  a  Catholic,  and  a 
very  devout  one,  having  his  religious 
books  and  papers  always  with  him, 
and  talking  of  his  faith  with  real  en- 
joyment to  any  one  who  showed  the 
smallest  interest.  Rose,  my  sister, 
had  talked  with  him  once  or  twice, 
and  to  her  he  very  soon  expressed 
his  disapproval  of  marriage  between 
Catholics  and  non-Catholics  (as  he 
called  them),  and  declared  his  deter- 
mination never  to  marry  at  all  if  he 
could  not  have  a  Catholic  wife. 
Rose  had  alluded  to  this  in  my  pre- 
sence, so  he  knew  that  I  under- 
stood what  his  intentions  were.  On 
account  of  this  understanding,  there 
was  more  freedom  and  less  constraint 
in  our  intercourse  than  would  other- 
wise have  been;  and  as  he  was  a 
gentleman,  and  an  educated  one,  I 
found  great  pleasure  in  being  with 
fiitn  and  in  his  sympathy.  His  at- 
tentions, unobtrusive,  thoughtful,  and 
constant,  were  not  only  acceptable  to 
me,  but  in  that  short  month  I  had 
come  to  depend  upon  them  more 
than  I  was  aware  of,  forgetting  that 
when  they  ceased  it  would  be  hard- 
er for  me  than  if  I  had  never  receiv- 
ed them. 

Mr.  Grey  had  never  talked  to  me 
exactly  in  the  way  that  he  did  that 
afternoon,  and  because  I  thought  it 
unusual  I  have  been  able  to  recall 
what  he  said  in  nearly  his  very 
words. 

We  were  on  our  way  home,  walk- 
ing up  a  long  hill,  when  he  said : 


"  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  of 
you  lately,  and  of  a  feeling  I  have 
had  about  you  from  the  first — as  if  it 
were  a  great  merit  in  you  to  be  so 
lovely,  and  sweet,  and  charming,  and 
that  any  one  who  felt  and  appreciat- 
ed your  loveliness  as  I  have  owed 
you  a  kind  of  debt,  as  it  were,  which 
it  would  be  an  honor  and  a  happi- 
ness to  try  to  pay." 

His  face  was  turned  from  me,  and 
he  trailed  the  whip-lash  in  the  road, 
while  I,  leaning  back,  could  not  help 
looking  at  him,  and,  because  I  did 
not  know  what  to  say,  I  laughed. 

He  continued  :  "  Yet  with  that 
thought  came  the  realization  of  its  in- 
justice; for  you  cannot  help  your 
prettiness,  and  you  are  clever  because 
it  is  natural  to  you;  and  I  thought, 
'  Now,  if  I  am  just,  I  shall  pay  my 
debt  not  to  her,  who  did  not  make 
herself,  but  to  God,  who  made  her. 
I  shall  love  not  only  the  beauty,  but 
also  the  Giver  and  Perfecter  of  it.' 
Would  not  that  be  better,  Miss  Clif- 
ford ?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  understand 
what  you  mean.  Only,  then,  why 
have  you  been  so  good  to  me  ?"  I 
had  to  look  away,  for  my  voice  trem- 
bled and  my  eyes  were  suddenly  full 
of  tears. 

"  Why  ?  Because  it  has  made  me 
happy,  and  I  have  been  unjust ;  be- 
cause I  have  said  to  myself,  '  This  is 
a  dream — a  sweet  and  charming 
dream.  Soon  I  shall  wake  and  go 
back  to  real  life ;  for  the  present,  let 
me  be  weak  and  enjoy  it.'  " 

The  glory  of  the  sunshine  was  de- 
parting, the  hills  were  in  deep  sha- 
dow, and  the  slanting  rays  were  no 
longer  warm  and  cheering.  Mr.  Grey 
wrapped  my  shawl  round  me,  just  as 
I  remembered  that  I  had  one  in 
case  I  should  need  it. 

When  I  could  speak  steadily,  I  re- 
marked :  "  Something  that  you  have 
said  makes  me  think  of  the  parable 


Mary  Clifford's  Promise  Kept. 


451 


of  the  talents.  It  has  always  per- 
plexed me.  Will  you  tell  me  if  you 
think  I  have  a  talent,  and  what  I  am 
to  do  with  it  ?  I  don't  want  to  bury 
it  in  the  ground." 

"  Your  talents  are  clear  enough,  I 
am  sure,"  he  answered.  "  Your  pow- 
er of  pleasing  and  making  yourself 
loved  is  one." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Why,  do  good  with  it.  You 
have  done  me  good." 

"  Ah !  but  that  is  because  you  are 
good,  not  because  I  am,"  I  said  sadly. 

"  I  am  not  good,  though  perhaps 
the  reason  why  you  have  done  me 
good  lies  more  with  me  than  you. 
I  don't  suppose — forgive  me  for  say- 
ing it — that  your  beauty  was  given 
you  only  to  win  men's  hearts,  because 
that  does  not  make  them  happy,  or 
better." 

"  You  are  thinking,  I  suppose,  of 
Mr.  Falconer.  I  am  sure  I  did  not 
\vant  him  to  fall  in  love  with  me,  and 
make  such  a  fuss.  It  was  very  un- 
comfortable." 

"  And  don't  you  think  you  might 
have  helped  it  ?  Really,  now,  Miss 
Clifford  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  might  perhaps  have 
stopped  him  if  I  had  been  rude  and 
disagreeable  to  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  ever  that 
to  any  one.  You  try  to  please  every- 
body." 

"  There  !  that  is  just  it !"  I  exclaim- 
ed. "  Why,  isn't  that  using  my  tal- 
ent, taking  for  granted  I  have  it  ? 
Wrhat  ought  I  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  know  what  a  Catholic  girl 
would  think  of,  because  Catholics 
are  taught  in  all  things  to  acknow- 
ledge God,  and  to  refer  all  to  him. 
Think  what  this  gift  of  beauty  is — 
the  key  to  all  hearts;  it  challenges 
and  receives  love  as  soon  as  seen. 
Don't  you  feel  instantly  attracted  by 
a  beautiful  face,  and  turn  with  plea- 
sure and  affection  toward  the  posses- 


sor, before   she  has  given  any  evi- 
dence of  other  claims  to  be  loved  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  for  a  person  who  can't 
help  wanting  to  please  and  to  be 
loved,  it  is  an  advantage,  isn't  it  ?" 
"  It  is  more  than  that,  it  is  the  gift 
of  God ;  and  therefore  intended  for 
good.  The  saints  were  in  the  habit 
of  saying,  '  God  created  all  this  beau- 
ty in  order  to  lead  me  to  love  him.' 
Now,  if  a  woman  thinks  of  this,  she 
will  not  prize  her  beauty  for  the  pur- 
poses of  vanity,  but  to  lead  her  ad- 
mirers  to  something  higher  than  her- 
self. I  grant  you  this  is  not  common, 
nor  would  a  woman  think  of  it,  un- 
less she  had  been  taught  to  think  of 
God  as  the  first  principle  of  her  life. 
But  I  will  not  preach  any  more." 

"  You  remind  me  of  my  little  '  Mrs. 
Barbauld.'  How  long  it  is  since  I 
have  thought  of  it !  '  The  rose  is 
beautiful ;  but  he  that  made  the  rose 
is  more  beautiful  than  it.  It  is  beau- 
tiful ;  he  is  beauty.'  " 

"  I  have  been  unusually  serious, 
perhaps  because  I  have  felt  the  end 
of  the  dream  drawing  very  near.  I  am 
going  away  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row." 

The  sunset  clouds  had  faded  away, 
and  the  stars  were  coming  out  above 
our  heads.  We  had  reached  the  top 
of  one  more  long  hill,  and  there  was 
the  little  meeting-house  before  us, 
and  we  saw  beyond  our  own  white 
cottage,  with  a  light  in  the  parlor- 
window,  showing  that  tea-time  was 
passed.  Mr.  Grey  spoke  again. 

"  Have  you  enjoyed  this  drive  ?" 

"  I  have  very  much." 

"  Have  I  said  anything  to  hurt  or 
offend  you  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Mr.  Grey.  On  the 
contrary,  you  have  given  me  some- 
thing to  think  about.  No  one  ever 
spoke  to  me  in  this  way  before." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  shall  be 
likely  to  remember  this  afternoon  ? 
and  with  pleasure  ?" 


452 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


"  I  shall  not  be  likely  to  forget  it." 
"  Well,  then,  I  have  an  odd  fancy, 
and  it  is  this.  I  want  you  to  pro- 
mise me,  after  I  have  left  this  beau- 
tiful place  and  you,  that  you  will 
write  a  description  of  this  drive,  as  if 
to  an  unknown  third  person,  with  the 
details  and  necessary  explanations. 
I  will  do  the  same.  Then,  if  we 
meet  again,  you  can  read  mine  and 
I  yours,  if  we  like,  and  look  back  to 
this  time.  Will  you  promise  ?" 

I  considered  a  minute,  and  then 
said,  "  I  think  I  can  see  that  such 
a  description  will  not  be  an  easy 
thing  to  me ;  yet,  if  it  is  your  wish,  of 
course,  Mr.  Grey,  I  promise." 

"  We  may  meet  after  many  years, 
you  an  old  lady  and  I  an  old 
man  ;  and  these  accounts  will 


back  to  us  this  perfect  day,  and  all 
that  we  have  seen  and  felt." 

I  looked  at  him  and  smiled.  "  Mr. 
Grey,  I  have  been  invited  to  spend 
a  year  abroad  with  some  friends, 
and  my  father  says  I  may  go  if  1 
choose.  We  may  meet  next  winter, 
in  Rome." 

And  in  Rome  we  did  meet,  sure 
enough — that  Rome  to  which  "all 
roads  lead."  I  began  to  take  one 
of  those  roads  soon  after  Mr.  Grey's 
departure.  I  found  it  a  road  "so 
plain  that  a  fool  could  not  err  there- 
in," a  "  path  of  peace."  And  when 
we  stood  side  by  side  in  the  Rome 
of  the  Seven  Hills,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  share  the  seventh  sacrament 
with  a  "  convert  girl." 


THE  PRESENT  AND  THE  FUTURE. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  "  CARITA." 


So  great  and  painful  are  the  suf- 
ferings and  terror  now  weighing  upon 
the  nations  of  Europe  that,  setting 
every  other  subject  aside,  it  is  toward 
that  the  mind  necessarily  turns,  and 
we  will  accordingly  lay  before  our 
readers  the  deeply  rooted  convictions 
we  entertain,  not  merely  in  reference 
to  the  year  gone  by,  but  to  that  on 
which  we  are  just  entering.  These 
convictions  take  within  their  scope 
the  present  most  deplorable  and 
shameful  condition  of  Europe,  and  a 
future  that  cannot  be  very  far  distant. 
But  which  of  these  subjects  shall  we 
undertake  to  discuss  ?  Or,  were  we 
to  satisfy  the  necessity  there  seems 


for  the  treatment  of  both,  should  we 
be  thereby  exceeding  the  limit  of  our 
obligation  as  journalists  ?  Nothing 
is  easier,  nothing  more  agreeable  in 
our  case,  than  to  satisfy  both  the  one 
and  the  other.  For,  if  we  place  be- 
fore our  readers  our  reflections  on 
the  present  and  future  of  the  Chris- 
tian nations  of  Europe,  we  shall  be 
at  the  same  time  denning  and  speci- 
fying the  principal  field  of  our  stu- 
dies. 

I  will  then  examine  into  the  rea- 
sons of  the  present  condition  of  the 
church  and  of  civilization,  and  I  will 
do  so  with  a  mind  as  free  as  may  be 
from  prejudice  and  the  heat  of  pas- 
sion. After  judging  of  events  by  the 
great  laws  of  history,  I  will  endea- 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


453 


vor  to  trace  out  the  path  which  ideas 
and  facts  must  follow  at  no  distant 
period.  My  words  will  indeed  be 
addressed  in  an  especial  manner  to 
the  true  children  of  the  church,  but 
I  do  not  doubt  that  they  will  indi- 
rectly reach  some  who  are  removed 
and  even  separated  from  us.  Neith- 
er do  I  deny  that  I  am  animated  by 
the  hope  of  helping  to  sustain  the 
courage  of  my  brethren,  so  that  each 
one  may  be  able  to  say  to  himself 
dei  quare  dubitasti. 


ii. 


TOWARDS  the  close  of  the  year 
1869,  and  the  commencement  of  the 
year  that  followed,  two  solemn  utter- 
ances resounded  through  Europe  and 
agitated  the  nations  of  the  universe. 
The  first  of  these  proceeded  from  the 
Roman  Pontiff,  the  convener  of  the 
(Ecumenical  Council ;  the  other  was 
the  cry  of  modern  civilization,  pro- 
claiming its  own  power  and  its  ideas 
of  universal  progress.  Both  utteran- 
ces were  of  solemn  import,  but  the 
one  was  in  contradiction  to  the  other. 
The  first,  or  that  of  the  Pontiff,  with 
all  the  weight  of  his  divine  authority, 
laid  open  to  view  the  true  principles 
of  the  other,  and  strove  to  reclaim  it 
to  Christ  with  the  new  and  more 
effulgent  light  of  truth  and  the  more 
ardent  fire  of  charity.  Such  words 
ought  indeed  to  have  found  an  echo 
and  penetrated  through  every  fibre 
of  the  universe,  for  they  were  in  sub- 
stance the  language  of  love ;  from 
love  they  came,  and  to  love  they 
tended.  Had  they  thus  been  accept- 
ed by  the  nations,  we  should  not 
have  had  now  so  many  sufferings  to 
undergo,  nor  been  menaced  by  a  fu- 
ture still  more  calamitous.  The  oth- 
er utterance,  that  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, inspired  by  the  idea  that  it  was 
an  invincible  and  independent  power, 
spurned  the  thought  not  merely  of 


supernatural  aid,  but  even  of  super- 
natural authority.  Moreover,  in  proof 
of  its  power,  it  collected  then  under 
distinct  heads  all  the  evidences  of 
the  progress  of  the  present  age,  prof- 
fering them  as  an  infallible  guarantee 
of  new  and  still  greater  progress  in 
the  immediate  future.  Thousands 
listened  with  credulity  to  such  lan- 
guage, and,  opening  their  hearts  to 
glorious  dreams  of  the  future,  exult- 
ed over  the  hopes  they  had  conceiv- 
ed with  a  joy  whose  folly  was  unques- 
tionable, though  it  would  be  hard  to 
pronounce  whether  it  proceeded  most 
from  impiety  or  pride.  It  is,  howev- 
er, a  satisfaction  to  speak  with  bold- 
ness and  candor,  calling  things  by 
their  right  names  :  such  joy  was  fool- 
ish, because  it  was  at  once  both 
proud  and  impious.  The  words  of 
the  Supreme  Pontiff  were  derided,  and 
abuse  and  calumnies  of  every  de- 
scription were  heaped  with  a  lavish 
hand  on  the  acts  of  the  (Ecumenical 
Council. 

Now,  assuming  the  active  opposi- 
tion of  these  two  powers,  what  con- 
sequences must  result  from  it  in  the 
domain  of  facts  ?  The  problem  is 
unquestionably  an  important  one,  and 
we  must  treat  it  by  first  going  back 
and  tracing  it  downward  from  first 
principles. 

in. 

THE  decree  of  the  Pope  when  sum- 
moning an  CEcumenical  Council 
may  be  defined  as  the  supreme  exer- 
cise of  his  authority;  and  the  coun- 
cil so  assembled  is  the  greatest  and 
most  universal  act  of  the  power  of 
good  with  which  the  church  has  been 
invested ;  she  who  is  the  City  of  God, 
yet  a  pilgrim  upon  earth.  Reason- 
ing on  these  same  questions,  a  year 
ago,  I  recollect  having  thus  express- 
ed myself:  "  Assuming  that  the  life 
of  the  Catholic  Church  is  charity 


454 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


both  in  its  source  and  its  organiza- 
tion, and  that  the  Papacy  is  the  cen- 
tral seat  of  charity;  what,  then,  is  the 
(Ecumenical  Council,  that  supreme 
act  of  the  Papacy  and  the  church  ? 
The  answer  is  not  difficult :  it  is  the 
supreme  act  of  charity  peculiar  to 
Catholicity,  and  is  therefore  that  pow- 
er of  supernatural  love  which  is  alone 
strong  enough  to  combat  with  and 
put  to  flight  the  gigantic  and  many- 
sided  egotism  of  the  times  we  live 
in." 

Now,  such  an  act  of  this  all-pow- 
erful charity  did  the  church  initiate 
on  the  8th  day  of  December,  1869 — 
a  day  that  will  live  for  ever  in  the 
memory  of  posterity,  and  never  fail 
to  be  spoken  of  with  blessings.  To 
the  eyes  of  Catholics,  the  Council 
of  the  Vatican  appeared — and  such 
it  is — a  new  and  living  fountain  of 
hope.  It  seemed  as  if  the  yearnings 
of  three  centuries  and  many  genera- 
tions were  at  last  to  be  gratified  by 
this  council.  It  seemed,  in  a  special 
manner,  as  if  the  tendencies  and 
wants  of  the  nineteenth  century  con- 
verged toward  this  council,  like  rays 
to  a  common  centre.  And  here,  the 
better  to  understand  the  truth  of 
these  sentiments,  we  trust  it  will  not 
be  unacceptable  to  our  readers  if  we 
lay  before  them  what  we  ourselves — 
partakers  in  and  witnesses  of  the  uni- 
versal conscience — published  on  the 
very  day  on  which  the  (Ecumenical 
Council  opened  in  the  Vatican  : 

"  And,  in  truth,  what  is  the  council  in 
relation  to  the  nineteenth  century?  It  is 
the  desire  of  all,  a  something  longed  and 
sighed  for  by  all  minds  and  all  hearts, 
the  ideal  of  th6  noblest  and  most  gene- 
rous aspirations  that  now  assert  their 
sway  over  the  spirit  of  man.  Nor  is  it 
that  only,  but  it  is  likewise  what  was 
needed  to  meet  the  most  urgent  and  wide- 
spread want  of  our  age.  It  will  doubtless 
appear  strange  to  very  many  that  the 
council  should  be  styled  the  desire  of 
all  men,  but  such  is  nevertheless  the 


fact  ;  consciously  or  unconsciously,  all 
longed  for  it :  all,  those  who  hail  it  and 
those  who  curse  it,  those  who  believe  in 
it  and  those  who  despise  it.  Yes,  all  ;  he 
who  exalts  our  age,  and  he  who  bewails 
its  errors,  he  whose  heart  is  rejoiced,  and 
he  who  sheds  tears  over  the  events  of 
our  century  ;  princes  and  people,  the 
priesthood  and  the  laity,  religion  and 
civilization,  faith  and  science.  Assured- 
ly, were  any  additional  proof  necessary 
to  demonstrate  to  conviction,  by  the  evi- 
dence of  reason  and  history,  that  the  Pa- 
pacy is  the  heart  of  humanity,  the  heart 
in  which  all  the  aspirations  of  humanity 
converge  and  unite,  here  would  be  the 
proof  in  the  summons  that  convened  this 
CEcumenical  Council.  For,  from  the  va- 
rious and  opposite  judgments  passed 
upon  our  age,  some  in  adulation,  others 
in  blame,  one  thing  is  evident,  and  all 
agree  in  admitting  it,  that  the  tendencies 
of  our  age  are  directed  by  a  twofold  at- 
traction toward  union  and  liberty.  These 
guiding  influences  are  in  themselves 
most  powerful,  noble,  and  exalted,  be- 
cause they  mirror  the  infinite,  absolute, 
and  supreme  unity  of  God.  Liberty  is 
the  image  and  proof  of  the  Infinite  Be- 
ing, for  he  alone  is  truly  free,  and  the 
spirit  which  tends  by  love  toward  him  is 
adorned  with  liberty,  and  possesses  the 
power  of  reducing  its  free  will  to  act. 
Union  is  the  shadow  and  effect  of  the 
divine  union,  because  the  one  God,  one 
Truth,  one  Good,  one  Beauty,  can  alone 
sweetly  and  strongly  bring  into  accord 
the  wills  and  understandings  of  men, 
and  cause  them  to  harmonize  in  the  limit- 
less range  of  space,  and  the  vicissitude 
and  diversity  of  time." 


Now,  two  such  qualities  and  ten- 
dencies of  humanity,  acting  in  an  es- 
pecial manner,  or,  in  other  words, 
more  powerfully  and  universally  than 
ever  before,  rule  over  and  exalt  out 
age.  He  who  should  say  that  these 
two  tendencies,  naturally  common  to 
all  men,  all  times,  and  all  places,  had 
become  the  passions  of  the  age,  and 
even  its  most  ardent  passions,  would 
express  our  ideas  on  this  subject,  and 
give  an  adequate  description  of  the 
times  in  which  we  live. 

Liberty,  then,  and  union,  are  the 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


455 


cry  from  every  quarter,  the  thought, 
desire,  hope,  strength,  and  occupa- 
tion of  all  intellects,  of  all  classes,  of 
everything  that  belongs  to  man,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest.  Trades, 
business,  and  commerce  cry  aloud 
for  liberty,  and  for  union  with  liberty. 
The  free  co-operation  of  the  indus- 
trial arts  and  workmen's  societies,  of 
societies  of  merchants  and  banking- 
houses,  are  ideas  and  facts  so  com- 
mon in  these  days  that  the  dominion 
of  the  two  tendencies  referred  to 
above  is  clearly  made  manifest  in  the 
lower  order  of  civilization.  And  this 
order,  quickened  by  such  ideas  and 
making  use  of  such  aids,  becomes  the 
instrument  of  new  liberty  and  still 
greater  union.  Thus,  the  power  of 
steam  triumphing  over  the  obstacles 
of  matter,  and  the  speed  of  electricity 
overcoming  the  resistance  of  space 
and  time,  favor  the  free  expansion  of 
nation  toward  nation,  and  make,  I 
might  almost  say,  one  single  society 
out  of  the  most  distant  nations. 

Rising  from  this  lower  order  of 
civilization,  the  industries  of  every 
kind,  to  what  is  far  nobler,  that  of 
science,  we  observe  the  same  aspira- 
tions, perhaps  more  universally  dif- 
fused and  more  passionate  in  degree 
toward  liberty  and  union.  Freedom 
of  thought,  freedom  of  education, 
freedom  of  speech  and  of  the  press, 
seem  to  be  the  idols  of  the  day ;  for, 
strange  to  say,  freedom  of  the  intel- 
lectual life  is  deemed  by  very  many 
not  as  the  dowry  of  science,  but  the 
fundamental  principle  of  all  human 
instruction.  There  exists,  also,  with 
this  desire  for  intellectual  freedom,  a 
craving  after  union.  Scientific  con- 
gresses, either  general  or  confined  to 
some  particular  branch  of  knowledge, 
succeed  each  other  at  no  distant  in- 
tervals, sometimes  in  one  place  and 
sometimes  in  another,  so  as  to  unite 
men  of  intellect  whom  distance  of 
space  had  kept  asunder.  The  lite- 


rary journals,  whose  number  is  so 
great  as  to  excite  amazement,  have 
become  the  arena  for  the  free  diffu- 
sion of  thought ;  they  keep  alive  the 
work  of  the  scientific  congresses,  and 
spread  its  knowledge — spreading  it 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  complete  the 
intellectual  union  of  the  human  race, 
by  making  the  speculations  of  the 
great  men  of  science  familiar  to  the 
most  ordinary  intellects. 

Turning  our  gaze  from  the  indus- 
trial and  intellectual  to  the  moral 
life,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  life  of  socie- 
ty, the  two  aspirations  appear  strong- 
er and  more  manifest ;  so  strong  and 
manifest  that  we  might  be  tempted 
to  call  them  insane  and  mischievous. 
To  the  cry  of  liberty,  the  civilized, 
nations  of  earth  respond  with  trans- 
port, and  rise  in  rebellion  against 
whatever  can  be  shown  to  be  in  any 
way  opposed  to  freedom.  Never  in 
previous  times  were  such  social 
changes  witnessed,  so  unexpected,  so 
general,  so  profound,  and  carried 
through  with  so  much  enthusiasm,  as 
those  just  enacted  and  initiated  with 
the  cry  of  liberty.  The  political 
organization  of  nations,  the  adminis- 
trative control  of  provinces  and  mu- 
nicipalities, have  all  been  regulated 
by  the  principle  of  free  election, 
freedom  of  vote  and  opinion.  The 
slavery  of  man  to  man,  a  lamentable 
relic  of  paganism,  has  been  abolished 
in  many  places  by  legal  enactment, 
and  is  universally  looked  on  with 
more  repugnance  than  heretofore. 
After  the  hard-fought  battles  in  North 
America  on  the  question  of  slavery, 
the  negroes  there  have  been  raised 
to  the  dignity  of  freemen. 

No  less  vigorous  and  resistless  has 
been  the  tendency  toward  social 
union.  The  principle  of  nationality 
has  traversed  all  Europe  with  the  ra- 
pidity of  lightning,  kindling  as  it  pass- 
ed the  minds  of  men,  exciting  and 
agitating  them  in  a  wonderful  man- 


456 


The  Present  and  t/ie  future. 


ner.  Even  as  we  write,  the  cry  for 
unions  still  more  comprehensive — the 
union  of  races — strikes  upon  our  ears. 

It  is,  then,  an  indisputable  fact,  a 
fact  whose  evidence  is  clear  to  all 
and  is  admitted  by  all,  that  the  as- 
pirations of  our  age  are  towards 
union  and  liberty. 

We  shall  therefore  hail  the  council 
as  the  final  goal  of  these  aspirations 
of  the  human  race.  And  yet,  in  say- 
ing this,  we  have  not  stated  all  that 
the  council  implies;  for  it  serves 
also  to  satisfy  an  essentially  human 
want  that  equals  those  twofold  aspira- 
tions, or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  is 
still  stronger  and  more  universal  than 
they.  What,  then  ?  Shall  it  be  said 
that  the  aspirations  and  wants  of  the 
human  mind  are  not  directed  to  the 
same  object  ?  Most  assuredly ;  the 
end,  but  not  the  immediate  object,  is 
the  same.  They  proceed  from  differ- 
ent impulses :  the  one  arises  from  the 
tendencies  of  the  age,  but  without 
any  regard  to  the  good  or  evil  quali- 
ties inherent  in  such  tendencies;  the 
other  is  the  result  of  a  vice  that  mod- 
ifies and  corrupts  such  tendencies,  a 
vice  that  may  prove  fatal  to  nations, 
alluring  them  by  the  cry  of  liberty 
and  union  to  slavery  and  desolation. 
The  want  we  refer  to  argues  a  vice 
to  be  corrected,  an  infirmity  to  be 
healed,  a  danger  to  be  shunned,  ex- 
press it  as  we  will;  but  let  us  not 
deny  the  fact,  a  most  sad  and  painful 
one,  for  which  the  council  furnishes 
a  sovereign  and  most  efficacious 
remedy. 

But  what,  it  will  be  asked,  is  this 
vice  which  degrades  the  noble  aspi- 
rations for  liberty  and  union,  and 
causes  such  misery  to  nations  ?  It 
is  the  rejection  of-  authority — a  rejec- 
tion absolute  and  unlimited,  that  has 
penetrated  into  every  relation  of 
human  life.  The  better,  however,  to 
make  our  sentiments  clear  on  this 
subject,  and  to  bring  under  consider- 


ation, not  the  existence  of  such  a 
vice,  but  the  cause  that  produced  it, 
we  must  trace  the  question  back  to 
its  source. 

The  fundamental  dogma  of  the 
Protestant  Reformation  gave  birth  at 
the  same  instant  to  a  double  nega- 
tion— the  rejection  of  liberty  and  of 
union — so  that  the  servitude  of  the 
human  will  and  individualism  were 
exalted  to  the  dignity  of  a  principle. 
It  seems  like  a  contradiction  that  the 
basis  of  Protestantism,  namely,  pri- 
vate interpretation,  which  is  the  re- 
jection of  a  supreme  authority,  should 
have  led  in  its  consequences  to  serv- 
itude. But  the  contradiction  disap- 
pears when  we  reflect  that  so  ne- 
cessary is  authority  to  man  that  he 
will  bow  to  fatalism  or  force  if  he  has 
no  legitimate  authority  to  which  to 
turn.  History  bears  evidence  that 
two  centuries  and  a  half  of  debasing 
servitude  and  cruel  separations  fol- 
lowed. Such  a  long  period  of  slum- 
ber must  necessarily  have  had  an 
awakening ;  for  the  innate  tendencies 
of  humanity  may  for  a  time  grow 
faint  or  dormant,  but  they  can  never 
be  extinguished.  Moreover,  should 
they,  for  any  length  of  time,  be 
checked  in  their  natural  expansion, 
this  necessity  grows  to  gigantic  pro- 
portions, till  it  sweeps  before  it  every 
obstacle  like  a  torrent  in  its  impe- 
tuous course.  Such  was  the  result  to 
be  expected,  and  which  really  took 
place,  at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  But  the  minds  of  men 
having  been  seduced  by  the  sophis- 
tries of  the  Reformation,  the  new  era 
of  liberty  and  union  must  of  necessity 
reflect  its  deceitful  philosophy.  There- 
fore, liberty  and  union,  when  they 
arose,  cast  aside  the  principle  of  au- 
thority, as  Protestantism  had  done  at 
its  first  appearance.  Liberty  rejected 
religion  to  become  atheistical,  and 
fraternity  or  union  affiliated  itself  tc 
pantheism. 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


457 


And,  in  truth,  atheism  and  panthe- 
ism— two  systems  that  harmonize  be- 
cause they  are  convertible — have  pe- 
netrated into  and  made  conquests  in 
every  condition  of  life.  Fourierism 
and  the  abuse  of  industrial  unions, 
while  rejecting  authority,  have  touch- 
ed materialism  on  the  one  side  and 
communism  on  the  other,  and  are 
the  atheistic  and  pantheistic  forms  of 
labor.  Freedom  of  speculation,  by 
spurning  at  every  authoritative  princi- 
ple, has  ended  in  rationalism ;  the  sys- 
tematizing of  science  has  fallen  into 
pantheism  or  syncretism ;  rational- 
ism and  syncretism  are  the  atheistic 
and  pantheistic  forms  of  the  intel- 
lectual life.  The  modern  code  of 
morality  and  justice,  by  stripping  lib- 
erty and  the  brotherhood  of  mankind 
of  legitimate  authority,  have  ended 
in  naturalism  and  socialism,  the  athe- 
istic and  pantheistic  forms  of  society. 

Now,  these  two  vices,  atheism  and 
pantheism,  the  leading  errors  of  the 
day,  have  changed  the  universal 
movement  toward  liberty  and  union 
into  matter  for  the  deepest  and  keen- 
est sorrow.  In 'the,  midst  of  the  im- 
mense riches  that  our  age  has  been 
accumulating  through  its  free  and  as- 
sociated industries,  there  seems  to  be 
nothing  that  man  touches  that  can 
cheer  or  console  him  in  the  solitude 
of  his  heart,  and,  free  lord  as  he  is  of 
matter,  yet  he  feels  himself  its  slave, 
because  he  has  made  it  the  grave  of 
his  noblest  aspirations.  It  might  al- 
most be  said  that  matter,  subjugated 
in  so  many  ways  by  the  liberty  and 
union  existing  among  men  in  these 
days,  was  secretly  tyrannizing  over 
and  dividing  them,  denying  man's 
authority  over  it  because  man  has 
himself  cast  off  the  true  and  supreme 
authority  raised  over  him.  In  the 
same  manner,  in  the  life  of  thought 
all  our  knowledge  is  felt  to  be,  as 
was  said  of  old,  but  vanity,  and  a 
vanity  that  crushes  and  keeps  us 


asunder   from  one  another.     Many' 
yes,  very  many,  agree  in  crying  loud- 
ly for  liberty  and  the  union  of  intel- 
lect, but  theirs  are   merely  outward 
words — words  which  do  not  respond 
to  the  real  life  of  man's  intellectual 
powers.  We  shall  proclaim  openly  that 
it  is  a  falsehood,  and  a  falsehood  by 
which  man  strives  to  deceive  himself, 
and,  if  possible,  conceal  his  sorrow. 
Without  fear  of  error,  we  can   say 
that   modern    science   tyrannizes   in 
secret  over  the  intellects  of  men,  and 
divides   them,    because    liberty   and 
the   union  of   intellects   rejected   or 
rather  usurped  the  supreme  control 
over  the  minds  of  men.     Rationalists 
and  pantheists  cannot  deny  this;  we 
appeal  to  the  truthful  testimony  of 
their  own  consciences  and  of  histo- 
ry; we  appeal  to  the  candid  avowal 
of  Frederick   Schelling.      Is   it   not 
true  that,  beneath  the  pompous  ap- 
pearances of  liberty  and  union,  the 
inner  powers  of  thought  are  under 
the  grievous  yoke   of  so-called  sys- 
tems,  and,  in   addition,   are   slaved 
and  tormented   by  secret  and  con- 
stant  doubts  ?     Is   it  not   true   that 
great  differences  exist  among  men  of 
intellect,  who  reject  to-day  what  was 
believed  yesterday,  and  that  there  is 
no  agreement  whatever  in  the  great- 
est  and  most  important  principles  ? 
To  sum   up:  the  intellectual  life  of 
the  nineteenth  century  has  neither  in- 
terior liberty  nor  union,  because  with 
Protestantism  it  has  denied  the  prin- 
ciple which  could  alone  give  freedom 
and  unity  to  the  minds  of  men,  and 
this  denial  is  the  only  instance  of  that 
liberty  and  union  of  which  it  makes 
so  great  a  boast. 

Neither  in  regard  to  the  moral  and 
social  life  of  nations  is  the  case  in 
any  way  different.  From  the  atheis- 
tical liberty  of  an  independent  moral- 
ity has  resulted  the  interior  servitude 
of  the  will,  which  means  the  truly 
despotic  empire  of  passions  most  de- 


458 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


grading  to  the  mass  and  the  indivi- 
dual and  the  despotic  atheism  of 
states.  And  from  the  pantheistic 
union  exhibited  in  the  practice  of 
centralization  and  the  theory  of  so- 
cialism, there  resulted  a  sanguinary 
war  in  the  heart  of  Christendom :  a 
war  of  the  state  with  the  church,  of 
the  people  with  monarchy,  a  war  of 
everything  in  subjection  against 
everything  in  authority.  Hence  we 
see  in  the  most  civilized  countries 
the  despair  of  its  noblest  citizens, 
men  like  the  younger  Brutus  and  Ca- 
to;  hence  the  despondency  of  the 
higher  station,  blended  with  scorn 
and  indignation;  hence  the  frantic 
aims  of  the  populace  breaking  forth 
into  rebellion ;  hence  the  enormous 
standing  armies ;  hence  amidst  the 
shouts  for  liberty  and  fraternity  the 
nations  'are  arming,  and  every  citi- 
zen is  enrolled  a  soldier. 

If  such,  then,  is  the  condition  of 
the  age  and  the  ferment  in  the  minds 
of  men,  if  such  is  the  condition  of 
the  populations,  what,  let  us  ask,  is 
at  present  the  great,  the  urgent  want 
of  mankind  ?  To  contradict  the  sen- 
timent of  union  and  liberty  would  be 
madness;  to  contradict  the  atheism 
of  liberty  and  the  pantheism  of  un- 
ion is  wisdom  and  true  charity,  and 
therein  safety  is  to  be  found;  for, 
take  away  pantheism  from  union,  and 
atheism  from  liberty,  there  will  re- 
main union  and  true  liberty  both 
exteriorly  and  interiorly.  And  as- 
suming that  the  deadly  principles  of 
atheism  and  pantheism  sprang  from 
Protestantism,  which  rejected  the  Pa- 
pacy, the  supreme  personification  of 
power,  the  return  to  authority,  the 
true  and  only  source  of  liberty  and 
union,  is  the  great  and  universal 
want  of  the  present  age. 


IV. 


To  satisfy   so   great  a  want,  the 


City  of  God,  exercising  the  most  per- 
fect act  of  its  power  of  goodness  and 
love,  convoked  the  Council  of  the  Va- 
tican. But  in  opposition  to  the  City  of 
God  ill  its  exercise  of  this  supreme  act 
of  love  and  goodness,  stands  the  City 
of  Satan,  which  has  always  combat- 
ed it,  and  will  continue  to  do  so  to 
the  end  of  time.  It  was,  therefore, 
an  easy  matter  to  predict  that  the 
City  of  Satan  would  assuredly  put 
forth  its  utmost  powers  of  evil  in 
opposition  to  that  supreme  effort  of 
the  church  of  Christ.  Such  a  con- 
clusion would  be  warranted  both  by 
reason  and  history.  By  reason,  in- 
asmuch as  humanity  may  well  be 
likened  to  a  battle-field,  wherein  the 
powers  of  good  and  evil  contend  for 
mastery,  falsehood,  and  truth,  the 
old  Adam  and  the  new,  Cain  and 
Abel,  Satan  and  Christ,  so  that  a  state 
of  warfare  may  be  said  to  be  the  law 
of  this  life ;  and  as  no  real  progress 
can  be  made  but  as  the  result  of  a 
hard-won  victory,  it  follows  logical- 
ly that  our  own  age,  being  subject 
to  the  same  law,  must  pass  through 
a  terrible  conflict.  History  bears 
evidence  to  the  same  effect,  how  at 
critical  times  the  whole  powers  of 
evil  rose  up  in  terrible  conflict  against 
the  great  undertakings  of  the  church. 
And  I  will  add  that  as  the  work  of  the 
Vatican  Council  was  to  bring  to  light 
in  a  special  manner  the  naturalism  of 
modern  civilization,  which  deduces 
its  origin  from  atheism  and  panthe- 
ism, and  afterwards  to  strengthen 
and  exhibit  in  a  clearer  light  the  su- 
preme authority  of  the  Pope,  so, 
on  the  other  hand,  modern  civiliza- 
tion had  to  put  forth  all  the  strength 
it  derived  from  naturalism  to  crush 
the  Papacy. 

All  this  might  have  been  and  was 
foretold.  Two  periods  are  to  be 
distinguished  in  the  brief  existence 
of  the  Vatican  Council :  they  are 
those  which  correspond  to  the  two 


TJic  Present  and  the  Future. 


459 


sessions  which  the  Pope  presided  over 
in  person.  The  first  was  directed 
specially  against  those  monster  errors 
from  which- naturalism  springs;  the 
second,  after  not  a  hasty  but  a  long 
and  comprehensive  discussion,  de- 
creed the  universal  supremacy  of  the 
papal  authority,  the  supremacy  of 
his  teaching,  that  is,  the  infallibility  of 
the  Pope,  when  he  speaks  (to  use 
the  language  of  the  schools)  ex  cathe- 
dra. You  might  have  said,  then,  that 
the  great  task  of  the  council  was 
ended,  and  time  will  perhaps  show 
that  you  would  not  have  judged 
amiss. 

However,  the  City  of  Satan  was 
meanwhile  no  idle  spectator,  but  ex- 
erted its  powers  in  many  and  various 
ways,  yet  so  that  it  may  be  said  with 
truth  that  two  of  these  corresponded 
singularly  to  the  two  important  pe- 
riods of  the  council.  In  the  first 
place,  there  was  witnessed  a  great 
and  portentous  gathering  of  free- 
thinkers from  all  countries  of  the 
earth,  and  to  this  was  assigned  the 
title  of  Anticounal,  to  signify  in  the 
most  open  way  possible  the  war 
which  the  naturalism  of  the  day  is 
waging  against  the  church  and  the 
Papacy.  But  this  gathering  failed 
to  accomplish  anything,  so  that,  as 
was  justly  said,  the  infant  cries  of 
the  new-born  Anticouncil  were  also  the 
last  gasp  of  its  mortal  agony.  In 
vain,  besides,  were  all  the  efforts  of 
the  irreligious  press,  its  sarcasms  and 
calumnies;  in  vain  the  intrigues  of 
antichristian  diplomacy.  In  vain, 
too,  was  that  last  effort,  those  ap- 
peals of  discord  flung  into  the  camp 
of  the  assembled  bishops.  Nor  do  I 
say  all  when  I  affirm  that  such  guilty 
efforts  accomplished  nothing  against 
the  council.  I  might  have  added,  and 
I  do  so  without  hesitation,  that  they 
shed  additional  lustre  on  it.  For,  if 
they  prove  nothing  else,  they  prove 
at  least  these  two  truths :  first,  that 
all  the  efforts  of  the  world  and  hell 


shall  not  prevail  against  the  church ; 
et  portce  inferi  non  prevalebunt  adver- 
sus  earn ;  secondly,  that  the  freedom 
and  fulness  of  discussion  that  took 
place  in  the  council  before  defining 
dogmatically  was  greater  than  its 
adversaries  expected  or  even  desired. 
A  new  proof,  were  any  such  needed, 
that  the  church  of  Christ  is  neither 
an  opponent  nor  a  weakener  of  the 
powers  of  human  reason,  but  is  the 
harmonizer  of  the  human  element 
with  the  divine,  of  science  with  faith, 
of  liberty  with  supernatural  autho- 
rity. 

This  was  the  first  great  effort  of 
the  adversaries  of  the  council,  but 
there  soon  followed  a  second.  Peace- 
ful opposition  having  failed,  it  was 
easy  to  foresee  that  modern  civiliza- 
tion would  change  its  mode  of  war- 
fare, and  instead  of  moral  force  would 
call  to  its  aid  physical  force  and  vio- 
lence. But  for  this  it  was  necessary 
that  some  opportunity  be  given,  and 
the  invasion  of  Rome  by  ruffian 
bands  as  contemplated  was  too  ha- 
zardous an  undertaking,  so  long  as 
the  French  eagle  cast  the  shadow  of 
its  protection  over  the  Vatican.  The 
opportunity  wanted  was  not  long  in 
presenting  itself.  Strange  coincidence ! 
At  the  very  time  when  papal  infalli- 
bility was  added  to  the  dogrhas  of 
faith,  and  almost  on  the  very  day, 
war  broke  out  unexpected  between 
France  and  Prussia.  How  Satan 
must  have  exulted  with  ferocious  joy 
at  that  terrible  hour!  Such  a  war 
seemed  to  supply  his  city  with  the 
means  of  renewing  its  assaults  on 
the  City  of  God. 

The  Prussian  minister  Bismarck,  the 
chief  representative  of  modern  civili- 
zation, had  been  for  a  long  time  in  clos- 
est alliance  with  the  double  atheism 
of  authority  and  modern  liberty,  that 
is  to  say,  with  the  autocracy  of  Rus- 
sia and  modern  revolution,  which  both 
desired  the  triumph  of  the  German 
arms.  In  consequence  of  this  alii- 


460 


The  Present  and  the  Future. 


ance,  France  came  single-handed 
into  the  contest,  while  Prussia  drew 
with  her  all  Germany.  The  North- 
ern armies  won  astonishing  victories, 
and  their  allies  shared  in  the  advan- 
tages of  them.  Preponderance  in  the 
East  was  again  made  practicable  to  the 
atheism  of  authority,  and  the  atheism 
of  liberty  took  possession  of  Rome — 
Rome  from  whose  walls,  through  a 
blunder  or  a  crime,  the  French  gov- 
ernment had  withdrawn  its  troops. 
As  a  consequence,  the  Pope  was 
stripped  of  his  temporal  power,  and 
the  council  suspended. 

This  was  the  result  of  the  war 
against  the  Papacy;  this  was  the 
crowning  effort  of  the  City  of  Satan 
against  the  City  of  God — an  effort  in 
relation  to  which  modern  civilization 
showed  more  clearly  than  before 
both  its  character  and  the  end  at 
which  it  aimed.  All  the  organs  of 
the  press  that  have  sold  themselves 
to  the  false  spirit  of  the  age — and  their 
number  is  very  great — all  with  unani- 
mity of  sentiment  and  in  one  chorus 
extolled  the  shameful  outrage  to  the 
skies,  and  made  it  the  subject  of  a 
senseless  triumph.  And  what  de- 
serves notice,  in  as  far  as  it  goes  to 
show  the  truth  of  our  opinions,  is 
that  all  pronounced  this  exploit  as 
the  greatest  victory  of  modern  civili- 
zation against  Catholic  superstition 
and  the  theocracy  of  the  middle  ages. 

Was  it  a  real  victory  ?  And  will 
it  be  lasting  ?  Will  it  be  in  our  pow- 
er, reverentially  and  with  due  timidi- 
ty, to  withdraw  a  little  the  veil  that 
covers  the  designs  of  Providence  in 
reference  to  these  facts,  and  predict 
the  future  ?  The  answer  to  these 
questions  cannot  be  briefly  given, 
and  must  therefore  form  the  subject 
of  a  future  article.  Nevertheless,  to 
close  this  article  and  prepare  the 
minds  of  our  readers  for  what  is  to 
follow,  I  think  it  necessary  to  draw  a 
conclusion  from  the  matters  discuss- 
ed, and  it  is  this  :  that  our  brethren 


in  the  faith  have  no  reason  in  the 
world  to  be  astonished  at  the  painful 
events  happening  in  these  times. 
Such  things  were  necessary — so  nec- 
essary were  they  that  we  ourselves,  a 
year  ago,  ventured  to  predict  this 
contest,  when  the  political  atmo- 
sphere was  still  unclouded,  and  all 
around  breathed  an  air  of  peace. 
"  This  new  year,"  said  we  on  the  first 
day  of  January,  1870,  "  will  be  doubt- 
less one  of  the  most  memorable  of  all 
recorded  in  history.  In  it,  not  two 
ages,  but  two  great  eras  meet 
and  trace  broadly  their  distinction 
one  from  the  other — an  era  that  is 
closing,  and  one  that  is  about  to  be- 
gin. And  in  this  same  year,  a  momen- 
tous struggle  will  correspond  to  the 
meeting  of  the  two  eras — the  struggle 
of  two  contrary  principles  which  aim 
at  the  conquest  of  the  human  race. 
The  two  eras  are,  that  of  Protestantism 
religious  and  civil,  and  that  of  Chris- 
tian revival  in  all  the  orders  and 
relations  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
The  two  principles  are  egotism  and 
charity — egotism,  which  begot  and 
animates  Protestantism,  and  charity, 
which  is  the  life  of  Catholicity."  The 
conflict,  fierce,  terrible,  and  waged 
under  different  forms,  was  a  necessity ; 
why,  then,  be  astonished  that  what 
was  to  take  place  has  really  happen- 
ed ?  Is  not  the  spouse  of  him  who 
espoused  her  with  his  sacred  blood 
sent  forth  to  combat  ?  Had  this 
conflict  not  taken  place,  we  should 
have  been  tempted  to  say  that  it 
would  be  necessary  to  call  in  ques- 
tion the  great  law  of  human  history 
— -progress  through  suffering. 

Away,  then,  with  astonishment, 
which  would  be  folly  !  Away  with 
vain  fears  !  The  church  has  combat- 
ed and  overcome  all  the  moral  force 
brought  to  bear  against  the  Papacy 
and  the  council,  and  shall  it  tremble 
before  brute  force  ?  Is  not  the  first 
victory  a  most  certain  pledge  of  the 
second  ? 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


461 


THE    HOUSE    OF   YORKE. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 


ONE  Saturday  evening  in  June,  the 
Seaton  mail-coach,  with  two  passen- 
gers ,  drove  out  of  the  city  of  Bragon 
on  its  way  eastward.  Both  these 
passengers  were  gentlemen,  and  both 
young.  One  was  large  and  light- 
complexioned ;  the  other,  slight  and 
dark.  The  large  one  had  a  hard, 
white  face,  whose  only  expression 
seemed  to  be  a  fixed  determination 
to  express  nothing.  Such  a  look  is 
provoking.  Let  us  read  a  little  of  the 
man  in  spite  of  himself.  People 
have  no  right  to  shut  themselves  up 
in  that  way.  One  would  say  imme- 
diately that  he  is  what  is  called  a 
very  good  man,  one  of  those  good 
men  whom  we  praise,  and  avoid : 
that  is,  he  does  not  offend  against 
the  decalogue  nor  the  revised  statutes. 
But  there  is  a  law  radiant  with  a 
tenderer  glory,  dropped,  verse  by 
verse,  through  the  Scriptures,  taught 
constantly  by  the  church,  attested  to 
human  hearts  by  the  very  need  of  it, 
and  that  law  he  keeps  not.  One 
wonders  at  such  a  man,  and,  in 
softer  moods,  fancies  pitifully  that  he 
aches  under  that  icy  coating,  and 
that  down  in  the  depths  of  his  heart 
some  little  unfrozen  spring  perpetual- 
ly troubles  his  repose  by  its  protest- 
ing, half-stifled  murmur.  One  is  also 
exasperated  by  him.  "  In  his  socie- 
ty," as  Miss  Clara  Yorke  said  after- 
ward, "  one's  thoughts  and  feelings 
become  all  puckered  up."  He  is  in- 
deed a  powerful  moral  astringent. 

As  if  conscious  of  our  observation, 
he  turns  stiffly  away,  and  looks  out  of 
the  window  at  his  elbow,  entertaining 


his  mind  with  a  view  of  the  spiders 
that  hang  from  the  beams  of  the 
covered  bridge  through  which  they 
are  driving.  We  are  not  to  be  baf- 
fled, however,  but  can  pursue  our 
scrutiny.  He  has  large,  heavy  white 
hands,  his  broadcloth  is  of  the  finest, 
and  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat 
is  a  manuscript  sermon.  He  would 
like  to  have  us  listen  to  that  sermon, 
but  will  not. 

The  gentleman  who  sits  at  this 
person's  left  is  as  different  as  could 
well  be.  He  has  a  thin  face,  a  long 
nose  inclining  slightly  upward  to- 
ward the  end,  and  haggard,  bright 
eyes.  His  forehead  is  high,  and  all 
the  hair  is  brushed  straight  back 
from  it,  and  falls  on  his  neck.  He 
has  a  small  mouth,  with  lips  so  vivid- 
ly red  that  they  seem  to  be  painted. 
In  his  breast-pocket  is  a  bottle  of 
laudanum,  which  seems  to  be  very 
much  at  home  there. 

These  gentlemen  had  never  met 
before  they  stepped  into  the  coach 
together;  and  it  would  be  safe  to 
say  that  they  had  no  ardent  desire  to 
meet  again.  They  were  very  slow, 
indeed,  to  improve  the  opportunity 
afforded  them  to  form  an  acquain- 
tance, and  probably  would  have 
maintained  a  very  formal  demeanor 
toward  each  other,  had  not  circum- 
stances forced  them  into  a  most  un- 
dignified intimacy.  There  had  been 
a  succession  of  pouring  rains,  and 
the  roads  were  frightful,  heavy  with 
mud,  and  full  of  pitfalls.  After  the 
coach  got  out  of  the  town  and  into 
the  woods,  their  situation  became 


462 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


very  trying  to  the  passengers.  To 
say  nothing  of  the  pain  of  bumps 
and  bruises,  their  dignity  and  sense 
of  propriety  were  constantly  being 
outraged  by  their  being  thrown  into 
each  other's  arms,  or  having  their 
heads  knocked  violently  together. 
Under  such  difficulties,  silence  be- 
came impracticable.  Apologies  be- 
came necessary,  and  exclamations  ir- 
repressible. He  of  the  sermon  never 
said  anything  worse  than  "Bless  me!" 
but  the  other  had  occasionally  to 
stifle  an  ejaculation  which  would  not 
have  been  so  pleasant  to  hear. 

The  coach  was  due  at  Seaton  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  but  as 
hours  passed,  and  still  their  motion 
was  chiefly  lateral  and  perpendicu- 
lar, their  prompt  arrival  receded 
from  a  probability  to  a  possibility, 
and  thence  became  impossible.  They 
had  started  at  nine  o'clock;  and  at 
three  of  the  next  morning  they  yet 
lacked  nearly  a  mile  of  reaching  the 
half-way  house  where  they  were  to 
change  horses.  At  that  point  one  of  the 
wheels  suddenly  slipped  into  a  deep 
rut.  The  four  steaming  horses  strain- 
ed and  tugged  till  they  started  the 
coach,  when  it  immediately  gave  a 
lee-lurch,  and  went  into  a  hole  at 
the  other  side.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, something,  whatever  it  is  which 
holds  horse  and  carriage  together, 
snapped,  and  the  quadrupeds  started 
off  on  their  own  account,  leaving  the 
coach  and  the  bipeds  to  follow  at 
their  leisure.  The  driver,  having 
the  reins  in  his  hands,  was  of  course 
pulled  off  the  box ;  but  the  road  re- 
ceived him  softly.  The  passengers 
need  have  suffered  no  damage,  but 
that  the  tall  one,  having,  curiously 
enough,  the  impression  that  they 
were  being  run  away  with  instead  of 
from,  jumped  out  of  the  coach  with 
more  haste  than  discretion.  The 
spot  he  sank  into  was  the  rut  from 
which  the  front  wheel  had  just  been 


drawn,  and  the  result  was  that  he 
emerged  upon  the  road-side  in  a  de- 
plorable masquerade,  being  clad  in 
a  complete  domino  of  well-mixed 
clay  and  water.  Moreover,  his  ankle 
was  quite  severely  sprained. 

"  You'll  have  to  walk  to  the  Italf- 
way  house,  gentlemen,"  the  driver 
said,  calmly  wiping  the  mud  from 
his  face.  He  had  been  over  that 
road  too  many  times  to  be  much  dis- 
turbed at  any  mishap  of  the  kind. 
Having  spoken,  he  shouldered  the 
mail-bags,  and  started  in  advance. 
It  was  full  three  minutes  before  the 
other  passenger  appeared,  and,  when 
he  did,  his  face  was  perfectly  grave, 
though  very  red.  He  threw  a-  blan- 
ket he  had  found  inside  out  into  the 
road,  and  stepped  on  to  it.  He  next 
reached  in  and  got  a  cushion,  with 
which  he  completed  the  bridge  across 
the  mud,  then  walked  over  them  as 
unstained  as  Queen  Elizabeth  over 
Raleigh's  mantle,  and  stepped  dry- 
shod  in  the  neatest  of  boots  on  to 
the  rim  of  the  delicate  moss  that 
spread  its  carpet  all  along  the  road- 
side under  the  trees.  Having  land- 
ed safely,  he  turned  toward  his  com- 
panion, who  was  trying  to  wash  him- 
self in  a  brook  and  scrape  his  clothes 
with  sticks.  "  I  should  advise  you, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  to  come  right  on  to 
the  house,  and  get  a  complete  change 
of  clothing.  It  is  useless  to  try  to 
clean  those." 

The  other  was  speechless,  and 
seemed  too  much  stupefied  to  do  any- 
thing more  than  obey. 

Morning  was  just  breaking,  cloud- 
less and  beautiful,  the  forest  was  fresh 
with  June,  and  through  it  could  be 
heard  the  elfish  laughter  of  brooks. 
While  the  travellers  had  through  the 
night  been  racked  and  tormented, 
conscious  only  of  misery  and  mud, 
all  around  them  nature  had  reposed 
in  her  loveliness  and  purity,  with  her 
birds  sweetly  nestled,  her  flowers  dew- 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


463 


washed,  her  streams  crystal-clear. 
Their  road  had  been  like  a  foul 
thread  woven  across  a  beautiful  web. 

When  they  reached  the  half-way 
house,  the  tall  traveller  was  in  a  per- 
fectly abject  state.  His  pride  had 
quite  disappeared,  his  dignity  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  He  allowed  him- 
self to  be  arrayed  in  a  suit  of  rough 
farming-clothes  a  good  deal  too  short, 
in  which  he  beheld  himself  without 
a  smile,  and  humbly  begged  his 
fellow-traveller  to  bear  a  message 
from  him  to  his  expecting  friends  in 
Seaton.  Not  only  his  toilet,  but  his 
sprained  ankle  would  prevent  his 
proceeding  on  his  journey  for  some 
hours  at  least.  His  name  was  Con- 
way  ;  he  was  a  Baptist  minister,  and 
was  expected  to  preach  in  Seaton 
that  day.  Would  the  gentleman  be 
so  good  as  to  send  word  to  the 
church,  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  that 
their  looked-for  candidate  had  met 
with  an  accident  ?  He  was  not  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  any  one  in 
Seaton,  therefore  could  not  direct 
him,  but  presumed  that  the  driver 
could. 

The  gentleman  with  the  bright 
eyes  cordially  promised,  then  asked 
for  breakfast  and  a  clothes-brush,  and 
the  other  withdrew  to  rest. 

"There's  not  time  to  cook  any- 
thing but  coffee  and  fish,"  the  land- 
lord said.  "  Passengers  never  stop 
here  to  breakfast ;  and  the  driver  is 
going  on  in  fifteen  minutes.  But  I'll 
do  the  best  I  can  for  you." 

In  ten  minutes  all  was  ready.  The 
traveller  brushed  his  clothes  scrupu- 
lously, combed  his  hair  back  in  a 
silken  wave,  bathed  his  face  and 
hands,  gave  himself  one  more  look 
to  be  sure  that  his  toilet  was  correct, 
then  seated  himself  at  table.  The 
principal  dish  before  him  was  an  eel 
fried  in  sections,  then  carefully  put 
together,  and  coiled  round  the  plate. 

"  Not  much  of  a  breakfast,"  the 


landlord  said.  "  But  we  haven't  any 
market  here." 

"  Sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  traveller  in 
a  deep  voice,  "  I  asked  for  fish,  and 
you  give  me  a  serpent !  I  would  as 
soon — I  would  sooner  eat  of  an  ana- 
conda than  an  eel." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  do  not  like  it,  sir," 
the  man  replied.  "  If  we  raised 
anacondas  here,  you  should  have 
one ;  but  we  don't." 

The  traveller  drank  his  coffee,  and 
found  it  not  bad.  "  I  will  try  to  do 
without  snakes,  this  morning,"  he 
remarked. 

There  were  twelve  miles  yet  to 
travel ;  but  the  road  improved  slight- 
ly as  they  went  on.  Still  it  was  te- 
dious work ;  and  when  at  last  they 
drove  into  the  town,  it  was  past  ten 
o'clock,  and  the  bells  were  ringing 
for  Sunday  service. 

When  the  coach  reached  the  post- 
office,  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  the 
traveller  jumped  out,  and  asked  to  be 
directed  to  the  Universalist  meeting- 
house. "  And  please  send  word  to 
the  Baptist  people  of  the  accident 
which  befell  their  minister,"  he  said. 
"  It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  do 
so  now." 

The  driver  promised,  and  directed 
the  stranger.  "  Go  over  the  bridge 
here,  and  up  the  hill,  and  you  will 
come  to  a  white  meeting-house  with 
green  blinds,"  he  said. 

The  traveller  hastily  followed  the 
direction,  and  soon  came  to  a  house 
answering  the  description  given.  The 
congregation  were  all  in  their  seats; 
and  as  the  new-comer  breathlessly 
entered,  he  heard  a  voice  from  the 
pulpit.  "  My  beloved  brethren,"  the 
voice  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  inform 
you  that  the  minister  who  was  to 
have  preached  for  us  to-day  will  not 
probably  come.  The  stage  has  not 
come  in,  and  has,  most  likely,  met 
with  an  accident.  But  since  you 
have  all  gathered  together  here  to- 


464 


TJie  House  of  Yorkc. 


day,  it  seemed  to  me  a  pity  that  you 
should  go  away  without  hearing  the 
word  of  life.  I  have  therefore 
brought  a  volume  of  sermons  by  the 
reverend —  " 

Here  the  deacon  stopped  at  sight 
of  the  stranger  hurrying  up  the  aisle, 
made  an  awkward  gesture,  took  out 
his  pocket-handkerchief,  and,  finally, 
descended  sheepishly  at  one  side  of 
the  pulpit  as  our  belated  traveller 
went  up  the  other. 

The  minister  seated  himself  on  the 
red  velvet  sofa,  which  in  the  temple 
occupied  the  place  of  an  altar,  fum- 
bled a  while  in  the  hymn-book  for  a 
hymn  he  could  not  find,  wiped  his 
heated  face,  finally  read  at  random. 
Presently  there  was  heard  from  the 
gallery  over  the  entrance  the  faint 
twang  of  a  tuning-fork,  then  a  man's 
voice  feeling  for  the  key,  which  he 
had  to  transpose  from  A  to  C.  Pounc- 
ing upon  it  at  length  in  a  stentorian 
do,  he  soared  gradually  up  through 
dominant  to  octave,  the  choir  caught 
their  parts,  and  the  hymn  began. 
Unfortunately,  however,  in  their  haste 
they  had  selected  a  common  metre 
tune  for  a  long  metre  hymn,  as  they 
discovered  at  the  end  of  the  second 
line,  where  they  found  themselves  in 
difficulty  by  reason  of  two  syllables 
which  were  unprovided  for  by  the 
music,  yet  could  not  well  be  left  out. 

While  they  were  extricating  them- 
selves, and  finding  a  more  fitful  tune, 
the  minister  took  breath,  and  looked 
round  on  his  congregafion.  They 
disappointed  him.  He  had  been  in- 
formed that  his  hearers  were  to  be 
the  young,  progressive  spirits  of  the 
town ;  and  these  looked  anything  but 
young  and  progressive.  They  were 
nearly  all  old  and  antiquated,  and 
their  faces  struck  a  chill  through 
him.  They  seemed  to  be  the  faces 
of  people  who  believe  that  one  of 
the  chief  pleasures  of  heaven  consists 
in  looking  over  the  celestial  battle- 


ments and  witnessing  the  torments  of 
the  condemned,  rather  than  of  those 
who  hold  the  comfortable  doctrine 
of  universal  salvation.  Stern,  fateful, 
stolid,  they  sat  there,  not  even  pro- 
voked to  a  passing  smile  by  the  ludi- 
crous contretemps  of  the  choir.  The 
minister  frowned.  He  was  tired,  &e 
had  been  irritated  by  his  travel- 
ling companion,  and  now  he  was  bit- 
terly disappointed.  Seaton  was  a 
growing  town  that  would  soon  be 
a  city,  and  he  had  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  the  prospect  of  be- 
ing settled  there.  There  seemed  no- 
where else  for  him  to  go,  and  he  was 
not  rich,  and  he  was  homeless.  The 
sight  of  this  congregation,  which  he 
saw  at  once  he  could  never  reconcile 
himself  to,  disturbed  him  greatly. 
Moreover,  in  his  haste  he  had  forgot- 
ten to  take  his  morning  dose  of  lau- 
danum ;  andj  altogether,  but  for  a 
glimpse  he  got  of  two  faces  near 
the  pulpit,  he  might  have  marched 
down,  and  left  the  deacon  to  read  as 
many  sermons  as  he  chose.  These 
two  reconciling  faces  belonged  to  Miss 
Melicent  Yorke  and  her  brother  Owen, 
who  were  visiting  the  different  Seaton 
churches.  The  fair,  tranquil  face  of 
the  lady,  her  delicate  dress,  her  fold- 
ed hands,  even  the  wreath  of  violets 
that  rested  on  her  flaxen  hair,  all 
made  a  pleasant  picture  for  the  culti- 
vated glance  that  swept  over  it.  Of  • 
Owen  he  saw  only  the  top  of  the 
head,  and  the  hand  that  covered  his 
face.  But  his  attitude  showed  that 
he  was  hiding  a  laugh ;  and  any- 
body who  could  laugh  in  that  con- 
gregation was  balm  to  the  minister's 
eyes.  In  those  two  he  felt  sure  of 
sympathy. 

The  hymn  over,  the  minister  read 
a  psalm  and  repeated  the  Lord's 
Prayer. 

The  congregation  listened  with 
lengthening  faces.  In  fact,  the  disap- 
probation was  mutual.  In  the  first 


T/ie  House  of  Yorkc. 


465 


place,  they  were  shocked  that  the 
candidate  for  their  pulpit  should 
travel  on  the  Lord's  day ;  in  the  next 
place,  his  looks  and  manners  were 
too  little  like  those  of  their  former  pas- 
tor, the  Rev.  Jabez  True;  thirdly, 
they  had  never  before  had  the  Our 
Father  foisted  on  them  for  a  prayer. 
They  were  accustomed  to  hear  a  long 
and  explicit  address  to  the  Deity,  in 
which  their  wishes  and  thoughts  were 
explained  to  him,  and  their  praises 
and  thanks  duly  meted  out  —  a 
prayer  which  they  could  talk  about 
afterward.  Elder  True  had  been 
gifted  in  prayer,  and  would  some- 
times pray  half  an  hour  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  It  was  certain- 
ly a  very  shabby  thing  to  put  them 
off  with  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

Then  came  the  sermon.  Only  two 
persons  present  knew  that  the  text 
was  from  the  Koran.  It  was  a  story 
of  a  certain  good  man  who  had  a 
plantation  of  palm-trees,  to  which  he 
used  to  call  the  poor,  and  give  them 
such  fruit  as  the  knife  missed  or  the 
wind  blew  off.  He  died;  and  his 
sons  felt  too  poor  to  give  anything 
away.  So  they  agreed  to  come  ear- 
ly in  the  morning,  and  gather  the 
fruit  when  the  poor  could  not  know. 
But  in  laying  their  plans,  they  omit- 
ted to  add,  "If  it  please  God  !"  In  the 
night  a  storm  passed  over  the  gar- 
den, and  in  the  morning  it  was  as 
one  where  the  fruit  had  all  been  gath- 
ered. 

There  are  various  ways  in  which 
such  a  text  could  be  treated.  Our 
speaker,  changing  his  plan  at  the  last 
minute,  irritated  by  the  cold  and  un- 
sympathizing  faces  about  him,  and 
by  his  personal  discomforts,  chose  to 
enforce  this  thought :  there  are  those 
who  fancy  that  all  the  fruits  of  grace 
are  theirs,  that  they  are  the  elect, 
and  that  those  outside  of  their  walls 
shall  perish  with  hunger  while  they 
are  feasting.  Behold,  the  whirlwind 
VOL.  xiii. — 30 


of  the  wrath  of  God  shall  sweep  away 
the  good  they  only  seem  to  have, 
and  leave  them  poorer  than  Lazarus. 
It  was  a  forced  interpretation;  but 
the  speaker  was  dextrous,  and  made 
himself  appear  consecutive  even 
when  he  rambled  most.  With  passion- 
ate vehemence,  he  denounced  those 
sanctimonious  souls  who  mistake  a 
curvature  of  the  spine  for  humility,  and 
a  nasal  twang  for  an  evidence  of 
grace.  "  I  love  not,"  he  said,  "  those 
cold  and  heavy  souls  that  never  take 
a  generous  fire.  One  wonders  if  they 
ever  will  burn — under  any  future  cir- 
cumstances. They  flatter  themselves 
that  they  are  good  and  just  and  rea- 
sonable because  they  are  emotionless. 
It  is  not  so.  No  heart  is  pure  that 
is  not  passionate ;  no  virtue  safe  that 
is  not  enthusiastic.  Is  the  diamond 
less  fine  because  it  is  brilliant  ?  Has 
the  sea  no  depth  because  it  sparkles 
on  the  surface  ?  Would  the  cannon- 
ball  go  further  flung  by  the  hand 
than  it  does  when  shot  from  the  can- 
non's mouth  ?  Is  truth  always  a 
mountain  crowned  with  snow  ?  It 
may  be  a  volcano.  A  strong  and 
sweet  thinker  h%  said,  '  The  wildest 
excess  of  passion  does  not  injure 
the  soul  so  much  as  respectable  sel- 
fishness does  ; '  and  he  says  rightly. 
I  protest  against  the  apotheosis  of 
phlegm.  There  are  many  phases 
of  good,  and  each  has  his  way  ;  but, 
for  my  part,  I  prefer  the  faults  of 
heat  to  the  faults  of  cold.  The  form- 
er are  often  generous  faults,  the  lat- 
ter never  so.  The  faults  of  the  form- 
er are  on  the  surface,  and  can  neith- 
er be  denied  nor  hidden ;  those  of  the 
latter  are  deep-rooted,  and  may  be  and 
often  are  mistaken  for  virtues.  WTho 
were  the  great  saints  ?  Look  at  the 
reckless  Magdalen,  the  vehement  St. 
Paul,  the  hasty  St.  Peter.  St.  John 
of  the  Cross  quotes  as  an  axiom  in 
theology  the  saying  that  God  moves 
all  things  in  harmony  with  their  con- 


466 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


stitution ;  and  the  history  of  the 
world  shows  that,  when  he  Avanted  to 
kindle  a  grand  and  holy  conflagration, 
he  took  for  workers  combustible  men 
and  women.  Among  the  apostles, 
the  only  one  who  was  cold  and  cal- 
culating enough  to  count  money 
and  think  of  the  purse  when  the 
Lord  was  near  enough  to  set  all  their 
hearts  on  fire  was  Judas,  and  not 
the  worst  Judas  in  the  world  either. 
For  since  his  time  many  a  pretended 
follower  has  weighed  the  Holy  One 
in  a  balance,  and  sold  him  for  a 
price,  and  has  lacked  the  after-grace 
to  hang  himself." 

"  Let  us  pray  !" 

It  was  only  when  Miss  Yorke  and 
her  brother  rose,  that  the  astonished 
and  scandalized  congregation  under- 
stood that  the  sermon  was  really 
over,  and  they  were  to  stand  up  and 
listen  to  a  prayer. 

The  minister  spoke  in  a  voice  yet 
vibrating  with  excitement :  "  O  Lord 
God  of  morning  and  evening,  of 
storm  and  sunshine,  of  the  dew  that 
bathes  the  violet  and  the  frost  that 
cracks  the  rock — God  of  the  east 
and  the  west,  and*  all  that  lies  be- 
tween them — God  of  our  souls  and 
our  bodies,  of  bliss  and  of  anguish — 
O  God,  who  alone  rewardest  failure, 
who  for  thy  mantle,  which  eludes  our 
grasp,  givest  us  thy  hand  to  clasp 
— may  all  thy  creatures  adore  thee  ! 
Our  praise  goes  up  like  the  note  of 
the  small  bird  in  the  branches ;  but 
thou  hast  made  us  weak.  All  power 
is  thine !  Our  hearts  swell  and 
break  at  thy  feet  as  the  waves  break 
upon  the  shore;  but  thou  hast  set 
our  limit.  Space  is  in  the  hollow  of 
thy  hand  !  We  lift  our  eyes  toward 
thee,  and  their  gaze  is  baffled;  but 
thou,  who  seest  all  things,  hast 
sealed  their  vision.  Glory  and 
honor  and  power  be  unto  thee,  in- 
scrutable Wisdom,  for  ever  and  ever. 
Amen!" 


"  And  he  calls  that  a  prayer !" 
thought  the  congregation. 

"  Why,  it  is  like  a  Catholic  pray- 
er!" whispered  Melicentto  her  broth- 
er. "  And  he  quotes  St.  John  of  the 
Cross,  and  the  Koran,  and  Ecce  Ho- 
mo. He  must  be  an  eclectic  minis- 
ter." 

The  congregation  went  out  with 
very  glum  faces,  and  scattered  to 
their  various  homes.  Only  the  deacon 
waited  in  the  porch,  as  in  duty  bound, 
to  invite  the  minister  home  to  dinner. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  go  home  with 
me,  Brother  Conway,"  he  said,  freez- 
ingly. 

"  Conway  !"  echoed  the  minister. 
"You  mistake,  sir!  My  name  is 
Griffeth." 

The  deacon  stared.  "  We  were 
expecting  the  Reverend  John  Con- 
way  to  preach  to-day,  as  a  candidate 
for  our  pulpit,"  he  said,  eyeing  Mr. 
Griffeth  suspiciously.  "  Do  you  come 
in  his  place  ?" 

An  expression  of  perplexity,  in- 
stantly succeeded  by  one  of  poig- 
nant amusement,  passed  over  the 
minister's  face.  Then  he  became 
grave.  "  It  seems  that  I  have  come 
in  his  place,"  he  said,  "  but  most  un- 
willingly. Brother  Conway  met  with 
an  accident  which  delayed  him.  He 
sent  his  regrets  to  you  by  me.  and 
hopes  he  may  be  here  this  afternoon. 
Good-morning,  sir!  I  will  not  burden 
your  hospitality  to-day." 

The  deacon's  face  cleared.  It 
was  a  blessed  relief  to  find  that  they 
would  have  no  more  to  do  with  this 
man. 

The  stranger  crossed  the  portico 
to  where  Melicent  and  Carl  still  lin- 
gered, having  overheard  this  conver- 
sation. "  I  beg  your  pardon !"  he 
said.  "  But  will  you  have  the  kind- 
ness to  tell  me  of  what  denomination 
the  church  is  in  which  I  have  been 
preaching  ?" 

"  It  is  Baptist,"  Carl  replied;  "of 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


467 


the  kind,  I  think,  they  call  '  Hard- 
shelled.'"  ' 

"  God  be  praised  !"  ejaculated  the 
minister.  "  I  have  got  into  the 
wrong  pulpit !" 

Melicent  immediately  insisted  on 
his  going  home  with  them.  "  We 
can  at  least  protect  you  from  the 
Hard-shells  until  your  own  friends  find 
you,"  she  said. 

The  invitation  being  cordially  giv- 
en, and  seconded  by  Carl,  the  minis- 
ter thankfully  accepted  it,  and  they 
started  on  their  homeward  way. 
"  My  blunder  is  likely  to  give  great 
offence  to  one-half  the  town,  and 
great  amusement  to  the  other  half," 
he  said,  as  they  went  along.  "  I  am 
truly  thankful  to  find  a  refuge  from 
both." 

Mrs.  Yorke  received  her  unexpect- 
ed guest  with  the  greatest  kindness; 
Mr.  Yorke,  with  the  greatest  cour- 
tesy. It  was  one  of  the  pleasantest 
families  in  the  world  to  visit.  Not 
easily  accessible  to  everybody,  nor 
quick  to  form  intimacies,  whomever 
they  did  receive,  they  made  at  once 
at  home.  There  was  a  charming 
ease  in  their  company.  Your  sole 
reminder  that  they  understood  the 
proprieties  of  life  was  the  fact  that 
they  never  sinned  against  them. 

Seated  in  the  midst  of  the  family, 
who  gathered  about  him,  the  min- 
ister related  the  adventures  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  to  his  smiling 
auditory.  Only  two  persons  present 
were  grave.  Edith  could  perceive 
nothing  ludicrous  in  the  circum- 
stances. It  was  a  most  sad  and  un- 
comfortable fact  that  Minister  Con- 
way  should  have  got  into  the  mud, 
she  thought ;  and,  as  to  preaching 
in  the  wrong  pulpit,  that  seemed  to 
her  a  very  awful  mistake.  The  other 
solemn  face  belonged  to  little  Eugene 
Cleaveland,  five  years  old,  Major 
Cleaveland's  youngest  son.  The 
child  was  a  pet  of  the  Yorkes,  and 


always  stayed  with  them  when  his 
father  was  away  from  home.  He 
had  quite  adopted  them  as  his  rel- 
atives. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Yorke  were 
his  aunt  and  uncle.  The  others  were 
all  cousins.  Leaning  on  Clara's  lap, 
quite  unmindful  of  her  caressing 
hand  in  his  hair  or  on  his  cheek,  he 
gazed  with  large,  bright  black  eyes  at 
the  minister,  drinking  in  every  word, 
and  thinking  his  own  thoughts.  . 

"  Isn't  your  God  as  good  as  their 
God  is  ?"  he  asked  suddenly  in  the 
the  first  pause. 

"  We  have  all  the  same  God,  my 
child,"  the  minister  replied ;  and  im- 
mediately added  to  the  others,  "  I 
perceive  that  we  had  better  change 
the  subject,  lest  the  little  ones  should 
be  scandalized.  I  fancy  I  even  read 
reproof  in  the  eyes  of  your  niece, 
madam.  And,  by  the  way,  she  looks 
like  some  solemn,  medieval  religious." 

"  It  is  odd  she  should  suggest  that 
thought  to  you,"  Mrs.  Yorke  said. 
"The  child 'is  a  Catholic.  Come, 
my  dear,  and  show  Mr.  Griffeth  what 
a  pretty  prayer-b.ook  you  have.  It 
was  given  me  by  a  very  lovely  and 
zealous  French  lady  whom  I  knew 
in  Paris.  I  thought  it  would  do 
Edith  most  good." 

Edith  approached  the  minister  with 
hesitation,  half-pleased  with  him, 
half-doubtful.  But  while  he  talked 
pleasantly  to  her,  glancing  over 
the  book  without  a  sign  of  pre- 
judice, explaining  and  praising  here 
and  there,  her  doubts  were  forgotten. 
What  the  child  instinctively  felt  was, 
that  the  man  had  no  religious  con- 
victions ;  but,  her  reason  being  unde- 
veloped, she  could  not  understand 
what  he  lacked.  When  he  learned 
that  she  was  half- Polish,  he  delighted 
her  by  telling  how,  in  the  glorious 
days  of  Poland,  when  the  nobles 
heard  Mass,  they  unsheathed  their 
swords  at  the  Gospel,  to  show  that 
they  were  ready  on  the  instant  to  do 


468 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


battle  for  the  faith,  and  he  promised 
to  procure  for  her  a  little  handful  of 
earth  from  the  sacred  soil  of  Praga. 
He  then  repeated  and  translated  for 
her  an  anonymous  hymn  to  the  Holy 
Innocents,  written  in  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, and;  at  Mrs.  Yorke's  request, 
copied  it  into  the  prayer-book.  It 
was  this : 

"  Salvete,  floras  martyrum, 
Quos  lucis  ipso  in  limine, 
Christ!  insecutor  sustulit, 
Ceu  turbo  nascentes  rosas. 
Vos,  prima  Christi  victima, 
Grex  immolatorum  tener, 
Aram  ante  ipsam,  simplices, 
Palma  et  coronis  luditis." 

Miss  Yorke  presently  excused  her- 
self with  the  smiling  announcement 
that  she  must  prepare  the  dessert  for 
dinner,  and  Clara  went  out  to  gather 
flowers  for  the  dinner-table,  taking 
Eugene  Cleaveland  with  her. 

They  roamed  about  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  finding  wild-roses  and 
violets ;  they  ventured  into  wet  places 
for  the  blue  flower-de-luce ;  they 
gathered  long  plumes  of  ferns,  and 
in  a  dusky  cloister  where  a  brook 
had  hidden  one  of  its  windings,  they 
found  a  cardinal -flower  lighting  the 
place  like  a  lamp. 

Suddenly  the  little  boy  cried  out, 
and  began  to  dance  about.  There 
was  a  bug  gone  away  up  in  his 
jacket,  he  declared. 

Clara  searched  him,  but  found  no- 
thing. 

•  "  There's  nothing  on  you,  little 
dear !"  she  said.  "  Come  home,  now. 
It  is  dinner-time,  and  you  must  help 
me  to  arrange  the  flowers.  There  is 
no  bug,  child;  it  is  all  your  imagi- 
nation." 

"Does  my  imagination  wiggle?" 
he  cried  indignantly.  "  There  !" 

The  last  exclamation  referred  to 
a  creeping  at  his  throat;  and  out 
hopped  an  active  little  frog,  which 
had  been  circumnavigating  the  child 
ever  since  he  pulled  the  last  blue  lily. 


They  went  homeward  with  their 
baskets  of  flowers,  and  encountered 
on  the  way  Boadicea  Patten  with  her 
baby  in  her  arms.  She  had  come  to 
see  her  son  and  daughter,  and  was 
trying  to  keep  out  of  sight  of  the 
front  windows,  where  she  saw  a 
stranger. 

Clara  Yorke  immediately  seized 
upon  the  infant.  No  baby  ever 
escaped  her  caresses ;  and  this  one 
the  young  ladies  had  taken  under 
their  especial  charge.  They  sup- 
plied its  wardrobe,  and  went  to  see 
it,  or  had  it  come  to  them  every 
week.  It  was  a  pretty  child,  bright, 
white,  and  well-mannered,  with  a 
lordly  air  of  taking  homage  as  if  it 
were  due. 

When  Clara  entered  the  parlor,  she 
found  only  the  gentlemen  and  Edith 
there;  but  that  did  not  prevent  her 
insisting  on  her  little  one  being  re- 
ceived with  enthusiasm.  She  called 
attention  to  the  wonderful  dimpled 
shoulders  and  elbows,  pulled  its  eye- 
lids down  pitilessly  to  display  the 
long  lashes,  uncurled  its  yellow  locks 
and  let  them  creep  back  into  rings 
again,  and  crowned  it  with  violets, 
quoting  Browning : 

"  Violets  instead  of  laurel  in  the  hair, 
As  those  were  all  the  little  locks  could  bear." 

Then  she  consigned  the  child  to 
her  brother.  "  I  have  domestic  cares 
to  attend  to,"  she  said,  "  and  you 
must  amuse  my  beauty  while  I  am 
gone.  '  What  must  you  do  ?'  Talk 
to  it,  of  course.  '  What  shall  you 
say  ?'  Why,  Owen,  do  not  be  stupid  ! 
Say  whatever  you  can  think  of  that 
is  suited  to  the  darling's  capacity. 
Come,  Eugene,  we  have  important 
affairs  on  hand." 

Carl  looked  at  his  charge  with  im- 
mense good-will  and  not  a  little  per- 
plexity, and  it  stared  back  solemnly 
at  him,  waiting  to  be  entertained. 
Something  must  be  said. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


469 


"  What  is  your  opinion  concerning 
the  origin  of  ideas  ?"  asked  the  young 
man,  at  length,  with  great  politeness. 

Instantly  the  little  face  brightened 
with  delighted  intelligence ;  the  lips 
became  voluble  in  a  strange  lan- 
guage, and  the  dimpled  hands  caught 
at  Carl's  sunny  locks. 

"  Oh !  for  an  interpreter,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "If  we  had  an  interpre- 
ter, we  could  confound  the  savants. 
Clara,"  to  his  sister  just  returning, 
"  what  is  this  little  wretch  saying  ?" 

"  He  is  saying  that  he  loves  every- 
body in  the  whole  world  !"  she  cried, 
catching  the  babe  in  her  arms,  and 
half-stifling  it  with  kisses.  "And, 
now,  please  come  to  dinner." 

"  It  is  not  a  bad  solution,"  mused 
the  minister,  as  he  and  Carl  went  out 
last.  "  Perhaps  love  is  the  root  from 
which  our  ideas  grow.  Undoubtedly 
the  kind  of  ideas  a  person  has  de- 
pends on  the  nature  and  degree  of 
his  loving." 

"  You  see  that  here  we  stand  not 
upon  the  order  of  our  going,"  Clara 
laughed  back  frcm  the  doorway ; 
"  or,  rather,  we  follow  the  style  of 
ecclesiastical  processions,  and  place 
the  principal  person  last." 

There  \v?.s  a  cluster  of  yellow 
violets  by  Mr.  Griffeth's  plate.  His 
eyes  often  turned  on  them,  and 
always  with  a  grave  expression. 
"  They  remind  nie  of  a  brother  I  have 
lost,"  he  said  at  length  to  Mrs.  Yorke. 
"  Philip  used  to  paint  flowers  beau- 
tifully, r.nd  a  bunch  of  yellow  violets 
was  the  la^t  thing  he  painted.  If 
you  v/erc  not  new-comers  in  Seaton. 
I  should  think  it  possible  that  you 
might  have  seen  or  heard  of  him. 
He  went  to  school  here  to  an  old 
minister,  Mr.  Blake,  the  predecessor, 
I  believe,  of  Dr.  Martin." 

"  Philip  Griflfeth  !"  Mrs.  Yorke  ex- 
daimed,  blushing  with  surprise, 
'•  Why,  I  went  to  school  with  him.  I 
recollect  him  perfectly.  This  is  my 


native  place,  Mr.  Grifteth.  Yes, 
Philip  was  the  favorite  of  every  one, 
teacher  and  pupils.  He  used  to 
help  me  with  my  Virgil.  Mr.  Blake 
made  us  all  study  Latin,  and  the 
boys  had  to  study  Greek.  The  min- 
ister thought  that  no  person  should 
be  admitted  into  polite  society  who 
did  not  know  one  at  least  of  these 
languages.  I  recollect  him,  a  small, 
pompous  man,  with  an  air  of  fierce- 
ness very  foreign  to  his  character. 
He  wished  to  be  thought  a  stern  and 
fateful  personage,  while  in  truth  he 
was  the  softest  man  alive.  When  he 
used  to  come  to  our  house,  and  ex- 
tend his  awful  right  hand  to  me,  I 
always  knew  that  the  left  hand,  hid- 
den behind  his  back,  held  a  paper  of 
candy." 

The  discovery  of  this  mutual  friend 
formed  a  strong  tie  between  the  min- 
ister and  his  new  acquaintances,  so 
that  they  seemed  quite  like  old 
friends.  The  family  pressed  him  to 
stay  till  evening,  when  they  would 
send  for  some  of  his  people  to  come 
for  him ;  and  he,  nothing  loth,  con- 
sented. 

"  But,  I  warn  you,"  he  said  to  the 
young  people,  when  they  had  returned 
to  the  parlor,  "  that,  unless  you  allow 
me  to  see  you  often,  this  hospitality 
will  be  a  cruel  kindness.  I  should 
find  it  harder  to  lose  than  never  to 
have  had  your  society.  I  could  not 
console  myself  with  less  than  the 
best,  as  this  pretty  rustic  did,"  taking 
up  an  illustrated  copy  of  Maud  Mill- 
ler  that  lay  at  his  elbow.  "  But 
what  a  perfect  thing  it  is  !"  he  added. 
Mrs.  Yorke  was  just  passing 
through  the  room  on  her  way  to  take 
an  afternoon  siesta.  She  paused  by 
the  table,  and  glanced  at  the  book. 
"  It  is  perfect  all  but  the  ending," 
she  said;  "  that  is  too  pre-Raphaelite 
for  me.  Doubtless  it  would  have 
happened  quite  so  ;  but  I  do  not  wish 
to  know  that  it  did." 


470 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


"  But  should  not  art  be  true  to 
nature  ?"  asked  Mr.  Griffeth.  He 
liked  to  hear  and  see  the  lady  talk. 
Her  gentle  ways  and  delicate,  pa- 
thetic grace,  all  charmed  him. 

"  Art  should  be  true  to  nature 
when  nature  is  true  to  herself,"  she 
replied.  "  I  am  not  a  pre-Rapael- 
ite.  I  believe  that  the  mission  of  art 
is  to  restore  the  lost  perfection  of  na- 
ture, not  to  copy  and  perpetuate  its 
defects.  Otherwise  it  is  not  elevat- 
ing ;  and  what  it  makes  you  admire 
chiefly  is  the  talent  which  imitates, 
not  the  genius  which  sees.  I  believe 
that  genius  is  insight,  talent  only  out- 
sight.  My  husband  defines  genius 
as  artistic  intuition.  Why  should 
the  poet  have  cheated  us  into  loving 
a  fair,  empty  shape  ?  If  the  girl  had 
been  disappointed,  and  had  lived 
apart  and  lonely  to  the  end  of  her 
days,  the  picture  would  have  been 
lovely  and  pathetic.  But  now  it  is 
revolting." 

"  I  agree  with  mamma,"  Miss 
Yorke  interposed.  "  ff  Maud  Miiller 
had  married  the  judge,  she  would 
never  have  appreciated  him.  If  she 
had  been  capable  of  it,  sjie  could 
not  have  condescended  to  the  other 
after  having  seen  him." 

"  I  should  believe,"  the  minister 
said,  "  that,  if  she  had  possessed  true 
nobleness  of  soul,  she  could  not 
have  so  lowered  herself,  even  if  she 
had  seen  nothing  better.  To  my 
mind,  people  rise  to  their  proper  level 
by  spontaneous  combustion,  needing 
no  outward  spark,  women  as  well  as 
men.  The  philosophy  of  the  Comte 
de  Gabalis  may  be  very  true  as  to 
gnomes,  sylphs,  and  salamanders ; 
but  for  women  I  think  that  such  rad- 
ical changes  never  occur.  That  the- 
ory belongs  to  those  men  who,  as 
Mrs.  Browning  says,  believe  that  '  a 
woman  ripens,  like  a  peach,  in  the 
cheeks  chiefly.'  " 

"  So   we   have   disposed   of  poor 


Maud  Miiller,"  said  Mrs.  Yorke.  "  I 
repent  me  of  having  been  so  harsh 
with  the  sweet  child.  Let  us  say 
that  the  poet  wronged  her;  that  in 
truth  she  faded  away  month  by 
month,  and  grew  silent,  and  shadowy, 
and  saint-like,  not  knowing  what  was 
the  matter  with  her,  but  feeling  a 
great  need  of  God's  love;  and  so 
died." 

With  a  sigh  through  the  smile  of 
her  ending,  Mrs.  Yorke  passed  noise- 
lessly from  the  room.  The  shadows 
of  the  vine-leaves  seemed  to  strain 
forward  to  catch  at  her  white  dress, 
and  the  sunlight  dropping  through 
turned  her  hair  to  gold.  Then 
shadow  and  sunlight  fell  to  the  floor 
and  kissed  her  foot-steps,  missing  her. 

Mr.  Yorke  was  out  walking  about 
his  farm,  inquiring  of  Patrick  how 
many  months  it  took  in  that  country 
for  plants  to  get  themselves  above 
ground ;  if  green  peas  were  due  early 
in  September;  if  cucumbers  were 
not  in  danger  of  freezing  before  they 
arrived  at  maturity ;  if  their  whole 
crop,  in  short,  did  not  promise  to 
give  them  their  labor  for  their  pains  ; 
and  making  various  other  depre- 
ciatory comments  which  his  assistant 
inwardly  resented.  The  young  peo- 
ple sat  in  the  parlor  and  improved 
their  acquaintance.  Soon  they  found 
themselves  talking  of  personal  mat- 
ters and  family  plans,  especially  those 
relating  to  Owen. 

Mr.  Griffeth  strongly  urged  his 
remaining  in  Seaton.  "  I  think  it 
would  be  better  to  remain  if  you 
should  conclude  to  study  law,"  he 
said.  "  You  could  pursue  your  stud- 
ies here  without  the  distractions  of 
a  city  life,  and  you  could  begin  prac- 
tice with  a  clearer  field.  You  would 
at  once  be  prominent  here,  but  in  the 
city  there  would  be  a  crowd  of  able 
and  experienced  practitioners  in  your 
way." 

"  '  I  would   rather   be   second  in 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


471 


Athens  than  first  in  Eubcea,' "  Carl 
objected. 

"  Undoubtedly !"  was  the  imme- 
diate response.  "  But  you  might 
save  time  by  trying  your  wings  in 
Euboea  before  essaying  your  flight  in 
Athens." 

The  sister  eagerly  seconded  the 
proposal,  delighted  with  any  plan  by 
which  they  could  keep  their  brother 
with  them  and  yet  not  injure  his 
prospects.  Carl  listened  with  favor. 
His  new  friend  had  completely  cap- 
tivated him ;  and,  sure  of  such  con- 
genial companionship,  Seaton  ap- 
peared to  him  a  tolerable  place  to 
live  in. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  not  quite  disin- 
terested," Mr.  Griffeth  said.  "  I 
want  you  to  stay.  But,  also,  it  does 
seem  to  me  well.  The  place  is  pro- 
mising. I  am  told  that  it  has  some 
superior  people,  and  that  it  is  grow- 
ing rapidly.  My  own  coming  was  a 
chance,  and  already  I  rejoice  in  it. 
One  impulse  pushed  me  toward  the 
south,  another  toward  the  north: 
obeying  a  philosophical  law,  I  came 
east,  and  here  I  shall  stay.  I  recog- 
nized a  Providence  in  it.  May  not 
you  the  same  ?" 

"Oh!  do  stay,  Owen,"  Hester 
said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  What  can  I  do  when  the  evening 
star  pleads  with  me  ?"  said  Carl  with 
a  smile.  When  he  was  pleased  with 
his  youngest  sister,  he  called  her 
Hesper. 

"  And  you  know,  Carl,  you  pro- 
mised to  teach  me  to  spell,  this  sum- 
mer," said  Clara.  "  I  cannot  spell !" 
she  confessed  to  the  minister. 

"  Madam,  I  congratulate  you !" 
he  replied. 

"  But  it  is  not  ignorance,"  she  said, 
blushing  very  much.  "  English 
spelling  is  nothing  but  memory,  you 
know.  Now,  my  memory  is  situated 
in  my  heart,  not  my  head,  and  it  retains 
only  what  I  love  or  hate.  You  do 


not  expect  me  to  be  fond  of  vowels 
and  consonants,  or  enamored  of  poly- 
syllables, surely." 

The  minister  protested  that  he 
was  always  enchanted  to  meet  with 
an  educated  person  who  could  not 
spell.  It  was,  he  said,  the  mark  of  a 
mind  which  catches  so  ardently  at 
the  soul  of  a  word  that  it  misses 
the  form.  "  I  have  no  doubt,"  he 
said,  "  that  you  might  talk  with  a 
person  a  hundred  times,  and  compre- 
hend his  character  perfectly,  yet  not 
be  able  to  tell  the  color  of  his  eyes 
nor  the  shape  of  his  nose.  You 
could  also  go  unerringly  to  a  place 
you  had  once  visited,  though  you 
could  not  direct  a  person  there. 
You  do  not  gather  your  knowledge 
like  corn  in  the  ear,  but  in  the  gol- 
den grain ;  and  when  anybody  wants 
the  cob,  you  have  to  go  searching 
about  in  waste  places  for  it." 

Mr.  Yorke  came  in,  and  presently 
Mrs.  Yorke,  with  a  little  sleep-misti- 
ness hanging  yet  about  her. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  auntie  ?" 
cried  Eugene  Cleveland,  running  to 
her.  He  had  his  hands  full  of  dan- 
delion curls,  which  he  began  hanging 
in  her  ears,  having  thus  adorned  the 
young  ladies. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  land  where 
dreams  grow  on  trees,"  she  said  r.oft- 

iy. 

"Mr.  Griffeth  says  that  I  am  a 
little  man,"  the  child  announced, 
with  an  air  of  consequence.  1'he  re- 
mark had  been  made  an  hour  before, 
and  was  not  yet  forgotten.  The  lad 
had  indeed  an  exceedingly  good 
opinion  of  himself,  and  never  forgot 
a  word  of  praise. 

Clara  called  him  to  her.  "  You 
are  no  more  a  man,"  she  said,  "  than 
potato-balls  are  potatoes." 

He  sobered  instantly,  and  went 
about  for  some  time  with  a  very  for- 
lorn countenance.  After  awhile, 
when  she  had  forgotten  the  remark, 


472 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


he  came  back  to  her.  "  Cousin 
Clara,  do  potato-balls  ever  grow 
into  potatoes  ?"  he  asked  anxious-ly. 

In  the  evening  the  Universalist  de- 
putation arrived,  and  took  their  min- 
ister away  with  them. 

"  Now,  Pat,  you  mark  my  words," 
said  Betsey,  as  she  saw  the  family 
stand  on  the  moonlight  veranda  to 
watch  their  visitor  down  the  avenue : 
"  that  man  will  marry  one  of  the 
Yorke  girls." 

Betsey  considered  the  speedy  mar- 
riage of  the  young  ladies  a  consum- 
mation devoutly  to  be  wished. 

Patrick  was  still  smarting  under  the 
insults  offered  to  his  garden,  and 
would  not  in  any  case  have  hailed 
the  alliance  of  a  minister  with  the  fa- 
mily. "  Oh,  bali !  they  wouldn't  look 
at  him  !"  he  replied  crossly.  "  A 
rogue  of  a  minister,  with  his  nose  in 
the  air !" 

"  I  have  eyes  in  my  head,"  said 
Betsey  with  dignity. 

"  And  a  bee  in  your  bonnet,"  re- 
torted the  man. 

Betsey  went  into  the  house,  bang- 


ed the  door  behind  her,  and  began 
setting  the  kitchen  to  rights  with 
great  vigor.  She  swept  up  the  hearth 
so  fiercely  that  a  cloud  of  ashes  came 
cut  and  settled  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and  put  the  chairs  back  against  the 
wall  with  an  emphasis  that  made 
them  rattle. 

Patrick  put  his  head  in  at  the 
door,  prudently  keeping  his  body 
out,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  depre- 
cating smile.  "  Now,  Betsey !"  he 
said. 

"  You  needn't  speak  to  me  again, 
to-night,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  se- 
verely away  from  him.  "  You've  said 
enough  for  one  time." 

"  And  what  have  I  said  to  you, 
Betsey?" 

She  faced  him.  "  I  wonder  if  in 
your  country  it  is  considered  a  com- 
pliment to  tell  a  woman  that  she  has 
a  bee  in  her  bonnet,"  she  said. 

"  Ah !  is  that  where  you  are  ?" 
said  Pat,  coming  half  into  the  room. 
"  I  never  meant  the  least  harm  in  my 
life.  And,  sure,  Betsey,  did  ye  ever 
see  a  bonnet  without  a  b?" 


CHAPTER   -VIII. 


FATHER    RASLE. 


ONE  summer  morning,  Mr.  Yorke 
appeared  at  the  breakfast-table  with  a 
very  sour  face.  He  was  bilious,  and 
he  had  not  slept  well.  Even  Hes- 
ter's cooing  ways  failed  to  mollify 
him. 

"  Why,  you  are  feverish,  papa," 
she  said.  "Your  hand  is  hot  and 
dry." 

He  moved  his  chair  impatiently. 
"Yes,  your  mother  insisted  on  my 
taking  charcoal  instead  of  calomel, 
and  I  think  she  must  have  slily  ad- 
ministered a  lucifer-match  with  it :  I 
radiate  heat." 

Mrs.  Yorke  took  these  complaints 
very  quietly.  She  knew  that  nothing 


could  be  further  from  her  husband's 
heart  than  to  be  dissatisfied  with  any- 
thing she  did.  "  We  were  disturbed 
by  that  fearful  noise,"  she  said  quietly, 
taking  her  place  at  the  table. 

Owen  began  to  laugh.  The  Sea- 
ton  "  cast-iron  band  "  had  been  out 
the  night  before,  and  the  young  man 
found  himself  very  much  amused  by 
it. 

"  Do  you  like  lawlessness,  sir  ?" 
demanded  Mr.  Yorke. 

"  That  depends  on  what  the  law 
is,"  the  son  replied  pleasantly. 

"  Well,  sir,  in  this  case  it  is  the  law 
of  common  decency,  of  respect  for 
the  clergy,  and  courtesy  to  strangers. 


TJie  House  of  Yorke. 


473 


Father  Rasle,  the  Catholic  priest, 
came  here  yesterday,  and  that  Babel 
of  cow-bells,  and  sleigh-bells,  and 
mill-saws,  and  tin  trumpets,  and  wood- 
en drums,  and  I  know  not  what  else, 
was  before  his  door.  I  call  it  a 
shameful  outrage." 

"  So  do  I,"  Owen  replied  promptly. 
"  I  had  no  idea  what  it  meant." 

The  young  ladies  all  exclaimed  in- 
dignantly; but  Edith  dropped  her 
eyes  and  was  silent.  Theology  was 
nothing  to  her,  and  as  yet  her  faith 
had  no  life  in  it.  She  was  deeply 
ashamed  of  that  religion  which  all 
seemed  to  scoff  at  save  those  who 
tolerated  it  for  her  sake.  Only  her 
promise  held  her  to  it.  That  the 
voice  of  the  people  is  not  always, 
is  very  seldom,  the  voice  of  God,  she 
could  not  be  expected  to  know ;  nei- 
ther could  she  be  expected  to  love 
that  church  which  as  yet  she  had 
heard  spoken  of  only  by  its  enemies. 
She  did  not  dream  of  forsaking  the 
religion  of  her  mother ;  but  her  con- 
stancy to  it  seemed  to  her  of  the 
same  nature  as  Mrs.  Rowan's  con- 
stancy to  her  drunken  husband. 

After  breakfast,  her  uncle  bade  her 
dress  to  go  with  him  to  call  on  Father 
Rasle.  She  obeyed,  though  with  a 
shrinking  heart.  She  had  heard 
priests  spoken  of  in  the  street  and 
by  the  school-children  with  contempt 
and  reviling,  and  her  impression  was 
that  they  must  be  very  disagreeable 
persons  to  meet.  But  the  religion 
was  hers,  and  she  must  stand  by  it, 
never  confessing  to  a  doubt  nor  al- 
lowing any  one  to  reproach  it  un- 
challenged by  her.  And  if  she  stood 
by  the  religion,  she  must  stand  by  the 
priest. 

Father  Rasle,  being  only  a  mis- 
sionary there,  had  no  house  in  Sea- 
ton,  but  stopped  with  a  decent  Irish 
family.  It  was  a  poor  place,  and 
the  room  in  which  he  received  Mr. 
Yorke  and  his  niece  was  as  humble 


as  could  well  be  imagined.  But 
there  needed  no  fine  setting  to  show 
that  he  was  that  noblest  object  on 
earth,  a  Christian  gentleman.  His 
age  might  have  been  a  little  over 
forty,  and  his  manner  was  almost 
too  grave  and  dignified,  one  might 
think  at  first;  but  it  soon  appeared 
that  he  could  be  genial  beyond  most 
men. 

Mr.  Yorke  presented  his  niece,  and, 
before  explaining  their  errand,  apolo- 
gized for  the  insult  that  had  been  of- 
fered the  priest  the  night  before. 

"  Oh  !  I  certainly  did  not  expect 
the  honor  of  a  serenade,"  said  Father 
Rasle,  laughing  pleasantly.  "  But,  if 
it  gratified  them  to  give  it,  I  am  not 
in  the  least  offended.  It  is,  perhaps, 
a  loss  to  me  that  I  did  not  care ;  for 
I  might  have  derived  some  profit 
from  the  mortification.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  own  to  you,  sir,  that  I  enjoy- 
ed that  concert.  It  was  the  most 
laughable  one  I  ever  heard." 

Mr.  Yorke  looked  at  the  speaker 
in  astonishment.  Here  was  a  kind 
of  pride,  if  pride  it  could  be  called, 
which  he  could  not  understand.  In 
such  circumstances,  his  own  impulse 
would  have  been  to  shoot  his  in- 
sulters  down  instantly.  What  he 
despised  he  wanted  to  crush,  to  rid 
the  earth  of,  to  spare  himself  the 
sight  of;  what  the  priest  despised 
he  pitied,  he  wished  to  raise,  to  ex- 
cuse, to  spare  God  and  the  world 
the  sight  of.  It  was  admirable,  his 
visitor  owned,  but  inimitable  by  him. 

Not  being  able  to  say  any  more  on 
the  subject,  he  then  stated  Edith's 
case.  "  You  will  know  what  she 
needs,"  he  concluded,  "  and  I  shall 
see  that  she  follows  your  directions." 

The  father  questioned  his  young 
catechumen,  and  found  her  in  a  state 
of  the  most  perfect  ignorance.  "  The 
child  is  a  heathen !"  he  said,  in  his 
odd,  broken  English,  his  smile  taking 
the  harsh  edge  off  the  words.  "  She 


474 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


must  study  the  catechism — this  little 
one — and  see  how  much  of  it  she 
will  have  to  say  to  me  when  I  come 
here  again  in  a  month.  I  will  then 
prepare  her  for  her  first  confession." 

Edith  uttered  not  a  word,  except 
to  answer  his  questions.  She  was 
not  sure  whether  she  liked  him  or 
not;  she  was  only  certain  that  he 
did  not  offend  her. 

There  was  a  little  more  talk,  then 
Mr.  Yorke  rose  to  go,  cordially  invit- 
ing the  priest  to  visit  him.  As  they 
were  going,  "I  think,  Edith,"  he 
said,  "  that  you  should  kneel  and 
ask  Father  Rasle's  blessing." 

She  knelt  at  once,  for  her  mother's 
and  her  uncle's  sake,  with  a  murmur- 
ed, "  Please  to  bless  me,  sir !"  But 
when  he  had  given  the  blessing,  lay- 
ing his  hand  upon  her  head,  and 
looking  down  into  her  face  with  that 
expression  of  serious  sweetness,  she 
felt  a  dawning  sense  of  reverence  and 
confidence,  and-perceived  dimly  some 
sacredness  in  him. 

She  went  to  Mass  the  next  day  in 
the  little  chapel  that  had  been  dese- 
crated. The  picture-frames  still  hung 
on  the  walls,  with  the  rags  of  the 
stations  in  them.  There  was  enough 
left  to  show  how  Christ  the  Lord 
had  suffered,  and  this  new  insult  was 
but  a  freshening  of  the  original  text. 
Mr.  Yorke  sat  on  the  bench  beside 
his  niece,  and  she  stood,  or  kjielt,  or 
sat  with  the  rest,  not  in  the  least  un- 
derstanding what  it  all  meant,  but  im- 
pressed by  the  gravity  and  earnest- 
ness of  those  around  her.  When 
Mass  was  over,  the  priest,  who  had 
seen  them,  sent  for  them  into  the 
sacristy.  He  had  some  books  for 
Edith,  and  wanted  to  point  out  the 
lessons  she  was  to  learn  first. 

"  And  I  have  a  present  for  you," 
he  said,  giving  her  an  ormolu  cruci- 
fix, with  a  broken  foot  that  showed 
marks  of  violence.  "This  is  the 
crucifix  that  was  torn  from  our  taber- 


nacle. I  want  you  to  keep  it ;  and 
whenever  you  are  called  upon  to  suf- 
fer, and  feel  disposed  to  complain, 
look  at  this,  and  remember  that  our 
Lord  was  not  even  allowed  to  hang 
upon  his  cross  in  peace." 

She  took  the  crucifix  from  his 
hand  silently,  and  held  it  against 
her  breast  as  she  went  out.  She  did 
not  propose  to  endure  suffering;  she 
desired  and  looked  for  happiness; 
but  something  in  this  relic  stirred 
her  to  a  strange  pity,  mingled  with 
anger.  The  idea  that  lay  behind  it 
was  to  her  dim  and  vague ;  but,  fail- 
ing to  grasp  that,  she  would  have 
defended  with  her  life  the  symbol  of 
that  monstrous  wrong  and  that  heart- 
breaking patience.  Reaching  home, 
she  went  directly  to  her  own  cham- 
ber and  hung  the  crucifix  beneath 
the  picture  of  her  father,  then  stood 
and  looked  at  it  awhile.  There  was 
a  wish  in  her  heart  to  do  something 
— to  offer  some  reparation  to  the  real 
Sufferer  behind  this  image  of  pain. 
She  kissed  with  soft  lips  the  broken 
foot  of  the  cross,  and  a  tear  fell 
where  she  kissed.  She  took  it  down, 
and  pressed  the  rough  edge  against 
her  bosom  till  the  sharp  points  pier- 
ced the  skin  and  brought  a  stain  of 
blood.  Then,  hearing  some  one  call 
her,  she  hastily  replaced  it,  and 
brought  as  an  offering  to  it  a  pre- 
cious bouquet  of  ribbon-grasses,  that 
Carl  had  gathered  that  morning  to 
fasten  in  her  hair.  She  had  meant 
to  keep  it  because  of  some  sweetness 
with  which  it  was  offered,  but  now 
she  gave  it  up  to  that  unseen  Pa- 
tience and  Love.  Her  instinctive 
action  proved  that  the  feeling  and 
precept  of  the  church  only  sanctifies, 
but  does  not  change  the  impulse  of 
a  pure  and  tender  nature. 

Meantime,  the  child  was  being  dis- 
cussed down-stairs. 

"  I  observe  that  Edith  has  an  in- 
clination to  stay  alone  'a  good  deal," 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


475 


Mr.  Yorke  said,  "  and  I  do  not  wish 
to  have  that  encouraged.  It  is  not  a 
wholesome  disposition.  Her  father 
was  a  visionary,  her  mother  was  a 
visionary,  and  she  is —  " 

"A  vision !"  concluded  Mrs.  Yorke, 
as  Edith  appeared,  with  the  thoughts 
of  the  last  few  hours  still  in  her  eyes 
and  on  her  lips. 

About  that  time,  Carl  received  a 
letter  from  Miss  Mills  which  he  read 
many  times.  "  You  ask  my  advice," 
she  wrote,  "  and  you  tell  me  that  I 
know  better  than  you  know  yourself. 
I  would  not  claim  so  much  as  that, 
but  I  think  I  may  tell  you  something 
more  clearly  than  you  yourself  per- 
ceive it,  or  confirm  you  in  some 
thought  which  you  doubt  or  wish 
to  doubt.  As  to  your  choice  of  a 
profession  and  staying  in  Seaton  for 
the  present,  you  might  well  try  the 
experiment ;  but  I  cannot  express  any 
great  confidence  as  to  the  result.  It 
is  almost  a  disadvantage  to  you  that 
your  powers  are  so  various.  There 
are  a  good  many  things  which,  with 
application,  you  could  do  excellent- 
ly ;  whether  you  have  any  specialty 
remains  to  be  proved,  and  will  be 
hard  to  prove ;  for,  in  order  to  find 
that  out,  you  must  concentrate  your 
powers,  and  that  you  hate  to  do.  If 
this  world  were  but  a  playground, 
then  you  would  have  nothing  to  do 
but  follow  in  the  trail  of  every  new 
beauty  which  calls  you ;  but  life  is 
earnest,  and  you  must  work,  or  you 
not  only  lose  what  you  might  accom- 
plish, but  you  lose  yourself.  You 
are  one  of  those  whom  the  devil  finds 
worth  fighting  for,  and,  lacking  faith 
to  your  armor,  you  have  all  the  more 
need  of  labor.  Qid  laborat  orat, 
might  have  a  sort  of  truth  even  for 
one  without  faith. 

"  Let  me  warn  you  against  two 
dangers:  one  is,  that  you  may  be 
injured  by  flatterers.  Not  that  you 
like  flattery  in  itself,  but  it  will  soothe 


your  painful  sense  of  not  having 
reached  your  own  ideal.  It  will 
seem  to  you  that  your  best  must 
have  transpired  at  least,  and  that  you 
must  have  done  better  than  you 
thought.  Not  so ;  receive  that  sooth- 
ing praise  only  when  you  have  striven 
hard,  even  though  you  failed,  but 
never  when  you  have  tried  weakly  or 
not  at  all.  What  the  flatterers  like 
in  you  is  not  your  best,  but  your 
worst.  They  have  no  wish  for  you 
to  rise  above  them ;  they  praise  you 
to  keep  you  low. 

"  I  warn  you,  too,  against  your 
excessive  love  for  the  beautiful,  in 
which  you  are  an  ultra-pagan.  The 
infinite  beauty  is  alone  worthy  of 
that  passion  with  which  you  seek 
and  admire;  and  infinite  beauty  is 
infinite  truth.  Seek  truth  first,  and 
you  will  always  be  rewarded  by  the 
vision  of  beauty;  but,  if  you  seek 
beauty  first,  you  will  find  to  your 
sorrow,  possibly  to  your  ruin,  that  it 
is  often  but  the  mask  of  falsehood. 

"  Lay  aside  some  of  your  fastidi- 
ousness, my  dear  friend,  and  take  up 
your  life  strongly  with  both  hands. 
Do  something,  even  if  it  should  prove 
to  be  the  wrong  thing.  Wrong  work 
done  honestly  prepares  us  for  right 
work.  Strengthen  your  will,  and  be 
manly,  as  a  man  should  be.  Disci- 
pline yourself,  and  you  will  escape 
much  pain  and  loss  of  time,  for%  let 
me  assure  you,  Carl,  you  need  either 
an  immensity  of  resolution  or  an-im- 
mensity  of  suffering. 

"  My  lecture  is  done,  and  I  am 
Minerva  no  longer.  My  thoughts 
follow  you  with  solicitude  and  indul- 
gence. On  the  night  after  you  left, 
which  you  spent  on  the  sea,  I  went 
to  the  quiet  chapel  near  me,  and 
placed  you  under  the  protection  of 
Stella  Marts.  But  life  has  waves  and 
gulfs  more  fearful  than  those  of  the 
sea,  and  my  prayers  for  you  do  not 
cease  with  the  end  of  your  journey. 


476 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


11  Look  well  at  Robert  Yorke's 
child,  remembering  what  the  story 
of  my  life  is;  and  then,  if  you  think 
that  I  could  love  her,  kiss  her  on  the 
forehead  for  me,  and  tell  her  that  I 
send  a  loving  greeting." 

Owen  folded  the  letter,  and  hid  it 
in  his  bosom.  He  had  been  walking 
in  the  woods,  and  he  returned  thought- 
fully homeward.  The  afternoon  was 
sultry  and  still.  The  low  brooks 
hissed  along  like  white  flames,  the 
branches  drooped  over  the  birds  that 
murmured,  and  the  flowers  hung 
wilted.  All  about  the  house  was 
silent  as  he  entered.  Going  through 
the  kitchen,  he  saw  Betsey  sitting  in 
the  northern  window  reading  a  novel. 
Betsey  was  the  most  romantic  soul 
alive,  and,  having  got  hold  of  David 
Copperfield,  was  crying  her  eyes  out 
over  poor  little  Dora.  Passing  on 
to  the  sitting-room,  he  found  his  father 
sitting  asleep  in  a  deep  wicker-chair, 
a  copy  of  Religio  Medici  lying  open 
on  his  knee.  The  quiet  tone  of  the 
book,  familiar  by  many  readings,  had 
lulled  him  into  a  pleasant  slumber, 
and  his  hand  had  dropped  with  the 
finger  pointing  to  a  passage  on  which 
he  had  closed  his  eyes :  "  I  love  to 
love  myself  in  a  mystery,  to  pursue 
my  reason  to  an  O  altitudo  /"  From 
that  the  reader  had  gone  out  into 
the  mystery  of  sleep  with  a  smile 
lingering  on  his  face. 

"  It  is  the  castle  of  indolence," 
muttered  Owen,  stepping  noiselessly 
on.  He  paused  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  and  listened.  No  sound  came 
down.  His  sisters,  in  white  wrap- 
pers, each  with  a  pillow  under  her 
head,  were  lying  on  the  cool  matting 
in  the  north  chamber,  too  much  ex- 
hausted to  talk.  He  went  out  into 
the  portico,  and  stood  there  a  mo- 
ment, seeing  no  one.  Then,  turning, 
he  beheld  Edith  asleep  on  a  bench 
in  the  shadow  of  the  vines,  her  arms 
thrown  up  over  her  head.  Smilingly 


he  approached  her,  literally  to  obey 
the  command  of  his  friend,  and  look 
Avell  to  see  if  his  uncle's  deserted 
mistress  could  love  his  uncle's  child. 
She  was  fair  enough  to  love,  for  all 
the  roughness  of  her  former  life  had 
passed  away.  The  bloom  of  the  lily 
was  in  her  face,  warmed  now  to  a 
rose  by  the  heat,  and  her  hair  had  a 
shine  of  gold. 

''  Dear  little  cousin,"  he  said,  "  a 
friend  of  yours  sends  loving  greet- 
ing." 

She  stirred,  her  face  grew  troubled, 
and  she  started  up  with  a  cry :  "  Dick, 
come  back.  I  did  not  mean  to  !" 

She  sighed  on  seeing  Owen.  "  I 
was  dreaming  that  I  had  hurt  Dick, 
and  he  was  going  away  angry,"  she 
said. 

"  Are  you,  then,  so  fond  of  him  ?" 
Carl  asked,  seating  himself  by  her. 

"  O  Carl !"  she  said  earnestly,  "  you 
have  no  idea  how  fond  he  is  of  me." 

"  And  you  of  him,  then,  of  course,'* 
said  Carl. 

"  Why,  of  course !"  she  echoed, 
with  a  look  of  surprise.  "  If  I  were 
to  do  anything  to  Dick  to  make  him 
unhappy,  I  should  never  forgive  my- 
self, never!  I  have  written  him  a 
letter  to-day,  and  told  him  I  want 
him  to  be  a  Catholic." 

"  You  have !"  said  Carl  with  a 
faint  smile.  "  Do  you  think  he  will 
obey  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  she  said  confidently ; 
"  I  told  him  some  good  reasons  why 
he  should." 

And  may  I  ask  what  the  good  rea- 
sons were,  Edith  ?"  was  the  smiling 
question. 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  I  want 
him  to." 

"Excellent!"  laughed  the  young- 
man.  "The  doctors  couldn't  do 
better." 

Edith  blushed  deeply.  "  No ;  the 
good  reasons  were  the  reasons  why  I 
wanted  him  to,"  she  said. 


Saint  Cecilia. 


4/7 


SAINT     CECILIA. 


HER    INFLUENCE    ON    LITERATURE   AND    THE    ARTS. 


FROM   THE   REVUE   GENERALE. 


WHILE  the  great  men  who  have 
dreamed  of  distinguishing  their 
names  die  and  are  forgotten,  or  at 
least,  as  Juvenal  said  of  Alexander, 
become  the  idle  theme  of  a  rhetori- 
cal recitation,  those  who  in  this  world 
have  lived  and  suffered  for  God 
leave  behind  them,  through  all  ages, 
an  immortal  memory. 

The  work  for  which  each  of  us  has 
been  sent  into  the  world  has  been 
conspicuously  accomplished  by  the 
saints.  This  makes  them  our  right- 
ful masters;  and,  while  we  rarely 
imitate  them,  we  can  at  least  under- 
stand that  such  heroism  must  elevate 
the  soul,  and  we  admire  them  all  the 
more  that  we  feel  ourselves  unable  to 
follow  in  their  steps.  Nor  is  such  a 
recognition  a  useless  sentiment. 
From  the  mansion  of  glory  whence 
they  see  all  things,  the  saints  never 
cease  to  interest  themselves  in  the 
affairs  of  the  world,  and  among  the 
dogmas  of  the  Catholic  Church 
which  our  estranged  brethren  have 
rejected,  the  communion  of  saints  is 
one  of  the  most  touching  and 
sublime. 

There  is  indeed  between  the  two 
worlds,  visible  and  invisible,  a  strange 
but  undeniable  communication.  Each 
of  us,  in  investigating  his  own  soul, 
will  find  there  certain  phenomena 
which  have  their  origin  neither  in 
ourselves  nor  in  the  outer  world : 
sadness  from  no  apparent  cause,  in- 
explicable sensations  of  internal 
happiness,  bursts  of  enthusiasm  or 
sudden  inspirations  which  Plato  at- 
tributed to  superior  intelligences. 


Many  of  us,  recalling  some  miracu- 
lously escaped  danger,  and  profound- 
ly touched  by  this  heavenly  protection, 
will  bear  willing  witness,  unless  check- 
ed by  dread  of  worldly  criticism,  to 
this  influence  of  the  saints  and  angels 
on  our  human  career.  "  The  people," 
with  the  good  sense  which  so  happily 
inspires  them  (at  least,  where  the 
sophists  have  not  succeeded  in  cor- 
rupting them) — "  the  people  "  believe 
in  it;  and  when  the  peasant  or  the 
poor  working-woman  gives  a  name 
in  baptism  to  the  child  just  entering 
on  the  struggles  of  life,  she  believes, 
in  her  simple,  lucid  faith,  that  she 
'is  securing  a  patron  for  it.  It  is  not 
in  vain,  they  say,  that  a  young  girl 
is  called  Mary;  surely  she  will  the 
more  readily  share  in  the  sweetness, 
the  self-denial,  the  incomparable 
purity,  of  the  Queen  of  Virgins ;  the 
name  of  Agnes  will  be  a  pledge  of 
innocence;  that  of  Theresa  promises 
a  heart  of  fire ;  that  of  Cecilia,  a  soul 
gentle  yet  strong,  eager  for  harmony ; 
while  the  name  of  Francis  recalls 
heroic  isolation;  those  of  Paul  and 
of  John,  indefatigable  zeal  and  per- 
fect charity.  If  it  is  not  always  thus, 
it  is  because  the  human  soul  is  free 
to  resist  grace ;  but  these  occasional 
rebellions  do  not  prevent  a  harmony 
between  heaven  and  earth  as  mys- 
terious as  it  is  sure. 

These  thoughts  have  frequently 
passed  through  our  mind ;  but  one 
day  last  October,  while  visiting  the 
church  of  St.  Cecilia  in  Rome,  they 
monopolized  it. 

In    such   moments,   we  persuade 


478 


Saint  Cecilia. 


ourselves  very  easily  that  we  can 
express  them  in  writing.  Undoubt- 
edly, they  are  not  new ;  but,  if  the 
life  of  this  great  saint,  one  of  the 
glories  of  Rome,  is  well  known,  it  is 
a  story  which  will  bear  repetition  : 
really  fine  old  melodies  never  lose 
their  charm,  and,  if  they  thrill  one 
human  soul  with  a  divine  emotion, 
who  will  complain  of  hearing  them 
again  ? 

HISTORY    OF    SAINT    CECILIA. 

In  the  year  250  after  Christ,  in 
the  reign  of  Septimus  Severus,  at  a 
time  when  the  Roman  Empire  was 
still  the  most  formidable  power  of 
the  world,  there  lived  in  Rome  a 
young  girl  who  will  be  famous  when 
the  imperial  glories  shall  be  for- 
gotten. 

Beauty,  the  reflection  of  heaven 
in  the  human  countenance ;  grace, 
mysterious  charm  whose  origin  is  in- 
visible; modesty,  that  exquisite  re- 
serve of  a  virgin  soul ;  nobility, 
precious  perfume  of  the  past;  and, 
above  all,  the  power  of  loving,  the 
most  magnificent  and  the  most 
powerful  present  of  the  Creator  to 
the  created :  all  these  gifts  were 
united  in  the  daughter  of  Csecilius. 
It  was  an  illustrious  family:  in  the 
records  of  the  Republic  it  counted 
eighteen  consuls  and  several  con- 
querors, nor  had  it  degenerated  under 
the  Empire. 

To-day,  when  the  traveller,  weary 
from  a  day  spent  in  the  galleries  of 
Rome,  setting  forth  from  the  city 
towards  sunset,  wanders  pensively 
down  the  long  Appian  Way,  while  he 
contemplates  with  emotion  the  out- 
lines of  the  aqueducts  with  their 
broken  arches,  the  Sabine  mountains 
gilded  by  the  light,  and  all  that  cele- 
brated landscape  of  the  environs  of 
Rome,  majestic  and  melancholy  as  a 
fallen  queen,  he  finds  upon  his  right, 


rising  like  a  great  tower,  the  tomb  of 
Cascilia  Metella.  There  slept  of  yore 
the  long-forgotten  ancestress  of  her 
who  will  render  immortal,  for  time 
and  for  eternity,  the  name  of 
Caecilius. 

Cecilia  was  eighteen.  The  Roman 
poor  knew  her  charity.  Often  had 
they  seen  her  in  the  caves  of  the 
martyrs  alone,  or  only  accompanied 
by  a  faithful  servant.  Her  father, 
although  he  respected  her  religion, 
did  not  share  it :  he  hoped,  indeed,  at 
a  suitable  time  to  marry  his  daughter 
to  some  distinguished  husband,  and 
to  see  himself,  through  her,  live  again 
in  her  beloved  children.  But  Cecilia 
had  raised  her  heart  above  this 
world,  and  night  and  day  prayed  that 
the  palm  of  virginity  she  had  dream- 
ed of  should  not  be  taken  from  her. 

He  whom  her  parents  had  chosen 
for  her  seemed  not  unworthy  of  the 
honor.  Though  still  a  pagan,  Va- 
lerian possessed  at  least  those  natural 
gifts  which  prepare  the  soul  for  faith, 
hope,  and  charity,  the  supernatural 
gifts  of  Christ  crucified.  Neverthe- 
less, who  can  express  the  fears  of  the 
young  Christian  ?  Had  not  God 
accepted  all  her  heart  as  she  had  of- 
fered it?  Could  a  pagan  understand 
this  mystery,  and  would  not  this 
union  of  the  soul  with  an  invisible 
spouse  seem  a  strange  folly  to  a  man 
still  living  in  the  world  of  the  senses  ? 
More  than  one  Christian  soul  has  felt 
these  chaste  doubts.  It  is  honorable 
to  hesitate  before  making  for  a  mortal 
a  sacrifice  for  which  a  young  girl 
sometimes  can  never  console  herself. 
Cecilia  felt  these  terrors  most  acutely, 
but  she  loved  God  well  enough  to 
feel  perfect  confidence  in  him.  So 
she  poured  forth  her  whole  soul  in 
prayer,  and,  against  all  hope,  trusted 
in  his  aid. 

So,  when,  towards  evening,  already 
married  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  she 
found  herself  alone  with  her  hus- 


Saint  Cecilia. 


479 


band,  she  said  to  him  in  that  incom- 
parable conversation  whose  charm 
has  come  down  to  us  in  her  life : 

"  There  is  a  secret,  Valerian,  that 
I  wish  to  confide  to  you.  I  have  a 
lover,  an  angel  of  God,  who  watches 
over  me  with  jealous  care.  If  you 
preserve  inviolate  my  virginity,  he 
will  love  you  also  as  he  loves  me, 
and  will  overpower  you  with  his 
favors." 

Much  astonished,  Valerian  wished 
to  know  this  angel. 

"  You  shall  see  him,"  said  Cecilia, 
"  when  you  are  purified." 

"  How  shall  I  become  so  ?" 

"Go  to  Urban.  When  the  poor 
hear  my  name,  they  will  take  you  to 
his  sanctuary :  he  will  explain  to  you 
our  mysteries." 

Drawn  by  an  unknown  power,  the 
young  man  consented  to  go.  We 
know  the  result  of  this  decision — his 
interview  with  the  Pope  in  the  cata- 
combs, his  conversion,  and  his  bap- 
tism. Still  dressed  in  his  white  robe, 
he  returned  to  Cecilia.  He  could 
now  understand  the  love  of  the  angels, 
and  its  perfect  beauty.  In  future,  he 
loved  Cecilia  as  his  sister  in  God,  to 
whom  belong  the  heart  and  mind. 

In  those  Christian  ages  others  loved 
as  he  did.  Undoubtedly  most  of 
them  carried  their  secret  with  them 
to  the  tomb;  but  among  those  whose 
genius  has  made  them  famous,  Dante 
had  his  Beatrice;  Petrarch  sang  of 
Laura:  and  these  pure  loves,  un- 
known to  the  ancient  pagans,  and 
scoffed  at  by  our  modern  pagans,  will 
remain  an  ornament  to  the  soul,  an 
act  of  faith  in  its  immortality,  and 
for  us  who  read  their  history  a  breath 
of  heaven  on  earth. 

No  one  knows  what  conversation 
took  place,  in  those  hours  of  rapture 
and  prayer,  between  this  pair,  whose 
marriage  was  to  be  perfected  in 
heaven;  what  thanksgivings  they 
rendered  to  God,  who  in  a  moment 


transforms  hearts:  nor  would  it  be 
easy  to  describe.  Of  all  the  arts, 
music  alone  might  perhaps  dare  to 
attempt  it,  and  the  revelation  would 
require  the  genius  of  Handel  or 
Beethoven. 

In  his  ardent  zeal,  Valerian,  like 
Cecilia,  understood  the  value  of  the 
soul. 

So,  when  the  beloved  brother 
Tiburtius  sought  them,  what  elo- 
quence they  displayed  to  prove  to 
him  that  his  gods  were  only  idols ! 
Subdued  by  the  mysterious  charm  of 
the  Christian  virgin,  conquered  by 
the  eagerness  of  the  convert,  Tibur- 
tius also  wished  to  see  the  angel 
who  watched  over  Cecilia.  If  for 
this  it  was  necessary  to  be  purified, 
purified  he  would  be;  and  thus  be- 
came the  first  conquest  of  his  brother, 
who  had  besought  God  for  it. 

Such  souls  were  too  beautiful  for 
pagan  Rome.  In  the  absence  of 
Septimus  Severus,  Almachius,  the 
governor,  summoned  Valerian  and 
Tiburtius  before  his  tribunal.  The 
two  young  patricians  avowed  their 
faith  in  Christ,  to  the  great  scandal 
of  the  worldly  and  prosperous.  Va- 
lerian went  to  his  martyrdom  as  to  a 
triumph.  He  went  to  wait  for  Cecilia 
in  heaven. 

Tiburtius  did  not  forsake  him.  On 
the  Appian  Way,  four  miles  from  the 
city,  they  were  beheaded  for  having 
dared  to  worship  a  different  God 
from  those  of  the  Empire.  Cecilia 
piously  reclaimed  their  bodies,  and 
prepared  to  rejoin  them.  Called  in 
her  turn  to  answer  for  her  conduct, 
she  disconcerted  the  judge.  Before 
such  purity,  innocence,  and  heroism, 
entreaties,  artifices,  and  threats  failed ; 
the  daughter  of  Caecilius,  convicted 
of  loving  the  poor  and  a  crucified 
God,  was  instantly  confined  in  the 
bath-room  of  her  own  house,  there 
to  be  suffocated  in  a  hot  vapor  bath. 
But  in  the  midst  of  this  fiery  atmo- 


48o 


Saint  Cecilia. 


sphere  she  remained  uninjured.  The 
stupefied  jailers  related  how  they  had 
discovered  her  singing  the  praises  of 
God.  Such  a  delusion  could  but 
provoke  Almachius.  The  executioner 
was  summoned.  With  a  trembling 
hand,  he  inflicted  three  wounds  on 
the  neck  of  the  virgin  martyr,  without 
succeeding  in  severing  the  head. 
Then,  terrified  himself,  he  fled. 
Stretched  on  the  flags,  bathed  in 
her  blood,  Cecilia  lived  three  days. 
The  Christians  gathered  round  her. 
She  was  able  to  bid  farewell  to  the 
poor,  to  whom  she  had  bequeathed 
her  property.  Then,  feeling  her 
strength  fail,  while  Urban  "was  in 
the  act  of  giving  her  his  blessing,  she 
drew  her  robe  around  her,  and,  turn- 
ing her  face  away,  gave  back  her  soul 
to  God. 

According  to  her  last  desire,  the 
Pope  transformed  the  house  that  had 
witnessed  her  martyrdom  into  a 
church.  The  bath-room  became  a 
chapel ;  and  by  its  arrangement  bears 
witness  to-day  to  the  truth  of  the 
saint's  life.  One  can  still  see  the 
mouth  of  the  pipes  which  let  in  the 
vapor,  covered  with  a  grating;  and 
on  the  same  flags  where  the  Roman 
virgin  expired,  the  kneeling  Christian 
can  ponder  in  his  heart  the  example 
of  heroism  that  she  has  given  to  the 
world.  He  who  has  not  had  the  good 
fortune  to  pray  on  the  tombs  of 
the  martyrs  cannot  appreciate  the 
strength  one  finds  there,  or  what  pre- 
cepts their  relics  give  forth.  The 
martyrs  are  the  incontrovertible  wit- 
nesses of  the  value  of  faith,  of  the 
power  of  love;  and  it  is  said  that 
their  beatified  spirits  lend  to  these 
bones,  which  were  their  bodies,  an 
all-powerful  eloquence. 

The  remains  of  the  young  girl  were 
taken  down  into  the  catacombs  of  St. 
Callixtus,  and  remained  there  six 
centuries.  After  the  invasion  of  the 


Lombards,  most  unhappily,  all  trace 
was  lost  of  them  till,  in  822,  the  place 
where  they  were  hidden  was  revealed 
to  Pope  St.  Pascal. 

The  long-sought  coffin  was  placed 
in  the  basilica  of  St.  Cecilia,  which 
had  been  repaired  by  the  Pope's  care. 
It  was  placed  under  the  high  altar. 
And  even  in  our  day  the  custodian 
points  out  to  the  pilgrim  a  curious 
fresco  of  the  thirteenth  century,  repre- 
senting the  apparition  of  the  saint  to 
the  sleeping  Pope.  In  1599,  Cardinal 
Sfondrate  ordered  the  tomb  to  be 
opened  with  solemnity.  To  the  great 
delight  of  Christian  Rome,  the  corpse 
of  the  Roman  virgin,  respected  by 
centuries,  appeared,  miraculously  pre- 
served. 

The  chaste  folds  of  her  dress  were 
restrained  by  a  girdle.  At  her  feet 
were  found  the  blood-stained  cloths 
which  had  bound  her  wounds  ;  and 
her  arms,  thrust  forward,  still  seemed 
to  serve  as  a  veil.  Three  fingers  of 
her  right  hand  were  open,  only  one 
of  the  left,  as  if  even  in  dying  she 
had  wished  to  avow  her  belief  in  one 
God  in  three  persons.  Finally,  so 
that  she  might  not  give  to  the  world 
her  last  look,  but  think  only  of  Christ, 
her  spouse,  by  a  supreme  effort  she 
had  turned  her  head  aside. 

Thus  she  reposes  on  her  bier  of 
cypress;  thus  extended  on  the  flags 
she  had  died ;  and  thus  a  great  artist 
has  faithfully  represented  her  to  us. 
The  celebrated  statue  of  Etienne 
Maderno,  lying  on  its  side,  full  of 
modesty  and  of  grace,  seems  the 
dying  virgin  herself;  and  the  white- 
ness of  the  marble,  which  so  resembles 
the  paleness  of  death,  adds  yet  more 
to  the  illusion.  Seen  in  this  honored 
place,  in  this  house  which  was  the 
saint's  and  has  become  God's,  this 
masterpiece  of  Christian  sculpture, 
•  admirably  executed  and  in  exquisite 
taste,  touches  the  heart  profoundly. 


Saint  Cecilia. 


481 


THE    INFLUENCE    OF    ST.    CECILIA   ON 
LITERATURE. 

Such  a  beautiful  story  could  not 
fail  to  be  repeated.  As  long  as  the 
persecutions  lasted,  to  strengthen 
their  courage,  the  faithful  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth  these  details  which 
had  been  so  affectionately  collected. 
So  great,  indeed,  was  the  enthusiasm 
for  the  memory  of  Cecilia  that  she 
obtained  the  great  and  rare  honor  of 
being  mentioned  in  the  canon  of  the 
Mass  with  Saints  Felicitas,  Perpetua, 
Agatha,  Lucy,  Agnes,  and  Anastasia. 
Thus  for  fifteen  centuries,  throughout 
the  Catholic  world,  wherever  the  holy 
sacrifice  is  celebrated,  her  name  is 
invoked;  and,  truly  immortal,  each 
hour,  each  moment  perhaps,  her 
memory  rises  from  earth  to  heaven 
with  incense  and  with  prayer. 

Her  acts,  chronicled  in  the  fifth 
century,  have  since  then  been  the 
subject  of  several  works.  We  shall 
only  mention  the  Greek  translation 
of  Simeon  Metaphrastes,  the  verses 
of  St.  Adhelme  and  of  the  Venera- 
ble Bede  in  England,  the  works  of 
Flodoard  at  Rheims,  and  Rhoban 
Maur.  Then,  during  that  magnifi- 
cent efflorescence  of  philosophy  and 
Catholic  literature,  we  see  Victor  de 
Beauvais  relate  the  story  of  St.  Ce- 
cilia ;*  Albert  the  Great,  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  St.  Bonaventure,  preaching 
several  sermons  in  her  honor.  In 
the  fifteenth  century,  the  eloquent  St. 
Vincent  Ferrer  recited  her  praises; 
but  the  Reformation  came  soon  after, 
and  it  is  only  in  Italy  now  that  they 
think  of  the  glories  of  St.  Cecilia. 

In  vain  her  history  is  its  own  de- 
fence; in  vain  may  it  claim  in  its 
favor  the  imposing  testimony  of 
Christian  tradition,  in  the  East  as  in 
the  West,  during  fourteen  centuries ; 
in  vain  the  liturgies  of  the  churches 

*  In  his  Speculum  Historiale,  lib.  iv.,  chap.  22. 
VOL.    XIII. — 31 


of  Rome,  of  Milan,  of  Toledo,  of 
Greece,  and  of  Gaul  have  inserted 
in  the  office  for  the  22d  of  November 
fragments  of  the  text;  in  vain  even 
the  discovery  of  her  body  testified 
anew  to  its  veracity.  Towards  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
the  Jansenist  school  rejected  it. 

The  historical  works  on  the  first 
centuries  of  Christianity  which  dur- 
ing the  last  forty  years  have  been 
undertaken  in  France  and  Germany, 
by  tracing  out  the  original  sources 
with  scrupulous  care,  and  taking  ad- 
vantage of  monuments,  have  dealt 
justly  with  this  excessive  criticism. 

But  error  is  more  prone  to  spread 
than  easy  to  uproot.  Launoy,  that 
"great  demolisherof  saints,"  who,  in 
attacking  the  most  poetic  beliefs  of 
the  faithful,  strayed  into  the  road  to, 
rationalism,  made  a  school.  Even 
now  Feller's  Dictionary  of  Universal 
Biography,  and,  following  him  (for 
these  works  usually  copy  each  other), 
those  of  Michaud  and  of  F.  Didot, 
have  repeated,  on  the  authority  of  Til- 
lemont  and  of  Baillet,  that  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  life  of  St.  Cecilia  is  very 
doubtful,  although  the  arguments 
cited  in  support  of  this  thesis  had 
been  successfully  refuted  by  Laderchi 
early  in  the  eighteenth  century,*  and 
annihilated  for  ever  twenty  years  ago 
by  R.  P.  Dom  Gueranger,  in  his  ex- 
cellent book  on  St.  Cecilia.t 

The  touching  story  of  St.  Cecilia 
must  also  inspire  poets.  Without 

*  See  the  notes  of  Jacques  Laderchi  in  the  life 
of  St.  Cecilia  published  by  him,  and  the  long  list 
of  memorials  which  he  has  collected  in  her  honor. 
Sancttf  Cecilia:,  V.  et  M.,  acta  :  edidet  Jacobius 
Laderchius.  2  vols.  in  4to,  Rome,  1723.  The 
work  is  very  rare,  but  may  be  found  in  the  Im- 
perial Library,  Paris. 

t  Justice  and  gratitude  oblige  us  to  acknowl- 
edge the  great  advantage  we  have  received  from 
Dom  Gueranger's  book.  As  well  written  as  it  is 
learned,  it  is  still  the  best  history  of  St.  Cecilia. 
But  the  learned  Benedictine  has  only  touched 
slightly  on  the  influence  of  St.  Cecilia  on  the 
fine  arts,  and  we  have  been  obliged  to  fill  out 
these  notes  by  personal  research  and  observations 
made  in  a  recent  journey  to  Italy. 


482 


Saint  Cecilia. 


mentioning  the  ancient  hymns  to  be 
found  in  the  Italian,  Spanish,  and 
Gallic  liturgies,  several  poems  in  her 
honor  may  be  quoted.  At  the  time 
of  the  Renaissance,  Baptiste  Spagn- 
uolo  made  it  the  subject  of  a  real 
epic  poem,  where  we  find,  as  in  the 
JEneid>  the  speeches  of  Venus  and 
Juno,  and  the  conspiracies  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Olympus  against  com- 
mon mortals.  The  god  of  pagan 
love,  accompanied  by  his  mother, 
comes  sadly  to  Juno  to  complain  of 
the  disdain  of  Cecilia,  who-  wishes  to 
remain  a  virgin.  Forgetting  her  re- 
sentment, the  wife  of  Jupiter  inspires 
the  father  of  Cecilia  with  the  idea  of 
uniting  his  daughter  to  a  pagan. 
Foiled  in  their  attempt  by  the  con- 
version of  Valerian,  the  angry  goddess 
instigated  Mars  to  suggest  to  Alma- 
chius  the  plan  of  drowning  in  blood 
this  Christian  band,  rebels  against 
the  Olympian  gods.  Among  the 
nine  hundred  verses  may  be  found 
some  fine  ones,  but  we  must  confess 
that  these  unfortunate  pagan  remin- 
iscences, so  popular  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  ruin  the  poet's  work  for  us. 

Happily,  the  Roman  virgin  was  to 
have  her  life,  her  death,  and  her 
glories  sung  in  poems  of  purer  in- 
spiration. Angelus  Tangrinus,  priest 
of  Monte  Cassino,*  wrote  on  this 
subject  a  long  epithalamium,t  which 
lacks  neither  grace  of  expression  nor 
of  thought. 

The  English  poet  Pope  has  also 
written  an  ode  to  St.  Cecilia.  The 
poem  is  elegantly  versified,  but  cold 
and  unmarked  by  any  Christian  feel- 
ing. The  classic  author  recalls  the 
magical  effect  of  music  in  all  ages, 
nor  has  he  forgotten  the  adventure  of 
Eurydice;  he  speaks  with  compla- 
cency of  the  Styx  and  of  Phlegethon, 
of  Ixion  and  of  Sisyphus,  of  Proser- 


*  Died  1393. 

tSee  Laderchi,  op.  cit.  t.  ii.,  pp.  438-450. 


pine  and  the  Elysian  Fields.  Finally? 
feeling  a  pang  of  remorse,  and  re- 
membering that  he  had  dedicated  his 
ode  to  a  virgin  martyr,  he  asserts 
that  the  poets  must  instantly  abandon 
Orpheus  and  proclaim  Cecilia  the 
queen  of  music;  for  if  the  musician 
of  Thrace  drew  by  his  music  a  spirit 
from  hell,  Cecilia  by  hers  raised  the 
soul  to  heaven.* 

Very  recently,  Count  Anatole  de 
Segur  has  published  a  dramatic 
poem,  which  seems  to  us  the  finest 
homage  that  poetry  has  yet  offered 
to  St.  Cecilia.  The  style  pure  and 
musical,  the  interest  sustained  and 
engrossing,  it  merits  the  praises  which 
the  best  judges  have  bestowed  on  it;t 
and  we  should  willingly  quote  some 
verses  of  this  exquisite  book,  \  did 
we  not  prefer  to  leave  our  readers 
the  pleasure  of  perusing  it  as  a  whole. 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  SAINT  CECILIA  ON 
THE   FINE   ARTS. 

We  have  seen  the  story  of  St.  Ce- 
cilia inspire  eloquence  and  poetry, 
but  it  was  destined  to  exercise  a  still 
greater  influence  on  the  fine  arts. 
There  are,  indeed,  some  general 
rules  for  these  intimate  relations  be- 
tween art  and  holiness  that  it  would 
be  well  to  remember.  Besides,  we 
may  say  that  the  saints  were  them- 
selves powerful  artists.  Who  has 
sought  the  ideal  more  eagerly  than 
these  indefatigable  lovers  of  heavenly 
things  ?  But  they  have  not  con- 
tented themselves  with  seeking  in- 
finite beauty  in  an  abstract  form ; 
they  have  endeavored,  as  far  as  it 
was  possible  to  human  weakness,  to 
realize  it  in  their  lives.  As  the  sculp- 

*9ee  Select  Works  of  Alexander  Poj>e.  One 
vol.  in  i2mo,  Leipsic,  1848,  Tauchnitz  edition. 
"  Ode  for  Music  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day." 

t  He  was  decorated  by  the  "Academic  Fran- 
£aise  '  (Nov.,  1869). 

\  St.  Cecilia,  a  tragic  poem.  By  Count 
Anatole  de  Se'gur.  One  volume  folio,  at  Amb. 
Bray's,  Paris,  1868. 


Saint  CecUia. 


483 


tor  cuts  into  a  block  of  marble  to 
render  it  into  beautiful  forms,  they, 
with  obstinate  labor,  have  sought  to 
model  their  souls,  to  render  them 
more  pure,  less  unworthy  of  God. 
The  contemplation  of  martyrdom,  so 
habitual  to  the  first  Christians,  give 
them  that  serene  dignity  now  be- 
come so  rare.  As  a  bride  prepares 
herself  for  the  bridegroom,  so  did 
these  souls  of  virgins,  of  mothers,  of 
the  young  and  of  the  old,  endeavor, 
day  by  day,  to  grow  in  grace  in  the 
eyes  of  Jesus  Christ,  till  the  blade  of 
the  executioner  harvested  them  for 
heaven.  The  soul,  grown  beautiful, 
transfigures  in  its  turn  the  body  which 
it  animates,  and  the  living  mirror  of 
the  countenance  reflects  strength  and 
gentleness, '  peace  and  ardent  zeal, 
purity  and  ecstatic  rapture.  Thus 
we  may  fairly  conclude  that  Chris- 
tianity has  offered  to  artists,  through 
the  saints,  not  only  the  perfection  of 
form,  but  a  type  of  human  beauty 
elevated  by  an  ever-constant  love. 

But  why  was  St.  Cecilia  singled 
out  from  such  an  innumerable  band 
of  the  beatified  to  become  especially 
dear  to  artists  ?  Many  others,  gifted 
with  all  worldly  advantages,  in  all 
the  radiance  of  youth  and  beauty, 
died,  like  her,  virgins  and  martyrs, 
without  attaining  her  distinction.  We 
will  examine  later  the  motives  of  the 
musicians  in  taking  her  for  their  pat- 
ron. As  for  the  artists,  they  had  no 
long  discussion  on  the  causes  of  this 
secret  sympathy.  Each  one,  when 
he  dreamed  of  heaven,  painted  Ceci- 
lia, saying  to  himself,  probably,  that 
there  was  not  in  the  world  a  young 
girl's  face  which  could  so  perfectly 
express  the  rapture  of  the  soul  listen- 
ing to  ineffable  harmony. 

It  would  require  time  to  glance 
even  hastily  over  the  long  gallery  of 
pictures  of  which  our  saint  has  been 
the  subject.  We  will  only  mention 
the  most  celebrated.  It  is  probable 


that  many,  scattered  through  the 
many  galleries  of  Europe,  have  es- 
caped us;  but  we  wish  only  to  dis- 
cuss those  which  we  have  appre- 
ciated with  our  own  eyes,  and,  also, 
the  limits  of  this  article  would  pre- 
vent our  attempting  to  mention 
all. 

In  order  to  preserve  some  regu- 
larity in  this  examination,  and  that 
it  may  not  become  an  adventurous 
journey  through  all  ages  and  coun- 
tries in  search  of  pictures  of  St.  Ceci- 
lia, we  will  separate  these  works  into 
three  classes,  and,  according  to  their 
nature  and  their  predominant  ten- 
dencies, we  will  class  them,  one  by 
one,  in  the  sensualistic,  rationalistic, 
and  mystical  schools.*  Neverthe- 
less, we  must  say  that  here,  as  in 
all  other  classification,  the  confines 
of  each  class  are  very  apt  to  mingle 
with  each  other.  Sometimes,  in- 
deed, in  the  same  picture  one  figure 
will  express  sensuality  and  the  others 
religious  emotion. t 

But  let  us  render  judgment  on  the 
entire  effect  of  the  picture  and  its  pre- 
dominant tendency.  We  must  repeat 
here  that  in  all  artistic  works  we  note 
two  things :  first,  the  idea  of  the  art- 
ist, and,  in  consequence,  the  order  of 
psychological  effect — sensual  plea- 
sures, spiritual  joy,  or  heartfelt  rap- 
ture— which  the  picture  gives  rise  to 
in  the  souls  of  those  who  behold  it ; 


*  This  is  not  an  arbitrary  philosophic  division. 
It  corresponds  to  the  three  worlds  recognized  by 
the  greatest  geniuses  of  antiquity  or  of  mod- 
ern times— Plato,  Aristotle,  Bossuet,  and  Male- 
branche — the  world  of  the  senses,  the  world  of 
human  thought,  and  the  divine  world. 

t  So  in  Raphael's  famous  picture,  the  pearl  of 
the  gallery  at  Bologn* ;  while  its  exacted  symbol- 
ism and  heavenly  sentiment  tempt  us  to  class  it 
among  the  masterpieces  of  the  mystic  school,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  St.  Magdalen  has  a  very 
earthly  look.  We  know,  alas,  how  this  noble 
form  has  been  profaned  by  some  artists  ;  the  vic- 
tim, even  after  her  penitence,  of  the  sensual 
tastes  of  the  Renaissance,  she  remained  a  cour- 
tesan in  the  eyes  of  Titian  and  Correggio ;  and 
the  pagans  of  the  sixteenth  century  have  turned 
our  saint  into  a  nymph  lying  in  a  grotto,  or  stand- 
ing veiled  only  by  the  masses  of  her  long  hair. 


434 


Saint  Cecilia, 


secondly,  the  execution,  the  dex- 
terity, more  or  less  perfect,  with 
which  the  idea  has  been  expressed, 
and,  consequently,  the  greater  or 
less  satisfaction  felt  by  connoisseurs, 
whom  a  special  education  has  fitted 
to  appreciate  the  technical  merits  or 
faults  of  a  picture.  These  are  two 
widely  different  points  of  view ;  and, 
to  be  just,  one  should  specify  from 
which  standpoint  a  picture  is  judged, 
for  it  might  easily  happen  that  the 
spirit  of  a  picture  would  be  really 
beautiful  and  the  execution  very  fee- 
ble; the  coloring  perhaps  unpleasing, 
the  perspective  faulty,  or  even  the 
drawing  incorrect. 

First,  The  sensual  school.  Among 
the  greatest  geniuses,  Rubens,  per- 
haps, falls  oftenest  into  sensualism. 
It  is  to  the  senses,  indeed,  that  he  usu- 
ally addresses  himself;  hence  the  vi- 
vidness of  his  coloring,  the  brilliancy 
of  the  flesh,  which  seems  palpitating 
with  life  and  ready  to  rebound  under 
the  critic's  finger.  But,  indeed,  except 
"  The  Descent  from  the  Cross "  and 
"The  Elevation  of  the  Cross,"  no- 
thing could  be  less  religious  than 
most  of  his  religious  pictures.  In 
vain  his  "St.  Cecilia"  passionately 
raises  her  eyes;  her  plumpness  and 
her  dress  wake  only  worldly  thoughts. 
Others  may  admire  the  intensity  of 
the  flesh  tints,  the  lustre  of  the  robes. 
We  think  such  exuberant  health  little 
suited  to  the  young  Christian  who 
watched  and  fasted  the  more  entirely 
to  give  herself  up  to  prayer.  As  for 
the  pouting  cherubs  which  frolic 
round  her,  they  are  not  adapted  for 
inspiring  heavenly  aspirations. 

But  let  us  look  no  longer  to  the 
sensual  school  for  a  type  of  beauty 
which  it  cannot  give  us.  Let  us  see 
how  St.  Cecilia  has  been  understood 
by  those  artists  who,  without  trou- 
bling themselves  much  to  express 
Christian  ideas,  have,  at  least,  en- 
deavored to  satisfy  the  intelligence 


and  to  appeal  to  the  mind  through 
the  eyes. 

Second,  The  rationalistic  school. 
Of  all  the  painters  whom  we  class 
under  the  name  of  the  rationalistic 
school  (that  is,  spiritual  without  be- 
ing Christian),  Domenichino  is  the 
most  celebrated,  or,  at  least,  the  one 
who  has  consecrated  the  most  im- 
portant works  to  the  glory  of  St. 
Cecilia.  His  frescoes  in  the  church 
of  St.  Louis  des  Frangais,  at  Rome, 
are  considered  classics.  There  we 
see  St.  Cecilia  distributing,  from  the 
terrace  of  her  house,  her  garments  to 
a  crowd  of  poor  people,  who,  in  pic- 
turesque groups,  are  disputing  over 
them.  Then,  Almachius,  on  his 
judgment-seat,  commanding,  by  an 
imperative  gesture,  the  saint  to  sacri- 
fice to  the  idols.  Buttehe  expresses 
with  dignity  her  horror »  and  it  is  in 
vain  for  the  priests  to  .offer  a  goat, 
and  in  vain  incense  smsokes  on  a  tr"- 
pod  before  a  statue  of  Jupiter.  Here 
Cecilia  dies,  surrounded  by  kneeling 
women;  some  watching  her,  others 
putting  the  blood  from  her  wounds 
into  vases  by  the  aid  of  sponges.  In 
the  meanwhile,  the  Pope,  Urban, 
gives  her  his  blessing,  and  an  angel 
brings  her,  from  heaven,  a  crown 
and  a  palm.  In  yet  another  fresco, 
an  angel  presents  crowns  to  Cecilia 
and  Valerian.  And  last,  on  the  ceil- 
ing is  painted  the  apotheosis  of  the 
saint  supported  in  the  ar£is  of  angels, 
and  borne  to  heaven.*  -: 

But  Domenichino's  picture  in  the 
great  gallery  of  the  Louvre  is  more 
generally  known  than  the  frescoes 
of  St.  Louis.  Here  St.  Cecilia  is 
standing,  and  while  she  sings  the 
glories  of  God,  accompanying  her- 
self on  a  violoncello,  an  angel  of- 
fers her  a  music-book.  But  she  does 
not  heed  it,  and  raises  to  heaven 

*  The  frescoes  of  St.  Louis  have  been  engraved 
by  Landon  in  his  great  book  on  the  life  and  works 
of  celebrated  painters.  See  Works  of  Domeni- 
chino. 3  vols.  in  410,  Paris,  1803. 


Saint  Cecilia. 


485 


eyes  that  seem  just  melting  in  tears. 
Undoubtedly  the  head  is  truly  digni- 
fied and  inspired,  but  we  must  regret 
that  the  religious  sentiment  is  not 
more  manifest  in  this  fine  picture,  for 
without  the  nimbus  round  the  head 
one  might  take  the  saint  for  a  sibyl.* 
Guido,  with  his  usual  grace,  has 
represented  Cecilia  dying,  lying  on 
her  side,  as  in  Maderno's  statue. 
She  has,  however,  her  arms  crossed 
upon  her  breast,  and  the  head  is  not 
turned  aside ;  two  women  staunch 
her  bleeding  wounds  with  cloths,  and 
in  the  background  an  angel  holds  a 
palm,  which  he  hastens  to  give  her. 

To  Annibal  Carracci  is  usually  at- 
tributed the  St.  Cecilia  which  is  to 
be  found  in  the  Museum  of  the  Capi- 
tol at  Rome.  At  all  events,  one 
easily  recognizes,  by  a  certain  shade 
of  naturalism,  a  work  of  the  Bologna 
school.  As  before,  the  saint  is  sing- 
ing and  accompanying  herself  on  an 
organ ;  but  here,  we  see  beside  her 
the  Blessed  Virgin  holding  the  in- 
fant Jesus  in  her  arms,  and  a  Do- 
minican priest — expressive  faces,  ap- 
parently enraptured  with  the  celes- 
tial concert. 

The  majority  of  French  artists, 
above  all  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV., 
belong  to  the  rationalistic  school. 
Their  composition  is  clever,  their 
drawing  correct,  the  style  dignified, 
sometimes  almost  theatrical.  They  are 
indeed  almost  always  natural,  but 
with  the  exception  of  some  of  Le- 
sueur's,  one  rarely  perceives  in  their 
works  the  inspiration  of  a  superhu- 
man emotion.  There  are  in  the  gal- 
leries of  French  art  in  the  Louvre 
two  pictures  which  do  not  contra- 
dict these  observations.  Jacques  Stel- 
la, who  lived  during  the  first  half  of 


*  There  are  two  more  pictures  of  St.  Cecilia 
by  Domenichino.  One  is  in  the  Rospigliosi 
Palace  at  Rome  ;  the  other  was  in  England  at 
the  beginning  of  this  century.  See  the  engrav- 
ings already  mentioned  in  Landon. 


the  seventeenth  century,  has  left  us 
a  St.  Cecilia.  She  is  standing  play- 
ing on  an  organ,  her  eyes  modestly 
lowered,  while  two  angels  are  sing- 
ing at  her  side.  She  wears  a  wreath 
of  roses  in  her  hair ;  but,  more  charm- 
ing than  inspired,  resembles  the  por- 
trait of  a  young  girl  of  the  age  of 
Louis  XIII.  with  a  taste  for  music. 

Mignard's  picture  is,  however, 
more  celebrated.  Of  finished  exe- 
cution, perfect  in  detail,  so  that 
even  the  glimpse  of  landscape  seen 
through  the  pillars  of  the  portico  is 
treated  with  great  care,  it  inspires 
artists  with  admiration  also  by  the 
beauty  of  its  coloring.  The  saint, 
richly  dressed,  and  wearing  a  large 
turban,  which  gives  her  a  very  orien- 
tal look,  is  seated  playing  on  the 
harp.  No  wonder  that  this  picture 
pleased  the  king,  or  that  he  desired 
it  to  adorn  his  collection.  Unfor- 
tunately, all  this  magnificence  fails  to 
move  us.  We  see  the  Persian  sibyl 
executing  a  prelude  to  her  oracles,  but 
nothing  reminds  us  of  Rome  and  the 
early  martyrs,  and  neither  in  the  pit- 
eous figures  nor  in  those  upraised  eyes 
can  we  trace  any  Christian  feeling.* 

Third,  the  mystical  school.  Beyond 
the  region  of  the  senses  and  of  that 
which  usually  bounds  the  human 
spirit,  opens  the  supernatural  and  di- 
vine world.  One  cannot  enter  here 
without  a  pure  heart,  and  to  enjoy 
its  beauty  we  must  by  prayer  and 
humility,  those  two  wings  of  the  soul, 
rise  above  ourselves  and  transitory 
things.  Thus  the  mystical  school  of 
art,  disdained  by  hypercritical  con- 
noisseurs, requires  a  sort  of  moral 


*  In  this  second  school  may  be  classed  the  pic- 
tures of  Paul  Veronese  and  of  Garofolo  in  the 
Dresden  Museum.  As  for  Carlo  Dolce's  St.  Ceci- 
lia, it  is  far  sweeter,  and  forms  the  connecting  link 
between  the  rationalistic  and  mystic  schools.  We 
have  not  seen  the  picture,  which  is  in  the  Mu- 
seum at  Dresden,  but  it  has  become  well-known 
through  engravings,  and  has  been  published  by 
Schulger  at  Paris. 


486 


Saint  Cecilia. 


preparation,  and  might  write  above 
its  door,  as  a  salutary  warning,  "  Let 
none  enter  here  save  him  who  loves 
God  entirely."  It  is  here  that  we 
must  finally  seek  the  type  of  St.  Ce- 
cilia in  all  its  supernatural  beauty  :  a 
human  face  illuminated  by  ecstasy. 

We  shall  only  mention,  for  the  sat- 
isfaction of  antiquaries,  the  St.  Cecilia 
of  Cimabue  at  the  entrance  to  the 
magnificent  Uffizi  Gallery  at  Florence. 
This  also  is  a  type  of  the  Byzantine 
virgin,  not  however  without  a  certain 
majesty  in  its  stiffness.  Far  more 
celestial  is  the  impression  left  on  us 
by  the  St.  Cecilia  of  blessed  Fra  An- 
gelico  da  Fiesole,  in  that  wonderful 
picture  of  the  "  Incoronazione  della 
Vergine,"  which  so  worthily  com- 
mences the  great  gallery  of  the 
Louvre.  Cecilia  is  in  the  fore- 
ground, close  to  St.  Magdalen,  re- 
cognizable by  her  long  golden  hair. 
Entirely  absorbed  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  Christ,  and  indifferent  to  the 
world,  she  turns  away,  so  that  one 
sees  only  the  long  blue  mantle  and 
the  crown  of  roses,  emblems  of  vir- 
ginity, which  encircles  her  head. 
Nevertheless,  the  lost  profile  which 
we  can  only  glance  at  is  not  without 
grace,  and  suggests  a  countenance 
radiant  with  love  and  purity. 

To  the  mystical  school  also  may 
be  attributed  five  little  pictures  by 
Pinturicchio  in  the  gallery  at  Berlin, 
which  were  much  admired  by  Dom 
Gueranger.  Undoubtedly,  Pinturic- 
chio has  none  of  Cimabue's  stiffness; 
we  willingly  acknowledge  his  ease 
and  natural  grace;  but  how  far  he  is 
from  the  angelic  touch  of  Beato,  or 
the  perfection  of  Raphael ! 

Perhaps  Bologna  contains  the 
largest  array  of  fine  pictures.  In 
the  chapel  of  St.  Cecilia,  behind  St. 
Giacomo  Maggiore,  ten  admirable 
frescoes  represent  the  entire  history 
of  St.  Cecilia.  By  the  hand  of  Fran- 
cesco Francia  himself,  we  have  her 


marriage  with  Valerian,  and  her  fu- 
neral; six  other  scenes  were  painted 
by  his  pupils,  G.  Francia,  Chiodarolo, 
and  Aspertini.  The  two  represent- 
ing Pope  Urban  instructing  Tiburtius, 
and  the  virgin  distributing  her  pro- 
perty to  the  poor,  are  considered 
Lorenzo  Casta's  masterpieces.  But 
it  is  to  the  Museum  one  must  turn 
to  admire  the  St.  Cecilia  of  Raphael, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  pictures, 
and  certainly  the  most  splendid  ho- 
mage offered  by  art  to  the  Roman 
virgin.  It  was  to  be  seen  in  Paris 
from  1798  till  1815,  when  it  was 
taken  back  to  Bologna;  and  it  is 
well  worth  a  voyage  across  the  Alps. 
Letting  fall  the  organ  she  still  re- 
tains in  her  hands,  St.  Cecilia  stands, 
seeming  to  listen  in  ecstasy  to  the 
concert  of  angels,  contemplating  this 
transporting  choir,  which  the  artist 
has  revealed  in  the  yawning  skies. 
At  her  side  stand  St.  John,  St.  Paul, 
St.  Magdalen,  and  St.  Augustine ; 
at  her  feet  lie  the  broken  instruments 
of  earthly  music.  Apparently  Ra- 
phael wished  to  recapitulate  on  this 
sublime  page  the  highest  precepts  of 
philosophy.  Here  is  typified  by  the 
instruments  of  pleasure  the  world 
of  the  senses,  whose  bonds  we  must 
break  and  free  ourselves  from.  But 
if  it  is  well  to  know  something  of 
this  material  world,  the  realm  of  the 
human  intellect,  it  is  necessary  some- 
times to  know,  like  Cecilia,  how  to 
raise  one's  self  still  higher  and  prepare 
to  listen  to  the  ineffable  music  of  the 
soul.  Do  we  accuse  ourselves  of 
being  sinners  ?  Here  is  Magdalen 
with  her  vase  of  ointment,  and  be- 
hind her  Augustine.  They  may  well 
inspire  us  with  hope,  they  also  have 
experienced  the  temptations  of  the 
senses  and  the  proud  rebellions  of 
the  will,  but  there  they  stand  to  prove 
that  humility  and  penitence  may  con- 
quer these.  Do  you  say  that,  oblig- 
ed to  lead  an  active  life,  you  daily 


Saint  Cecilia. 


487 


find  yourself  overwhelmed  by  a  thou- 
sand cares?  Behold  St.  Paul,  the 
apostle  of  nations,  who  also  expe- 
rienced pain,  labor,  shipwrecks,  and 
dangers  of  all  kinds ;  nevertheless, 
leaning  on  his  sword,  he  meditates. 
Finally,  are  you  philosophers  or  theo- 
logians ?  Behold  St.  John,  the  mas- 
ter of  you  all.  Radiant,  he  contem- 
plates the  enraptured  saint,  and  seems 
to  say,  "  Forget  yourselves  for  a 
space ;  turn  from  the  sound  of  human 
words ;  like  Cecilia,  listen  to  the  ce- 
lestial harmonies  of  the  Word.  Look 
at  this  young  girl.  She  has  known 
how  to  find  love,  peace,  and  happi- 
ness." * 

According  to  M.  Passavant,t  it  was 
also  the  history  of  St.  Cecilia,  and 
not  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Felicitas, 
as  is  usually  believed,  which  formed 
the  subject  of  Raphael's  fresco,  for- 
merly to  be  admired  in  the  chapel 
"  De  la  Magliano "  at  Trastavere. 
In  1830,  an  unknown  vandal  of  a 
proprietor  bethought  himself  of  cut- 
ting a  huge  gash  through  the  centre 
in  order  to  place  a  "  pew,  where  he 
could  hear  Mass  without  mingling 
with  his  servants  !"  Thus  mutilated, 
the  fresco  was  transferred  to  canvas 
in  1835,  and  has  probably  been 
bought  by  some  more  enlightened 
connoisseur ;  but  the  most  enthusias- 
tic appreciation  cannot  now  repair 
such  outrages. 

Among  the  moderns,  we  shall  only 
mention,  in  Germany,  the  St.  Cecilia 
of  Molitor,  whose  attitude  reminds 
us  much  of  Raphael's.  Certainly  it 
has  not  the  same  nobility  of  style, 
but  we  find  there  the  charming 
grace  of  the  Diisseldorf  school.  In 
France,  we  may  mention  with  praise 
the  St.  Cecilia  of  Paul  Delaroche. 


*  Raphael  has  also  represented  St.  Cecilia  bear- 
ing witness  to  Christ  at  the  tomb.  This  may  be 
seen  at  the  Museum  at  Naples.  Dom  Gueran- 
ger  considers  the  type  of  this  picture  far  higher 
than  any  of  the  others.— C.  F.  Vasari,  t.  iii.  p.  166. 

t  Raphael  d'Urbin,  t.  ii.,  p.  277. 


Seated  on  an  antique  chair,  dressed 
in  a  robe  falling  in  long  folds,  the 
virgin  with  one  hand  restrains  her 
mantle,  bordered  with  a  fringe  of  gold, 
with  the  other  she  touches  a  little 
organ  presented  to  her  by  two  kneel- 
ing angels,  under  the  semblance  of 
pure-faced  boys.  This  sweet  picture, 
full  of  poetry  and  grace,  is  a  happy 
contrast  to  some  others,  and  makes 
us  the  more  regret  the  painter  of  this 
Christian  martyr,  so  beautiful  and 
chaste — night  brooding  on  the  face 
of  the  waters. 

But  of  one  art  St.  Cecilia  is  espe- 
pecially  the  patron,  and  that  is  mu- 
sic. Why  the  Roman  virgin  was 
chosen  from  so  many  others,  would 
be  very  difficult  to  explain  with  any 
precision.  The  mystic  sense  of  the 
tradition  which  makes  Cecilia  the 
queen  of  harmony  is  now  lost,  and 
on  this  point  we  are  reduced  to  con- 
jectures. Let  us  hope,  however,  that 
the  conjectures  we  shall  advance 
may  seem  probable  after  a  little  re- 
flection. 

Undoubtedly  Cecilia,  the  daughter 
of  a  noble  family,  enjoying  all  world- 
ly advantages  and  instructed  to  please, 
was  taught  music.  Without  doubt, 
also,  she  consecrated  to  God  a  talent 
acquired  for  worldly  ends ;  and  in 
the  meetings  of  the  faithful  in  the 
catacombs  she  must  have  taken  part 
in  the  psalms  and  canticles.  But 
the  most  weighty  argument  in  favor 
of  this  glorious  patronage  which  the 
Christian  ages  have  ascribed  to  our 
saint,  is  the  sentence  from  her  life  in- 
corporated in  the  Roman  Litany : 
"  Cantantibus  organis,  Caecilia  Domi- 
no decantabat :  Fiat  cor  meum  im- 
maculatum  ut  non  confundar." 

In  January,  1732,  a  Jansenist  cri- 
tic, otherwise  entirely  unknown,*  re- 
marked, in  the  Mercury  of  France, 
"  that  the  selection  of  St.  Cecilia  as 

*  His  name  was  M.  Bottu  de  Toulmont,  it  ap- 
pears. 


Saint  Cecilia. 


the  patron  of  music  was  not  a  good 
choice."  Indeed,  he  says,  a  little  far- 
ther on,  "  we  can  easily  see  that  this 
saint  was  very  insensible  to  the 
charms  of  music;  for  on  her  wed- 
ding day,  while  they  played  on  seve- 
ral instruments,  she  remained  absorb- 
ed in  prayer."  *  Poor  man !  he  could 
not  get  beyond  the  outer  husks  of 
things,  and  the  material  side  of  art. 
He  did  not  know  that  elevated  na- 
tures naturally  respond  to  human 
music  by  prayer,  that  heavenly  mu- 
sic. And  undoubtedly,  he  had  never 
heard  those  sublime  melodies  which 
a  loving  soul  sings  to  itself,  and  of 
which  the  most  beautiful  concerts  of 
this  world  are  but  a  feeble  echo. 

But  the  Christian  people  had  a 
better  inspiration.  They  understood 
that  music,  and,  above  all,  religious 
music — the  most  beautiful  of  all, 
whose  highest  aim  is  to  free  us  from 
the  senses  and  lift  us  out  of  ourselves, 
in  order  to  raise  us  to  God — might 
well  be  protected  by  this  young  girl, 
whose  soul  had  become  like  a  lyre, 
from  which  the  faintest  breath  will 
wake  harmonious  vibrations,  and 
who,  virgin  and  martyr — while  for 
three  days  she  lay  on  the  bloody 
flags,  seemed  in  a  long  song  of  love 
to  render  back  her  spirit. 

In  Rome  and  Italy,  musical  socie- 
ties early  placed  themselves  under 
the  patronage  of  St.  Cecilia.  We 
find  one  in  France,  founded  in  1571, 
at  Evreux, "  by  the  choristers  of  the  ca- 
thedral church,  and  other  pious  in- 
habitants of  this  city,  for  the  purpose 
of  learning  music."  Henry  III. 
gave  letters  patent  to  the  "  Society 
of  Madame  St.  Cecilia,"  establish- 
ed at  Paris,  in  the  church  of  the 
"  Grands  Augustins,"  by  zealous  ar- 
tists and  amateurs  of  music.  These 
societies  disappeared  with  many  others 


in  the  revolutionary  troubles,  but  their 
charitable  intentions  have  been  reviv- 
ed. Every  year,  on  the  226.  of  Novem- 
ber, the  Association  of  Musical  Artists 
gives  in  the  great  church  of  St.  Eus- 
tache  at  Paris  a  musical  mass,*  whose 
proceeds  are  destined  to  relieve  their 
sick  and  poor  members.  Undoubtedly 
one  might  often  wish  more  religious 
music.  These  pretended  masses  are  far 
too  theatrical  to  seem  much  inspir- 
ed when  compared  to  the  oratorios 
which  Handel  and  Beethoven  have 
dedicated  to  St.  Cecilia.  Nor  is  it 
there  that  one  could  find  pious  medi- 
tation. Nevertheless,  we  may  still 
rejoice  that  at  a  time  when  material- 
ism has  corrupted  so  many  hearts, 
these  solemnities  still  attract  crowds. 
Indeed,  one  may  say  of  music  as  Ter- 
tullian  said  of  the  soul,  that  it  is  natu- 
rally Christian.  To  draw  the  soul  from 
all  that  occupies  it,  weighs  on  it,  and 
destroys  it,  to  sustain  it  by  prolong- 
ed melody,  inspiring  dreams  of  infini- 
ty, is  also  to  elevate  it  above  itself, 
and  gently  prepare  it  for  the  broken 
utterances  of  prayer. 

We  know,  then,  that  St.  Cecilia  is 
powerful  enough  in  heaven  to  turn 
an  idler  into  yet  another  Christian. 
Never  in  vain  was  she  approach- 
ed while  on  earth,  or  her  memory 
celebrated  since  she  has  reigned  in 
heaven.  She  has  held  her  court  of 
litterateurs,  poets,  painters,  and  musi- 
cians, men  with  impassioned  hearts, 
which  she  has  gentljj  drawn  toward 
heaven.  For  each  she  has  obtained 
some  special  grace.  Let  others 
come;  for  the  treasures  she  distrib- 
utes are  never  exhausted. 

In  the  early  Christians  who  read 
her  history,  she  inspired  love  of  puri- 
ty and  a  martyr's  strength ;  to  the  ar- 
tists who  have  striven  to  represent 
her,  she  has  revealed  a  type  of  beau- 


*  Dictionary  of  Plain  Chant,  in  the   Theologi- 
cal Encyclopedia  at  Migne,  256. 


*  At  Brussels  this  mass  is  sung  in  St.  Gudule. 


Disillusioned.  489 

ty  unknown  on  earth.  For  the  most  than  this  virgin  ?  who  is  more  alive 
humble  of  her  servants,  she  has  than  she,  who  has  been  dead  for  six- 
smiles  which  heal  the  soul  wonder-  teen  centuries  ?  But,  martyr  to  love, 
fully.  Who  has  inspired  more  master-  she  died  for  Christ.  Js  this  really 
pieces  ?  who  has  been  more  loved  dying  ? 


DISILLUSIONED. 

I  BLUSH  that  I  am  England's  son  ! 

Yet  deemed  her  once  the  inviolate  home 
Of  matchless  freedom  nobly  won  : 

And  little  thought  the  hour  would  come, 
When,  freer  on  an  alien  strand, 
My  soul  should  scorn  its  native  land. 

How  mocks  my  ear  the  idle  song 
That  "  Britons  never  shall  be  slaves  " 

These  Britons  have  been  slaves  so  long 
To  fraud  and  falsehood,  fiends  and  knaves, 

They  spurn  true  freedom's  very  name, 

And,  self-duped,  revel  in  their  shame. 

O  Albion  !  once  the  "  Isle  of  Saints," 
The  "  Dower  of  Mary,"  what  thy  crime  ? 

Not  sternest  pen — not  envy's — paints 
The  annals  of  thy  golden  time 

In  aught  but  glory.     Whence  the  call 

For  such  a  vengeance,  such  a  fall  ? 

A  tyrant's  lust,  a  woman's  pride, 

Could  rend  thee  from  the  parent  stem, 

And  lay  thee  wither'd  by  the  side 

Of  barren  branches — cursed  with  them  ! 

Save  that  thy  head  was  too  elate, 

What  hadst  thou  done  for  such  a  fate  ? 

And  oh !  if  thou  hadst  Avelcomed  back 
The  Christless  worship  of  the  Celt, 

Thy  darkness  were  of  hue  less  black — 
Were  less  like  ^Egypt's,  "  to  be  felt  "  ! 

'Twere  rather  twilight  of  the  morn  : 

Another  day  might  still  be  born. 

But  no  :  more  hellward  yet  thy  fall ! 

To  turn  and  trample  in  her  blood 
The  Mother  who  had  brought  thee  all 

Thou  ever  hadst  of  highest  good  : 


490  Disillusioned. 

Behold  a  guilt — ay,  deeplier  dyed 
Than  blinded  Juda's  deicide  ! 

And  lo !  a  sleek  usurper  now — 
Meet  tool  of  perjured  royalty — 

Rears  shameless  her  apostate  brow  : 
Her  creed  a  sham,  her  claim  a  lie ! 

The  children's  bread  no  more  divine, 

A  hireling  throws  them  husks  of  swine. 

This  vaunted  church,  they  built  her  stout : 
And  if  by  dint  of  fellest  strife 

She  failed  to  crush  and  strangle  out 
Her  foe's  imperishable  life, 

'Twas  not,  I  ween,  from  lack  of  force, 

Or  craft  of  state,  or  base  resource. 

'Twas  not  that  mildness  ruled  the  day, 
And  penal  codes  were  voted  down  ; 

And  fair  the  question,  fair  the  play 

From  chair  and  pulpit,  bench  and  crown ; 

While  forgery  disdain'd  to  vie 

With  slander  in  the  dextrous  lie. 

But  more.     As  harlots  aim  to  link 
A  sister's  ruin  with  their  own 

So  thou,  my  England,  couldst  not  drink 
The  "  cup  of  devils  "  quite  alone, 

But  needs  must  press  it  on.  a  shore 

The  rival  of  thy  light  before. 

And  Erin  loathed  it.     There's  a  prayer 
That  kept  her  then,  and  triumphs  still. 

'Twill  take  thee  more  than  hate  may  dare 
To  break  the  Patrick  in  her  will : 

Though  treachery  was  the  lurking  sin 

That  sold  the  soil  thou  couldst  not  win. 

And  what,  at  last,  has  hate  achieved  ? 

For  her,  thy  victim,  such  a  name 
As  points — and  must,  to  be  believed — 

To  thy  long  parallel  of  shame  : 
The  Isle  of  Martyrs — peerless  gem 
In  Rome's  thick-rubied  diadem. 

Nor  this  alone.  Not  vainly  fled 
Her  patriot  sons  thy  cruel  hand  ; 

Not  vainly  to  the  West  were  led, 
Where  the  great  future's  chosen  land 

O'er  thralless  ocean  beacon'd  fair, 

To  find  God's  mission  waiting  there. 


Disillusioned.  491 

Thus,  England,  has  thy  baffled  rage 

But  spread  the  faith  it  sought  to  slay : 
And  lo  !  the  nations  see  thee  wage 

The  bigot's  combat  ev'n  to-day  ! 
They  cry :  "  Her  very  pride  is  o'er : 
The  lion  in  her  wakes  no  more !" 

Fool — doubly  fool !     Art  thou  so  strong 

No  mightier  arm  can  lay  thee  low  ? 
If  patient  heaven  has  linger'd  long, 

This  hour  thy  last — for  weal  or  woe  : 
And  what  'twere  penance  to  accord, 
Wilt  thou  but  forfeit  to  the  sword  ? 

Enough.     My  heart  is  too  much  thine 
To  curse  thee,  though  I  blush  to  own  : 

Too  fondly  prized  thee  as  a  shrine,  . .', 

Too  proudly  hailed  thee  as  a  throne  : 

And,  turning  from  the  bitter  truth, 

Finds  sweetness  in  the  dream  of  youth. 

For  memory  gathers  in  that  dream 

A  fragrance  as  of  morning  dew  : 
The  freshness  of  the  grove  and  stream, 

When  Nature  woo'd  me  first,  and  knew 
So  well  to  draw  me  to  her  breast, 
And  wed  me  to  her  love's  unrest. 

And  if  henceforth  I  twine  my  wreath 

To  crown  the  land  where  now  I  sing, 
Content  to  pray  in  peace  beneath 

The  shadow  of  her  eagle's  wing ; 
'Tis  not  that  charms  of  clime  and  scene 
Estrange  me  from  thy  gentler  mien. 

It  is  that  truth  is  chainless  here, 

And  swift  her  march  from  shore  to  shore ; 

And  little  need  her  children  fear 

For  coming  days — though  clouded  o'er ; 

For  God  must  shape  a  gracious  plan 

Where  truth  is  free,  and  man  is  man.* 
JULY,  1868. 

*  Though  the  above  lines  were  written  before  the  disestablishment  of  the  State  Church  in  Ireland, 
their  author's  indignation  has  been  little  appeased  by  that  extorted  act  of  justice.  The  measure  was 
unaccompanied  by  any  attempt  at  reparation  for  the  past.  At  the  very  least,  the  old  Catholic 
churches  might  have  been  returned  o  their  lawful  owners.  And  is  there  any  sign  to-day  of  full  jus- 
tice ever  being  done  or  half-done  ?  None — except  in  the  event  of  divine  vengeance  forcing  England 
to  knee!  to  her  generous  victim  ana  'sue  to  be  forgiven."  Fiat,  Sat. 


492 


Origin  of  Civilization. 


ORIGIN   OF   CIVILIZATION* 


SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK,  though  his 
name  is  not  euphonious,  is,  we  un- 
derstand, an  English  scientist,  highly 
distinguished  and  of  no  mean  autho- 
rity in  the  scientific  world,  as  his  fa- 
ther was  before  him.  He  certainly 
is  a  man  of  large  pretensions,  and  of 
as  much  logical  ability  and  practical 
good  sense  as  we  have  a  right  to  ex- 
pect in  an  English  scientist.  He,  of 
course,  adopts  the  modern  theory  of 
progress,  and  maintains  that  the  sav- 
age is  the  type  of  the  primitive  man, 
and  that  he  has  emerged  from  his 
original  barbarism  and  superstition 
to  his  present  advanced  civilization 
and  religious  belief  and  worship  by 
his  own  energy  and  persevering  ef- 
forts at  self-evolution  or  development, 
without  any  foreign  or  supernatural 
instruction  or  assistance. 

One,  Sir  John  contends,  has  only 
to  study  and  carefully  ascertain  the 
present  condition  of  the  various  con- 
temporary savage  tribes,  or  what  he 
calls  the  "  lower  races,"  to  know  what 
was  the  original  condition  of  man- 
kind, and  from  which  the  superior 
races  started  on  their  tour  of  progress 
through  the  ages ;  and  one  needs  only 
to  ascertain  the  germs  of  civilization 
and  religion  which  were  in  their  ori- 
ginal condition,  to  be  able  to  compre- 
hend the  various  stages  of  that  pro- 
gress and  the  principles  and  means 
by  which  it  has  been  effected  and 
may  be  carried  on  indefinitely  be- 
yond the  point  already  reached. 

*  The  Origin  of  Civilization  and  the  Primitive 
Condition  of  Man  :  Mental  and  Social  Condition 
of  Savages.  By  Sir  John  Lubbock,  Bart.,  M.P., 
F.R.S.,  etc.  New  York:  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 
1871.  i6rao,  pp.  380. 


Hence,  in  the  volume  before  us  the 
author  labors  to  present  us  a  true 
picture  of  the  present  mental  and  so- 
cial condition  of  contemporary  sav- 
ages as  that  of  the  primeval  man. 
He  assumes  that  the  mental  and  so- 
cial condition  is  that  of  the  infancy  of 
the  human  race,  and  by  studying  it 
we  can  attain  to  the  history  of  "  pre- 
historic "  times,  assist,  as  it  were,  if  we 
may  be  pardoned  the  Gallicism,  at  the 
earliest  development  of  mankind,  and 
trace  step  by  step  the  progress  from 
their  first  appearance  on  the  globe 
upward  to  the  sublime  civilization  of 
the  nineteenth  century — the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  steam-engine,  the  cotton 
spinner  and  weaver,  the  steamboat, 
the  steam-plough,  the  railway,  and 
the  lightning  telegraph. 

This  theory,  that  finds  in  the  sav- 
age the  type  of  the  primitive  man,  is 
nothing  very  new.  It  was  refuted 
by  the  late  Archbishop  Whately,  by 
the  Duke  of  Argyll  in  his  Prime- 
val Man,  and  on  several  occasions 
by  the  present  writer  in  THE  CATHO- 
LIC WORLD.  The  facts  Sir  John  ad- 
duces in  the  support  of  this  theory, 
as  far  as  facts  they  are,  had  been 
adduced  long  ago,  and  were  as  well 
known  by  us  before  we  abandoned 
the  theory  as  untenable,  as  they  are 
by  Sir  John  Lubbock  or  any  of  his 
compeers.  They  may  all,  so  far  as 
they  bear  on  religion,  be  found  sum- 
med up  and  treated  at  length  in 
the  work  of  Benjamin  Constant,  La 
Religion  consider^  dans  sa  Source, 
ses  Developpements,  et  ses  Formes, 
published  in  1832,  as  well  as  in  a 
mass  of  German  writers.  Sir  John 


Origin  of  Civilization. 


493 


has  told  us  nothing  of  the  mental  and 
social  condition  of  savages  that  we 
had  not  examined,  we  had  almost 
said,  before  he  was  born,  and  which 
we  had  supposed  was  not  known  by 
all  men  with  any  pretension  to  seri- 
ous studies.  In  fact,  we  grow  rather 
impatient  as  we*grow  old  of  writers 
who,  because  they  actually  have  learn- 
ed more  than  they  knew  in  their  cra- 
dles, imagine  that  they  have  learned 
so  much  more  than  all  the  rest  of 
mankind.  No  men  try  our  patience 
more  than  our  scientific  Englishmen, 
who  speak  always  in  a  decisive  tone, 
with  an  air  of  infallibility  from  which 
there  would  seem  to  be  no  appeal, 
and  yet  utter  only  the  veriest  com- 
monplaces, old  theories  long  since  ex- 
ploded, or  stale  absurdities.  We  have 
no  patience  with  such  men  as  Herbert 
Spencer,  Huxley,  and  Darwin.  We 
are  hardly  less  impatient  of  the  scien- 
tists who  in  our  own  country  hold 
them  up  to  our  admiration  and  rev- 
erence as  marvellous  discoverers,  and 
as  the  great  and  brilliant  lights  of 
the  age.  We  love  science,  we  honor 
the  men  who  devote  their  lives  to 
its  cultivation,  but  WTC  ask  that  it  be 
science,  not  hypothesis  piled  on  hy- 
pothesis, nor  simply  a  thing  of  mere 
conjectures  or  guesses. 

The  modern  doctrine  of  progress 
or  development,  which  supposes  man 
began  in  the  lowest  savage,  if  not 
lower  still,  is  not  a  doctrine  suggest- 
ed by  any  facts  observed  and  classi- 
fied in  men's  history,  nor  is  it  a  logi- 
cal induction  from  any  class  of 
known  facts,  but  a  gratuitous  hypothe- 
sis invented  and  asserted  against  the 
Biblical  doctrine  of  creation,  of  Provi- 
dence, of  original  sin,  and  of  the  su- 
pernatural instruction,  government, 
redemption,  and  salvation  of  men. 
The  hypothesis  is  suggested  by  hos- 
tility to  the  Christian  revelation,  pri- 
or to  the  analysis  and  classification 
of  any  facts  to  sustain  it,  and  the 


scientists  who  defend  it  are  simply 
investigating  nature,  not  in  the  inte- 
rests of  science  properly  so-called, 
but,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  to 
find  facts  to  support  a  hypothesis 
which  may  be  opposed  to  both. 
Any  facts  in  nature  or  in  history, 
natural  or  civil,  political  or  religious, 
that  seem  to  make  against  Chris- 
tian teaching,  are  seized  upon 
with  avidity,  distorted  or  exaggerat- 
ed, and  paraded  with  a  grand  fan- 
faronade, sounding  of  trumpets, 
beating  of  drums,  and  waving  of  ban- 
ners, as  if  it  were  a  glorious  triumph 
of  man  to  prove  that  he  is  no  better 
than  the  beasts  that  perish ;  while  the 
multitude  of  facts  which  are  absolute- 
ly irreconcilable  with  it  are  passed 
over  in  silence  or  quietly  set  aside, 
as  of  no  account,  or  simply  declared 
to  be  anomalies,  which  science  is  not 
yet  in  a  condition  to  explain,  but,  no 
doubt,  soon  will  be,  since  it  has  en- 
tered the  true  path,  has  found  the 
true  scientific  methods,  and  is  headed 
in  the  right  direction.  Science  is 
yet  in  its  infancy.  In  its  cradle  it 
has  strangled  frightful  monsters,  and, 
when  full-grown,  it  will  not  fail  to 
slay  the  hydra,  and  rid  the  world  of 
all  its  "  chimeras  dire."  But  while 
we  do  not  complain  that  your  infan- 
tile or  puerile  science  has  not  done 
more,  we  would  simply  remind  you, 
men  of  science,  that  it  is  very  un- 
scientific to  reason  from  what  you 
confess  science  has  not  yet  done  as 
if  it  had  done  it.  Wait  till  it  has 
done  it,  before  you  bring  it  forward 
as  a  scientific  achievement 

We  confess  to  a  want  of  confidence 
in  this  whole  class  of  scientists,  for 
their  investigations  are  not  free  and 
unbiassed;  their  minds  are  prejudic- 
ed; they  are  pledged  to  a  theory  in 
advance,  which  makes  them  shut  their 
eyes  to  the  facts  which  contradict  it, 
and  close  their  intelligence  to  the 
great  principles  of  universal  reason 


494 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


which  render  their  conclusions  inva- 
lid. There  are  other  scientists  who 
have  pushed  their  investigations'-  as 
far  into  nature  and  history  as  they 
have,  perhaps  even  further,  who 
know  and  have  carefully  analyzed 
all  the  facts  they  know  or  ever  pre- 
tended to  know,  and  yet  have  come 
to  conclusions  the  contrary  of  theirs, 
and  find  nothing  in  the  facts  or  phe- 
nomena of  the  universe  that  warrant 
any  induction  not  in  accordance  with 
Christian  faith,  either  as  set  forth  in 
the  Holy  Scriptures  or  the  definitions 
of  the  church.  Why  are  these  less 
likely  to  be  really  scientific  than 
they  ?  They  are  biassed  by  their 
Christian  faith,  you  say.  Be  it  so : 
are  you  less  biassed  by  your  anti- 
christian  unbelief  and  disposition  ? 
Besides,  are  you  able  to  say  that  these 
have  not  in  their  Christian  faith  a 
key  to  the  real  sense  or  meaning 
of  the  universe  and  its  phenomena 
which  you  have  not,  and  therefore 
are  much  more  likely  to  be  right 
than  you  ?  Do  you  know  that  it  is 
not  so  ?  There  is  no  science  where 
knowledge  is  wanting. 

The  unchristian  scientists  forget 
that  they  cannot  conclude  against 
the  Biblical  or  Christian  doctrine 
from  mere  possibilities  or  even  pro- 
babilities. They  appeal  to  science 
against  it,  and  nothing  can  avail 
them  as  the  basis  of  argument  against 
it  that  is  not  scientifically  proved  or 
demonstrated.  Their  hypothesis  of 
progress,  evolution,  or  development 
is  unquestionably  repugnant  to  the 
whole  Christian  doctrine  and  order 
of  thought.  If  it  is  true,  Christianity 
is  false.  They  must  then,  before  urg- 
ing it,  either  prove  Christianity  un- 
true or  an  idle  tale,  or  else  prove 
absolutely,  beyond  the  possibility  of 
a  rational  doubt,  the  truth  of  their 
hypothesis.  It  is  not  enough  to  prove 
that  it  may,  for  aught  you  know,  be 
true ;  you  must  prove  that  it  is  true, 


and  cannot  be  false.  Christianity  is 
too  important  a  fact  in  the  world's 
history  to  be  set  aside  by  an  unde- 
monstrated  hypothesis.  And  it  is 
anything  but  scientific  to  conclude  its 
falsity  on  the  strength  of  a  simply 
possible  or  even  probable  hypothesis, 
not  as  yet  indeed  proved,  and  of 
which  the  best  you  can  say  is  that 
you  trust  science  will  be  able  to 
prove  it  when  once  it  is  out  of  its 
nonage.  You  cannot  propose  it  at 
all,  unless  you  have  scientifically  de- 
monstrated it,  or  previously  disproved 
aliunde  the  Christian  revelation.  So 
long  as  you  leave  it  possible  for  me 
to  hold  the  Christian  faith  without 
contradicting  what  is  demonstrated 
to  be  true,  you  have  alleged  nothing 
to  the  purpose  against  it,  and  cannot 
bring  forward  your  theory  even  as 
probable,  far  less  as  scientific;  for,  if 
it  is  possible  that  Christianity  is  true, 
it  is  not  possible  that  your  hypothe- 
sis can  be  true,  or  even  scientifically 
proved.  The  scientists  seem  not  to 
be  aware  of  this,  and  seem  to  sup- 
pose that  they  may  rank  Christianity 
with  the  various  heathen  superstitions, 
and  set  it  aside  by  an  unsupported 
theory  or  a  prejudice. 

Let  the  question  be  understood. 
Christianity  teaches  us  that  in  the 
beginning  God  created  heaven  and 
earth,  and  all  things  therein,  visible 
and  invisible,  that  he  made  man  af- 
ter his  own  image  and  likeness,  plac- 
ed him  in  the  garden  of  Eden,  gave 
him  a  law,  that  is,  made  him  a  reve- 
lation of  his  will,  instructed  him  in 
his  moral  and  religious  duty,  estab- 
lished him  in  original  justice,  in  a 
supernatural  state,  under  a  superna- 
tural providence,  on  the  plane  of  a 
supernatural  destiny;  that  man  pre- 
varicated, broke  the  law  given  him, 
lost  his  original  justice,  the  integrity 
of  his  nature  attached  thereto,  and 
communion  with  his  Maker,  fell  under 
the  dominion  of  the  flesh,  became 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


495 


captive  to  Satan,  and  subject  to 
death,  moral,  temporal,  and  eternal ; 
that  God,  of  his  own  goodness  and 
mercy,  promised  him  pardon  and  de- 
liverance, redemption  and  salvation, 
through  his  own  Son  made  man,  who 
in  due  time  was  born  of  the  Virgin  Ma- 
ry, suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  was 
crucified,  was  dead  and  buried,  and 
on  the  third  day  rose  again,  ascend- 
ed into  heaven,  whence  he  shall 
come  again,  to  judge  the  living  and 
the  dead.  This  doctrine,  in  substance, 
was  made  to  our  first  parents  in  the 
garden,  was  preserved  in  the  tradi- 
tion of  the  patriarchs,  in  its  purity 
in  the  synagogue,  and  in  its  purity 
and  integrity  in  the  Christian  church 
founded  on  it,  and  authorized  and 
assisted  by  God  himself  to  teach  it 
to  all  men  and  nations. 

According  to  this  doctrine,  the  ori- 
gin of  man,  the  human  species,  as 
well  as  of  the  universe  and  all  its 
contents,  is  in  the  creative  act  of 
God,  not  in  evolution  or  develop- 
ment. The  first  man  was  not  a  mon- 
key or  a  tadpole  developed,  nor  a 
savage  or  barbarian,  but  was  a  man 
full  grown  in  the  integrity  of  his  na- 
ture, instructed  by  his  Maker,  and 
the  most  perfect  man  of  his  race, 
and  as  he  is  the  progenitor  of  all 
mankind,  it  follows  that  mankind 
began  not  in  "utter  barbarism,"  as 
Sir  John  asserts,  but  in  the  full  de- 
velopment and  perfection  of  man- 
hood, with  the  knowledge  of  God 
and  Providence,  of  their  origin  and 
destiny,  and  of  their  moral  and  reli- 
gious duty.  Ignorance  has  followed 
as  the  penalty  or  consequence  of  sin, 
instead  of  being  the  original  condi- 
tion in  which  man  was  created; 
and  this  ignorance  brought  on  the 
race  by  the  prevarication  of  Adam, 
the  domination  of  the  flesh,  and  the 
power  of  Satan  acquired  thereby, 
are  the  origin  and  cause  of  barbar- 
ism of  individuals  and  cations,  the 


innumerable  moral  and  social  evils 
which  have  afflicted  mankind  in  all 
times  and  places. 

Now,  to  this  doctrine  Sir  John  op- 
poses the  hypothesis  of  the  origin  of 
man  in  "utter  barbarism,"  and  his 
progress  by  natural  evolution  or  self- 
development.  But  what  facts  has  he 
adduced  in  its  support,  or  that  con- 
flict with  Christian  teaching,  that 
prove  that  teaching  false  or  even 
doubtful  ?  He  has  adduced,  as  far 
as  we  can  see,  none  at  all,  for  all  the 
facts  that  he  alleges  are,  to  say  the 
least,  as  easily  explained  on  the  sup- 
position of  man's  deterioration  as  on 
the  supposition  of  progress,  develop- 
ment,or  continuous  melioration.  Some 
of  the  facts  he  adduces  might,  perhaps, 
be  explained  on  his  hypothesis,  if 
there  were  no  reason  for  giving  them 
a  contrary  explanation ;  but  there  is 
not  one  of  them  that  must  be  so  ex- 
plained. This  is  not  enough  for  his 
purpose,  though  it  is  enough  for  ours. 
He  must  go  further,  and  prove  that 
his  facts  not  only  may  but  must  be 
explained  on  his  hypothesis,  and  can 
be  explained  on  no  other.  If  we 
are  able  to  explain,  or  he  is  un- 
able to  show  positively  that  we 
cannot  explain,  all  known  facts  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  Christian  doctrine, 
he  can  conclude  nothing  from  them 
against  Christianity  or  in  favor  of 
his  naturalism.  We  do  not,  he  must 
remember,  rely  on  those  facts  to 
prove  the  Christian  doctrine,  but  he 
relies  on  them  to  disprove  it,  by 
proving  his  hypothesis;  and  if  he  can- 
not show  that  they  absolutely  do 
disprove  it,  or  positively  prove  his 
hypothesis,  he  proves  nothing  to  his 
purpose. 

Sir  John  dwells  at  great  length  on 
the  real  or  supposed  rites,  forms,  and 
barbarous  customs  observed  by  out- 
lying savage  tribes  or  nations,  but, 
before  he  can  draw  any  conclusion 
from  them  in  favor  of  his  theory  of 


496 


Origin  of  Civilization. 


progress,  he  must  prove  that  they 
were  primitive.  He  knows  them  on- 
ly as  contemporaneous  with  what  he 
would  himself  call  civilized  marriage : 
how  then,  without  having  first  proved 
that  the  race  began  in  "  utter  barbar- 
ism," conclude  from  them  that  they 
preceded  civilized  marriage  ?  One 
thing  is  certain,  we  never  find  them 
without  finding  somewhere  in  the 
world  contemporary  with  them  the 
civilized  marriage.  There  is  no  his- 
tory, historical  intimation,  or  tradi- 
tion of  any  custom  or  conception  of 
marriage  older  than  we  have  in  the 
Book  of  Genesis,  and  in  that  we  find 
the  true  idea  of  marriage  was  alrea- 
dy in  the  world  at  the  earliest  date 
of  history,  and  the  vices  against  it 
are  plainly  condemned  in  the  Deca- 
logue, contemporary  with  these  very 
usages,  customs,  and  notions  of  sa- 
vages on  which  Sir  John  dwells  with 
so  much  apparent  delight,  and  which 
are  barbarous,  and  lax  enough  to 
satisfy  even  our  women's-rights  men ; 
and,  so  far  as  history  goes,  preceding 
them,  the  true  idea  of  marriage  as 
something  sacred,  and  as  the  union 
of  one  man  with  one  woman,  was 
known  and  held,  and  therefore  could 
not  have  been,  at  least  so  far  as 
known,  a  development  of  barbarian 
marriages. 

The  same  answer  applies  to  the  ques- 
tion of  religion.  Contemporary  with 
the  savage  and  barbarous  supersti- 
tions of  the  heathen,  and  even  prior  to 
them,  we  find  practised  in  its  fervor 
and  purity  the  true  worship  of  the  true 
God.  True  religion  is  not  develop- 
ed from  the  impurities  and  absurd  su- 
perstitions of  the  heathen,  and  is  by 
no  means  the  growth  of  the  religious 
sentiment  becoming  gradually  en- 
lightened and  purifying  itself  from 
their  grossness,  for  it  is  historically  as 
well  as  logically  older  than  any  of 
them.  Men  worshipped  God  the  crea- 
tor of  heaven  and  earth  before  they 


worshipped  the  fetish,  the  elements, 
or  the  hosts  of  heaven.  Religion  is 
older  than  superstition,  for  superstition 
is  an  abuse  of  religion,  as  the  theolo- 
gians say,  by  way  of  excess,  as  ir- 
religion  is  its  abuse  by  way  of  de- 
fect ;  but  a  thing  must  exist  and  be 
entertained  before  it  can  be  abused. 
Nothing  can  be  more  certain  than 
that  true  religion  has  never  been  de- 
veloped from  false  religions,  or  truth 
from  falsehood;  for  the  true  must 
precede  the  false,  which  is  simply  the 
negation  of  the  true.  Christianity  is, 
if  you  will,  a  development,  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  synagogue  or  the  Jew- 
ish religion  ;  Judaism  was  also,  if  you 
will,  a  development  of  the  patriar- 
chal religion;  but  in  neither  case  a 
self-development ;  and  in  neither  case 
has  the  development  been  effected 
except  by  supernatural  intervention. 
It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  the 
patriarchal  religion  was  a  develop- 
ment of  heathenism,  since  it  is  histo- 
rically prior  to  any  form  of  heathen- 
ism, and  every  known  form  of  heath- 
enism supposes  it,  and  is  intelligible 
only  by  it.  So  far  was  Judaism  from 
being  self-evolved  from  the  supersti- 
tions of  the  heathen,  that  it  was  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  Israel- 
ites themselves,  as  their  history  shows, 
were  kept  from  adopting  the  idolatry 
and  superstition  of  the  surrounding  na- 
tions, which  shows  that  their  religion 
was  not  self-evolved,  and  that  it  was 
above  the  level  of  the  moral  and  reli- 
gious life  of  the  people.  Christianity 
develops  and  perfects  Judaism,  but 
by  supernatural  agency,  not  by  the 
natural  progress  or  self-development 
of  the  Jewish  people;  for  if  it  had 
been,  the  bulk  of  the  nation  would 
have  accepted  it,  and  we  know  that 
the  bulk  of  the  Jewish  people  did  not 
accept  it,  but  rejected  it,  and  con- 
tinue to  reject  it  to  this  day. 

We  know,  also,  that  the  progress 
of  the  heathen  nations  was  very  far 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


497 


from  raising  them  to  the  level  of  the 
Christian  religion.  Traces  of  some  of 
its  principles  and  several  of  its  moral 
precepts  may  be  found  with  the  Gen- 
tile philosophers,  as  we  should  expect, 
since  they  pertained  to  the  primitive 
revelation;  but  these  philosophers 
were  not  the  first,  but  rather  the  last 
to  accept  it.  Nowhere  amongst  the 
heathen  did  any  Christian  communi- 
ties spring  up  spontaneously  or  were 
of  indigenous  origin.  Christianity 
sprang  out  of  Judea,  and  the  nations 
adopted  it,  in  the  first  instance,  only  as 
it  was  carried  to  them  by  Jewish  mis- 
sionaries. And  who  were  these  mis- 
sionaries ?  Humble  fishermen,  pub- 
licans, and  mechanics.  Who  first  re- 
ceived them,  and  believed  their  mes- 
sage ?  Principally  the  common  peo- 
ple, the  unlettered,  the  poor,  and 
slaves  of  the  rich  and  noble.  "  For 
see  your  vocation,  brethren,"  says 
St.  Paul  (i  Cor.  iv.  26),  "that  not 
many  are  wise  according  to  the  flesh, 
not  many  mighty,  not  many  noble." 
Were  the  fishermen  of  the  Lake  Ge- 
nesareth,  and  the  slaves  of  the  Ro- 
man Empire,  we  may  ask  with  Mgr. 
Maret,  "  the  most  enlightened  and 
advanced  portion  of  mankind "  ? 
Who  dare  maintain  it,  when  it  is  a 
question  of  natural  development  or 
progress  ?  Had  Christianity  been 
the  natural  evolution  of  the  human 
mind,  or  the  product  of  the  natural 
growth  of  human  intelligence  and 
morality,  we  should  have  first  en- 
countered it  not  with  the  poor,  the 
ignorant,  the  unlettered  and  wretch- 
ed slaves,  but  with  the  higher  and 
more  cultivated  classes,  with  the  phi- 
losophers, the  scientists,  the  noble,  the 
great  generals  and  the  most  eminent 
orators  and  statesmen,  the  elite  of 
Greek  and  Roman  society,  those  who 
at  the  time  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
civilized  world.  Yet  such  is  not  the 
fact,  but  the  fact  is  the  very  reverse. 
The  Biblical  history  explains  the 

VOL.    XIII. 32 


origin  of  the  barbarous  superstitions 
of  heathendom  in  a  very  satisfactory 
way,  and  shows  us  very  clearly  that 
the  savage  state  is  not  the  primitive 
state,  but  has  been  produced  by  sin, 
and  is  the  result  of  what  we  call  the 
great  Gentile  apostasy,  or  falling 
away  of  the  nations  from  the  primi- 
tive or  patriarchal  religion.  When 
language  was  confounded  at  Babel, 
and  the  dispersion  of  mankind  took 
place,  unity  of  speech  or  language 
was  lost,  and  with  it  unity  of  ideas 
or  of  faith,  and  each  tribe  or  nation 
took  its  own  course,  and  developed 
a  tribal  or  national  religion  of  its  own. 
Gradually  each  tribe  or  nation  lost 
the  conception  of  God  as  creator, 
and  formed  to  itself  gods  made  in 
its  own  image,  clothed  with  its 
own  passions,  and  it  bowed  down 
and  worshipped  the  work  of  its  own 
hands.  It  was  not  that  they  knew 
or  had  known  no  better.  St.  Paul 
has  settled  that  question.  "  For  the 
wrath  of  God  is  revealed  from  heav- 
en against  all  impiety  and  injustice 
of  those  men  that  detain  the  truth 
of  God  in  injustice.  Because  that 
which  is  known  of  God  is  manifest 
in  them.  For  God  hath  manifested  it 
to  them.  For  the  invisible  things 
of  him,  from  the  creation  of  the 
world,  are  clearly  seen,  being  under- 
stood by  the  things  that  are  made : 
his  eternal  power  also  and  divinity ; 
so  that  they  are  inexcusable.  Be- 
cause when  they  had  known  God, 
they  glorified  him  not  as  God,  nor 
gave  thanks ;  but  became  vain  in  their 
thoughts,  and  their  foolish  heart  was 
darkened ;  for,  professing  themselves 
\^se,  they  became  fools.  And  they 
changed  the  glory  of  the  incorrupti- 
ble God  into  the  likeness  of  the 
image  of  a  corruptible  man,  and  of 
birds,  and  of  four-footed  beasts,  and 
of  creeping  things.  Wherefore  God 
gave  them  up  to  the  desires  of  their 
hearts,  to  uncleanness;  to  dishonor 


498 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


their  own  bodies  among  themselves, 
who  changed  the  truth  of  God  into  a 
lie,  and  worshipped  and  served  the 
creature  rather  than  the  Creator, 
who  is  blessed  for  ever.  Amen." 
(Rom.  i.  18-25.) 

St.  Paul  evidently  does  not  believe 
Sir  John  Lubbock's  doctrine  that  the 
race  began  in  "  utter  barbarism," 
and  have  been  slowly  working  their 
way  up  to  the  heights  of  Christian 
civilization.  He  evidently  ascribes 
the  superstitions,  and  consequently 
the  barbarism,  of  the  heathen  to  apos- 
tasy. Sir  John,  of  course,  does  not 
accept  the  authority  of  St.  Paul ; 
but,  if  he  cannot  prove  St.  Paul 
was  wrong,  he  is  debarred  from  as- 
serting his  own  hypothesis,  even  as 
probable.  If  it  is  possible  to  explain 
the  facts  of  the  savage  state  on  the 
ground  of  apostasy  or  gradual  de- 
terioration, the  hypothesis  of  devel- 
opment, of  self-evolution  or  natural 
and  unaided  progress,  falls  to  the 
ground  as  wholly  baseless.  His  hy- 
pothesis becomes  probable  only  by 
proving  that  no  other  hypothesis  is 
possible. 

But  all  the  known  facts  in  the  case 
are  against  our  scientific  baronet's 
hypothesis.  Take  Mohammedanism. 
It  sprang  up  subsequently  to  both 
Moses  and  the  Gospel.  It  is  a  com- 
pound of  Judaism  and  Christianity, 
more  Jewish  than  Christian,  how- 
ever, and  is  decidedly  inferior  to 
either.  How  explain  this  fact,  if  the 
several  races  of  men  never  fall  or  re- 
trograde, but  are  always  advancing, 
marching  through  the  ages  onward 
and  upward  ?  Many  of  the  ances- 
tors of  the  present  Mussulmans  be- 
longed to  highly  civilized  races, 
and  some  of  them  were  Christians, 
and  not  a  few  of  them  Jews.  Yet 
there  is  always  progress,  never  de- 
terioration. 

But  we  need  not  go  back  to  the 
seventh  century.  There  has  been  a 


modern  apostasy,  and  we  see  right 
before  our  eyes  the  process  of  dete- 
rioration, of  falling  into  barbarism, 
going  on  among  those  who  have 
apostatized  from  Christianity.  The 
author  regards  as  an  evidence  of  the 
lowest  barbarism  what  he  calls  "  com- 
munal marriage,"  that  is,  marriage 
in  which  the  wife  is  common  to  all 
the  males  of  her  husband's  family. 
We  do  not  believe  this  sort  of  mar- 
riage was  ever  anything  more  than 
an  exceptional  fact,  like  polyandry ; 
but  suppose  it  was  even  common 
among  the  lowest  savage  tribes,  how 
much  lower  or  more  barbarous  is  the 
state  it  indicates,  than  what  the 
highly  civilized  Plato  makes  the  ma- 
gistrates prescribe  in  his  imaginary 
Republic  ?  How  much  in  advance 
of  such  a  practice  is  the  free  love 
advocated  by  Mary  Wolstonecraft  and 
Fanny  Wright ;  the  recommendation 
of  Godwin  to  abolish  marriage  and 
the  monopoly  by  one  man  of  any 
one  woman;  than  the  denunciation 
of  marriage  by  the  late  Robert  Owen 
as  one  of  the  trinity  of  evils  which 
have  hitherto  afflicted  the  race,  and 
his  proposal  to  replace  it  by  a  com- 
munity of  wives,  as  he  proposed  to 
replace  private  property  by  a  com- 
munity of  goods;  or,  indeed,  than  we 
see  actually  adopted  in  practice  by 
the  Oneida  Community  ?  Sir  John 
regards  the  gynocracy  which  prevails 
in  some  savage  tribes  as  characteris- 
tic of  a  very  low  form  of  barbarism ; 
but  to  what  else  tends  the  woman's- 
rights  movement  in  his  country  and 
ours  ?  If  successful,  not  only  would 
women  be  the  rulers,  but  children 
would  follow  the  mother's  line,  not 
the  father's,  for  the  obvious  reason 
that,  while  the  mother  can  be  known, 
the  father  cannot  be  with  any  cer- 
tainty. Does  not  free  love,  the  main- 
spring of  the  movement,  lead  to 
this  ?  And  are  not  they  who  sup- 
port it  counted  the  advanced  party 


Origin  of  Civilization. 


499 


of  the  age,  and  we  who  resist  de- 
nounced as  old  fogies  or  as  the  de- 
fenders of  man's  tyranny  ? 

Sir  John  relates  that  some  tribes 
are  so  low  in  their  intelligence  that 
they  have  no  or  only  the  vaguest 
conceptions  of  the  divinity,  and  none 
at  all  of  God  as  creator.  He  need 
not  go  amongst  outlying  barbarians 
to  find  persons  whose  intelligence  is 
equally  low.  He  will  search  in  vain 
through  all  Gentile  philosophy  with- 
out finding  the  conception  of  a  crea- 
tive God.  Nay,  among  our  own  con- 
temporaries he  can  find  more  who 
consider  it  a  proof  of  their  superior 
intelligence  and  rare  scientific  attain- 
ments that  they  reject  the  fact  of 
creation,  relegate  God  into  the  un- 
known and  the  unknowable,  and 
teach  us  that  the  universe  is  self- 
evolved,  and  man  is  only  a  monkey 
or  gorilla  developed.*  These  men 
regard  themselves  as  the  lights  of 
their  age,  and  are  so  regarded,  too,  by 
no  inconsiderable  portion  of  the  pub- 
lic. Need  we  name  Auguste  Comte 
and  Sir  William  Hamilton,  among 
the  dead;  E.  Littre,  Herbert  Spencer, 
J.  Stuart  Mill,  Professor  Huxley, 
Charles  Darwin,  not  to  say  Sir  John 
himself,  among  the  living  ?  If  these 
men  and  their  adherents  have  not 
lapsed  into  barbarism,  their  science, 
if  accepted,  would  lead  us  to  the 
ideas  and  practices  which  Sir  John 
tells  us  belong  to  the  lowest  stage  of 
barbarism.  Sir  John  doubts  if  any 
savage  tribe  can  be  found  that  is  ab- 
solutely destitute  of  all  religious  con- 
ceptions or  sentiments,  but,  if  we 
may  believe  their  own  statements, 
we  have  people  enough  among  the 
apostate  Christians  of  our  day  who 
have  none,  and  glory  in  it  as  a  proof 
of  their  superiority  to  the  rest  of 
mankind. 


*  See  The  Descent  of  Man  and  Selection  in 
Relation  to  Sex^  by  Charles  Darwin 


Sir  John  sees  a  characteristic  of 
barbarism  or  of  the  early  savage  state 
in  the  belief  in  and  the  dread  of  evil 
spirits,  of  what  he  calls  demonism. 
The  Bible  tells  us  all  the  gods  of  the 
heathens  are  devils  or  demons.  Even 
this  characteristic  of  barbarism  is  re- 
produced in  our  civilized  communi- 
ties by  spiritism,  which  is  of  enlight- 
ened American  origin.  This  spirit- 
ism, which  is  rapidly  becoming  a  re- 
ligion with  large  numbers  of  men 
and  women  in  our  midst,  is  nothing 
but  demonism,  the  necromancy  and 
witchcraft  or  familiar  spirits  of  the 
ancient  world.  Men  who  reject 
Christianity,  who  have  no  belief  in 
God,  or  at  least  do  not  hold  it  ne- 
cessary to  worship  or  pay  him  the 
least  homage  or  respect,  believe  in 
the  spirits,  go  to  the  medium,  and 
consult  her,  as  Saul  in  his  desperation 
consulted  the  Witch  of  Endor.  If 
we  go  back  a  few  years  to  the  last 
century,  we  shall  find  the  most  po- 
lished people  on  the  globe  abolishing 
religion,  decreeing  that  death  is  an 
eternal  sleep,  and  perpetrating,  in  the 
name  of  liberty,  virtue,  humanity, 
and  brotherly  love,  crimes  and  cruel- 
ties unsurpassed  if  not  unequalled  in 
the  history  of  the  most  savage  tribes; 
and  we  see  little  improvement  in  our 
own  century,  more  thoroughly  filled 
with  the  horrors  of  unprincipled  and 
needless  wars  than  any  other  century 
of  which  we  possess  the  history.  In- 
deed, the  scenes  of  1792-3-4  are  now 
in  process  of  reproduction  in  Europe. 

We  must  remember  that  all  these 
deteriorations  have  taken  place  in  or 
are  taking  place  in  the  most  highly 
civilized  nations  of  the  globe,  whose 
ancestors  were  Christians,  and  with 
persons  many  of  whom  were  brought 
up  in  the  belief  of  Christianity.  Take 
the  men  and  women  who  hold,  on 
marriage  and  on  religion,  what  are 
called  "advanced  views" — free-lov- 
ers and  free-religionists — remove  them 


5oo 


Origin  of  Civilization. 


from  the  restraints  of  the  church  and 
of  the  state,  not  yet  up  to  their  stan- 
dard, and  let  them  form  a  communi- 
ty by  themselves  in  which  their  views 
shall  be  carried  out  in  practice ;  would 
they  not  in  two  or  three  generations 
lapse  into  a  state  not  above  that  of 
the  most  degraded  and  filthy  sava- 
ges ?  We  see  this  deterioration  going 
on  in  our  midst  and  right  before  our 
eyes,  as  the  effect  of  apostasy  from 
our  holy  religion.  This  proves  that 
apostasy  is  sufficient  to  explain  the 
existence  of  the  savage  races,  with- 
out supposing  the  human  race  began 
in  "  utter  barbarism."  If  apostasy 
in  modern  times,  as  we  see  it  does, 
leads  to  "  utter  barbarism,"  why 
should  it  not  have  done  so  in  ancient 
times  ? 

We  might  make  the  case  still 
stronger  against  the  author's  hypo- 
thesis, if  necessary,  by  referring  to 
the  great  and  renowned  nations  of 
antiquity,  that  in  turn  led  the  civili- 
zation of  the  world.  Of  the  nations 
that  apostatized  or  adhered  to  the 
great  Gentile  apostasy,  not  one  has 
survived  the  lapse  of  time.  To  eve- 
ry one  of  them  has  succeeded  bar- 
barism, desolation,  or  a  new  people. 
The  Egypt  of  antiquity  fell  before 
the  Persian  conqueror,  and  the  Egypt 
of  the  Greeks  was  absorbed  by  Rome, 
and  fell  with  her.  Assyria  leaves  of 
her  greatness  only  long  since  buried 
and  forgotten  ruins,  while  the  savage 
Kurd  and  the  predatory  Arab  roam 
at  will  over  the  desert  that  has  suc- 
ceeded to  her  once  flourishing  cities 
and  richly  cultivated  fields.  Syria, 
Tyre,  Carthage,  and  the  Greek  cities 
of  Europe  and  Asia  have  disappear- 
ed or  dwindled  into  insignificance, 
and  what  remains  of  them  they  owe 
to  the  conservative  power  of  the 
Christianity  they  adopted  and  have 
in  some  measure  retained.  So  true 
is  it,  as  the  Psalmist  says,  "  the  wick- 
ed shall  be  turned  into  hell,  and  all 


the  nations  that  forget  God."  How 
explain  this  fact,  if  these  ancient  na- 
tions could  by  their  own  inherent  en- 
ergy and  power  of  self-development 
raise  themselves  from  "  utter  barbar- 
ism "  to  the  civilization  they  once 
possessed,  that  they  could  not  pre- 
serve it ;  that,  after  having  reached  a 
certain  point,  they  began  to  decline, 
grew  corrupt,  and  at  length  fell  by 
their  own  internal  rottenness  ?  If 
men  and  nations  are  naturally  pro- 
gressive, how  happens  it  that  we  find 
so  many  individuals  and  nations  de- 
cline and  fall,  through  internal  cor- 
ruption ? 

Another  fact  is  not  less  conclusive 
against  Sir  John's  hypothesis,  that  in 
all  the  nations  of  the  heathen  world 
their  teast  barbarous  period  known 
to  us  is  their  earliest  after  the  aposta- 
sy and  dispersion.  The  oldest  of 
the  sacred  books  of  the  Hindus 
are  the  profoundest  and  richest  in 
thought,  and  the  freest  from  supersti- 
tion and  puerilities  so  characteristic 
of  the  Hindu  people  to-day.  The 
earliest  religion  of  the  Romans  was 
far  more  spiritual,  intellectual,  than 
that  which  prevailed  at  the  establish- 
ment of  the  empire  and  the  intro- 
duction of  Christianity.  Indeed, 
wherever  we  have  the  means  of  trac- 
ing the  religious  history  of  the  an- 
cient heathen  nations,  we  find  it  is  a 
history  of  almost  uninterrupted  de- 
terioration and  corruption,  becoming 
continually  more  cruel,  impure,  and 
debasing  as  time  flows  on.  The 
mysteries,  perhaps,  retained  some- 
thing of  the  earlier  doctrines,  but 
they  did  little  to  arrest  the  downward 
tendency  of  the  national  religion ; 
the  philosophers,  no  doubt,  retained 
some  valuable  traditions  of  the  pri- 
mitive religion,  but  so  mixed  up  with 
gross  error  and  absurd  fables  that 
they  had  no  effect  on  the  life  or  mo- 
rals of  the  people.  One  of  the  last 
acts  of  Socrates  was  to  require  Crito 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


to  sacrifice  a  cock  to  Esculapius. 
If  Sir  John's  hypothesis  were  true, 
nothing  of  this  could  happen,  and 
we  should  find  the  religion  of  every 
nation,  as  time  goes  on,  becoming 
purer  and  more  refined,  less  gross 
and  puerile,  more  enlightened  and 
intellectual,  and  more  spiritual  and 
elevating  in  its  influence. 

The  traditions  of  some,  perhaps  of 
all  heathen  nations,  refer  their  origin 
to  savage  and  barbarian  ancestors, 
and  this  may  have  been  the  fact  with 
many  of  them.  Horace  would  seem 
to  go  the  full  length  of  Sir  John's 
theory.  He  tells  us  that  the  primi- 
tive men  sprang  like  animals  from 
the  earth,  a  mute  and  filthy  herd, 
fighting  one  another  ior  an  acorn  or 
a  den.  Cicero  speaks  somewhat  to 
the  same  purpose,  only  he  does  not 
say  it  was  the  state  of  the  primeval 
man.  Yet  the  traditions  of  the  hea- 
then nations  do  not  in  general  favor 
the  main  point  of  Sir  John's  hypo- 
thesis, that  men  came  out  of  barbar- 
ism by  their  own  spontaneous  devel- 
opment, natural  progressiveness,  or 
indigenous  and  unaided  efforts.  They 
rise,  according  to  these  traditions,  to 
the  civilized  state  only  by  the  assis- 
tance of  the  gods,  or  by  the  aid  of 
missionaries  or  colonies  from  nations 
already  civilized.  The  goddess  Ceres 
teaches  them  to  plant  corn  and  make 
bread ;  Bacchus  teaches  them  to  plant 
the  vine  and  to  make  wine ;  Prome- 
theus draws  fire  from  heaven  and 
teaches  them  its  use ;  other  divinities 
teach  to  keep  bees,  to  tame  and 
rear  flocks  and  herds,  and  the  several 
arts  of  peace  and  war.  Athens  at- 
tributed her  civilization  to  Minerva 
and  to  Cecrops  and  his  Egyptian  co- 
lony ;  Thebes,  hers  to  Orpheus  and 
Cadmus,  of  Phoenician  origin ;  Rome 
claimed  to  descend  from  a  Trojan 
colony,  and  borrowed  her  laws  from 
the  Athenians — her  literature,  philo- 
sophy, her  art  and  science,  from  the 


Greeks.     The  poets  paint  the  primi- 
tive age  as  the  age  of  gold,  and  the 
philosophers    always    speak   of   the 
race  as  deteriorating,  and   find   the 
past  superior  to  the  present.    What  is 
best  and  truest  in  Plato  he  ascribes 
to  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients,  and 
even  Homer  speaks  of  the  degene- 
racy of  men  in  his  days  from  what 
they  were  at  the  siege  of  Troy.     We 
think  the  author  will  search  in  vain 
through  all  antiquity  to  find  a  tradi- 
tion or  a  hint  which  assigns  the  civi- 
lization of  any  people  to  its  own  in- 
digenous and  unassisted  efforts.     »" 
Sir  John    Lubbock    describes  the 
savages  as  incurious  and  little  given 
to  reflection.      He  says  they  never 
look  beyond  the  phenomenon  to  its 
cause.     They  see  the  world  in  which 
they  are  placed,  and  never  think  of 
looking  further,  and  asking  who  made 
it,  or  whence  they  themselves  came 
or  whither  they  go.     They  lack  not 
only  curiosity,  but  the  power  of  ab- 
straction and  generalization,  and  even 
thought  is  a  burden  to  them.     This 
is  no  doubt  in  the  main  true ;  but  it 
makes  against  their  natural  progress- 
iveness, and  explains  why  they  are 
not,  as  we  know  they  are  not,  pro- 
gressive, but  remain  always  stationa- 
ry, if  left  to  themselves.     The  chief 
characteristic  of  the  savage  state  is 
in  fact  its  immobility.     The  savage 
gyrates  from  age  to  age  in  the  same 
narrow  circle — never  of  himself  ad- 
vances beyond  it.     Whether  a   tribe 
sunk  in  what  Sir  John  calls  "  utter 
barbarism,"  and  which  he  holds  was 
the  original  state  of  the  human  race, 
has  ever  been  or  ever  can  be  elevat- 
ed to  a  civilized  state  by  any  human 
efforts,  even  of  others  already  civiliz- 
ed, is,  perhaps,  problematical.      As 
far  as  experience  goes,  the  tendency 
of  such  a  tribe,  brought  in  contact 
with  a  civilized  race,  is  to  retire  the 
deeper  into  the  forest,  to  waste  away, 
and  finally  to  become  extinct.     Cer- 


5O2 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


tain  it  is,  no  instance  of  its  becoming 
a  civilized  people  can  be  named. 

In  every  known  instance  in  which 
a  savage  or  barbarous  people  has  be- 
come civilized,  it  has  been  by  the  aid 
or  influence  of  religion,  or  their  rela- 
tions with  a  people  already  civilized. 
The  barbarians  that  overthrew  the 
Roman  Empire  of  the  West,  and 
seated  themselves  on  its  ruins,  were 
more  than  half  Romanized  before 
the  conquest  by  their  relations  with 
the  Romans  and  service  in  the  ar- 
mies of  the  empire,  and  they  rather 
continued  the  Roman  order  of  civi- 
lization in  the  several  kingdoms  and 
states  they  founded  than  destroyed 
it.  The  Roman  system  of  education, 
and  even  the  imperial  schools,  if  few- 
er in  number  and  on  a  reduced  scale, 
were  continued  all  through  the  bar- 
barous ages  down  to  the  founding  of 
the  universities  of  mediaeval  Europe. 
Their  civilization  was  carried  forward, 
far  in  advance  of  that  of  Greece  or 
Rome,  by  the  church,  the  great  civi- 
lizer  of  the  nations.  The  northern  bar- 
barians that  remained  at  home,  the  Ger- 
mans, the  Scandinavians,  the  Sclaves, 
were  civilized  by  the  labors  of  Chris- 
tian monks  and  missionaries  from 
Rome  and  Constantinople,  from  Gaul, 
England,  and  Ireland.  In  no  in- 
stance has  their  civilization  been  of 
indigenous  origin  and  development. 

Sir  John  Lubbock  replies  to  this 
as  he  does  to  Archbishop  Whately's 
assertion  that  no  instance  is  on  re- 
cord of  a  savage  people  having  risen 
to  a  civilized  state  by  its  own  indi- 
genous and  unassisted  efforts,  that  it 
is  no  objection,  because  we  should 
not  expect  to  find  any  record  of  any 
such  an  event,  since  it  took  place,  if 
-at  all,  before  the  invention  of  letters, 
and  in  "  prehistoric  times."  We  grant 
that  the  fact  that  there  is  no  written 
record  of  it  is  not  conclusive  proof 
that  no  instance  of  the  kind  ever  oc- 
curred ;  but  if  so  important  an  event 


ever  occurred,  we  should  expect  some 
trace  of  it  in  the  traditions  of  civiliz- 
ed nations,  or  at  least  find  some  ten- 
dencies to  it  in  the  outlying  savage 
nations  of  the  present,  from  which 
it  might  be  inferred  as  a  thing  not 
improbable  in  itself.  But  nothing  of 
the  sort  is  found.  The  author's  ap- 
peal to  our  ignorance,  and  our  igno- 
rance, cannot  serve  his  purpose.  He 
arraigns  the  universal  faith  of  Chris- 
tendom, and  he  must  make  out  his 
case  by  positive,  not  simply  negative 
proofs.  Till  his  hypothesis  is  proved 
by  positive  evidence,  the  faith  of 
Christendom  remains  firm,  and  noth- 
ing can  be  concluded  against  it. 

But  how  really  stands  the  ques- 
tion ?  Sir  John  finds  in  the  various 
outlying  savage  tribes  numerous  facts 
which  he  takes  to  be  the  original 
germs  of  civilization,  and  hence  he 
concludes  that  the  primitive  condi- 
tion of  the  human  race  was  that  of 
"  utter  barbarism,"  and  the  nations, 
or,  as  he  says,  the  races,  that  have 
become  civilized,  "  have  become  so 
by  their  indigenous  and  unaided  ef- 
forts, by  their  own  inherent  energy 
and  power  of  self-development  or 
progress."  But  the  facts  he  alleges 
may  just  as  well  be  reminiscences 
of  a  past  civilization  as  anticipa- 
tions of  a  civilization  not  yet  de- 
veloped; and  in  our  judgment — and 
it  is  not  to-day  that  for  the  first  we 
have  studied  the  question — they  are 
much  better  explained  as  reminis- 
cences than  as  anticipations,  nay,  are 
not  explicable  in  any  other  way. 
The  facts  appealed  to,  then,  can  at 
best  count  for  nothing  in  favor  of 
the  hypothesis  of  natural  progress 
or  development.  They  do  not  prove 
it  or  render  it  probable. 

He  is  able,  and  he  confesses  it,  to 
produce  no  instance  of  the  natural 
and  unassisted  progress  of  any  race 
of  men  from  barbarism  to  civiliza- 
tion, and  even  his  own  facts  show 


Origin  of  Civilisation. 


503 


that  barbarous  or  savage  tribes 
are  not  naturally  progressive,  but 
stationary,  struck  with  immobility. 
Where,  then,  are  the  proofs  of  his  hy- 
pothesis ?  He  has  yet  produced 
none.  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
have  shown  him  that,  in  all  known 
instances,  the  passage  from  barbar- 
ism into  civilization  has  been  ef- 
fected only  by  supeniatural  aid,  or 
by  the  influence  of  a  previously  civi- 
lized race  or  people.  We  have  shown 
him  also  that  the  Gentile  apostasy, 
which  the  Bible  records  and  our  re- 
ligion asserts,  sufficiently  explains  the 
origin  of  barbarism.  We  have  also 
shown  him  nations  once  civilized  fall- 
ing into  barbarism,  and,  in  addition, 
have  shown  him  the  tendency  of  an 
apostate  people  to  lapse  into  barbar- 
ism existing  and  operating  before  our 
very  eyes,  in  men  whose  ancestors 
were  once  civilized  and  even  Chris- 
tians. The  chief  elements  of  barbar- 
ism he  describes  exist  and  are  encour- 
aged and  defended  in  our  midst  by 
men  who  are  counted  by  themselves 
and  their  contemporaries  as  the  great 
men,  the  great  lights,  the  advanced 
party  of  this  advanced  age.  Let  the 
apostasy  become  more  general,  take 
away  the  church  or  deprive  her  of 
her  influence,  and  eliminate  from  the 
laws,  manners,  and  customs  of  mod- 
ern states  what  they  retain  of  Chris- 
tian doctrine  and  morality,  and  it  is 
plain  to  see  that  nations  the  loudest 
in  their  boast  of  their  civilization 
would,  if  not  supernaturally  arrested 
in  a  very  short  space  of  time,  sink  to 
the  level  of  any  of  the  ancient  or 
modern  outlying  savage  tribes. 

Such  is  the  case,  and  so  stands  the 
argument.  Sir  John  Lubbock  brings 
forward  a  hypothesis,  not  original 
with  him  indeed,  and  the  full  bearing 
of  which  we  would  fain  believe  he 
does  not  see,  for  which  he  adduces 
and  can  adduce  not  a  single  well-au- 
thenticated fact,  and  which  would 


not  be  favored  for  a  moment  by  any 
one  who  understands  it,  were  it  not 
for  its  contradiction  of  the  Biblical 
doctrine  and  Christian  tradition.  But 
while  there  is  absolutely  no  proof  of 
the  hypothesis,  all  the  known  facts 
of  history  or  of  human  nature,  as  well 
as  all  the  principles  of  religion  and 
philosophy,  with  one  voice  pro- 
nounce against  it  as  untenable.  Is 
not  this  enough  ?  Nothing  is  more 
certain  than  Christian  faith ;  no  fact 
is  or  can  be  better  authenticated  than 
the  fact  of  revelation ;  we  might 
then  allege  that  the  hypothesis  is  dis- 
proved, nay,  not  to  be  entertained, 
because  it  is  contrary,  to  the  Chris- 
tian revelation,  than  which  nothing 
can  be  more  certain.  We  should 
have  been  perfectly  justified  in  doing 
so,  and  so  we  should  have  done ;  but 
as  the  author  appeals  to  science  and 
progress  to  support  himself'  on  facts, 
we  have  thought  it  best,  without  pre- 
judice to  the  authority  of  faith,  to 
meet  him  on  -his  own  ground,  to 
show  him  that  science  does  not  en- 
tertain his  appeal,  and  that  his 
theory  of  progress  is  but  a  baseless 
hypothesis,  contradicted  by  all  the 
known  facts  in  the  case  and  support- 
ed by  none ;  and  therefore  no  science 
at  all. 

Sir  John's  theory  of  progress  is  just 
now  popular,  and  is  put  forth  with 
great  confidence  in  the  respectable 
name  of  science,  and  the  modern 
world,  with  sciolists,  accept  it,  with 
great  pomp  and  parade.  Yet  it  is 
manifestly  absurd.  Nothing  cannot 
make  itself  something,  nor  can  any- 
thing make  itself  more  than  it  is. 
The  imperfect  cannot  of  itself  perfect 
itself,  and  no  man  can  lift  himself  by  his 
own  waistbands.  Even  Archimedes 
required  somewhere  to  stand  outside 
of  the  world  in  order  to  be  able  to 
raise  the  world  with  his  lever.  Yet 
we  deny  not  progress ;  we  believe  in 
it,  and  hold  that  man  is  progressive 


504 


Pau. 


even  to  the  infinite;  but  not  by 
his  own  unaided  effort  or  by  his 
own  inherent  energy  and  natural 
strength,  nor  without  the  supernatu- 
nal  aid  of  divine  grace.  But  progress 
by  nature  alone,  or  self-evolution, 
though  we  tried  to  believe  it  when 
a  child,  we  put  away  when  we  be- 
came a  man,  as  we  did  other  child- 
ish things. 

Thus  much  we  have  thought  it  our 
duty  to  say  in  reply  to  the  theory 
that  makes  the  human  race  begin 
in  utter  barbarism,  and  civilization 


spring  from  natural  development  or 
evolution,  so  popular  with  our  un- 
christian scientists  or — but  for  respect 
to  the  public  we  would  say — scio- 
lists. We  have  in  our  reply  repeated 
may  things  which  we  have  said  be- 
fore in  this  magazine,  and  which 
have  been  said  by  others,  and  better 
said.  But  it  will  not  do  to  let  such 
a  book  as  the  one  before  us  go  unan- 
swered in  the  present  state  of  the 
public  mind,  debauched  as  it  is  by 
false  science.  If  books  will  repeat  the 
error,  we  can  only  repeat  our  answer. 


PAU. 


AMERICAN  tourists  make  a  great 
mistake  in  not  generally  including 
the  Pyrenees  in  their  route  of  Euro- 
pean travel.  Unless  ordered  there  by 
a  physician  to  repair  a  wasted  or  bro- 
ken-down constitution,  they  scarce- 
ly think  of  visiting  the  most  beauti- 
ful country  perhaps  in  the  world. 
Paris  is  France,  and,  as  the  route  from 
Paris  to  Spain  lies  direct,  they  pass 
through  the  Pyrenees,  admire  them 
casually,  but  rarely  pause  to  examine 
their  beauties  and  the  curiosities  of 
the  quaint  old  towns  embedded  in 
their  hills.  Since  chances  of  this 
nature  alone  led  me  to  discover  what 
since  has  remained  in  my  memory  an 
exquisite  picture  to  be  revivified  at 
any  moment,  I  cannot  blame  others 
for  following  the  usual  guide-book 
routes  of  Europe,  and  spending  their 
money  freely  on  places  far  less  worthy 
their  attention.  After  a  severe  ty- 
phoid fever  of  ten  weeks  in  Paris, 
and  still  so  feeble  that  I  had  to  be 
almost  carried  to  the  depot,  I  set  out 
On  the  sth  of  January,  1869,  accom- 


panied by  my  nurse,  to  make  the 
journey  to  the  Pyrenees,  if  possible, 
in  a  day  and  a  half.  We  left  Paris 
at  10.45  A.M.,  by  the  Chemin  de 
Fer  d'Orleans.  Resting  for  a  few 
minutes  at  the  historical  old  towns 
of  Orleans,  Tours,  Poitiers,  Angou- 
leme,  and  Livourne,  we  arrived  at 
Bordeaux  at  eleven  P.M.,  where  we 
remained  for  the  night.  The  next 
morning  at  eight  we  pursued  our 
journey,  passing  Dax,  so  celebrated 
for  its  warm  mud-baths,  said  to  be  a 
remedy  for  rheumatic  complaints,  and 
a  little  after  one  P.M.  I  found  my 
friends  awaiting  me  at  Pau.  Enter- 
ing one  of  the  queer  little  half-omni- 
buses that  hold  six  people  and  their 
luggage,  I  was  carried  through  the 
oddest  of  small  white  streets  to  my 
lodging  in  the  Juranc.on,  near  the  villa 
of  my  friend. 

Never  shall  I  forget  my  impres- 
sions while  entering  the  room  pre- 
pared for  me,  and  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  the  dear  girl  who  with  her  mother 
and  sister  had  done  everything  for 


Pau. 


505 


my  comfort.  It  was  the  Epiphany, 
the  day  of  light ;  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  soft  sunlight  that  shone  in  that 
pretty  room  and  rested  on  the  fragrant 
flowers  was  to  me  the  foreshadowing 
of  a  renewed  life  and  happy  future. 
The  air  was  balmy  as  a  June  day, 
and  from  my  window  rose  the  glo- 
rious Pyrenees.  Covered  with  their 
everlasting  mantles  of  snow,  they 
rose  proudly  to  heaven,  as  if  they 
defied  the  clouds  above  them.  A 
second  lower  range,  with  its  varied 
shades  of  green  and  the  tropical 
luxuriance  at  its  base,  completed  the 
picture.  Exhausted  with  my  journey, 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  joy  at  all 
my  sweet  surroundings,  I  could  have 
begged  my  God  there  and  then  to  let 
me  sleep  for  ever. 

Day  after  day  I  walked  my  few 
steps  in  my  balcony  and  took  in  this 
lovely  picture.  As  yet  I  had  not 
seen  the  town ;  my  strength  was  in- 
sufficient, and  I  simply  rested  and 
recuperated.  The  climate  seemed  to 
me  a  strange  one  for  invalids — a 
queer  mixture,  as  I  thought  it,  of 
flannels  and  sun-umbrellas.  The 
mornings  and  evenings  were  cold  and 
chilly  with  the  air  that  blew  down 
from  the  mountains,  and  the  middle 
of  the  day,  from  eleven  until  three 
o'clock,  so  intensely  hot  that  it  was 
necessary  to  be  well  protected  against 
sun-stroke.  Still,  it  is  the  great  resort 
of  consumptives,  and  at  almost  every 
turn  one  encounters  the  muffled-up 
pale  countenance  of  the  poor  invalid. 
But  for  this  one  sad  feature,  the  ex- 
quisite scenery,  the  tropical  foliage, 
the  picturesque  villas,  and  the  town 
itself,  of  white  limestone,  rising  around 
its  great  chateau  to  the  very  heavens, 
with  the  merry  hum  of  voices,  that 
greets  you  on  every  side,  might  well 
make  you  imagine  you  had  at  last 
found  the  fairy  dreamland — a  country 
that  realized  the  fairy  ideal  of  child- 
hood. 


This,  too,  is  the  land  of  the  trou- 
badour, and  the  quaint  wild  music 
chanted  by  the  peasantry  has  a  some- 
thing about  it  irresistibly  attractive, 
something  one  hears  nowhere  else; 
now  dreamy,  now  bright,  almost 
monotonous  at  times,  then  suddenly 
bursting  into  strains  of  sadness  in 
which  the  whole  depths  of  a  life  are 
portrayed.  Then  there  is  the  ringing 
mountaineer  song,  too,  with  its  clear 
and  measured  cadence,  and  a  certain 
bravery  in  its  tones  which  could  easily 
foretell  the  difficult  mastering  of  such 
a  people,  should  it  ever  again  be  re- 
quired. 

The  mixture  of  Spanish  merchants 
and  wanderers  among  the  population 
gives  to  their  parks  and  squares  a 
pretty  effect.  They  cross  the  Pyre- 
nees with  their  showy  wares,  their 
strings  of  perfumed  beads,  bracelets, 
necklaces,  rosaries,  all  made  of  the 
wood  that  grows  at  the  foot  of  their 
mountains.  Dressed  in  their  own 
picturesque  costumes,  and  carrying 
their  merchandise  of  every  imagina- 
ble color — red  and  bright  yellow  pre- 
dominating— they  accost  you  with  a 
grace  which  renders  them  irresistible, 
and  you  find  yourself  rather  poorer 
for  the  encounter. 

I  improved  so  rapidly  in  this  cli- 
mate, getting  wholly  rid  of  my  cough 
and  gaining  twenty-five  pounds  in 
little  over  four  weeks,  that  I  conclud- 
ed I  was  well  enough  to  return  to 
Paris,  and  thence,  after  another  rest 
in  England,  home.  I  resolved,  there- 
fore, to  see  all  that  Pau  offered  to  the 
sight-seer. 

I  drove  with  my  kind  friends  seve- 
ral times  to  and  around  the  varied 
and  pretty  villas :  the  primroses  peep- 
ed at  us  from  under  the  hedges,  and 
here  and  there  the  rarest  tropical 
trees  and  plants  riveted  our  attention" 
— and  this  in  February,  when  the 
most  of  the  world  was  ice-bound. 
The  snow-capped  mountains,  how- 


5o6 


Pan. 


ever,  rising  around  us  on  every  side, 
would  not  permit  us  to  entirely  for- 
get winter.  The  town  itself,  of  twen- 
ty-one thousand  inhabitants,  is  almost 
a  miniature  Paris,  some  squares  du- 
plicating those  of  the  great  city,  and 
the  bridges  separating  Pau  and  the 
Jurangon,  though  crossing  a  much 
prettier  river  than  the  Seine,  height- 
ening the  resemblance. 

The  churches  are  costly  and  beau- 
tiful ;  one  built  by  the  Society  of  Je- 
sus, entirely  of  white  marble,  and 
lined  with  exquisite  pictures  and 
gifts  of  the  wealthy  strangers  who 
pass  the  season  at  the  different  ho- 
tels, is  a  perfect  gem  in  its  way. 

The  hotels,  the  Place  Royale  with 
its  music  every  Thursday — weather 
permitting,  as  say  our  friends  of  the 
Central  Park  —  where  crowds  walk 
up  and  down  and  listen  to  but  little, 
I  imagine,  are  all  attractions  for  the 
health  or  pleasure  seeker. 

Very  odd  old  houses  with  gabled 
roofs,  and  reminding  you  of  Dutch 
pictures,  start  out  occasionally  from 
among  the  more  modern  and  fash- 
ionable ones,  and  seem  to  tell  the 
story  of  change  and  decay. 

Not  un frequently  a  merry  peasant 
wedding  party,  in  a  whole  line  of 
carnages  trumpeting  vigorously  and 
raising  the  dust,  pass  you  with  shouts, 
and  compel  your  curiosity  to  recog- 
nize and  salute  the  bride.  It  is  said 
the  strangers  with  their  wealth  and 
fashionable  follies  are  gradually  ob- 
literating these  good  old  Bearnais 
customs,  through  the  spirit  of  emula- 
tion they  excite  in  a  hitherto  perfectly 
happy  peasantry.  Women,  however, 
still  walk  the  streets  with  their  distaffs, 
and  men  knit  as  they  guide  the 
plough.  Something  of  primeval  in- 
jiocence  still  remains.  Certainly  no 
country  was  ever  moie  paradisiacally 
formed  to  retain  it. 

My  time  was  limited,  however ;  I 
could  not  stay  and  study  these  peo- 


ple and  their  customs  as  I  would 
have  wished.  I  could  not  visit  the 
great  summer  resort,  the  famed  Eaux 
Bonnes,  so  beautifully  nestled,  they 
told  me,  among  the  higher  Pyrenees, 
but  must  exert  all  the  strength  I  had 
to  see  before  I  left  the  great  monu- 
ment of  Pau,  the  grand  old 

CHATEAU     OF     HENRY    IV. 

The  street  ascends  to  it,  and  through 
an  arcade  by  stone  steps  to  its  park, 
which  is  now  the  everyday  public 
resort.  The  park  extends  all  around 
the  chateau,  and,  crossing  a  pretty 
bridge  erected  over  the  Rue  Marca, 
it  continues  for  some  miles  in  an  or- 
namented walk  containing  two  prin- 
cipal avenues;  one  so  shaded  that 
it  is  cool  all  summer,  and  the  other 
sunny  enough  at  any  time  to  wel- 
come and  warm  the  poor  invalid 
who  could  not  exist  without  his  daily 
walk. 

We  do  not  find  here  the  rich  and 
varied  architecture  so  attractive  in 
other  imperial  parks,  Versailles,  for 
instance ;  the  hand  of  man  is  dis- 
placed by  that  of  nature,  but  the 
woods  of  rare  trees  on  hills  that  give 
everywhere  the  exquisite  panorama 
of  the  encircling  Pyrenees  are  more 
than  compensatory  for  any  omissions 
of  art. 

The  gate  of  St.  Martin  greets  you 
as  you  enter.  Built  in  1586,  it  was 
formerly  the  main  entrance  to  the 
chateau  when  the  drawbridge  was 
used.  Now  it  leads  to  the  Hotel  de 
la  Monnaie,  a  dependence  inhabited 
by  the  subalterns  and  furnishers  of 
the  palace.  Here  the  money  of 
Beam  was  formerly  made.  Now  we 
approach  a  hemicycle  containing  two 
large  vases  in  Medici  form  of  Swed- 
ish porphyry,  and  given  to  the  cha- 
teau of  Pau  by  King  Bernadotte,  who 
was  born  here.  The  statue  of  Gas- 
ton  Phoebus  in  white  marble,  the 


Pan. 


507 


work  of  the  Baron  of  Triquety,  tow- 
ers between  them.  He  stands  the 
guard  perpetual  of  the  chateau. 

Much  of  the  land  belonging  to 
the  former  park  has  been  divided 
and  sold,  and  is  now  the  Place  Na- 
poleon. Vestiges,  however,  of  an- 
cient walls  are  still  allowed  to  exist, 
and  on  the  left  may  yet  be  seen  the 
remains  of  the  Hermitage  of  Notre 
Dame  des  Bris,  attributed  to  William 
Raymond,  ravaged  during  the  reli- 
gious wars,  and  entirely  destroyed  in 

J793- 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  the  north 
side  stood  also  the  Castet  Beziat  (in 
Bearnais  dialect,  dearest  castle].  And 
here  let  me  speak  of  this  odd  native 
patois.  It  is  a  mixture  of  French,. 
Spanish,  and  Italian,  and  is  under- 
stood only  by  strangers  who  know 
the  three  languages,  yet  it  is  eupho- 
nious and  occasionally  dignified. 
The  better  class  of  the  peasantry 
speak  both  it  and  a  pretty  French. 
They  prolong  the  syllables  more 
than  in  Paris,  which  adds  greatly  to 
the  sweetness  of  the  sound.  This 
Chateau  Chere  was  built  after  the 
model  of  the  Chateau  de  Madrid  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  by  Marguerite 
of  Valois: 

Jeanne  d'Albret  made  it  her  favor- 
ite residence,  and  here  occupied  her- 
self exclusively  with  the  education 
of  her  children,  Henry  IV.  and  Ca- 
therine, who,  after  the  death  of  her 
mother,  made  it  the  secret  residence 
of  the  Count  de  Soissons,  whom  she 
passionately  loved  but  could  not 
marry.  No  trace  of  this  Castet  Bezi- 
at exists  now.  But  let  us  enter  the 
great  chateau,  and  first  consider 
somewhat  its  origin.  Centule  le 
Bieux  was  its  founder  toward  the  end 
of  the  year  982,  and  his  successors 
continued  the  southern  portion,  but 
it  was  not  finished  until  the  time  of 
Gaston  Phoebus,  who  completed  also 
the  great  square  {pwer  that  bears  his 


name,  the  ramparts  and  parapets,  and 
the  mill-tower,  in  order  that  he  might 
make  it  his  residence.  This  mill-tower 
gave  entrance  to  the  Place  de  la  Basse 
Ville,  or  former  field  of  battle,  where 
hand  to  hand  the  armed  knights  de- 
cided their  judiciary  combats.  About 
1460,  Gaston  X.,  desirous  to  give  his 
Bearnais  people  a  truly  royal  residence, 
constructed  the  north  and  east  por- 
tions of  the  edifice,  laid  out  the  park, 
and  decided  that  the  states  of  Beam 
should  be  always  represented  in  the 
halls  of  the  castle. 

In  1527,  the  Margaret  of  Marga- 
rets, the  sister  so  dear  to  Francis  I., 
becoming  queen  of  Navarre  by  her 
marriage  with  Henry  II..,  made  it 
a  true  palace  of  the  Renaissance,  re- 
storing it  entirely  and  refurnishing 
it  from  top  to  bottom. 

Abandoned  later  by  Henry  IV., 
become  king  of  France,  and  despoil- 
ed of  everything  precious  it  possess- 
ed by  him  and  Louis  XIII.,  entirely 
neglected  by  their  successors,  it  fell 
into  the  hands  of  governors,  then 
was  seized  by  the  republicans,  who, 
not  contented  to  sell  at  the  lowest 
price  and  piece  by  piece  the  lands 
of  the  royal  domain,  converted  into 
a  tavern  and  stables  the  palace  that 
formerly  was  the  cradle  of  the  great 
king. 

Not  until  the  short  reign  of  Louis 
XVIII.  Avas  any  attempt  made  to  re- 
store the  castle  to  its  former  condi- 
tion, a  work  soon  neglected  and 
abandoned,  but  recommenced  in 
1838  by  Louis  Philippe,  who  ordered 
besides  the  complete  refurnishing  of 
the  apartments  pretty  much  as  they 
are  seen  to-day. 

Napoleon  III.,  however,  with  his 
taste  for  the  restoration  of  all  fallen 
grandeur  that  may  recall  royalty  or 
the  Empire,  has  done  all  in  his  power 
to  produce  an  almost  magic  transfor- 
mation, a  complete  resurrection  of  the 
old  chateau,  and  at  the  present  time 


Pan. 


the  work  continues  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  most  able  architects. 

The  beautiful  exterior  that  presents 
itself  so  commandingly,  the  harmo- 
ny that  prevails  in  every  part  of  the 
building  surrounding  the  Court  of 
Honor,  the  pretty  windows  opening 
on  the  chapel,  the  sculptures  every- 
where newly  restored,  the  incessant 
labor  on  the  southern  portion,  all  de- 
note the  desire  of  Napoleon  to  pre- 
serve and  embellish  one  of  the  most 
precious  monuments  of  history. 

The  letters  (^S(— ^j)  in  gold  are 
placed  in  different  parts  of  the  build- 
ing. To  Gaston  Phcebus  is  accord- 
ed the  honor  of  its  construction. 

You  enter  the  chateau  from  the 
town-side  by  a  bridge  of  stone  and 
brick,  built  by  Louis  XV.  to  replace 
the  drawbridge  that  formerly  occu- 
pied the  site  of  the  present  chapel. 

Pause  on  this  bridge,  and  look 
around  you.  On  either  side  is  a 
deep  ditch  which  once  defended  the 
entrance  of  the  chateau,  now  a  mag- 
nificent avenue  planted  with  trees 
and  covered  with  flower-beds.  At 
your  left  is  the  chapel,  whose  date  is 
1840.  The  doors  and  windows  are 
elaborately  sculptured.  In  front,  you 
will  notice  three  arcades  constructed 
in  the  style  of  the  Renaissance,  cov- 
ered with  a  terrace  and  carved  balus- 
trade, which  serves  for  the  principal 
entrance. 

On  your  left  and  under  the  portico 
is  the  porter's  lodge.  At  the  right  in 
the  new  building  are  the  bureaus  of 
administration  and  service;  on  the 
first  story,  the  apartments  of  the  mi- 
litary commander ;  on  the  second, 
those  of  the  register;  and  on  the 
third  and  last,  the  housekeeper's 
rooms  for  linen,  etc. 

The  Court  of  Honor  arrests  your 
attention  by  its  original  form,  its 
deeply  graven  sculptures  in  the  nich- 
es of  the  windows  and  doors  repre- 
senting the  different  Bearnais  sove- 


reigns, and  the  statue  of  Mars  that 
faces  the  principal  entrance.  If  these 
walls  could  speak,  they  would  tell 
how  often  the  Bearnais  people  have 
assembled  here  with  shouts  of  respect 
or  cries  of  vengeance,  according  as 
the  qualities  of  their  prince  called 
forth  the  one  or  the  other. 

The  towers  of  the  chateau  are  six 
in  number :  at  the  left  on  entering, 
the  Tower  Gaston  Phebus ;  at  the 
right,  the  new  Tower  and  Tower 
Montauzet;  at  the  lower  end,  the 
northwest,  the  Tower  Billeres;  and 
at  the  southwestern  end,  the  two 
Towers  Mazeres. 

The  tower  Gaston  Ph6bus,  or  don- 
jon, was  called  the  tile  tower,  because 
it  is  built  almost  entirely  of  brick. 
It  has  a  roof  of  slate  which  was  car- 
ried off  in  a  terrible  storm  in  1820. 

A  balcony  faces  the  church  of  St. 
Martin,  where  the  president  of  the 
states  of  Beam  took  his  place  to 
proclaim  the  name  of  each  newly 
elected  sovereign. 

Several  illustrious  personages  have 
inhabited  this  tower.  Among  others, 
Clement  Marot,  the  favorite  and  un- 
fortunate adorer  of  the  Queen  Mar- 
garet, and  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery, 
who  passed  the  summer  here  of  1637. 

Under  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  it 
was  converted  into  a  prison  of  state, 
and  so  continued  until  1822. 

Each  story  is  now  inhabited  and 
richly  furnished,  and  on  the  fifth  is  a 
terrace  that  commands  a  most  im- 
posing view  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try. 

The  tower  Montauzet,  in  the  Bear- 
nais dialect,  takes  its  name  from  the 
circumstance  that  only  birds  could 
reach  the  top ;  Montauzet  meaning 
Mount  Bird !  In  truth,  it  has  no 
staircase,  and  history  tells  us  that  in 
case  of  a  siege  the  garrison  ascended 
it  by  ladders,  which  they  drew  up 
after  them. 

It  had  its  dungeons,  terrible  wells 


Pan. 


509 


into  which  criminals  were  lowered. 
An  iron  statue  armed  with  steel 
poniards  received  them,  clasped 
them  in  its  arms,  and,  by  ingenious 
means  that  the  legend  does  not  ex- 
plain, murdered  them  in  unspeakable 
tortures.  Henri  d'Albret  closed  up 
the  entrance  to  these  dungeons,  and 
they  were  forgotten  until  the  reign  of 
Louis  XV.  He  caused  them  to  be 
opened,  and  discovered  skeletons  and 
iron  chains  fastened  to  the  walls. 

The  ground-floor  of  the  tower 
Montauzet  formerly  contained  a  fine 
fountain.  This  will  be  replaced.  The 
three  stories  above  are  occupied  ge- 
nerally by  the  domestics  of  the  great 
dignitaries  of  the  crown. 

The  other  towers  have  nothing  of 
interest.  They  are  named  from  the 
villages  they  face,  and  are  simply 
advanced  sentinels  to  defend  the  ap- 
proach of  an  enemy  from  the  Pyre- 
nees. 

As  soon  as  a  visitor  arrives  at  the 
chateau,  he  is  ushered  into  the  wait- 
ing-room called  Salle  des  Gardes,  be- 
cause during  the  presence  of  majesty 
the  valets  waited  here  under  the  su- 
pervision of  an  officer  of  the  house- 
hold. But  little  furniture  is  seen,  a 
few  old-fashioned  chairs  surmounted 
by  lions  and  the  arms  of  France  and 
Navarre. 

From  this  room  we  enter  the  din- 
ing-room of  the  officers  of  the  ser- 
vice. There  is  nothing  remarkable 
in  its  furniture,  a  long  and  very  wide 
table  occupying  the  centre,  and  com- 
fortable chairs  placed  against  the 
wall.  Two  statues,  the  one  of  Hen- 
ry IV.,  the  other  of  Tully,  stand  on 
either  side  of  the  door,  and  are  sin- 
gularly imposing. 

We  pass  on  to  the  dining-room  of 
their  majesties.  This  is  far  more  ele- 
gant. Flemish  tapestry  adorns  the 
walls,  which  was  brought  here  from 
the  Chateau  de  Madrid  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne.  It  represents  the  chase 


in  the  different  months  of  June,  Sep- 
tember, November,  and  December. 
A  clock  of  the  time  and  style  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  a  statue  of  Henry 
IV.  in  white  marble,  by  Francheville, 
which  is  said  to  be  older,  and  to  re- 
present the  king  more  correctly  than 
any  other,  are  the  princips.1  orna- 
ments. 

The  Staircase  of  Honor  leads  us 
to  the  first  story.  It  is  richly  sculp- 
tured with  astonishing  beauty  and 
skill.  Doors  lead  from  it  to  the 
kitchens  below,  and  to  the  different 
towers. 

We  ascend  and  gain  the  waiting- 
room.  During  the  presence  of  their 
majesties,  the  door-keepers  remain 
here.  When  the  emperor  is  alone, 
he  chooses  this  for  his  slight  repasts. 

The  most  beautiful  tapestry  covers 
the  walls.  The  subjects  are  of  all 
kinds,  mostly  rural  scenes,  in  which 
children  or  fairies  predominate.  The 
furniture  is  of  oak,  and  covered  with 
leather. 

The  reception-room,  the  largest 
and  most  elegant  in  the  chateau, 
awaits  us  next.  Here,  by  order  and 
under  the  eyes  of  the  cruel  Mont- 
gomery, general  of  Jeanne  d'Albret, 
ten  Catholic  noblemen  were  treache- 
rously murdered.  The  sun  shone  in 
on  us  through  the  large  bay-win- 
dows, and  gilded  the  richly  orna- 
mented stone  chimney,  and  threw 
the  reflection  of  the  mountain-tops 
across  the  floor.  We  stood,  perhaps, 
on  the  very  spot  where  these  brave 
souls  had  met  their  death  so  many 
years  before,  though  no  trace  re- 
mained of  the  horrors  of  that  day. 
The  guide  told  the  story,  and  most 
of  our  party  passed  on  to  admire  the 
tapestry  and  the  costly  vases  that 
lend  enchantment  to  what  should  be 
a  chamber  of  mourning.  With  al\ 
its  beauty,  I  was  glad  to  escape  to 
the  family  apartment. 

Here,  it  is  said,  Queen  Margaret 


Pan. 


presided.  Her  picture,  and  those  of 
Francis  I.,  Henri  d'Albret,  and 
Henry  IV.,  formerly  graced  the  walls, 
but  the  hand  of  vandalism,  in  1793, 
spared  not  even  them.  They  were 
burned  with  all  the  other  pictures  of 
the  chateau.  A  bronze  statue  of 
Henry  IV.,  when  a  child,  which 
graces  a  pretty  bracket,  and  a  table, 
the  gift  of  Bernadotte,  ornament  the 
room. 

The  sleeping  apartments  of  the 
emperor  and  empress  follow,  fur- 
nished tastefully  with  Sevres  china 
ornaments,  on  which  are  representa- 
tions of  Henry  IV.,  Tully,  and  the 
Chateau  de  Pau,  beautifully  exe- 
cuted. The  walls  are  hung  with 
Flemish  tapestry;  but  in  the  bou- 
doir of  the  empress  are  to  be  seen 
six  pieces  of  Gobelin  tapestry,  so 
finished  that  it  was  some  time  before 
it  could  be  decided  they  were  not 
oil-paintings.  The  subjects  are : 
"  Tully  at  the  feet  of  Henry  IV. ;" 
"  Henry  IV.  at  the  Miller  Mi- 
chaud's;"  "The  Parting  of  Henry 
IV.  with  Gabrielle;"  "The  Faint- 
ing of  Gabrielle ;"  "  Henry  IV.  meet- 
ing Tully  Wounded;"  "Henry  IV. 
before  Paris." 

An  odd  Jerusalem  chest,  also  in 
this  room,  is  the  admiration  of 
strangers.  It  is  made  of  walnut, 
inlaid  with  ivory,  and  was  brought 
from  Jerusalem,  and  purchased  at 
Malta  in  1838. 

A  bath-room  of  red  marble  of  the 
Pyrenees  is  attached  to  these  apart- 
ments, from  which  we  ascend  to  the 
second  story. 

Here  are  large  rooms  much  in  the 
same  style'as  the  others,  yet  not  quite 
so  elaborate.  In  1848,  Abd-el-Kadir 
and  his  numerous  family  occupied 
this  suite.  An  interesting  model  of 
the  old  chateau  is  here  shown,  exe- 
cuted by  a  poor  man  named  Saget, 
who  presented  it  to  the  Orleans 
family  at  a  very  low  price,  hoping, 


no  doubt,  another  recompense,  which 
he  never  received. 

A  room  whose  tapestry  is  devoted 
to  Psyche  leads  us  to  a  chamber 
which  formed  part  of  the  apartment 
of  Jeanne  d'Albret,  where  it  is  said 
Henry  IV.  was  born,  and  where  his 
cradle  is  still  preserved.  The  bed 
that  Jeanne  d'Albret  occupied  ordi- 
narily is  in  the  room  adjoining,  and 
a  quainter  piece  of  architecture  can- 
not be  imagined.  It  is  of  oak,  richly 
carved,  covered  and  mounted  by  a 
sleeping  warrior  and  an  owl,  em- 
blems of  sleep  and  night.  In  the 
inner  portion,  towards  the  Avail,  is 
the  Virgin,  on  one  side,  holding  the 
infant  Jesus,  and  an  Evangelist  on 
the  other.  Very  rich  cornices,  with 
lion  heads  projecting  and  the  frame- 
work of  the  arms  of  Beam,  complete 
the  description.  How,  without  steps, 
they  ever  got  into  those  beds  is  a 
mystery ;  the  upper  berth  of  a  steamer 
is  easy  of  access  in  comparison,  but 
there  we  have  always  steps  or  under- 
berths  that  serve  the  same  purpose. 

The  cradle  of  Henry  IV.  is  a  single 
tortoise-shell  in  its  natural  state.  It 
must  have  been  a  good-sized  tortoise 
that  gave  its  back  to  the  honor,  but 
he  must  have  been  a  very  little  baby 
to  have  slept  in  such  a  couch.  The 
cradle  hangs  very  gracefully,  sup- 
ported by  six  cords  and  flags  em- 
broidered in  gold,  with  the  arms  of 
France  and  Navarre.  Above  is  a 
crown  of  laurel,'  surmounted  by  a 
white  plume  of  ostrich  feathers,  and 
underneath  all  a  table  covered  with 
a  blue  velvet  cloth. 

The  chapel  and  library  are  the 
only  remaining  objects  of  interest. 
The  volumes  of  the  library  were  pre- 
sented by  the  emperor  a  short  time 
ago,  and  they  are  well  selected. 

There  were  formerly  two  chapels, 
but  the  older  one  has  been  done  away 
with.  The  present  one  was  built  in 
1849,  on  the  site  of  the  old  gate  of 


St.  Mary  Magdalen. 


the  draw-bridge.  The  gate  is  still 
preserved,  and  on  it  a  marble  slab 
that  formerly  bore  this  inscription : 

HENRICUS   DEI    GRATIA 
CHRISTIANISSIMUS    REX    FRANCLE 

NAVARRVE  TERTIUS 

DOMINUS    SUPREMUS    BEARNI 

1592. 

The  interior  of  the  chapel  has 
lately  been  restored  and  repainted. 
It  is  not  remarkable  for  anything, 


however.  The  altar-piece  is  tawdry, 
and  not  in  the  usual  good  taste  of 
the  chateau. 

We  left  this  again  for  the  beautiful 
park,  roamed  through  it  once  more, 
and  I  took  my  last  look  at  the  im- 
posing structure  I  had  studied  with 
so  much  interest. 

I  would  advise  all  who  visit  Europe 
to  see  Pau  and  the  Pyrenees.  Those 
who  do  so  will  certainly  say  with  me 
that,  had  they  crossed  the  ocean  for 
nothing  else,  they  would  have  been 
more  than  compensated. 


ST.    MARY   MAGDALEN. 

THE  winds  of  autumn  whisper  back  soft  sighing 

To  the  low  breathing  of  the  Magdalen; 
She  on  her  couch  of  withered  leaves  is  lying — 

Dreams  she  of  days  that  come  not  back  again  ? 
No — past  and  present  both  within  her  dying, 

Her  earnest  eyes  upon  the  page  remain ; 
While  the  long  golden  hair,  behind  her  flying, 

No  more  is  bound  with  ornament  and  chain. 
The  storm  may  gather,  but  she  doth  not  heed ; 

Nature's  wild  music  enters  not  her  ears ; 
Her  soul,  that  for  her  Saviour's  woes  doth  bleed, 

One  only  voice  for  ever  sounding  hears  : 
"  Follow  his  footsteps  who  thy  sins  hath  borne, 
And  who  for  thee  the  thorny  crown  hath  worn." 


512 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


MEMOIR  OF  FATHER  JOHN  DE  BR&BEUF,  S.J.* 


AMONG  the  foremost  and  most  dis- 
tinguished of  the  Catholic  mission- 
aries of  America  stands  the  name  of 
Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  the  founder 
of  the  Huron  Mission.  Normandy 
has  the  honor  of  giving  him  birth, 
and  Canada  was  the  field  of  his 
splendid  and  heroic  labors;  yet  the 
mission  of  which  he  was  the  great 
promoter  was  the  prelude  to,  and 
was  intimately  connected  with,  sub- 
sequent missions  in  our  own  country ; 
and  at  the  time  of  his  glorious  death, 
his  heaven-directed  gaze  was  eagerly 
and  zealously  turned  towards  the 
country  of  our  own  fierce  Iroquois, 
the  inhabitants  of  Northern  New 
York,  amongst  whom  he  ardently 
longed  to  plant  the  cross  of  the 
Christian  missions.  His  labors  and 
those  of  his  companions  opened  the 
northwestern  portions  of  our  country, 
and  the  great  Valley  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, to  Christianity  and  civilization, 
and  the  discoveries  and  explorations 
which  followed  were  partly  the  fruits 
of  his  and  their  exalted  ministry  and 
enlightened  enterprise ;  for,  as  Ban- 
croft says,  "the  history  of  their 
labors  is  connected  with  the  origin 
of  every  celebrated  town  in  the 
annals  of  French  America;  not  a 
cape  was  turned,  not  a  river  entered, 
but  a  Jesuit  led  the  way."  His  fame 
and  achievements  belong  to  all 
America,  indeed,  more  truly,  to  all 
Christendom.  Saint,  hero,  and  mar- 
tyr as  he  was,  his  merits  are  a  part 


*  Authorities :  The  Jesuit  Relations;  History 
of  the  Catholic  Missions,  by  John  G.  Shea; 
Tke  Pioneers  of  France  in  the  New  World,  and 
The  Jesuits  in  North  America,  by  Francis 
Parkman  ;  Bancroft's  History  of  the  United 
States,  etc.,  etc. 


of  the  heritage  of  the  universal 
church;  and  while  his  relics  are 
venerated  on  earth,  and  even  the 
enemies  of  our  religion  accord  to  him 
the  most  exalted  praise,  Catholics 
may,  with  the  eye  of  faith,  behold 
him  in  that  glorious  and  noble  band 
of  martyrs  in  heaven,  decked  in  re- 
splendent garments  of  red,  dyed  in 
their  own  blood,  passing  and  repass- 
ing  eternally,  in  adoration  and  thanks- 
giving, before  the  throne  of  him  who 
was  the  Prince  of  Martyrs. 

"  It  hath  not  perished  from  the  earth,  that  spirit 
brave  and  high, 

That  nerved  Ihe  martyr  saints  of  old  with 
dauntless  love  to  die. 

In  the  far  West,  where,  in  his  pride,  the  stoic 
Indian  dies ; 

Where  Afric's  dark-skinned  children  dwell, 
'neath  burning  tropic  skies ; 

'Mid  Northern  snows,  and  wheresoe'er  yet 
Christian  feet  have  trod, 

Brave  men  have  suffered  unto  death,  as  wit- 
nesses for  God." 

While  historians  outside  of  the 
Catholic  Church  have  marvelled  at 
such  extraordinary  virtues  and  un- 
paralleled achievements  as  have  been 
displayed,  not  alone  by  a  Xavier,  but 
by  the  missionaries  of  our  own  land, 
and  have  extolled  them  as  an  honor 
to  human  nature,  Catholics  may  be 
excused  for  regarding  them  as  mira- 
cles of  the  faith,  triumphs  of  the 
church,  and  martyrs  of  religion.  It 
seems  strange  that  the  general  his- 
torians of  the  church  have  bestowed 
so  little  notice  upon  the  planting  and 
propagation  of  the  faith  in  America. 
The  history  of  these  events  presents 
to  our  admiration  characters  the 
most  noble,  deeds  the  most  heroic, 
virtues  the  most  saintly,  lives  the 
most  admirable,  and  deaths  the  most 
glorious.  While  the  church  of 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


513 


America,  in  our  day,  counts  her 
children  by  millions,  what  more  in- 
spiring lesson  could  she  place  before 
their  eyes  than  the  history  of  her 
early  days,  when  her  priests  and 
missionaries  were  confessors  and 
martyrs  ?  Of  these  was  the  subject 
of  the  present  memoir. 

John  de  Brebeuf  was  born  in  the 
diocese  of  Bayeux,  in  Normandy, 
March  25,  1593,  of  a  noble  family, 
said  to  be  the  same  that  gave  origin 
to  the  illustrious  and  truly  Catholic 
house  of  the  English  Arundels.  He 
resolved  to  dedicate  himself  to  the 
service  of  God  in  the  holy  ministry, 
and,  with  this  view,  entered  the  no- 
vitiate of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  at 
Rouen,  October  5,  1617.  Having 
completed  his  noviceship,  he  entered 
upon  his  theological  studies.  He  re- 
ceived subdeacon's  orders  at  Lisseux, 
and  those  of  deacon  at  Bayeux,  in 
September,  1621;  was  ordained  a 
priest. during  the  Lent  of  1622,  and 
offered  up  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the 
Mass  for  the  first  time  on  Lady-day 
of  the  same  year.  He  was,  though 
of  the  youngest,  one  of  the  most 
zealous  and  devoted  priests  of  his 
order,  and,  from  the  time  that  he 
consecrated  himself  to  religion,  was 
given  to  daily  austerities  and  rigorous 
self-mortifications. 

Catching  the  spirit  of  his  divine 
Master,  Father  Brebeuf  conceived  an 
ardent  thirst  for  the  salvation  of  souls, 
and  the  foreign  missions  became  the 
object  of  his  most  fervent  desire. 
This  chosen  field  was  soon  opened 
to  his  intrepid  and  heroic  labors. 
When  Father  Le  Caron,  the  Re- 
collect missionary  in  Canada,  asked 
for  the  assistance  of  the  Jesuits 
in  his  arduous  undertaking  of  con- 
quering to  Christ  the  savage  tribes 
of  North  America,  Fathers  John  de 
Brebeuf,  Charles  Lallemant,  and  Ev- 
remond  Masse,  themselves  all  eager 
for  the  task,  were  selected  by  their 
VOL.  xni.— 33 


superiors  for  the  mission.  These 
apostolic  men  sailed  from  Dieppe, 
April  26,  1625,  and  reached  Quebec 
after  a  prosperous  voyage.  The  re- 
ception they  at  first  met  was  enough 
to  have  appalled  any  hearts  less  reso- 
lute and  inspired  from  above  than 
were  the  hearts  of  Father  Brebeuf 
and  his  companions.  The  Recol- 
lects, a  branch  of  the  Franciscan 
Order,  who,  through  Father  Le 
Caron,  had  invited  them  over,  had 
received  at  their  convent  on  the 
river  St.  Charles  no  tidings  of  their 
arrival;  Champlain,  ever  friendly  to 
the  missionaries  of  the  faith,  was 
absent;  Caen,  the  Calvinist,  then  at 
the  head  of  the  fur-trading  mono- 
poly of  New  France,  refused  them 
shelter  in  the  fort ;  and  the  private 
traders  at  Quebec  closed  their  doors 
against  them.  To  perish  in  the  wil- 
derness, or  to  return  to  France  from 
the  inhospitable  shores  of  the  New 
World,  was  the  only  alternative 
before  them.  At  this  juncture  the 
good  Recollects,  hearing  of  their  ar- 
rival and  destitution,  hastened  from 
their  convent  in  their  boat,  and  re- 
ceived the  outcast  sons  of  Loyola 
with  every  demonstration  of  joy  and 
hospitality,  and  carried  them  to  the 
convent.  It  is  unaccountable  how 
Parkman,  in  his  Pioneers  of  France  in 
tJie  New  World,  in  the  face  of  these 
facts,  related  by  himself  in  common 
with  historians  generally,  should 
charge  against  the  Recollects  that 
they  "  entertained  a  lurking  jealousy 
of  these  formidable  fellow-laborers," 
as  he  calls  the  Jesuits ;  who,  on  the 
contrary,  were  the  chosen  companions 
of  the  Recollects,  were  invited  to 
share  their  labors,  and  with  whom 
they  prosecuted  with  "  one  heart  and 
one  mind  "  the  glorious  work  of  the 
missions.  The  sons  of  St.  Francis 
and  St.  Ignatius  united  at  once  in 
administering  to  the  spiritual  necessi- 
ties of  the  French  at  Quebec,  and 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.y. 


the  lattei,  t>y  their  heroic  labors  and 
sacrifices,  soon  overcame  the  preju- 
dice of  their  enemies. 

From  his  transient  home  at  Que- 
bec, Father  Brebeuf  watched  for  an 
opportunity  of  advancing  to  the  field 
of  his  mission  among  the  Indians. 
The  first  opportunity  that  presented 
itself  was  the  proposed  descent  of 
Father  Viel  to  Three  Rivers,  in  or- 
der to  make  a  retreat,  and  attend  to 
some  necessary  business  of  the  mis- 
sion. Father  Brebeuf,  accompanied 
by  the  Recollect  Joseph  de  la  Roche 
Dallion,  lost  no  time  in  repairing  to 
the  trading  post  to  meet  the  father, 
return  with  him  and  the  expected 
annual  flotilla  of  trading  canoes  from 
the  Huron  country,  and  commence 
his  coveted  work  among  the  Wyan- 
dots.  But  he  arrived  only  to  hear 
that  Father  Viel  had  gained  the 
crown  of  martyrdom,  together  with  a 
little  Christian  boy,  whom  their  In- 
dian conductor,  as  his  canoe  shot 
across  the  last  dangerous  rapids  in 
the  river  Des  Prairies,  behind  Mont- 
real, seized  and  threw  into  the  foam- 
ing torrent  together,  by  which  they 
were  swept  immediately  into  the 
seething  gulf  below,  never  to  rise 
again.  Neither  the  death  of  Father 
Viel,  nor  his  own  ignorance  of  the 
Huron  language,  appalled  the  brave 
heart  of  Father  Brebeuf,  who,  when 
the  flotilla  came  down,  begged  to  be 
taken  back  as  a  passenger  to  the 
Huron  country;  but  the  refusal  of 
the  Indians  to  receive  him  compel- 
led him  to  return  to  Quebec.  On  the 
twentieth  of  July,  1625,  he  went 
among  the  Montagnais,  with  whom  he 
wintered,  and,  for  five  months,  suf- 
fered all  the  rigors  of  the  climate,  in 
a  mere  bark-cabin,  in  which  he  had 
to  endure  both  smoke  and  filth,  the 
inevitable  penalties  of  accepting  sav- 
age hospitality.  "Besides  this,  his  en- 
campment was  shifted  with  the  ever- 
varying  chase,  and  it  was  only  his 


zeal  that  enabled  him,  amid  inces- 
sant changes  and  distractions,  to 
learn  much  of  the  Indian  language, 
for  the  acquisition  of  the  various  dia- 
lects of  which,  as  well  as  for  his  ap- 
titude in  accommodating  himself  to 
Indian  life  and  manners,  he  was  singu- 
larly gifted.  On  the  twenty-seventh 
of  March  following,  he  returned  to 
Quebec,  and  resumed,  in  union  with 
the  Recollects,  the  care  of  the  French 
settlers.  The  Jesuits  and  Recollects, 
moving  together  in  perfect  unison, 
went  alternately  from  Quebec  to  the 
Recollect  convent  and  Jesuit  resi- 
dence, on  a  small  river  called  St 
Charles,  not  far  from  the  city. 

The  colony  of  the  Jesuit  fathers' 
was  soon  increased  by  the  arrival  of 
Fathers  Noirot  and  De  la  Noue,  with 
twenty  laborers,  and  they  were  thus 
enabled  to  build  a  residence  for  them- 
selves —  the  mother  house  and 
headquarters  of  these  valiant  sol- 
diers of  the  cross  in  their  long  and 
eventful  struggle  with  paganism  and 
superstition  among  the  Indians.  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf  and  his  companions 
now  devoted  their  labors  to  the 
French  at  Quebec,  then  numbering 
only  forty-three,  hearing  confessions, 
preaching,  and  studying  the  Indian 
languages.  They  also  bestowed  con- 
siderable attention  on  the  cultivation 
of  the  soil.  But  these  labors  were 
but  preparatory  for  others  more  ar- 
duous, but  more  attractive  to  them. 

In  1626,  the  Huron  mission  was 
again  attempted  by  Father  Brebeuf. 
He,  together  with  Father  Joseph  de 
la  Roche  Dallion  and  the  Jesuit  Anne 
de  Noue,  was  sent  to  Three  Rivers, 
to  attempt  a  passage  to  the  Huron 
country.  When  the  Indian  flotilla 
arrived  at  Three  Rivers,  the  Hu- 
rons  were  ready  to  receive  Father 
de  la  Roche  on  board,  but  being  un- 
accustomed to  the  Jesuit  habit,  and 
objecting,  or  pretending  to  object,  to 
the  portly  frame  of  Father  Brebeuf, 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


515 


they  refused  a  passage  to  him  and  his 
companion,  Father  Noue.  At  last, 
some  presents  secured  a  place  in  the 
flotilla  for  the  two  Jesuits.  The  mis- 
sionaries, after  a  painful  voyage,  arriv- 
ed at  St.  Gabriel,  or  La  Rochelle,  in 
the  Huron  country,  and  took  up  the 
mission  which  the  Recollects  Le  Ca- 
ron  and  Viel  had  so  nobly  pioneered. 
The  Hurons,  whose  proper  name 
was  Wendat,  or  Wyandot,  were  a 
powerful  tribe,  numbering  at  least 
thirty  thousand  souls,  living  in  eigh- 
teen villages  scattered  over  a  small 
strip  of  land  on  a  peninsula  in  the 
southern  extremity  of  the  Georgian 
Bay.  Other  tribes,  kindred  to  them, 
stretched  through  New  York  and  in- 
to the  continent  as  far  south  as  the 
Carolinas.  Their  towns  were  well 
built  and  strongly  defended,  and  they 
were  good  tillers  of  the  soil,  active 
traders,  and  brave  warriors.  They 
were,  however,  behind  their  neigh- 
bors in  their  domestic  life  and  in  their 
styles  of  dress,  which  for  both  sexes 
were  exceedingly  immodest.  Their 
objects  of  worship  were  one  supreme 
deity,  called  the  Master  of  Life,  to 
whom  they  offered  human  sacrifi- 
ces, and  an  infinite  number  of  infe- 
rior deities,  or  rather  fiends,  inhabit- 
ing rivers,  cataracts,  or  other  natu- 
ral objects,  riding  on  the  storms,  or 
living  in  some  animal  or  plant,  and 
whom  they  propitiated  with  tobacco. 
Father  Br6beuf  had  acquired  suffi- 
cient knowledge  of  their  language  to 
make  himself  understood  by  the  na- 
tives, and  he  was  greatly  assisted  by 
the  instructions  and  manuscripts  of 
Fathers  Le  Caron  and  Viel.  Father 
Noue,  being  unable  to  acquire  the 
language,  by  reason  of  his  great  age 
and  defective  memory,  returned  to 
Quebec  in  1627,  and  was  followed 
the  next  year  by  Father  de  la  Roche, 
who  had  made  a  brave  but  unsuc- 
cessful effort  to  plant  the  cross 
among  the  Attiarandaronk,  or  Neu- 


trals. The  undaunted  Brebeuf  was 
thus  in  1629  left  alone  among  the 
Hurons.  He  soon  won  their  confi- 
dence and  respect,  and  was  adopted 
into  the  tribe  by  the  name  of  Echon. 
Though  few  conversions  rewarded  his 
labors  among  them  during  his  three 
years'  residence,  still  he  was  amply 
compensated  by  his  success  in  gain- 
ing their  hearts,  acquiring  their  lan- 
guage, and  thoroughly  understanding 
their  character  and  manners.  So 
completely  had  he  gained  the  good- 
will of  the  Hurons,  that,  when  he  was 
about  to  return  in  1629  to  Quebec, 
whither  his  superior  had  recalled  him, 
in  consequence  of  the  distress  pre- 
vailing in  the  colony,  the  Indians 
crowded  around  him  to  prevent  him 
from  entering  the  canoes,  and  ad- 
dressed him  in  this  touching  lan- 
guage ;  "  What !  Echon,  dost  thou 
leave  us  ?  Thou  hast  been  here  now 
three  years,  'to  learn  our  language, 
to  teach  us  to  know  thy  God,  to 
adore  and  serve  him,  having  come 
but  for  that  end,  as  thou  hast  shown ; 
and  now,  when  thou  knowest  our 
language  more  perfectly  than  any 
other  Frenchman,  thou  leavest  us.  If 
we  do  not  know  the  God  thou  adorest, 
we  shall  call  him  to  witness  that  it  is  not 
our  fault,  but  thine,  to  leave  us  so." 
Deeply  as  he  felt  this  appeal,  the  Je- 
suit could  know  no  other  voice  when 
his  superior  spoke ;  and  having  giv- 
en every  encouragement  to  those 
who  were  well  disposed  toward  the 
faith,  and  explained  why  he  should 
go  when  his  superior  required  it,  he 
embarked  on  the  flotilla  of  twelve 
canoes,  and  reached  Quebec  on  the 
seventeenth  of  July,  1629.  Three 
days  after  his  arrival  at  Quebec,  that 
port  was  captured  by  the  English  un- 
der the  traitor  Kirk,  who  bore  the 
deepest  hatred  toward  the  Jesuits, 
whose  residence  he  would  have  fired 
upon  could  he  have  brought  his  ves- 
sel near  enough  for  his  cannon  to 


5l6 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


bear  upon  it.  He  pillaged  it,  how- 
ever, compelling  the  fathers  to  aban- 
don it  and  fly  for  safety  to  Tadous- 
sac.  But  Father  Brebeuf  and  his 
companions  were,  together  with 
Champlain,  detained  as  prisoners. 
Amongst  the  followers  of  Kirk  was 
one  Michel,  a  bitter  and  relentless 
Huguenot,  who  was  by  his  tempera- 
ment and  infirmities  prone  to  vio- 
lence, and  who1  vented  his  rage  espe- 
cially against  the  Jesuits.  He  and 
the  no  less  bigoted  Kirk  found  in  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf  an  intrepid  defender 
of  his  order  and  of  his  companions 
against  their  foul  calumnies,  while  at 
the  same  time  his  noble  character 
showed  how  well  it  was  trained  to 
the  practice  of  Christian  humility  and 
charity. 

On  the  occasion  here  particularly 
alluded  to,  Kirk  was  conversing  with 
the  fathers,  who  were  then  his  pri- 
soners, and,  with  a  malignant  expres- 
sion, said : 

"  Gentlemen,  your  business  in  Ca- 
nada was  to  enjoy  what  belonged 
to  M.  de  Caen,  whom  you  dispos- 
sessed." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  answered  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf,  "  we  came  purely  for 
the  glory  of  God,  and  exposed  our- 
selves to  every  kind  of  danger  to 
convert  the  Indians." 

Here  Michel  broke  in  :  "  Ay,  ay, 
convert  the  Indians!  You  mean, 
convert  the  beaver /" 

Father  Brebeuf,  conscious  of  his 
own  and  his  companion's  innocence, 
and  deeming  the  occasion  one  which 
required  at  his  hands  a  full  and  un- 
qualified denial,  solemnly  and  deli- 
berately answered : 

"That  is  false!" 

The  infuriated  Michel,  raising  his 
fist  at  his  prisoner  in  a  threatening 
manner,  exclaimed : 

"  But  for  the  respect  I  owe  the 
general,  I  would  strike  you  for  giving 
me  the  lie." 


Father  Brebeuf,  who  possessed  a 
powerful  frame  and  commanding  fig- 
ure, stood  unmoved  and  unruffled. 
But  he  did  not  rely  upon  these  quali- 
ties of  the  man,  though  he  knew  no 
fear,  but  illustrated  by  his  example 
on  this  as  on  every  other  occasion 
the  virtues  of  a  Christian  and  a  mi- 
nister of  peace.  With  a  humility 
and  charity  that  showed  how  well 
the  strong  and  naturally  impulsive 
man  had  subdued  his  passions,  he 
endeavored  to  appease  the  anger  of 
his  assailant  by  an  apology,  which, 
while  it  was  justly  calculated  to  re- 
move all  cause  of  offence,  was  ac- 
companied with  a  solemn  vindication 
of  himself  and  companions  from  the 
unjust  imputation  just  cast  upon 
them.  He  said  : 

"  You  must  excuse  me.  I  did  not 
mean  to  give  you  the  He.  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  do  so.  The  words 
I  used  are  those  we  use  in  the  schools 
when  a  doubtful  question  is  advanc- 
ed, and, they  mean  no  offence.  There- 
fore, I  ask  you  to  pardon  me." 

"  Bon  Dieu,"  said  Champlain,  "  you 
swear  well  for  a  reformer!" 

"I  knew  it,"  replied  Michel;  "I 
should  be  content  if  I  had  struck 
that  Jesuit  who  gave  me  the  lie  be- 
fore my  general." 

The  unfortunate  Michel  continued 
in  this  way  unceasingly  to  rave  over 
the  pretended  insult,  which  no  apo- 
logies could  obliterate.  He  died 
shortly  afterward  in  one  of  his  pa- 
roxysms of  fury,  and  was  interred  un- 
der the  rocks  of  Tadoussac.  It  was 
not  permitted  to  him  to  execute  his 
threatened  vengeance  on  the  Jesuit, 
whom  he  was  the  first  to  insult,  and 
whom  he  never  forgave,  though  him- 
self forgiven. 

Father  Brebeuf,  together  with  the 
truly  great  and  Catholic  Champlain, 
the  governor  of  Quebec,  and  with 
the  other  missionaries,  were  car- 
ried prisoners  to  England,  whence 


Memoir  of  Father  John  dz  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


517 


they     all      made      their      way      to 
France. 

Sad  at  this  interruption  of  their 
work  of  love  among  the  benighted 
sons  of  the  Western  wilds,  the  mis- 
sionaries did  not  despair,  but  only 
awaited  the  restoration  of  Canada 
to  France  in  order  to  resume  their 
labors.  In  the  volume  of  his  travels 
published  by  Champlain  in  1632,  is 
embraced  the  treatise  on  the  Huron 
language  which  Father  Brebeuf  had 
prepared  during  his  three  years'  resi- 
dence with  that  tribe,  and  which,  in 
our  own  times,  has  been  republished 
in  the  Transactions  of  the  American 
Antiquarian  Society,  as  a  most  pre- 
cious contribution  to  learning. 

The  English  government  disavow- 
ed the  conduct  of  Kirk,  and  Canada 
was  restored  to  France  during  the 
year  1632.  As  the  conversion  of 
the  native  tribes  was  ever  one  of 
the  leading  features  in  the  policy  of 
Catholic  statesmen  in  the  coloniza- 
tion of  this  continent,  it  was  deter- 
mined to  renew  the  missions  which 
we  have  seen  interrupted.  In  select- 
ing missionaries  for  this  task,  the 
choice  fell  not  upon  the  Jesuits,  nor 
the  Recollects,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  but  upon  the  Capuchins; 
and  it  was  only  when  these  good  fa- 
thers represented  to  Cardinal  Riche- 
lieu that  the  Jesuits  had  already  been 
laboring  with  fidelity  and  success  in 
that  vineyard,  and  requested  that  the 
missions  might  be  again  confided  to 
them,  that  Fathers  Paul  Lejeune  and 
Anne  de  Noue,  with  a  lay  brother, 
were  sent  out  in  1632.  They  arrived 
at  Tadoussac  on  the  twelfth  of  July. 
It  soon  became  Father  Brebeufs 
great  privilege  and  happiness  to  fol- 
low them.  On  the  twenty-second  of 
May,  1633,  to  the  great  joy  of  Que- 
bec, Champlain  returned  to  resume 
his  sway  in  Canada,  "and  Father  Bre- 
beuf accompanied  him  together  with 
Fathers  Masse,  Daniel,  and  Devost. 


Though  Father  Brebeuf  was  not  in- 
active about  Quebec,  still  his  heart 
longed  for  the  Huron  homes  and 
council-fires,  and  still  more  for  Huron 
souls.  Shortly  afterward,  he  had  the 
consolation  of  beholding  the  faithful 
Louis  Amantacha,  a  Christian  Hu- 
ron, arriving  at  Quebec,  followed  by 
the  usual  Indian  flotilla  of  canoes. 
A  council  was  held,  sixty  chiefs  sat 
in  a  circle  round  the  council-fire,  and 
the  noble  Champlain,  the  intrepid 
Brebeuf,  and  the  zealous  Lallemant, 
stood  in  their  midst.  A  treaty  of 
friendship  was  concluded  between 
the  French  and  the  Hurons,  and,  in 
confiding  the  missionaries  to  his  new 
allies,  Champlain  thus  addressed  the 
latter :  "  These  we  consider  as  fa- 
thers, these  are  dearer  to  us  than  life. 
Think  not  that  they  have  left  France 
under  pressure  of  want ;  no,  they 
were  there  in  high  esteem :  they  come 
not  to  gather  up  your  furs,  but  to 
open  to  you  the  doors  of  eternal  life. 
If  you  love  the.  French,  as  you  say 
you  love  them,  then  love  and  honor 
these  our  fathers."  This  address  was 
responded  to  by  two  of  the  chiefs, 
who  were  followed  by  Father  Brebeuf 
in  his  broken  Huron,  "  the  assembly 
jerking  in  unison,  from  the  bottom 
of  their  throats,  repeated  ejaculations 
of  applause."  The  members  of  the 
council  then  crowded  round  him, 
each  claiming  the  privilege  of  carry- 
ing him  in  his  canoe.  And  the  In- 
dians from  the  different  towns  began 
now  to  contend  among  themselves 
for  the  honor  of  possessing  Father 
Brebeuf  for  their  respective  settle- 
ments. The  contest  was  soon  decid- 
ed in  favor  of  Rochelle,  the  most 
populous  of  the  Huron  villages.  On 
the  eighth  of  August,  the  effects  of 
Father  Brebeuf  and  of  his  compan- 
ions, Fathers  Daniel  and  Devost, 
were  already  on  board  the  canoes, 
when  another  more  serious  difficulty 
arose :  an  Indian  murderer  had  been 


5l8 


Memoir  of  Father  JoJin  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


arrested  by  order  of  Champlain,  in 
consequence  of  which  an  enraged 
Algonquin  chief  declared  that  no 
Frenchman  should  enter  the  flotilla. 
The  Hurons  were  ready  and  anx- 
ious to  convey  the  fathers,  but  they 
feared  the  consequences  of  a  rupture 
with  the  Algonquins.  The  fathers 
were  thus  constrained,  to  the  com- 
mon sorrow  of  themselves  and  their 
Hurons,  to  behold  the  flotilla  depart 
without  them.  But  the  last  scene 
in  this  separation  was  yet  more  touch- 
ing. The  faithful  and  pious  Louis 
Amantacha,  overwhelmed  with  sor- 
row at  the  loss  of  the  fathers,  linger- 
ed in  their  company  to  the  last  mo- 
ment, humbly  made  his  confession, 
and,  for  the  last  time  for  him,  this 
Christian  warrior  received  the  holy 
communion  from  the  hands  of  Father 
Brebeuf.  Then,  having  rejoined  his 
companions,  the  flotilla  quickly  glid- 
ed from  the  view  of  those  who  would 
have  laid  down  their  lives  to  save 
the  souls  of  those  benighted  and 
thoughtless  voyagers. 

Father  Brebeuf  and  his  companions 
returned  to  labor  for  a  time  longer 
among  the  French  and  Indians  in  and 
about  Quebec,  where  their  labors  were 
full  of  zeal  and  not  without  success. 
It  was  here  that  Father  Brebeuf  bap- 
tized Sasousmat,  the  first  adult  upon 
whom  he  conferred  that  sacrament. 
While  in  health,  Sasousmat  had  re- 
quested that  he  might  be  sent  to 
France  for  instruction  in  the  faith, 
but  he  was  now  overtaken  by  a  dread- 
ful illness,  which  deprived  him  of 
reason.  Father  Brebeuf  visited  him 
while  in  this  state,  and,  returning  from 
his  couch  to  the  altar,  he  offered  up 
for  his  benefit  the  holy  sacrifice  of 
the  Mass  in  honor  of  St.  Joseph,  the 
glorious  patron  of  the  country;  his 
prayer  of  sacrifice  was  heard  in  hea- 
ven, and  Sasousmat  was  restored  to 
his  mind.  Father  Brebeuf  then  in- 
structed him,  and  the  joyful  neophyte 


ardently  and  touchingly  entreated  the 
father  to  baptize  him.  But  the  cau- 
tious and  conscientious  priest  deferred 
the  sacrament,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  Indians,  whose  habit  was  to 
refuse  nothing  to  the  sick.  One  of 
Sasousmat's  Indian  friends  said  to  the 
father,  with  great  impatience:  "  Thou 
hast  no  sense ;  pour  a  little  water  on 
him,  and  it  is  done."  "  No,"  replied 
the  priest  of  God,  "  I  would  involve 
myself  in  ruin  were  I  to  baptize, 
without  necessity,  an  infidel  and  un- 
believer not  fully  instructed."  The 
patient  was  afterwards  removed  to 
the  residence  of  Notre  Dame  des 
Anges,  where  he  continued  to  receive 
the  instructions  of  the  father,  and 
where  he  grew  desperately  ill,  and 
was  finally  in  an  hour  of  danger  bap- 
tized. At  the  moment  of  his  decease, 
a  resplendent  meteoric  light  illumined 
the  death-room,  and  shone  far  around 
about  the  country.  There  was  after- 
wards another  adult,  named  Nasse, 
a  steadfast  friend  of  the  missionaries, 
who  fell  dangerously  ill,  and  was 
nursed  by  Father  Brebeuf.  He  too 
made  earnest  entreaties  to  be  bap- 
tized, but  the  father  subjected  the- 
convert  to  long  delays  and  proba- 
tions, and  finally  only  bestowed  the 
sacrament  when  death  was  imminent. 
Instances  are  related  in  which  baptism 
was  refused  to  adults,  even  in  extremis, 
where  the  requisite  dispositions  were 
wanting.  Such  examples,  of  which 
there  are  not  a  few  recorded  in  the 
Jesuit  Relations,  besides  exhibiting  the 
zeal  and  self-sacrificing  labors  of  the 
Catholic  missionaries  for  the  salva- 
tion of  souls,  furnish  us  with  a  com- 
plete refutation  of  the  wanton  calumny 
that  those  early  missionary  priests 
were  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  the 
sacrament  upon  entire  multitudes  of 
savages  without  previous  instruction 
or  probation — a'  calumny  now  fully 
refuted  by  the  Relations  and  letters  of 
the  fathers  themselves,  who,  while 


Memoir  of  Father  John  dc  Brebeuf^  S.J. 


519 


they  penned  the  humble  story  of  their 
labors,  to  be  transmitted  to  their 
superiors  in  Europe,  knew  not  that 
the  same  would  serve  as  evidence  for 
their  own  vindication. 

With  the  return  of  spring,  the  time 
again  drew  near  for  the  appearance 
of  the  usual  flotilla  of  Indian  canoes 
at  the  trading  post  of  Three  Rivers. 
On  the  ist  of  July,  Fathers  Brebeuf 
and  Daniel  repaired  to  Three  Rivers, 
to  procure  a  passage  in  the  flotilla  for 
the  Huron  country,  and  Father  De- 
vost  joined  them  in  a  few  days.  But 
the  canoes  were  slow  in  coming  in ; 
the  Hurons  had  sustained  a  terrific 
defeat,  losing  two  hundred  braves, 
and  the  gallant  Christian  warrior 
Louis  Amantacha  was  among  the 
slain.  No  sooner,  however,  had  a 
few  canoes  arrived,  than  Father 
Brebeuf  pressed  forward  to  secure  a 
passage;  but  the  hostile  Algonquin 
and  the  cautious  Huron  discovered  in- 
numerable obstacles  in  the  way  of  his 
going  with  them,  and  it  seemed  that 
he  was  again  to  be  disappointed  in 
his  hopes  of  reaching  his  beloved 
mission.  At  length,  by  the  influence 
of  the  French  commanders,  which  was 
supported  as  usual  by  presents,  it  was 
arranged  that  a  passage  should  be 
given  to  one  missionary  and  two  men, 
and  even  then  Father  Brebeuf  was 
left  out.  He  thus  describes  his  diffi- 
culties :  "  Never  did  I  see  voyage  so 
hampered  and  traversed  by  the  com- 
mon enemy  of  man.  It  was  by  a 
stroke  of  heaven  that  we  advanced, 
and  an  effect  of  the  power  of  the 
glorious  St.  Joseph,  in  whose  honor 
God  inspired  me  to  promise  twenty 
masses,  in  the  despair  of  all  things." 
At  the  moment  that  this  vow  was 
made,  a  Huron,  who  had  agreed  to 
carry  one  of  the  Frenchmen  in  his 
canoe,  was  suddenly  inspired  to  take 
Father  Brebeuf  in 'his  stead.  Thus 
a  passage  was  secured.  But  such 
were  the  hurry,  confusion,  and  want 


of  accommodation,  that  the  mission- 
aries were  compelled  to  leave  behind 
them  all  their  effects,  except  such 
as  were  necessary  for  saying  Mass. 
Too  glad  to  be  admitted  into  this 
vineyard  which  they  had  so  long 
sought,  they  cheerfully  made  every 
sacrifice.  With  light  and  joyous 
hearts  and  ready  hands,  they  plied 
the  oar  from  morning  till  night ;  they 
recited  the  sacred  office  by  the  even- 
ing fire ;  they  nursed  all  who  fell  sick 
on  the  voyage  with  so  much  charity 
and  tenderness  as  to  melt  the  hearts 
of  those  savage  sons  of  the  wilder- 
ness; at  fifty  different  points,  where 
the  passage  was  dangerous  or  obstruc- 
ted, they  volunteered  to  carry  the 
packages,  and  even  the  canoes,  on 
their  shoulders  around  the  portages ; 
and  at  one  place  Father  Brebeuf 
barely  escaped  a  watery  grave  at  a 
rapid  where  his  canoe  was  hurried 
over  the  impetuous  current.  At 
length,  after  much  suffering,  they 
reached  the  shores  of  the  Huron 
country  on  the  5th  of  August,  1634. 

The  following  description  of  this 
remarkable  journey  of  the  fathers  is 
from  the  eloquent  and  graphic,  but 
not  always  impartial,  pages  of  Park- 
man's  Jesuits  in  North  America  : 

"  They  reckoned  the  distance  at  nine 
hundred  miles  ;  but  distance  was  the 
least  repellant  feature  of  this  most  ard- 
uous journey.  Barefoot,  lest  their  shoes 
should  injure  the  frail  vessel,  each 
crouched  in  his  canoe,  toiling  with  un- 
practised hands  to  propel  it.  Before 
him,  week  after  week,  he  saw  the  same 
lank,  unkempt  hair,  the  same  tawny 
shoulders  and  long,  naked  arms,  cease- 
lessly plying  the  paddle.  The  canoes 
were  soon  separated,  and  for  more  than 
a  month  the  Frenchmen  rarely  or  never 
met.  Brebeuf  spoke  a  little  Huron,  and 
could  converse  with  his  escort ;  but  Dan- 
iel and  Devost  were  doomed  to  a  silence 
unbroken  save  by  the  unintelligible  com- 
plaints and  menaces  of  the  Indians,  of 
whom  many  were  sick  with  the  epidemic, 
and  all  were  terrified,  desponding,  and 


520 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J 


sullen.  Their  only  food  was  a  pittance 
of  Indian  corn,  crushed  between  two 
stones  and  mixed  with  water.  The  toil 
was  extreme.  Brebeuf  counted  thirty- 
five  portages,  where  the  canoes  were  lift- 
ed from  the  water  and  carried  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  voyagers  around  rapids 
and  cataracts.  More  than  fifty  times,  be- 
sides, they  were  forced  to  wade  in  the 
raging  current,  pushing  up  their  empty 
barks,  or  dragging  them  with  ropes.  Br6- 
beuf  tried  to  do  his  part,  but  the  boulders 
and  sharp  rocks  wounded  his  naked  feet, 
and  compelled  him  to  desist.  He  and  his 
companions  bore  their  share  of  the  bag- 
gage across  the  portages,  sometimes  a 
distance  of  several  miles.  Four  trips,  at 
the  least,  were  required  to  convey  the 
whole.  The  way  was  through  the  dense 
forest,  encumbered  with  rocks  and  logs, 
tangled  with  roots  and  underbrush,  damp 
with  perpetual  shade,  and  redolent  of  de- 
cayed leaves  and  mouldering  wood.  The 
Indians  themselves  were  often  spent  with 
fatigue.  Brebeuf,  a  man  of  iron  frame 
and  a  nature  unconquerably  resolute, 
doubted  if  his  strength  would  sustain 
him  to  the  journey's  end.  He  complains 
that  he  had  no  moment  to  read  his  bre- 
viary, except  by  the  moonlight  or  the  fire 
when  stretched  out  to  sleep  on  a  bare 
rock  by  some  savage  cataract  of  the  Ot- 
tawa, or  in  a  damp  nook  of  the  adjacent 
forest. 

"  Descending  French  River  and  follow- 
ing the  lonely  shores  of  the  great  Geor- 
gian Bay,  the  canoe  which  carried  Bre- 
beuf at  length  neared  its  destination,  thirty 
days  after  leaving  Three  Rivers.  Before 
him,  stretched  in  savage  slumber,  lay  the 
forest  shore  of  the  Hurons.  Did  his  spirit 
sink  as  he  approached  his  dreary  home, 
oppressed  with  a  dark  foreboding  of  what 
the  future  should  bring  forth?  There  is 
some  reason  to  think  so.  Yet  it  was  but 
the  shadow  of  a  moment ;  for  his  mascu- 
line heart  had  lost  the  sense  of  fear,  and 
his  intrepid  nature  was  fired  with  a  zeal 
before  which  doubts  and  uncertainties 
fled  like  the  mists  of  the  morning.  Not 
the  grim  enthusiasm  of  negation,  tearing 
up  the  weeds  of  rooted  falsehood,  or  with 
bold  hand  felling  to  the  earth  the  bane- 
ful growth  of  overshadowing  abuses  ;  his 
was  the  ancient  faith  uncurtailed,  redeem- 
ed from  the  decay  of  centuries,  kindled 
with  a  new  life,  and  stimulated  to  a  pre- 
ternatural growth  and  fruitfulness." 

But  Father  Brebeuf  s  trials  did  not 


end  here,  for  the  ungrateful  Indians, 
who  lived  twenty  miles  below  Father 
Brebeuf's  destination,  forgetting  all 
his  kindness  and  sacrifices  and  de- 
spising his  entreaties,  abandoned  him 
on  this  desolate  shore.  In  this  dis- 
tress, he  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
thanked  God  for  all  his  favors,  and 
especially  for  bringing  him  again  into 
the  country  of  the  Hurons.  Beseech- 
ing Providence  to  guide  his  steps,  and 
saluting  the  guardian  angel  of  the 
land  with  a  dedication  of  himself  to 
the  conversion  of  those  tribes,  he  took 
only  such  articles  as  he  could  in  no 
event  dispense  with,  and,  concealing 
the  rest,  started  forth  in  that  vast 
wilderness,  not  knowing  whither  his 
steps  might  carry  him.  Providence 
guided  those  steps:  he  discovered 
the  site  of  the  former  village,  Toanch6, 
in  which  he  had  resided  three  years, 
and  even  the  blackened  ruins  of  his 
cabin,  in  which,  for  the  same  time, 
he  had  offered  up  the  Holy  Sacrifice  ; 
but  the  village  was  destroyed  and  the 
encampment  shifted  to  another  place. 
Striking  upon  a  trail,  he  advanced  full 
of  hope,  and  soon  he  suddenly  stood 
in  the  midst  of  his  Huron  friends,  in 
their  new  village  of  Ihonatiria.  A 
shout  of  welcome  from  a  hundred 
voices — "  Echon !  Echon !" — greeted 
the  joyous  messenger  of  salvation. 
He  immediately  threw  himself  upon 
the  hospitality  of  the  generous  chief, 
Awandoay,  from  whom  he  obtained 
men  to  go  for  his  packages ;  he  re- 
traced his  weary  steps  with  them,  and 
it  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  be- 
fore all  was  safely  lodged  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Ihonatiria.  The  other  fathers, 
after  suffering  similar  ill-treatment  from 
the  Indians  of  the  flotilla  in  whose 
canoes  they  came,  finally  found  their 
way  also,  one  by  one,  to  Ihonatiria, 
in  great  distress. 

For  some  time  they  partook  of  the 
liberal  hospitality  of  Awandoay;  but, 
Father  Brebeuf  having  decided  to 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebenf,  S.J. 


521 


make  Ihonatiria  the  mission  head- 
quarters, they  now  constructed  a  re- 
sidence for  themselves,  thirty-six  by 
twenty-one  feet,  in  which  the  centre 
was  their  hall,  parlor,  and  business- 
room,  leading,  on  the  one  side,  to  the 
chapel,  and,  on  the  other,  to  what  was 
at  the  same  time  kitchen,  refectory, 
and  dormitory.  This  rude  hut — in- 
deed, everything  about  the  mission- 
aries— awakened  the  amazement  of 
these  simple  sons  of  the  forest.  They 
came  in  crowds  from  all  parts  of  the 
Huron  country  to  see  the  wonderful 
things  possessed  by  the  fathers,  the 
fame  of  which  had  spread  through 
the  land.  There  was  the  mill  for 
grinding  corn,  which  they  viewed 
with  admiration,  and  which  they  de- 
lighted to  turn  without  ceasing.  There 
were  a  prism  and  magnet,  whose 
qualities  struck  them  with  surprise 
and  pleasure.  There  was  a  magnify- 
ing-glass  which,  to  their  amazement, 
made  a  flea  as  large  as  a  monster; 
and  a  multiplying  lens  which  possess- 
ed the  mysterious  power  of  creating 
instantly  eleven  beads  out  of  one. 
But  the  clock,  which  hung  on  the 
wall  of  the  missionary  cabin,  was  to 
these  untutored  savages  the  greatest 
miracle  of  all.  The  assembled  war- 
riors, with  their  wives  and  children, 
would  sit  in  silence  on  the  ground, 
waiting  an  entire  hour  for  the  clock 
to  strike  the  time  of  the  day.  They 
listened  to  it  ticking  every  second 
and  marking  every  minute  of  the 
twenty-four  hours;  they  thought  it 
was  a  thing  of  life;  inquired  when, 
how,  and  upon  what  it  fed.  They 
called  it  sometimes  the  "  Day  Chief" 
and  sometimes  the  "  Captain,"  and 
expressed  their  awe  of  so  mysterious 
and  supernatural  a  being  by  the  con- 
stant cry  of  "  Ondaki !  Ondaki  \ !" 
"  What  does  the  Captain  say  now  ?" 
was  the  repeated  question.  The 
fathers  were  obliged  to  establish  cer- 
tain regulations  for  visitors,  whose 


presence  would  have  left  them  no 
time  for  rest  or  devotion  during  the 
twenty-four  hours,  while,  at  the  same 
time,  they  availed  themselves  of  these 
curiosities  for  attracting  the  Indians 
to  the  mission  cross  before  their  door 
and  to  the  first  simple  lessons  in  reli- 
gion. They  thus  interpreted  the 
strokes  of  the  clock  :  "  When  he 
strikes  twelve  times,  he  says,  '  Hang 
on  the  kettle,'  and  when  he  strikes 
four  times,  he  says,  '  Get  up  and  go 
home.' "  The  Indians  rigidly  obeyed 
these  commands  of  the  little  "Day 
Chief."  The  crowd  was  densest  at 
the  stroke  of  twelve,  when  the  kettle 
was  hung  and  the  fathers'  sagamite 
passed  around ;  and  at  the  stroke  of 
four,  all  arose  at  once  and  departed, 
leaving  their  good  entertainers  to  say 
their  office  and  rosary,  study  and  make 
notes  on  the  Huron  language,  write 
letters  to  their  superiors,  and  consult 
over  the  plans  for  conducting  the 
mission.  The  fathers  also  gave  some 
lessons  to  their  Huron  friends  on  the 
subject  of  self-defence  and  military 
engineering.  The  Hurons,  living  in 
constant  dread  of  the  Iroquois,  were 
glad  to  learn  a  more  perfect  way  of 
constructing  their  palisade  forts, 
which  they  had  been  accustomed 
to  make  round,  but  which  the 
Frenchmen  now  taught  them  to 
make  rectangular,  with  small  flank- 
ing towers  at  the  corners  for  the  ar- 
quebusmen.  And,  in  case  of  actual 
attack,  the  aid  of  the  four  Frenchmen, 
armed  with  arquebuses,  who  had 
come  with  the  missionaries  from 
Three  Rivers,  was  promised,  to  en- 
able them  to  defend  their  wives, 
children,  and  homes  from  the  un- 
sparing attacks  of  their  relentless 
enemies. 

The  Indian  children  were  the  es- 
pecial objects  of  the  solicitude  of 
these  untiring  missionaries.  They 
assembled  these  frequently  at  their 
house,  on  which  occasions  Father 


522 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


Brebeuf,  the  more  effectually  to  in- 
spire respect,  appeared  in  surplice 
and  baretta.  The  Pater  Noster  was 
chanted  in  Huron  rhyme,  into  which 
it  had  been  translated  by  Father 
Daniel ;  and  the  Ave  and  Credo  and 
Ten  Commandments  were  recited. 
The  children  were  examined  in  their 
past  lessons,  and  instructed  in  new 
ones,  and  then  dismissed  joyously 
with  presents  of  beads  and  dried 
fruits.  Soon  the  village  resounded 
with  the  rhymes  of  the  Pater  Noster, 
and  the  little  catechumens  vied  with 
each  other  at  home  in  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross  and  reciting  the 
commandments. 

To  the  adults  the  fathers  earnestly 
announced  Christ  crucified,  and  en- 
deavored to  turn  their  admiration 
from  the  clock  and  othei^  curiosities 
of  the  mission  house,  which,  as  they 
said,  were  but  creatures,  to  the  Crea- 
tor, to  heaven,  and  to  the  faith. 
The  first-fruits  of  the  mission  were 
soon  gathered;  several  infants,  in 
danger  of  death,  were  baptized,  and 
several  adults  were  also  admitted  into 
the  Christian  church  through  the 
same  regenerating  waters. 

But  the  enemies  of  religion  and  of 
truth  were  jealously  watching  these 
successes,  and  soon  the  fathers  en- 
countered the  same  opposition  that  al- 
ways besets  the  introduction  of  Chris- 
tianity into  heathen  nations ;  that  is, 
the  jealousy  and  hatred  of  the  native 
priests,  or  officials  entrusted  with  the 
matters  of  religion  or  the  superstitious 
rites  of  the  country.  These,  among 
our  American  tribes,  were  the  medi- 
cine men.  These  wicked  sorcerers 
accused  Father  Brebeuf  and  his  com- 
panions of  causing  the  drought,  of 
blighting  the  crops,  of  introducing 
the  plague,  in  fine,  of  every  evil  that 
afflicted  the  country  or  any  of  the 
people.  The  missionaries  began  to 
be  insulted,  the  cross  before  their 
residence  was  turned  into  a  target, 


and  curses  and  imprecations  greeted 
them  on  every  side.  But  the  prayers 
of  the  fathers,  and  especially  a  novena 
of  masses  in  honor  of  St.  Joseph, 
were  soon  followed  by  copious  rains, 
and*,  the  medicine-men  were  con- 
founded, while  the  fathers  were  re- 
ceived with  honor  and  esteem.  The 
old  and  young  were  instructed  in 
the  faith,  catechetical  classes  were 
opened,  and  all  ages  and  conditions 
took  pleasure  in  contending  for  the 
pictures,  medals,  and  other  little  re- 
wards which  were  bestowed  upon 
the  studious.  On  Sundays,  the  Indi- 
ans were  assembled  at  Mass;  but,  in 
imitation  of  the  custom  which  pre- 
vailed in  the  early  church,  Father 
Brebeuf  dismissed  them  at  the  offer- 
tory, after  reciting  for  them  the 
prayers  they  had  learned.  In  the 
afternoon,  catechetical  instructions 
were  given,  and  all  were  examined 
on  what  they  had  learned  during  the 
week.  In  August,  1635,  Fathers 
Pijart  and  Mercier,  then  recently  ar- 
rived from  France,  came  into  the 
Huron  country  to  join  the  little  mis- 
sionary band,  who  were,  even  after 
this  increase  of  their  force,  kept  con- 
stantly laboring. 

In  April,  1636,  the  missionaries 
attended  the  "  feast  of  the  dead,"  a 
great  solemnity  of  the  Indians,  when 
the  bones  of  their  dead  are  taken 
down  from  their  aerial  tombs,  and, 
being  'wrapped  in  the  richest  furs, 
and  surrounded  with  various  imple- 
ments, are  deposited  in  the  common 
mound,  amid  the  songs,  games,  and 
dancing  of  the  living.  Father  Bre- 
beuf, the  courageous  champion  of  the 
faith,  seized  upon  this  occasion  to  an- 
nounce the  saving  word  of  truth  in 
the  very  midst  of  the  ancient  and 
most  cherished  rites  of  a  heathen 
superstition.  He  declared  that  such 
ceremonies  were  utterly  vain  and  fruit- 
less for  souls  which,  like  the  souls  of 
all  in  that  mound,  were  lost  forever; 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebcuf,  S.J. 


523 


that  souls  on  death  went  either  to  a 
realm  of  bliss  or  a  world  of  woe; 
that  the  living  alone  could  choose, 
and,  if  they  preferred  the  former,  he 
and  the  other  fathers  were  there  to 
show  the  way.  This  speech  was  ac- 
companied with  a  present  to  the  as- 
sembled chiefs,  a  means  most  effectual 
in  gaining  the  good-will  of  the  Indi- 
ans. The  latter  offered  no  opposition 
to  the  baptism  of  their  infants,  and 
expressed  themselves  as  if  well  dis- 
posed towards  the  faith  preached  by 
the  fathers.  In  December,  the  mis- 
sion among  the  Hurons  was  formally 
consecrated  to  the  Immaculate  Con- 
ception. Baptism  was  administered 
to  nearly  thirty  of  the  tribe,  amongst 
whom  was  one,  a  little  girl,  of  singu- 
lar interest,  named  Mary  Conception. 
This  little  child  was  remarkable  for 
her  love  of  prayer  and  her  fondness 
for  the  missionaries  and  whatever 
pertained  to  religion ;  she  ran  as 
gaily  to  catechism  as  the  other  chil- 
dren to  their  play,  and  took  a  singular 
pleasure  in  walking  beside  the  mis- 
sionary as  he  was  reciting  his  office, 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross  and 
praying  louder  whenever  he  turned 
in  his  walk.  In  1635,  fourteen  bap- 
tisms were  reported  by  the  fathers, 
and  in  July,  1636,  eighty-six,  amongst 
whom  was  the  chief,  who  was  sin- 
cerely converted  to  the  faith.  Father 
Brebeuf  made  many  excursions  to 
distant  villages  and  families.  In 
October,  he  visited  the  family  of 
Louis  de  Sainte  Foi,  who,  having 
been  taken  to  France  by  the  fathers, 
was  baptized  at  Rouen,  but  was  now 
grown  cold  in  his  religion.  This 
visit,  in  which  Father  Brebeuf  was 
accompanied  by  Father  Pijart,  rekin- 
dled the  ardor  of  the  chief,  and  was 
the  occasion  of  announcing  the  com- 
mandments of  God  to  all  his  family. 
Devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  ap- 
pealing as  it  does  to  the  best  natural 
feelings  of  the  human  heart,  as  well 


as  to  the  highest  and  purest  motives  of 
religion,  was  easily  received,  especial- 
ly among  the  Indian  mothers,  to 
whom  she  was  proposed  for  imitation 
by  Father  Brebeuf.  He  composed  for 
them,  and  in  their  own  language,  beau- 
tiful prayers  of  invocation  to  the 
Mother  of  God.  So  great  was  his  pro- 
ficiency in  the  Huron  language,  that 
he  was  able  to  attach  to  his  relation 
of  this  year  a  treatise  on  the  lan- 
guage and  another  on  the  customs 
of  the  Hurons,  the  former  of  which 
has  been  published  in  English. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  dele- 
gation of  Algonquin  braves  came  to 
solicit  the  alliance  of  the  Hurons 
against  the  Iroquois.  Failing  to 
secure  their  point  with  the  Hurons, 
the  Algonquins  next  turned  to  the 
missionaries  and  endeavored  to  de- 
tach them  from  the  Hurons,  and 
offered,  as  an  inducement  to  Father 
Brebeuf,  to  make  him  one  of  their 
great  chiefs.  Father  Brebeuf,  with  a 
smile,  replied,  that  he  had  left  home 
and  fortune  to  gain  souls,  not  to  be- 
come rich  or  to  gain  honors  in  war, 
and  dismissed  the  negotiators  as 
usual  with  a  present. 

The  removal  of  the  headquarters 
of  the  mission  from  Ihonatiria  to 
Ossossane  had  been  several  times 
mooted ;  one  day,  as  Father  Brebeuf 
was  travelling  to  visit  a  sick  Christian, 
he  was  met  by  the  chief  of  Ossossane, 
who  so  forcibly  urged  the  change 
that  Father  Brebeuf  was  induced  to 
promise  them  a  compliance  with  what 
had  been  in  fact  his  previous  design. 
A  promise  was  readily  made  on  the 
other  side  that  the  villagers  of  Ossos- 
sane would  the  following  year  erect 
the  necessary  accommodations  for 
the  fathers.  When  the  people  of 
Ihonatiria  heard  this,  their  chief,  at 
daybreak,  from  the  top  of  his  cabin 
summoned  all  his  people  out  to  re- 
build the  cabin  of  the  black  gown. 
Old  and  young  now  went  forth  to 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeiif,  S.J. 


obey  the  summons,  and  soon  the 
work  was  completed.  When  the  next 
season  for  the  feast  of  the  dead  came 
round,  a  great  change  was  observable 
in  its  celebration,  a  proof  of  the  in- 
fluence of  Christian  sentiments  with 
the  people.  The  accustomed  mag- 
nificence was  dispensed  with,  and 
those  who  died  Christians  were  not 
reburied,  even  in  a  separate  portion 
of  the  common  tomb.  The  ceremony 
consisted  in  nothing  more  than  a 
touching  manifestation  of  the  affection 
of  the  living  for  their  deceased  friends, 
and  the  missionaries  were  too  prudent 
to  interfere.  In  order  to  show  how 
earnest  our  missionaries  were  for  the 
conversion  of  these  tribes,  it  is  worth 
recording  that  they  established  a 
Huron  seminary  at  Quebec,  and 
during  this  year  Fathers  Daniel  and 
Devost  departed  from  Huronia  for 
Quebec,  with  several  young  Hurons 
destined  for  students  in  this  insti- 
tution. It  was  also  during  this 
year  that  Fathers  Gamier,  Chaste- 
lain,  and  Jogues  arrived  from 
France,  and  entered  this  promising 
vineyard. 

Shortly  after  these  arrivals,  a  con- 
tagious fever  broke  out  in  the  Huron 
country,  and  several  of  the  mission- 
aries were  seized  with  the  malady. 
It  would  be  impossible,  within  the 
space  allotted  to  this  memoir,  to  detail 
all  their  sufferings  and  privations. 
The  hardy  Brebeuf  and  the  others 
that  were  not  taken  down,  became 
the  faithful  and  constant  nurses  of 
their  sick  companions,  and,  when  these 
were  restored,  the  entire  missionary 
band  dedicated  themselves  to  the 
nursing  and  spiritual  succor  of  the 
afflicted  people.  Here,  again,  the 
fathers  met  with  the  usual  obstacles 
and  annoyances  from  the  native  sor- 
cerers. The  medicine-men,  in  whom 
the  Indians  had  implicit  confidence, 
especially  in  sickness,  resorted  to  their 
usual  tricks,  and  the  villages  resounded 


with  horrid  superstitious  orgies.  Many 
refused  to  let  the  fathers  baptize  their 
dying  infants.  Others,  however, 
having  seen  the  utter  failure  of  their 
sorcerers  to  effect  a  single  cure,  and 
having  observed  how  the  Christian 
baptism  was  frequently  followed  by  a 
restoration  of  the  body  also  to  health, 
had  recourse  to  the  missionaries.  But 
in  such  cases  their  visits  of  mercy 
were  obstructed  by  the  insults,  the 
threats,  and  ill-usage  of  the  excited 
rabble.  But,  as  Bancroft  remarks, 
"  the  Jesuit  never  receded  a  foot." 
He  pressed  forward  with  love  and 
courage,  frequently  forcing  his  way 
to  the  couch  of  the  dying,  and  en- 
countering threatened  death  to  save 
a  single  soul.  In  order  to  propitiate 
the  mercy  of  Heaven  for  this  afflicted 
people,  Father  Brebeuf  assembled  a 
council  of  the  chiefs  of  several  villages, 
and  succeeded  so  far  as  to  induce 
them,  in  behalf  of  themselves  and 
their  people,  to  promise  solemnly,  in 
the  presence  of  God,  that  they  would 
renounce  their  superstitions,  embrace 
the  faith  of  Jesus  Christ,  conform 
their  marriages  to  the  Christian  stand- 
ard, and  build  chapels  for  the  service 
of  the  one  true  God.  With  the  solem- 
nity of  this  scene,  however,  passed 
away  also  their  good  resolutions. 
The  Indian,  ever  inconsistent,  except 
in  his  attachment  to  his  idols  and  his 
hunting-grounds,  was  soon  again 
seen  raving  at  the  frenzied  words 
and  incantations  of  the  sorcerer  Ton- 
nerananont,  who  professed  himself  to 
be  a  devil  incarnate.  The  plague 
continued  to  rage ;  not  even  the  frosts 
of  winter  arrested  its  destructive 
powers.  Night  and  day  Father  Bre- 
beuf and  his  companions  were  travel- 
ling and  laboring  for  those  miserable 
and  inconstant  savages.  They  went 
about  over  the  country  administering 
remedies  for  the  maladies  of  the  body 
as  well  as  those  of  the  soul.  Besides 
relieving  many  by  bleeding  and  other 


Memoir  of  Father  Jolm  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


525 


simple  remedies,  their  heroic  labors 
were  rewarded  with  other  fruits  far 
sweeter  to  them,  the  baptism  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  expiring  infants 
and  adults.  The  bold  and  fearless 
advances  and  the  devoted  services 
of  the  Jesuit  fathers  during  this 
season  of  disease  and  death  may  well 
hare  called  forth  from  Sparks  the 
remark  that  "  humanity  can  claim 
no  higher  honor  than  that  such  ex- 
amples have  existed."  In  the  spring 
the  pestilence  abated,  and  the  usual 
and  regular  duties  and  labors  of  the 
mission  were  resumed.  His  superior 
knowledge  of  the  language  devolved 
upon  Father  Brebeuf  the  greater 
burthen  of  instructing  and  catechising 
the  natives.  In  May,  he  called  a 
council  of  the  chiefs  of  Ossossane, 
and  reminded  them  of  their  promise 
to  build  a  cabin  for  the  fathers.  The 
appeal  was  responded  to,  and,  on  the 
fifth  of  June,  Father  Pijart  offered 
up  the  Mass  of  the  Holy  Trinity  at 
Ossossane,  in  "  our  own  House  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception."  On  Trinity 
Sunday,  another  happiness  was  en- 
joyed by  Father  Brebeuf,  in  the 
baptism  of  the  first  adult  at  Ihonatiria. 
This  was  Triwendaentaha,  a  chief 
who  had  manifested  great  persever- 
ance in  his  wish  to  become  a  Christian ; 
he  had  repeatedly  requested  and 
entreated  to  be  baptized,  and  had 
renounced  all  connection  with  the 
medicine-men  for  three  years,  and, 
what  was  remarkable  among  the 
natives,  had  only  once  during  that 
time  manifested  any  disposition  to- 
wards a  relapse.  After  prolonged 
probation  and  careful  instruction, 
Father  Brebeuf  baptized  him  on 
Trinity  Sunday,  conferring  upon  him 
the  Christian  name  of  Peter.  The 
ceremony  was  surrounded  with  as 
much  magnificence  as  the  infant 
church  in  that  wilderness  could  bring, 
and  in  the  presence  of  immense  crowds 
of  Hurons.  The  corner-stone  of  the 


new  church  was  laid   on   the  same 
occasion. 

These  consolations  of  the  mission 
were  soon  succeeded  by  direful  cala- 
mities. Sickness  still  lingered  in  the 
country.  Having  failed  by  their  su- 
perstitious rites  to  ameliorate  the  con- 
dition of  the  people,  the  medicine- 
men now  accused  the  fathers  of  being 
the  cause  of  the  pestilence,  and  even 
of  having  a  design  of  destroying  the 
country.  A  general  outburst  of  in- 
dignation now  assailed  the  holy  men. 
Everything  connected  with  them  or 
their  religion  now  became  objects  of 
suspicion — the  pictures  in  the  chapel, 
their  mission  flag  flying  from  the  top 
of  a  tree,  the  Mass  in  the  morning, 
the  evening  litany,  the  walk  of  the 
missionaries  by  day,  and  especially 
the  clock,  were  successively  condemn- 
ed as  demons,  and  signals  of  pesti- 
lence and  death.  It  was  even  ru- 
mored that  the  fathers  concealed  in 
their  cabin  a  dead  body,  which  they 
brought  from  France,  and  which  was 
now  supposed  to  be  the  origin  of  the 
infection.  Goaded  by  their  fears,  and 
incited  by  their  sorcerers,  the  Indians 
rushed  into  the  missionary  residence 
to  seize  the  mysterious  corpse.  As 
superior,  the  principal  weight  of  these 
persecutions  fell  upon  Father  Bre- 
beuf, who  endeavored  in  vain  to  dis- 
pel such  vain  fears.  The  fathers 
were  insulted  and  threatened  with 
death  in  their  own  house.  A  gene- 
ral council  of  chiefs  and  warriors 
was  held,  in  which  they  were  univer- 
sally accused  of  causing  all  the  evils 
of  the  country.  The  courageous 
Brebeuf  stood  in  their  midst  to  refute 
their  calumnies  and  expose  their  fol- 
lies. Nothing  could  appease  them. 
They  offered  to  spare  Father  Bre 
beufs  life  if  he  would  deliver  up  thc» 
fatal  cloth  in  which  he  had  wrapt 
the  pestilence.  He  indignantly  re- 
fused to  countenance  their  supersti 
tions  by  compliance,  but  told  then* 


526 


"^Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


to  search  his  cabin  and  burn  every 
cloth  if  they  thought  proper.  He 
told  them,  however,  that  since  they 
had  pressed  .him  so  far,  he  would 
give  them  his  opinion  as  to  the  ori- 
gin of  their  misfortunes,  which  he 
then  went  o'n  to  trace  to  natural 
causes  and  their  own  foolish  method 
of  treating  the  sick,  and  spoke  to 
them  of  the  power  of  God  and  his 
justice  in  rewarding  the  good  and 
punishing  the  wicked.  Father  Bre- 
beuf  concluded  his  remarks  amidst 
shouts  and  insults,  but  without  los- 
ing his  characteristic  courage  and 
calmness.  Despite  his  unanswerable 
appeal,  the  assembly  thirsted  for  the 
blood  of  at  least  one  of  the  mission- 
aries as  an  experiment,  and  at  any 
moment  one  of  those  devoted  men 
might  have  fallen  dead  under  the 
hatchet  of  some  enraged  savage. 
Repeated  councils  were  held,  and 
the  death  of 'the  strangers  was  resolv- 
ed upon.  The  residence  was  burn- 
ed, the  stake  prepared,  and  Father 
Brebeuf  led  forth.  Having  prepar- 
ed himself  for  death,  he  now,  in  imi- 
tation of  the  Huron  custom,  gave 
the  usual  feast,  in  order  to  show  that 
he  did  not  shrink  from  giving  his  life 
in  testimony  of  the  faith  he  had 
preached  to  them.  Just  before  the 
moment  of  his  execution  arrived,  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf  was  summoned  to  a 
council,  where,  amid  insult  and  in- 
terruption, he  delivered  another  speech 
in  advocacy  of  the  faith,  instead  of 
explaining  the  plague,  and,  by  one  of 
those  sudden  changes  of  temper  not 
unusual  in  Indian  assemblies,  he  was 
acquitted  and  set  free.  As  he  passed 
from  the  wigwam  of  the  council,  he 
saw  one  of  his  greatest  persecutors 
fall  dead  at  his  feet,  under  a  stroke 
from  the  murderous  tomahawk  :  sup- 
posing that,  in  the  dim  light  of  a  far- 
spent  day,  the  murderer  had  mistak- 
en his  victim,  the  future  martyr  ask- 
ed :  "  Was  not  that  blow  meant  for 


me  ?"  "  No,"  replied  the  warrior ; 
"  pass  on :  he  was  a  sorcerer,  thou 
art  not."  His  companions  were  anx- 
iously awaiting  the  result ;  and  when 
he  walked  into  their  midst,  they  re- 
ceived him  as  the  dead  restored  to  life. 
They  all  united  in  returning  thanks  to 
God  for  the  safety  of  the  superior  of 
the  mission,  and  especially  for  the 
announcement  which  that  apostolic 
man  made  to  them,  that  they  might 
yet  hope  to  remain  in  that  country, 
and  labor  for  the  salvation  of  their 
persecutors. 

The  firm  and  uncompromising  cha- 
racter of  Father  Brebeuf  is  strikingly 
illustrated  in  contrast  with  the  fickle- 
ness of  the  Indians,  the  difference 
between  faith  and  superstition,  by  an- 
other circumstance  which  occurred 
during  the  prevalence  of  the  pesti- 
lence. The  Hurons,  after  repeated 
recourse  to  their  medicine-men,  whose 
vile  practices  they  now  saw  to  be 
barren  of  results,  resolved  to  have 
recourse  to  the  fathers,  whom  they 
invited  to  attend  a  council.  "  What 
must  we  do  that  your  God  may  take 
pity  on  us  ?"  they  asked  of  the  Chris- 
tian priests.  Father  Brebeuf  imme- 
diately answered  :  "  Believe  in  him  ; 
keep  his  commandments ;  abjure  your 
faith  in  dreams ;  take  but  one  wife, 
and  be  true  to  her;  give  up  your 
superstitious  feasts ;  renounce  your 
assemblies  of  debauchery ;  eat  no 
human  flesh ;  never  give  feasts  to 
demons ;  and  make  a  vow  that,  if 
God  will  deliver  you  from  this  pest, 
you  will  build  a  chapel  to  offer  him 
thanksgiving  and  praise." 

In  the  midst  of  their  sufferings 
and  the  persecutions  they  sustained, 
these  heroic  missionaries  ceased  not 
a  single  moment  their  labors  of  mer- 
cy and  salvation.  Themselves  out- 
cast and  friendless,  they  visited  and 
nursed  the  sick ;  repulsed,  they  press- 
ed forward  to  the  bedside  of  the  dy- 
ing; reviled  for  their  religion,  they 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


527 


still  announced  its  saving  truths; 
threatened  with  death,  they  bestow- 
ed the  bread  of  life  eternal  upon 
others,  even  while  the  deadly  toma- 
hawk glistened  over  their  heads. 
Such  was  the  life  the  early  Catholic 
missionaries  led  upon  our  borders; 
such,  too,  were  the  labors  and  sacri- 
fices which  preluded  others,  equally 
sublime  and  heroic,  within  the  terri- 
tory of  our  own  republic. 

Among  the  converts  of  Father 
Brebeuf  at  Ossossane  was  Joseph 
Chiwattenwha,  a  nephew  on  the  ma- 
ternal side  to  the  head  chief  of  the 
Hurons.  From  the  time  that  he  lis- 
tened to  Father  Bre"beuf  s  sermon  at 
the  "feast  of  the  dead,"  he  had 
been  an  earnest  and  regular  cate- 
chumen. He  rejected  the  prevailing 


superstitions  of  his  race,  and  was  re- 
markable for  the  purity  of  his  morals, 
his  freedom  from  the  common  Indian 
vice  of  gambling,  and  for  his  rare 
conjugal  fidelity.  Notwithstanding 
his  virtues,  and  his  repeated  requests 
to  be  baptized,  Father  Brebeuf  de- 
layed the  sacrament,  to  make  sure  of 
his  thorough  conversion,  and,  finally, 
only  conferred  it  upon  him  in  a  mo- 
ment of  danger.  The  chief  recov- 
ered from  his  illness,  and,  calling  all 
his  friends  together  at  a  grand  ban- 
quet, he  addressed  them  zealously  in 
favor  of  the  faith  he  had  embraced. 
His  faith  and  zeal  were  rewarded  by 
the  manifest  protection  of  Heaven 
over  himself  and  his  family  during 
the  prevalence  of  the  fever. 


TO  BE  CONTINUED. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

OUR    LADY    OF    LOURDES 


BY   HENRI    LASSERRE. 


BOOK    EIGHTH. 


THE  appointment  by  the  Bishop 
of  a  commission  of  examination,  and 
the  analysis  of  M.  Filhol,  deprived 
Baron  Massy,  M.  Rouland,  and  M. 
Jacomet  of  all  pretext  for  continuing 
violent  measures,  or  for  maintaining 
about  the  grotto  strict  prohibitions, 
barriers,  and  guards. 

In  justification  of  the  restrictions 
previously  made,  it  had  been  said : 
"  Considering  that  it  is  very  desira- 
ble, in  the  interest  of  religion,  to  put 
an  end  to  the  deplorable  scenes  now 
presented  at  the  grotto  of  Massa- 


bielle."  Now  the  Bishop,  by  de- 
claring the  matter  to  be  of  sufficient 
importance  for  his  intervention,  and 
by  taking  in  hand  the  examination 
of  those  things  which  affected  the 
interests  of  religion,  had  deprived  the 
civil  power  of  this  motive  which  it 
had  made  so  prominent. 

In  justification  of  the  prohibition 
to  go  and  drink  at  the  spring  which 
had  gushed  out  under  the  hand  of 
Bernadette,  it  had  been  urged  "  that 
the  care  of  the  local  public  health 
devolves  upon  the  mayor,"  and  that 
this  water  "is  suspected  on  good 
grounds  to  contain  mineral  ingredi- 
ents, making  it  prudent,  before  per- 
mitting its  use,  to  wait  for  a  scientific 


528 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


analysis  to  determine  the  applications 
which  may  be  made  of  it  in  medi- 
cine." Now,  M.  Filhol,  by  his  deci- 
sion that  the  water  had  no  mineral 
properties,  and  that  it  could  be  drunk 
without  inconvenience,  had  annihi- 
lated in  the  name  of  science  and  of 
medicine  this  plea  of  "the  public 
health." 

If,  then,  these  considerations  had 
been  real  reasons  for  the  civil  power, 
and  not  merely  specious  pretexts ;  if 
it  had  really  been  acting  in  the  "  in- 
terests of  religion  and  the  public 
health,"  instead  of  being  under  the 
sway  of  evil  passions  and  intolerance ; 
or  if,  in  a  word,  it  had  been  sincere 
instead  of  being  hypocritical,  it  would 
now  have  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
remove  its  prohibitions  and  barriers ; 
it  would  have  only  had  to  leave  the 
people  perfectly  free  to  drink  of  this 
fountain,  the  perfect  harmlessness  of 
which  had  been  attested  by  science, 
and  to  recognize  their  right  to  kneel 
at  the  foot  of  these  mysterious  rocks, 
where  for  the  future  the  church  was 
to  be  on  the  watch. 


ii. 


BUT  this  was  not  the  case.  There 
was  a  great  obstacle  to  this  course, 
so  clearly  indicated  by  logic  and  con- 
science; namely,  pride.  Pride  was 
the  ruling  spirit  from  one  end  of  the 
scale  to  the  other,  from  Jacomet  up 
to  Rouland,  including  Baron  Massy 
and  the  philosophical  coterie.  It 
seemed  hard  to  them  to  retreat  and 
lay  down  their  arms.  Pride  never 
surrenders.  It  prefers  rather  to  take 
an  illogical  position  than  to  bow  to 
the  authority  of  reason.  Furious, 
beside  itself,  and  absurd,  it  revolts 
against  evidence.  Like  Satan,  it 
says,  "JVbn  serviam."  It  resists,  it  re- 
fuses to  bend,  it  stiffens  its  neck,  till 
suddenly  it  is  broken  by  some  con- 
temptuous and  superior  power. 


in. 

THERE  remained  for  the  official  and 
officious  foes  of  superstition  one  last 
weapon  to  use,  one  final  struggle  to 
make.  Though  the  battle  seemed  to 
be  certainly  lost  in  the  Pyrenees,  per- 
haps the  lost  position  might  be  re- 
gained in  Paris,  and  the  favor  of 
public  opinion  secured  throughout 
France  and  Europe,  before  the  cos- 
mopolitan assemblage  of  tourists  and 
bathers,  returning  home,  should 
pass  their  severe  judgments  on  the 
other  side.  This  was  tried.  A  for- 
midable attack  was  made  by  the  irre- 
ligious press  of  Paris,  the  provinces, 
and  other  countries,  upon  the  events 
at  Lourdes  and  the  Bishop's  ordi- 
nance. 

While  the  generals  of  the  infidel 
army  engaged  in  a  decisive  combat 
upon  this  vast  scale,  the  duty  of  the 
Prefect  of  Hautes- Pyrenees,  like  that 
of  Kellerman  at  Valmy,  was  to  hold 
at  all  costs  his  line  of  operation,  not 
to  recede  a  single  foot  from  it,  and 
not  to  capitulate  on  any  terms.  The 
intrepidity  of  Baron  Massy  was  well 
known,  and  it  was  understood  that 
neither  arguments  nor  the  most  sur- 
prising miracles  would  prevail  over 
his  invincible  firmness.  He  would 
stand  by  his  sinking  ship  to  the  last. 
The  absurd  had  in  him  an  excellent 
champion. 

The  Journal  des  Debats,  Stick, 
Presse,  Indtpendance  Beige,  and  vari- 
ous foreign  journals,  also  came  man- 
fully to  the  rescue.  The  smallest 
newspapers  of  the  smallest  countries 
considered  it  an  honor  to  serve  in 
this  campaign  against  the  superna- 
tural. We  find,  in  fact,  among  the 
combatants,  a  microscopic  sheet 
called  the  Courant,  published  at 
Amsterdam. 

Some,  like  the  Presse,  by  the  pen 
of  M.  Gueroult,  or  the  SiMe,  by 
those  of  MM.  Benard  and  Jourdan, 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


529 


attacked  the  very  idea  of  miracles, 
declaring  that  they  had  had  their 
day,  that  the  discussion  of  them  was 
no  longer  admissible,  and  to  examine 
into  a  question  which  had  already 
been  decided  by  the  light  of  philoso- 
phy was  beneath  the  dignity  of  free 
examen.  "  Miracles,"  said  M.  Gue- 
roult,  "  belong  to  a  state  of  civiliza- 
tion which  is  almost  gone  by. 
Though  God  does  not  change,  the 
conception  which  men  form  of  him 
changes  from  age  to  age,  according 
to  the  prevailing  standard  of  morality 
and  intelligence.  Ignorant  nations 
who  do  not  understand  the  harmony 
of  the  laws  by  which  the  universe 
is  governed  imagine  that  they  see 
continual  exceptions  to  these  laws. 
They  think  that  God  appears  and 
speaks  to  them,  or  sends  them  a 
message  by  his  angels,  almost 
daily.  But  as  society  becomes  more 
intelligent  and  better  informed,  and 
as  the  sciences  based  on  observation 
come  in  to  counteract  the  vagaries 
of  the  imagination,  all  this  mythology 
disappears.  Man  does  not  on  that 
account  become  less  religious,  but 
more  so,  though  in  a  different  man- 
ner. He  does  not  any  longer  see 
gods  and  goddesses,  angels  and  de- 
mons, face  to  face ;  but  he  seeks  to 
discover  the  divine  will  as  manifested 
in  the  laws  of  the  world.  Miracles, 
which  at  certain  periods  have  been 
necessary  to  faith  and  served  to  con- 
vey the  most  important  truths,  have 
become  in  our  day  the  bugbear  of 
all  serious  conviction."  M.  Gueroult 
declared  that,  if  he  should  be  told 
that  the  most  remarkable  miracle 
was  occurring  close  by  his  house  on 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  he  would 
not  take  a  step  out  of  his  way  to  see 
it.  "  If  such  occurrences,"  added 
he,  "  can  occupy  a  place  for  a  time 
among  the  superstitious  trumpery  of 
the  ignorant  masses,  they  only  excite 
a  smile  of  contempt  among  enlight- 
VOL.  xin. — 34 


en'ed  men,  among  those  whose  opin- 
ion is  sure  to  be  ultimately  adopted 
by  all  the  world."  * 

Other  papers  valiantly  set  to  work 
to  distort  the  facts.  Though  also 
attacking  miracles  in  principle,  the 
Siecle,  in  spite  of  the  enormous  yield 
of  twenty  thousand  and  odd  litres  a 
day,  still  remained,  in  its  capacity  ot 
an  enlightened  and  advanced  journal, 
at  the  old  thesis  of  hallucination  and 
infiltration.  "  It  seems  difficult  to 
us,"  said  M.  Benard,  very  gravely, 
"  to  see  a  miracle  in  the  hallucination 
of  a  little  girl  of  fourteen,  or  in  the 
oozing  out  of  some  water  in  a  cave." 

As  for  the  miraculous  cures,  they 
were  easily  disposed  of  as  follows  : 
"  Hydropathic  physicians  also  claim 
to  effect  the  most  extraordinary  cures 
by  means  of  pure  water,  but  they 
have  not  as  yet  proclaimed  upon  the 
house-tops  that  these  cures  are 
miracles."  f 

But  the  most  curious  example  of 
the  good  faith  of  the  free-thinkers,  or 
of  their  sagacity  in  examining  this 
matter,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Dutch 
newspaper  which  we  have  mentioned 
above,  and  whose  weighty  narrative 
was  reproduced  by  the  French  jour- 
nals. '  Let  us  see  how  this  friend  of 
enlightenment  enlightened  the  world 
by  his  account  of  the  matter : 

"  A  new  manifestation,  designed  to 
excite  and  promote  the  fervor  of  the 
faithful  in  the  worship  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  was  imminent.  The  delibera- 
tions of  the  bishops  on  this  point  had 
resulted  in  the  preparation  of  the 
famous  miracle  of  Lourdes.  It  is 
well  known  that  the  Bishop  of  Tarbes 
appointed  a  commission  of  inquiry. 
The  so-called  conclusions  of  the  re- 
port of  the  commission,  which  is 
composed  of  ecclesiastics  and  per- 
sons in  the  pay  of  the  clergy,  were 


*  Presse,  Aug.  31,  1858. 
t  Siecle,  Aug.  30,  1858. 


530 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


prepared  long  before  their  first  ses- 
sion. The  pretended  shepherdess  Ber- 
nadette  is  not  an  innocent  peasant,  but 
a  highly  cultivated  city  girl  of  a  very 
wily  character,  who  has  passed  several 
months  in  a  convent,  where  she  was 
taught  the  part  she  was  to  play.  There, 
before  a  small  audience,  rehearsals  were 
made  long  before  the  public  perform- 
ance. As  will  be  observed,  nothing 
was  wanting  for  the  completeness  of 
this  comedy,  not  even  the  usual  re- 
hearsals. If  at  any  time  there  is  a 
scarcity  of  actors  at  Paris,  the  places 
can  be  admirably  filled  from  the 
ranks  of  the  superior  clergy.  How- 
ever, the  liberal  press  has  made  the 
matter  thoroughly  ridiculous,  and  it* 
is  not  improbable  that  the  clergy,  in 
their  own  interest,  will  see  the  neces- 
sity of  being  prudent."*  The  in- 
formation of  the  journals  seems 
hardly  to  have  been  so  accurate  as 
that  which  secured  the  simple  faith 
of  His  Excellency  M.  Rouland.  The 
public,  it  is  evident,  were  treated  with 
no  more  respect  than  the  minister. 
This  is  too  often  the  way  in  which 
the  opinion  of  those  whom  M.  Gue"- 
roult  called  in  his  article  "enlightened 
men,"  alluding,  no  doubt,  to  the  tor- 
rent of  light  thrown  upon  them  by 
the  press,  is  formed. 

Another  point  of  attack  besides  the 
actual  events  and  the  possibility  of 
miracles  was  the  ordinance  of  the 
Bishop  of  Tarbes.  Philosophy, 
in  virtue  of  the  infallibility  of  its 
dogmas,  protested  against  exami- 
nation, scientific  study,  and  experi- 
ment. "  When  some  crazy  person 
sends  a  paper  on  perpetual  motion  or 
the  squaring  of  the  circle  to  the  Aca- 
demy of  Science,  the  Academy  passes 
to  the  order  of  the  day  without  wast- 
ing time  in  criticising  such  lucubra- 
tions. And  there  is  no  more  need 
of  examination  in  the  case  of  a  sup- 

*  A  msterdaamscht  Courant^  Sept.  9,  1858. 


posed  miracle.  Philosophy,  in  the 
name  of  reason,  passes  to  the  order 
of  the  day.  To  examine  the  claims 
of  the  supernatural  facts  would  be 
to  admit  their  possibility  and  to  de- 
ny its  own  principles.  In  such  mat- 
ters, proofs  and  testimony  count 
for  nothing.  We  do  not  discuss  the 
impossible,  but  dismiss  it  with  a 
shrug."  Such  was  the  central  idea 
of  the  thousand  varied  forms  assumed 
by  the  fiery  and  excited  polemics  of 
the  irreligious  press.  Vainly  did  it 
persist  in  denial  and  perversion ;  it 
was  afraid  to  examine.  False  theo- 
ries prefer  to  remain  in  the  fluctua- 
tion and  fog  of  pure  speculation.  By 
some  natural  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion, they  fear  broad  daylight,  and 
do  not  dare  to  descend  with  a  steady 
foot  upon  the  firm  ground  of  the  ex- 
perimental method.  They  perceive 
that  only  defeat  awaits  them  there. 

In  this  desperate  struggle  against 
the  evidence  of  facts  and  the  rights 
of  reason,  the  liberal  mask  of  the 
Journal  des  Debats  unfortunately  fell 
off,  and  showed  the  depth  of  furious 
intolerance  concealed  under  its  phi- 
losophical exterior.  'I\\zjournal  des 
Dtbats,  by  the  pen  of  M.  Prevost- 
Paradol,  was  terrified  in  advance  at 
the  great  weight  which  the  report  of 
the  commission  and  the  decision  of 
the  Bishop  were  sure  to  have,  and 
accordingly  appealed  to  the  secular 
arm,  beseeching  Caesar  to  put  a  stop 
to  the  whole  thing.  "  It  is  evident," 
said  he,  "  that  a  striking  manifesta- 
tion of  divine  power  in  favor  of  a  re- 
ligion makes  strongly  for  its  indivi- 
dual truth,  for  its  superiority  over 
others,  and  its  incontestable  right  to 
govern  souls.  It  is  then  an  event  of 
a  nature  to  produce  numerous  con- 
versions, both  of  dissenters  and  of  infi- 
dels ;  in  other  words,  it  is  an  instru- 
ment of  proselytism."  He  showed 
also  the  political  importance  of  the 
result  of  the  examination.  "  If  this 


Our  Lady  of  Lonrdes. 


531 


decision  is  favorable  to  the  miracle, 
it  will  have  a  tendency  to  dissolve 
in  that  part  of  France  the  equilibrium 
now  existing  between  the  religious  and 
civil  powers.  The  ministers  of  a  re- 
ligion in  favor  of  which  such  prodi- 
gies are  authentically  asserted  are 
quite  different  sort  of  people  from 
those  which  the  Concordat  provides 
for.  They  have  a  very  different  sort 
of  authority  over  the  people,  and  in 
case  of  any  collision  they  exert  a  very 
different  kind  of  influence  from  that 
of  the  council  of  state  and  the  pre- 
fect." 

"  We  have  sufficiently  shown,"  said 
the  writer  in  the  Debats,  "  the  impor- 
tance which  the  decision  of  the  epis- 
copal commission  at  Tarbes  must 
have  in  various  points  of  view.  Now, 
there  is  a  truth  here  which  should  be 
remembered,  and  of  which  M.  de  Mor- 
ny  has  just  very  properly  reminded 
the  council-general  at  Puy-de-D6me  ; 
that  is,  that  nothing  of  importance 
can  legally  be  done  in  France  with- 
out previous  authority  from  the  ad- 
ministration. If,  as  M.  de  Morny 
very  justly  remarks,  one  cannot  move 
a  rock  or  dig  a  well  without  the  con- 
sent of  the  administration,  still  less 
can  one  without  its  consent  author- 
ize a  miracle  or  establish  a  pilgrim- 
age. Any  one  who  is  concerned 
with  religious  matters,  and  especially 
with  the  opening  of  churches  or 
schools  of  dissenting  bodies,  knows 
that  the  administration  has  not  mere- 
ly one  enactment,  but  twenty  or  thirty, 
which  makes  it  all-powerful  in  such 
cases.  The  meeting  of  the  commis- 
sion of  the  diocese  of  Tarbes  can  be 
prevented  or  its  session  can  be  dissolv- 
ed in  a  hundred  different  ways  by  the 
Concordat,  by  the  penal  code,  by 
the  law  of  1824,  by  the  decree  of 
February,  1852,  by  the  central  autho- 
rity, by  the  municipal  authority,  by 
all  conceivable  authorities.  The  de- 
cision of  this  commission  can  also  be 


annulled  by  the  legal  opposition  of 
the  administrative  authority  to  the 
erection  of  a  chapel  or  to  the  distri- 
bution of  the  miraculous  water.  The 
same  authority  can  prohibit  and 
break  up  all  meetings  of  the  people, 
and  prosecute  the  originators  of  such 
meetings,  etc."  Having  arrived  at 
this  point,  having  notified  Caesar  and 
cried  "  caveant  consules,"  the  able 
writer  resumed,  for  form's  sake,  his 
garb  of  liberalism.  "  What  is  our 
object,"  said  he  hypocritically,  "  in  es- 
tablishing this  preventive  right  of  the 
administration  ?  Is  it  to  urge  them 
to  use  it  ?  God  forbid."  And  thus  he 
crept,  by  a  sort  of  secret  passage, 
into  the  ranks  of  the  friends  of  liberty. 

The  provincial  journals  echoed  the 
sentiments  of  those  of  Paris.  The 
battle  became  universal.  The  ser- 
geants, corporals,  and  privates  of  the 
literary  army  pressed  forward  on  the 
steps  of  the  marshals  of  free  thought. 
The  Ere  Imperiale  of  Tarbes  charg- 
ed its  blunderbuss  with  arguments 
from  Paris,  and  fired  them  off  at  the 
supernatural  every  other  day.  The 
little  Lavedan,  also,  had  picked  up  a 
few  grains  of  powder,  rather  damp- 
ened, it  must  be  owned,  by  the  wa- 
ter of  the  grotto,  and  did  its  best, 
aided,  according  to  report,  by  Ja- 
comet,  to  make  its  weekly  penny- 
pistol  effective. 

The  Univers,  the  Union,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  Catholic  papers 
bravely  met  their  universal  attack. 
Powerful  talents  lent  themselves  to  the 
service  of  the  yet  more  powerful  truth. 
The  Christian  press  re-established  the 
facts  and  demolished  the  miserable 
quibbles  of  philosophic  fanaticism. 

"  Meeting  with  some  unexplained 
facts  to  which  the  faith  or  the  credu- 
lity of  the  multitude  attributes  a  su- 
pernatural character,  the  civil  autho- 
rity," said  M.  Louis  Veuillot,  "has 
decided  without  information,  but  al- 
so without  success,  in  the  negative. 


532 


Qur  Lady  cf  Loiirdes, 


The  spiritual  authority  comes  in  in  its 
turn ;  it  is  its  right  and  its  duty  to 
do  so.  But  before  making  its  judg- 
ment, it  obtains  information.  It  in- 
stitutes a  commission,  an  inquiry  to 
examine  the  alleged  facts,  to  study 
them,  and  determine  their  nature. 
If  they  have  actually  occurred,  and 
are  really  supernatural,  the  commis- 
sion will  say  so.  If  they  have  not 
occurred,  or  if  they  can  be  explain- 
ed on  natural  principles,  the  com- 
mission will  also  acknowledge  that 
such  is  the  case.  What  more  can  our 
adversaries  desire  ?  Do  they  wish 
the  Bishop  to  abstain  from  this  ex- 
amination, with  a  double  danger  be- 
fore him,  either  of  failing  to  recog- 
nize a  signal  favor  which  Almighty 
God  would  grant  to  his  people,  or  of 
allowing  a  superstition  to  take  root 
among  them  ? 

"  The  Bishop  must  necessarily 
have  observed  the  strangeness  of  this 
conviction  which  had  become  so 
firm  in  the  popular  mind,  upon  the 
word  of  a  poor  and  ignorant  little  girl; 
he  must  have  asked  also  how  these 
cures  could  be  accounted  for,  obtain- 
ed as  they  had  been  by  means  of  a  few 
drops  of  pure  water,  swallowed  or  ex- 
ternally applied.  .  .  .  And  if  there 
have  been  in  fact  no  cures,  it  must 
be  ascertained  why  the  contrary  has 
been  believed.  But,  supposing  that 
the  water  has  no  mineral  ingredient, 
as  is  said  by  the  chemists,  and  that, 
nevertheless,  the  cures  are  certain, 
as  many  sick  people  and  several  phy- 
sicians attest,  we  do  not  see  any  diffi- 
culty in  recognizing  in  the  case  some- 
thing supernatural  and  miraculous, 
with  all  due  respect  to  the  explana- 
tions of  the  Siecle"  , 

The  vigorous  champion  contended 
with  all  his  enemies  at  once.  A  touch 
of  his  pen  sufficed  to  demolish  the  ridi- 
culous idea  of  denying  the  possibili- 
ty of  miracles,  and  of  refusing  even 
an  examination  to  these  startling 


facts  which  a  multitude  had  seen 
with  their  own  eyes  and  attested  on 
their  knees.  "  If  any  one  should 
tell  M.  Gueroult  that  a  great  miracle 
had  been  worked  in  the  name  of 
Christ  upon  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, he  would  not  go,  it  seems,  to 
see  it.  This  is  prudent  in  him  cer- 
tainly, for  he  is  determined  to  re- 
main incredulous ;  and  in  presence 
of  such  a  spectacle  he  would  not  be 
so  certain  of  finding  a  natural  expla- 
nation which  would  dispense  him 
from  going  to  confession.  But  he 
would  be  still  more  prudent  if  he 
would  witness  the  miracle  and  be- 
lieve, yielding  to  the  testimony  which 
God  in  his  mercy  would  thus  give 
him.  The  people,  however,  will  not 
care  for  his  absence,  and  will  not  be 
at  all  disconcerted  to  hear  that  the 
thing  is  not  at  all  extraordinary,  and 
that  they  are  the  victims  of  delusion. 
Things  would  take  the  same  course 
at  Paris  as  at  Lourdes;  a  miracle 
would  be  proclaimed,  and,  if  there 
really  had  been  one,  it  would  have 
its  effect ;  that  is,  many  men  who 
had  not  as  yet  '  sought  to  discover  the 
divine  will]  or  who  have  not  yet 
been  successful  in  their  search,  would 
know  and  fulfil  it ;  they  would  love 
God  with  their  whole  heart,  soul,  and 
mind,  and  their  neighbors  as  them- 
selves. Such  is  the  object  which 
God  intends  in  working  miracles; 
and  it  is  so  much  the  worse  for  those 
who  refuse  to  profit  by  them. 

"Those  who  reject  the  supernatu- 
ral, said  an  ancient  writer,  destroy 
philosophy.  They  destroy  it  indeed, 
and  especially  since  the  advent  of 
Christianity,  because,  wishing  to  take 
God  out  of  the  world,  they  have  no 
longer  any  explanation  for  the  world 
or  for  humanity.  As  to  this  God 
whom  they  exclude,  some  deny  his 
existence,  that  they  may  get  entirely 
rid  of  him ;  others  make  of  him  an 
inert  and  indifferent  being,  having  no- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


533 


thing  to  require  and  requiring  noth- 
ing from  men,  whom  he  abandons  to 
chance,  having  created  them  in  a 
freak  of  his  disdainful  power.  Some, 
denying  him  in  their  very  affirmation, 
as  if  they  wished  to  satiate  their  in- 
gratitude by  doing  him  a  double  in- 
jury, pretend  to  find  him  in  all  things, 
which  theory  dispenses  them  from 
recognizing  and  adoring  him  any- 
where in  particular.  Meanwhile, 
around  them  and  even  in  themselves, 
humanity  confesses  its  God.  They 
reply  by  sophisms  which  are  far  from 
contenting  them,  by  sarcasms  the 
weakness  of  which  they  can  hardly 
conceal  from  themselves,  and  at  last 
their  science  and  reason,  driven  back 
to  the  absurd,  deprive  them  of  their 
eyes  and  ears.  They  destroy  all  phi- 
losophy. .  .  .  God,  taking  com- 
passion on  the  faith  of  the  weak 
which  these  false  teachers  would  per- 
vert, shows  himself  by  one  of  those 
unusual  displays  of  his  power,  which 
is  nevertheless  one  of  the  laws  of  the 
world.  They  deny  it.  Look!  we 
do  not  wish  to  see !  .  .  .  David 
said  of  the  sinner,  '  He  has  promis- 
ed himself  in  his  heart  to  sin ;  he  re- 
fuses to  understand,  that  he  may  not 
be  forced  to  do  well.' 

"  Ah  !  no  doubt,"  elsewhere  ex- 
claimed the  indignant  logician,  "  there 
is  an  unfortunate  multitude  on  whom 
all  these  commonplaces  can  be  palm- 
ed off  without  difficulty;  but  there 
are  also  at  Lourdes  and  elsewhere 
some  readers  whose  common-sense 
is  aroused,  and  who  ask  what  will 
become  of  history,  evident  facts,  and 
reason  in  such  a  system,  with  such  a 
determination  to  deny  everything 
without  examination  ? 

"  As  to  preventing  the  episcopal 
:ommission  from  acting,  we  doubt  if 
iere  are  any  laws  conferring  such  a 
)wer  upon  the  government ;  if  there 
re,  it  will  probably  wisely  abstain 
)m  using  its  power.  On  one  hand, 


nothing  could  be  more  favorable  to 
superstition  than  to  do  so ;  the  po- 
pular credulity  would  then  go  astray 
without  restraint,  for  there  is  no  law 
which  can  oblige  the  Bishop  to  pro- 
nounce upon  a  fact  about  which  he 
has  not  been  able,  and  has  even  been 
forbidden,  to  inform  himself.  .  .  . 
There  is  only  one  course  for  the  ene- 
mies of  superstition,  that  is,  to  ap- 
point a  commission  themselves,  tc 
make  a  counter-examination,  and 
publish  its  result,  in  case,  of  course, 
that  the  one  appointed  by  the  Bishop 
concludes  in  favor  of  the  miracle. 
For  if  it  concludes  that  the  reports 
are  false,  or  that  there  is  some  illu- 
sion, this  will  not  be  needed." 

The  Catholic  press,  with  a  reserve 
truly  admirable  in  the  midst  of  the 
excitement  of  the  dispute,  refused  to 
decide  as  to  the  actual  merits  of  the 
case.  It  did  not  wish  to  anticipate 
the  verdict  of  the  episcopal  commis- 
sion ;  but  confined  itself  to  refuting 
calumnies,  absurd  stories,  and  soph- 
isms, to  defending  the  historical  the- 
sis of  the  occurrence  of  supernatural 
events,  and  to  claiming  in  the  name  of 
reason  the  right  of  examination  and 
freedom  to  ascertain  the  truth.  "  The 
event  at  Lourdes,"  said  the  Univers, 
"  is  not  as  yet  verified,  nor  is  its  na- 
ture determined.  It  may  have  been 
a  miracle,  it  may  have  been  an  illu- 
sion. The  decision  of  the  Bishop  will 
settle  the  question. 

"  For  our  own  part,  we  believe 
that  we  have  answered  all  that  has 
been  seriously  or  even  speciously  said 
about  the  events  at  Lourdes.  We 
shall  leave  the  matter  here.  It  was 
not  right  that  the  press  should  be  al 
lowed  to  heap  around  these  facts  all 
the  lies  it  could  think  of;  but  it 
would  not  be  becoming  to  give  an 
answer  to  the  abundance  of  its  scoff- 
ing words.  Wise  men  will  appreciate 
the  wisdom  and  good  faith  of  the 
church,  and  as  usual,  after  all  the 


534 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


turmoil,  truth  will  secure  for  itself  in 
the  world  its  little  nucleus  of  adhe- 
rents, '  pusillus  grex,'  which  neverthe- 
less is  sufficient  to  maintain  its  ascen- 
dency in  the  world."  * 

It  is  obvious  that,  in  the  great  po- 
lemical question  regarding  miracles 
which  was  being  discussed  on  the 
occasion  of  the  events  at  Lourdes, 
the  two  sides  were  acting  on  diame- 
trically opposite  plans. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  Catholics 
appealed  to  an  impartial  examina- 
tion ;  on  the  other,  the  pseudo-phi- 
losophers feared  the  light.  The  for- 
mer said,  "  Let  us  have  an  examina- 
tion ;"  the  latter  cried,  "  Let  us  hear 
no  more  of  this  matter."  The  for- 
mer had  for  their  watchword  liberty  of 
conscience;  the  latter  implored  Cse- 
sar  to  put  a  violent  stop  to  this  reli- 
gious movement,  and  to  stifle  it,  not 
by  the  power  of  arguments,  but  by 
brute  force. 

Every  impartial  mind,  placed  by 
its  views  or  circumstances  outside  of 
the  mette,  could  not  help  seeing 
with  the  greatest  clearness  that  jus- 
tice, truth,  and  reason  were  on  the 
Catholic  side.  All  that  was  necessa- 
ry for  this  was,  not  to  be  blinded  by 
the  fury  of  the  contest  or  by  an  im- 
movable prejudice. 

Although  in  the  person  of  a  com- 
missary, a  prefect,  and  a  minister  the 
administration  had  unfortunately  tak- 
en a  very  decided  part  in  this  impor- 
tant affair,  there  still  was  a  man  of 
authority  who  had  not  had  anything 
to  do  with  it,  and  who  was  in  the 
conditions  of  perfect  impartiality, 
whatever*  his  religious,  philosophical, 
and  political  views  might  be.  Wheth- 
er there  had  been  a  manifestation  of 
the  supernatural  or  not  at  Lourdes 
made  no  difference  in  his  calcula- 
tions. Neither  his  ambition,  self- 


*  The  above  extracts  are  from  the  Univers,  on 
larious  dates  in  August  and  September,  1858. 


love,  doctrines,  nor  antecedents  were 
concerned  in  this  question.  What 
mind  is  there  which  in  such  circum- 
stances cannot  be  fair,  and  give  jus- 
tice and  truth  their  rights  ?  People 
do  not  violate  justice  or  outrage  truth 
except  when  they  think  it  advanta- 
geous to  do  so,  under  some  strong 
prompting  of  avarice,  ambition,  or 
pride. 

The  man  of  whom  we  speak  was 
called  Napoleon  III.,  and  was,  as  it 
happened,  Emperor  of  the  French. 

Impassible  as  usual,  silent  as  the 
granite  sphinxes  which  watch  at  the 
gates  of  Thebes,  he  followed  the  dis- 
cussion, observing  the  turns  of  the 
battle,  and  waiting  for  the  public 
conscience  to  dictate,  as  it  were,  his 
decision. 


IV. 


WHILE  God  was  thus  leaving  his 
work  to  the  disputes  of  men,  he  did 
not  cease  to  grant  visible  graces  to 
the  humble  and  believing  souls  which 
came  to  the  miraculous  spring  to  im- 
plore the  aid  of  the  sovereign  power 
of  the  Virgin  Mother. 

A  child  of  the  town  of  St.  Justin, 
in  the  department  of  Gers,  named 
Jean-Marie  Tambourne,  had  been 
for  some  months  entirely  disabled  in 
his  right  leg.  The  pains  in  it  had 
been  so  severe  that  the  limb  had 
been  twisted;  and  the  foot,  turned 
entirely  outward  in  these,  crises  of 
suffering,  had  come  to  form  a  right 
angle  with  the  other  one.  His  gene- 
ral health  had  rapidly  deteriorated 
under  this  state  of  continual  suffer- 
ing, which  robbed  the  poor  boy  of 
his  sleep  as  well  as  of  his  appetite. 
He  was  in  fact  sinking  into  the 
grave.  His  parents,  who  were  tole- 
rably well  off,  had  tried  for  his  cure 
all  the  treatments  which  had  been 
suggested  by  the  physicians  of  the 
neighborhood,  but  without  success. 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


535 


They  had  also  had  recourse  to  the 
waters  of  Blousson  and  to  medicated 
baths.  The  result  had  been  almost 
complete  failure.  Any  very  slight 
and  temporary  alleviations  which 
were  obtained  always  resulted  in  a 
disastrous  relapse. 

The  parents  had  at  last  lost  all 
confidence  in  the  remedies  of  science. 
Tired  of  medical  treatment,  they 
turned  their  hopes  toward  the  Mother 
of  God,  who,  it  was  said,  had  ap- 
peared at  the  Massabielle  rocks.  On 
the  23d  of  September,  1858,  the  little 
boy  was  taken  by  his  mother  to 
Lourdes,  in  the  public  coach.  It  was 
a  long  distance,  more  than  thirty 
miles.  Having  reached  the  town,  the 
mother  hastened  to  the  grotto,  carry- 
ing her  unfortunate  child  in  her  arms. 
She  bathed  him  in  the  miraculous 
water,  praying  with  fervor  to  her  who 
has  been  pleased  to  be  called  in  the 
Litany  "  Health  of  the  Sick."  The 
child  meanwhile  had  fallen  into  a 
sort  of  ecstatic  state.  His  eyes  were 
wide  open,  his  lips  apart.  He  seemed 
to  be  gazing  at  some  strange  object 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  his 
mother. 

"  I  see  the  good  God  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin,"  answered  he. 

The  poor  woman,  at  these  words, 
felt  a  great  commotion  at  her  heart, 
and  the  sweat  stood  out  upon  her 
face. 

The  child  came  to  himself. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  my  trouble  is 
gone.  My  feet  do  not  ache  now.  I 
can  walk,  I  know  I  can;  I  am  as 
strong  as  ever  I  was." 

Jean-Marie  was  right ;  he  was  in- 
deed cured.  He  went  to  the  village 
of  Lourdes  on  foot,  ate  and  slept 
there.  At  the  same  time  that  his  pain 
and  weakness  ceased,  his  appetite  and 
sleep  returned.  The  next  day  his 
mother  bathed  him  once  more  at  the 
grotto,  and  had  a  mass  of  thanks- 
giving celebrated  in  the  church  at 


Lourdes.  Then  they  set  out  for 
home;  not  in  the  coach  this  time, 
but  on  foot 

When,  after  spending  one  night  on 
the  road,  they  reached  St.  Justin,  the 
child  saw  his  father,  who  was  on  the 
watch,  expecting  no  doubt  that  some 
carriage  would  bring  back  the  pil- 
grims. Jean-Marie  recognized  him 
far  off,  and  ran  to  him. 

The  father  almost  fainted.  But 
his  darling  was  already  in  his  arms. 
"  Papa,"  cried  he,  "  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin has  cured  me." 

The  news  of  this  event  spread 
quickly  enough  in  the  town,  where 
everybody  knew  the  child.  They 
flocked  from  all  sides  to  see  him."  * 

The  sister  of  a  notary  of  Tarbes, 
Jeanne-Marie  Massot-Bordenave,  had 
become,  after  a  long  and  serious  ill- 
ness, almost  entirely  crippled  in  her 
feet  and  hands.  She  walked  only 


*  Twenty-eighth  prates-verbal  of  the  episcopal 
commission. 

The  following  is  the-report  of  one  of  the  physi- 
cians appointed  to  examine  this  cure : 

"The  boy  Tambourne',  at  five  years  of  age, 
showed  the  symptoms  of  hip  disease  in  the  first 
stage ;  very  sharp  pains  in  the  knee,  duller  at  the 
hip,  a  turning  out  of  the  foot,  lameness  at  first, 
afterwards  inability  to  walk  without  great  suffer- 
ing. The  digestive  functions  became  impaired. 
He  had  a  repugnance  to  food,  and  became  very 
much  reduced.  The  disease,  going  through  its 
first  period  very  rapidly,  was  threatening  sooner 
or  later  to  put  an  end  to  the  child's  life,  when  the 
idea  was  formed  of  taking  him  to  the  grotto  of 
Lourdes,  where  his  cure  was  effected  instantly. 

"The  complaint  of  young  Tambourne  was  of 
the  same  class  as  that  of  Busquet,  but  it  was  more 
severe,  having  affected  one  of  the  principal  joints. 
Its  indications  were  already  most  distressing  to 
the  eyes  of  the  physician  who  is  able  to  see  what 
the  future  has  in  store. 

"  It  is,  no  doubt,  possible  to  cure  hip-disease,  by 
the  means  and  processes  employed,  by  science. 
Natural  sulphurous  waters  can  remove  it ;  but  in 
no  case  is  it  possible  for  them  to  operate  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightaing. 

'•  Instantaneousness  of  action  is  so  much  beyond 
the  healing  power  by  means  of  which  such 
waters  operate,  that  it  may  be  asserted  that  there 
is  a  fact  in  the  supernatural  order  in  all  the  cases 
of  immediate  cure  in  which  a  material  lesion  has 
been  involved.  It  hardly  needs  to  be  stated  that 
young  Tambourn^  came  to  the  grotto  carried  by 
his  mother,  and  that  a  few  moments  afterwards 
he  climbed  a  steep  slope,  walked  and  ran  the  rest 
of  the  day,  without  feeling  the  least  pain,  and 
with  as  much  ease  as  before  the  coming  on  of  the 
disease,  etc." 


536 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


with  extreme  difficulty.  Her  hands, 
habitually  swollen,  discolored,  and 
aching,  were  almost  entirely  useless. 
Her  fingers,  bent  back  and  stiff,  could 
not  be  straightened,  and  were  com- 
pletely paralyzed.  Having  gone  to 
see  her  brother  at  Tarbes,  she  was 
returning  home  to  Arras,  in  the  canton 
of  Aucun.  She  was  alone  in  the  in- 
side of  the  diligence.  A  flask  of  wine 
which  her  brother  had  given  her 
having  become  uncorked  and  over- 
turned, she  could  not  set  it  up  or 
cork  it,  so  entirely  powerless  had  her 
fingers  become. 

Lourdes  was  upon  the  road.  She 
stopped  there  and  went  to  the  grotto. 
Hardly  had  she  plunged  her  hands 
into  the  miraculous  water,  when  she 
perceived  that  they  were  instantly 
coming  back  to  life.  Her  fingers  had 
straightened,  and  suddenly  recovered 
their  flexibility  and  strength.  Suc- 
cessful perhaps  beyond  her  expecta- 
tions, she  plunged  her  feet  in  the 
miraculous  water,  and  they  were 
healed  like  her  hands.  She  fell  upon 
her  knees.  What  did  she  say  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  ?  How  did  she  thank 
her?  Such  prayers,  such  bursts  of 
gratitude  may  be  imagined,  but  not 
expressed  in  words. 

She  then  put  on  her  shoes,  and 
with  a  confident  step  returned  to  the 
town. 

A  young  girl  was  walking  in  the 
same  direction,  coming  back  from  the 
woods  with  an  enormous  bundle  of 
fagots  on  her  head.  It  was  warm, 
and  the  poor  little  peasant  was  bathed 
in  perspiration.  Exhausted,  she  sat 
down  upon  a  stone  at  the  side  of  the 
road,  laying  her  too  heavy  burden  at 
her  feet.  At  this  moment  Jeanne- 
Marie  Massot  passed  before  her,  re- 
turning quickly  and  joyfully  from  the 
fountain  of  grace.  A  good  thought 
occurred  to  her.  She  went  up  to  the 
child. 

"  My  child,"  said  she  to  her,  "  our 


Lord  has  just  granted  me  a  great 
favor.  He  has  cured  me;  he  has 
taken  away  my  burden.  And  in  my 
turn,  I  would  like  to  aid  and  relieve 
you." 

So  saying,  Marie  Massot  took  up 
with  her  hands  restored  to  life  the 
heavy  fagots  which  lay  on  the  ground, 
put  them  on  her  head,  and  thus  re- 
turned to  Lourdes,  whence,  less  than 
an.  hour  before,  she  had  gone  out 
weak  and  paralyzed.  The  first-fruits 
of  her  recovered  strength  had  been 
nobly  used;  they  had  been  conse- 
crated to  charity.  "  Freely  have  you 
received,  freely  give,"  said  our  Re- 
deemer to  his  disciples.* 

A  woman  already  advanced  in  age, 
Marie  Capdevielle,  of  the  village  of 
Livron,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Lourdes,  had  also  been  cured  of  a 
severe  deafness  which  had  troubled 
her  for  a  long  time.  "  I  seem,"  said 
she,  "  to  be  in  another  world  when  I 
hear  the  church-bells,  which  I  have 
not  heard  before  for  three  years." 

These  cures,  and  many  others, 
continue  to  attest  irrefutably  the 

*  We  give  in  this  note  the  report  of  the  physi- 
cians entrusted  with  the  examination  of  this  case 
by  the  episcopal  commission.  It  is  remarkable 
for  its  circumspection.  It  does  not  dare  to  pro- 
nounce in  favor  of  a  miracle  ;  but  such  a  reserve 
in  so  striking  a  case  gives  to  the  reports  in  which 
miraculous  power  is  recognized  an  authority 
yet  more  incontestable  and  conclusive. 

"Mile.  Massot- Bordenave,  of  Arras,  aged  fifty- 
three,  was  afflicted  in  the  month  of  May,  1858, 
with  a  malady  which  deprived  her  feet  and  hands 
of  part  of  their  power  and  mobility.  Her  fingers 

were  much  bent Her  bread  had  to  be 

cut  for  her.  She  went  on  foot  to  the  grotto,  bathed 
her  hands  and  feet,  and  went  away  cured 

"Itcannotbe  denied  that  all  theprima  facie  in- 
dications in  this  case  are  in  favor  of  the  interven- 
tion of  some  supernatural  cause  ;  but  examining 
it  with  attention,  we  shall  see  that  this  view  is 
opposed  by  several  well-founded  objections. 
Thus,  the  beginning  of  the  trouble  was  hardly 
four  months  before  ;  its  character  was  not  alarm- 
ing, being  a  weakness  of  convalescence,  a  dim- 
inution of  energy  in  the  extensor  and  flexor 
muscles  of  the  fing:rs  and  toes.  Let  the  nervous 
p'jwerflow  into  these  muscles,  under  the  influence 
of  a  strong  moral  stimulus,  and  they  would  resume 
their  functions  immediately.  Now,  may  we  not 
admit  in  this  case  that  the  imagination  may  have 
become  exalted  by  the  religious  sentiment,  and 
by  the  hope  of  becoming  the  recipient  of  a  favor 
from  heaven  2" 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


537 


direct  intervention  of  God.  He 
showed  his  power  in  restoring  health 
to  the  sick,  and  it  was  evident  that, 
if  he  had  permitted  persecution,  it  was 
because  it  was  necessary  to  the  con- 
duct of  his  designs.  It  rested  with 
him  to  put  a  stop  to  it,  and  for  that 
purpose  to  bend  and  use  as  it  should 
please  him  the  wills  of  the  great  ones 
of  the  earth. 


v. 


POLEMICS  on  the  subject  of  the 
grotto  had  become  exhausted.  In 
France  and  abroad,  public  opinion 
had  passed  judgment,  not  indeed  on 
the  reality  of  the  supernatural  events, 
but  on  the  violent  oppression  to  which 
all  liberty  of  belief  and  right  of  ex- 
amination were  being  subjected  to  in 
a  corner  of  the  empire.  The  miser- 
able sophisms  of  antichristian  fanati- 
cism and  of  pseudo-philosophic  in- 
tolerance had  not  held  their  ground 
before  the  cogent  logic  of  the  Catholic 
journals.  The  De'bats,  the  Siecle,  the 
Presse,  and  the  common  herd  of  irre- 
ligious sheets  kept  silence,  probably 
sorry  that  they  had  undertaken  this 
unfortunate  contest,  and  made  so 
much- noise  about  these  extraordinary 
facts.  They  had  only  succeeded  in 
propagating  and  spreading  every- 
where the  renown  of  a  host  of  miracles. 
From  Italy,  Germany,  and  even  more 
distant  lands,  people  were  writing  to 
Lourdes  for  some  of  the  sacred  water. 

At  the  Bureau  of  Public  Worship, 
M.  Rouland  persisted  in  putting  him- 
self in  the  way  of  the  most  holy  of 
liberties,  and  in  endeavoring  to  stop 
the  march  of  events. 

At  the  grotto,  Jacomet  and  the 
guards  continued  to  keep  watch  day 
and  night,  and  to  bring  the  faithful 
up  before  the  courts.  Judge  Duprat 
kept  on  sentencing  them. 

Between  such  a  minister  to  back 
him,  and  such  agents  to  carry  out  his 


will,  Baron  Massy  remained  bravely 
in  his  desperately  illogical  situation, 
and  consoled  himself  with  the  omni- 
potence of  his  arbitrary  will.  Con- 
tinually more  and  more  exasperated 
by  seeing  the  vain  pretexts  of  religion 
and  public  order  with  which  he  had 
at  first  wished  to  conceal  his  intoler- 
ance slipping  through  his  fingers,  he 
gave  himself  up  gladly  to  the  bitter 
satisfaction  of  practising  pure  tyranny. 
He  remained  deaf  to  the  universal 
protest.  To  all  reasoning,  to  unde- 
niable evidence,  he  opposed  his  own 
will :  "  Such  is  my  determination." 
It  was  sweet  to  him  to  be  stronger 
single-handed  than  all  the  multitudes, 
stronger  than  the  Bishop,  stronger 
than  common  sense,  than  miracles, 
than  the  God  who  was  manifested  at 
the  grotto. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  two 
eminent  personages,  Mgr.  de  Salinis, 
Archbishop  of  Auch,  and  M.  de 
Ressequier,  formerly  of  the  deputies, 
called  on  the  Emperor,  who  was  at 
the  time  at  Biarritz.  Napoleon  III. 
was  receiving  at  the  same  time  from 
rarious  quarters  petitions  demanding 
urgently,  in  virtue  of  the  most  sacred 
rights,  the  annulment  of  the  arbi- 
trary and  violent  measures  of  Baron 
Massy.  "  Sire,"  said  one  of  these 
petitions,  "  we  do  not  pretend  to 
settle  the  question  as  to  the  appari- 
tions of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  though 
almost  all  the  people  here,  on  account 
of  the  startling  miracles  which  they 
claim  to  have  personally  witnessed, 
believe  in  the  reality  of  these  super- 
natural manifestations.  But  it  is 
certain  and  indisputable  that  the 
fountain  which  appeared  suddenly, 
and  from  which  we  are  excluded,  in 
spite  of  the  scientific  analysis  which 
asserts  its  perfect  harmlessness,  has 
been  hurtful  to  no  one ;  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  undeniable  that  a  great 
number  of  persons  declare  that  they 
have  there  recovered  their  health.  In 


538 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


ihe  name  of  the  rights  of  conscience, 
which  should  be  independent  of  all 
human  power,  permit  the  faithful  to 
go  and  pray  there  if  they  choose.  In 
the  name  of  humanity,  allow  the  sick 
to  go  there  for  their  cure,  if  they  en^ 
tertain  such  a  hope.  In  the  name  of 
free  thought,  suffer  the  minds  which 
need  information  for  their  study  and 
examination  to  go  there  to  unmask 
error  or  to  discover  truth." 

The  Emperor,  as  we  have  said 
above,  was  disinterested  in  the  ques- 
tion, or  rather  it  was  for  his  interest 
not  to  waste  his  power  in  fruitlessly 
opposing  the  course  of  events.  It 
was  for  his  interest  to  listen  to  the 
cry  of  souls  asking  for  the  liberty  of 
their  faith,  the  cry  of  minds  demand- 
ing freedom  to  study  and  see  for 
themselves.  It  was  for  his  interest 
to  be  just,  and  not  to  crush,  by  an 
arbitrary  act  and  an  evident  de- 
nial of  justice,  those  who  believed 
the  evidence  of  their  senses,  as  well 
as  those  who,  though  not  yet  believ- 
ing, still  claimed  the  right  to  exam- 
ine publicly  the  mysterious  occurren- 
ces which  were  occupying  the  atten- 
tion of  France. 

It  has  been  seen  what  wild  roman- 
ces the  honest  Minister  Rouland  had 
gravely  acccepted  as  incontestable 
truths.  The  information  which  his 
benevolent  excellency  must  have  giv- 
en the  Emperor  could  hardly  have 
given  the  latter  much  light  upon  the 
subject.  The  newspaper  discussions, 
although  they  had  triumphantly 
brought  to  light  the  right  of  one  par- 
ty and  the  unjust  intolerance  of  the 
other,  could  not  have  given  him  a 
perfectly  clear  idea  of  the  situation. 
At  Biarritz  only  did  it  appear  to  him 
in  its  fulness  and  complete  details. 

Napoleon  III.,  was  not  a  very  de- 
monstrative sovereign ;  his  thoughts 
were  seldom  plainly  indicated  by  his 
words;  rather  by  actions.  As  he 
learned  the  absurd  and  violent  pro- 


ceedings by  which  the  minister,  the 
prefect,  and  their  agents  had  been 
bringing  authority  into  disgrace,  his 
dull  eye  brightened,  it  is  said,  with  a 
flash  of  anger;  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  nervously,  and  a  cloud  of 
deep  displeasure  passed  over  his 
brow.  He  rang  the  bell  impatiently. 

"  Take  this  to  the  telegraph  of- 
fice," said  he. 

It  was  a  brief  dispatch  to  the  Pre- 
fect of  Tarbes,  ordering  him,  in  the 
name  of  the  Emperor,  to  rescind  in- 
stantly the  decree  closing  the  grotto 
at  Lourdes,  and  to  leave  the  people 
free. 

VI. 

WE  are  familiar  with  the  discover- 
ies of  science  with  regard  to  the  won- 
derful electric  spark,  which  the  net- 
work of  wires  covering  the  globe  car- 
ries from  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the 
other  in  an  instant.  The  telegraph, 
as  the  savants  tell  us,  is  the  same 
thing  as  the  thunderbolt.  On  this 
occasion,  Baron  Massy  was  entirely 
of  their  opinion.  The  imperial  de- 
spatch, falling  suddenly  upon  them, 
stunned  and  bewildered  him,  as  a 
sudden  stroke  of  lightning  would 
have  done  coming  down  upon  his 
house.  He  could  not  believe  in  its 
reality.  The  more  he  thought  of  it, 
the  more  impossible  it  seemed  for 
him  to  retrace  his  steps,  to  reverse 
his  judgment,  or  to  bear  his  retreat 
publicly.  Nevertheless,  he  had  to 
swallow  this  bitter  draught,  or  hand 
in  his  resignation  and  put  far  away 
from  his  lips  the  sweet  prefectoral 
cup.  Fatal  alternative  !  The  heart 
of  a  public  functionary  is  sometimes 
torn  by  fearful  anguish. 

When  a  sudden  catastrophe  comes 
upon  us,  we  have  at  first  some  diffi- 
culty in  accepting  it  as  definitive, 
and  we  continue  to  struggle  after  all 
is  lost.  Baron  Massy  did  not  es- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


539 


cape  this  illusion.  He  hoped  vague- 
ly that  the  Emperor  would  revoke 
his  decision.  In  this  hope,  he  un- 
dertook to  keep  the  dispatch  secret 
for  some  days,  and  not  to  obey. 
He  wrote  to  the  Emperor,  and  also 
secured  the  intervention  of  Minister 
Rouland,  who  was  less  publicly  but 
as  completely  affected  as  himself  by 
the  unexpected  order  from  Biarritz. 

Napoleon  III.  was  as  insensible 
to  the  protests  of  the  minister  as  to 
the  representations  and  entreaties  of 
the  prefect.  The  judgment  which 
he  had  made  had  been  based  upon 
evidence,  and  was  irrevocable.  All 
these  steps  had  no  other  result  than  to 
show  him  that  the  prefect  had  dared 
to  set  aside  his  orders  and  to  post- 
pone their  execution.  A  second  de- 
spatch left  Biarritz.  It  was  couched 
in  terms  which  permitted  no  com- 
ment or  delay. 

Baron  Massy  had  to  choose  be- 
tween his  pride  and  his  prefecture. 
He  made  the  grievous  choice,  and 
was  humble  enough  to  remain  in  his 
office. 

The  head  of  the  department  re- 
signed himself  to  obedience.  Ne- 
vertheless, in  spite  of  the  imperative 
orders  of  his  master,  he  still  tried, 
not  to  resist,  which  was  evidently 
impossible,  but  to  hide  his  retreat  and 
not  surrender  publicly. 

In  consequence  of  some  official 
indiscretions,  and  perhaps  also  by 
the  account  of  the  gentlemen  who 
had  waited  on  the  Emperor,  the  pur- 
port of  the  orders  from  Biarritz  was 
already  vaguely  known  by  the  pub- 
lic. It  was  the  topic  of  general  con- 
versation. The  prefect  neither  con- 
firmed nor  denied  the  prevailing  ru- 
mors. He  instructed  Jacomet  and 
his  agents  to  draw  up  no  more  pro- 
ces-i>erbaux,  and  to  discontinue  the 
watch.  Such  a  course,  coming  in 
connection  with  the  current  reports 
as  to  the  instructions  of  the  Emperor, 


ought  to  have  sufficed  (at  least  such 
was  his  hope)  to  put  things  in  their 
normal  state,  and  make  the  prohibi- 
tory decree  a  dead  letter.  It  was 
even  probable  that  the  people,  re- 
stored to  liberty,  would  hasten  them- 
selves to  root  up  and  throw  into  the 
Gave  the  posts  bearing  the  caution 
against  entering  upon  the  common 
land  and  within  the  barriers  which 
enclosed  the  grotto. 

M.  Massy  was,  however,  mistaken 
in  his  calculations,  plausible  as  they 
may  have  been.  In  spite  of  the  ab- 
sence of  the  police,  in  spite  of  the 
reports  which  were  circulating  with- 
out official  contradiction,  the  people 
feared  some  snare.  They  continued 
to  pray  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
Gave.  The  trespasses  were  as  be- 
fore, generally  speaking,  few  and  far 
between.  No  one  touched  the  posts 
or  the  barriers.  The  status  quo,  in- 
stead of  disappearing  of  its  own  ac- 
cord, as  the  prefect  had  hoped,  ob- 
stinately remained. 

Considering  the  character  of  Na- 
poleon III.,  and  the  clearness  of  the 
orders  from  Biarritz,  the  situation  was 
dangerous  for  the  prefect,  and  Baron 
Massy  was  too  intelligent  not  to  per- 
ceive it.  Every  moment  it  was  to  be 
feared  that  the  Emperor  would  hear 
ofthe  way  in  which  he  was  trying  to 
beat  around  the  bush.  He  may  well 
have  dreaded  continually  that  some 
terrible  message  would  arrive  setting 
him  aside  for  ever,  and  turning  him 
out  in  the  cold,  out  from  the  luminous 
realms  of  functionarism  into  the  ex- 
terior darkness  in  which  the  miserable 
unofficial  world  is  involved. 

The  end  of  September  had  come. 

It  happened  that,  during  these  per- 
plexities, M.  Fould  had  occasion  to 
make  another  visit  to  Tarbes,  and 
even  to  go  to  Lourdes.  Did  he  in- 
crease the  alarm  of  the  prefect  by 
speaking  of  the  sovereign,  or  did 
the  Baron  receive  some  new  telegram 


540 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


more  crushing  than  the  others  ?  We 
do  not  know.  But  it  is  certain  that, 
on  the  3d  of  October,  M.  Massy,  as 
if  struck  down  by  some  unseen  hand, 
became  pliable  as  a  broken  reed,  and 
that  his  arrogant  stiffness  was  sud- 
denly changed  to  a  complete  pros- 
tration. 

The  next  day  he  issued,  in  the  name 
of  the  Emperor,  an  order  to  the  mayor 
of  Lourdes  to  repeal  the  decree  pub- 
licly, and  to  have  Jacomet  remove 
the  posts  and  barriers. 

VII. 

M.  LACADE  did  not  hesitate  like 
M.  Massy.  This  issue  freed  him  at 
once  from  the  heavy  burden  which 
the  mingled  desire  of  pleasing  both 
the  prefect  and  the  people,  both  the 
heavenly  and  earthly  powers,  had 
imposed  upon  him.  By  an  illusion 
very  common  with  undecided  people, 
he  imagined  that  he  had  always  been 
on  the  side  which  now  prevailed,  and 
in  this  spirit  he  drew  up  a  proclama- 
tion to  the  following  effect :  "  Citizens 
of  Lourdes,  the  day  which  we  have  so 
earnestly  desired  has  at  last  come; 
we  have  earned  it  by  our  wisdom, 
perseverance,  faith,  and  courage." 
Such  was  the  sense  and  style  of  his 
proclamation,  the  text  of  which  is 
unfortunately  not  extant."  * 

The  proclamation  was  read  through 
the  town,  with  an  accompaniment  of 
drums  and  trumpets.  At  the  same 
time  the  following  notice  was  posted 
on  the  walls : 

The  Mayor  of  Lourdes, 
Acting  upon  instructions  addressed  to 

him, 

ORDERS  AS  FOLLOWS  : 
The  order  issued  on  the  8th  of  June,  1858, 

is  revoked. 

Done  at  Lourdes,  at  the  Mayor's  Office, 
Oct.  5,  1858. 
The  Mayor,  A.  LACADE. 

*  A  great  part  of  the  papers  relating  to  the 
grotto  of  Lourdes  were  kept  by  the  Lacade  family 


At  the  same  time,  Jacomet  and  the 
sergents-de-ville  repaired  to  the  grotto 
to  take  away  the  barriers  and  posts. 

A  crowd  had  already  collected 
there,  and  was  increasing  every  mo- 
ment. Some  were  praying  on  their 
knees,  and,  endeavoring  not  to  be 
distracted  by  the  hubbub  around, 
were  thanking  God  for  having  put  a 
stop  to  the  scandal  and  the  persecu- 
tions. Others  were  standing  up  talk- 
ing in  a  low  voice,  and  awaiting  with 
emotion  what  was  about  to  take  place. 
Many  of  the  women  were  saying  their 
beads.  Some  held  bottles  in  their 
hands,  which  they  wished  to  fill  at 
the  source  of  the  fountain.  Some 
were  throwing  flowers  over  the  bar- 
riers into  the  interior  of  the  grotto. 
But  no  one  touched  the  barriers.  It 
was  necessary  that  those  who  had 
publicly  placed  them  there  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  power  of  God  should 
come  and  remove  them  publicly  in 
submission  to  the  will  of  a  man. 

Jacomet  arrived.  Although,  in  spite 
of  himself,  he  showed  some  embarrass- 
ment, and  though  from  the  paleness 
of  his  face  his  profound  humiliation 
might  have  been  suspected,  still  he 
had  not,  contrary  to  the  general  ex- 
pectation, the  dejected  appearance 
of  one  who  had  been  conquered. 
Escorted  by  his  subordinates  with 
their  hatchets  and  pickaxes,  he  came 
forward  with  a  bold  face.  With  a 
seemingly  strange  affectation,  he  wore 
his  full-dress  costume.  His  large 
tricolor  scarf  was  wrapped  around 
him  and  rested  upon  his  parade 
sword.  A  vague  tumult,  a  dull  mur- 
mur, with  some  distinct  cries  here 
and  there,  was  heard  from  the  crowd. 
The  commissary  took  up  his  position 
upon  a  rock,  and  signed  to  the  people 
that  he  wished  to  speak.  Every  one 


instead  of  being  left  in  the  archives  of  the  mayor- 
alty. We  endeavored  in  vain  to  get  at  these 
precious  documents.  The  Lacade  family  say  that 
they  have  been  burned. 


Mr.  Fronde  and  Calvinism. 


541 


listened.  His  words  are  said  to  have 
been  to  this  effect :  "  My  friends,  these 
barriers  which  the  municipality,  to  my 
great  regret,  has  ordered  to  put  up, 
are  about  to  be  removed.  Who  has 
suffered  more  than  I  from  this  obstacle 
raised  against  your  piety  ?  I  also  am 
a  Christian,  my  friends ;  I  share  your 
faith.  But  the  official,  like  the  soldier, 
has  only  one  duty;  it  is  the  duty, 
often  a  very  painful  one,  of  obedience. 
The  responsibility  does  not  rest  upon 
him.  Well,  my  friends,  when  I  saw 
your  admirable  patience,  your  respect 
for  authority,  your  persevering  faith, 
I  informed  the  higher  authorities.  I 
pleaded  your  cause.  I  said,  '  Why 
prevent  them  from  praying  at  the 
grotto,  from  drinking  at  the  fountain  ? 
They  will  do  no  harm.'  And  thus, 
my  friends,  the  prohibition  has  been 
removed,  and  the  prefect  and  I  have 


resolved  to  take  down  these  barriers 
for  ever,  which  were  so  displeasing  to 
you  and  much  more  so  to  me." 

The  crowd  maintained  a  cold 
silence.  Some  of  the  young  people 
chuckled  and  laughed.  Jacomet  was 
evidently  troubled  by  his  want  of  suc- 
cess. He  gave  orders  to  his  men  to 
take  away  the  fence,  which  was  done 
without  delay.  The  boards  were 
piled  up  near  the  grotto,  and  the 
police  came  at  nightfall  to  take  them 
away. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  at  Lour- 
des.  All  the  afternoon  crowds  were 
going  and  coming  on  the  road  to  the 
grotto.  Before  the  Massabielle  rocks 
immense  numbers  of  the  faithful  were 
kneeling.  Canticles  and  litanies  were 
sung :  "  Virgo  potens,  ora  pro  nobis." 
The  people  drank  of  the  fountain. 
Faith  was  free.  God  had  triumphed. 


MR.  FROUDE  AND  CALVINISM. 


THE  Robert-Houdin  of  modern 
English  writers,  and  author  of  that 
popular  serial  novel  grimly  entitled 
The  History  of  England,  appears 
to  be  only  at  home  in  an  element  of 
paradox,  and  in  the  clever  accom- 
plishment of  some  literary  tour  de 
force.  Calvinism:  An  Address  de- 
livered at  St.  Andrews,  March  17, 
1871,  by  James  Anthony  Froude, 
M.A.,*  is  his  latest  performance. 

Always  liberal  in  his  assumption 
of  premises,  no  one  need  be  surprised 
that  the  author  should  claim  Calvin- 
ism to  have  been  "  accepted  for  two 
centuries  in  all  Protestant  countries 

*  New  York :  Charles  Scribner  &  Co. 


as  the  final  account  of  the  relations 
between  man  and  his  Maker,"  and 
should  represent  that  "  the  Catholics 
whom  it  overthrew"  assail  it,  etc. 
It  will  be  news  to  most  Protestants, 
Lutherans  and  Anglicans  in  particu- 
lar, that  Calvinism  was  thus  accept- 
ed, -and  the  '  overthrown  Catholics ' 
will  be  not  less  surprised.  Through- 
out the  address,  Mr.  Froude  indus- 
triously insists  upon  the  false  idea 
that  Luther  was  a  Calvinist.  The 
statement  refutes  itself  in  its  terms. 
No  argument  is  needed  to  show  that 
Luther's  free-will  doctrine  and  Cal- 
vin's predestination  were  simply  ir 
reconcilable.  It  was  not  skilful  ir 
Mr.  Froude  to  smother  in  its  very 


542 


Mr.  Froude  and  Calvinism. 


birth  his  labored  vindication  of  Cal- 
vinistic  doctrine  by  such  a  presenta- 
tion as  this  (p.  4) : 

"  It  has  come  to  be  regarded  by  liberal 
thinkers  as  a  system  of  belief  incred- 
ible in  itself,  dishonoring  to  its  ob- 
ject, and  as  intolerable  as  it  has  been 
itself  intolerant.  To  represent  man  as 
sent  into  the  world  under  a  curse,  as 
incurably  wicked — wicked  by  the  con- 
stitution of  his  flesh,  and  wicked  by 
eternal  decree — as  doomed,  unless  ex- 
empted by  special  grace  which  he  cannot 
merit  or  by  any  effort  of  his  own  obtain, 
to  live  in  sin  while  he  remains  on  earth, 
and  to  be  eternally  miserable  when  he 
leaves  it — to  represent  him  as  born 
unable  to  keep  the  commandments,  yet 
as  justly  liable  to  everlasting  punishment 
for  breaking  them,  is  alike  repugnant  to 
reason  and  to  conscience,  and  turns  ex- 
istence into  a  hideous  nightmare.  To 
tell  men  that  they  cannot  help  themselves 
is  to  fling  them  into  recklessness  and 
despair.  To  what  purpose  the  effort  to 
be  virtuous,  when  it  is  an  effort  which  is 
foredoomed  to  fail — when  those  that  are 
saved  are  saved  by  no  effort  of  their  own, 
and  confess  themselves  the  worst  of  sin- 
ners, even  when  rescued  from  the  penal- 
ties of  sin  ;  and  those  that  are  lost  are 
lost  by  an  everlasting  sentence  decreed 
against  them  before  they  were  born  ? 
How  are  we  to  call  the  Ruler  who  laid 
us  under  this  iron  code  by  the  name  of 
Wise,  or  Just,  or  Merciful,  when  we 
ascribe  principles  of  action  to  him 
which  in  a  human  father  we  should  call 
preposterous  and  monstrous  ?  " 

As  types  of  Calvinism  and  almost 
perfect  human  beings,  as  men  of 
grandeur  and  nobility  of  character, 
upright  life,  commanding  intellect, 
untainted  selfishness,  unalterably  just, 
frank,  true,  cheerful,  humorous,  and 
as  unlike  sour  fanatics  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  imagine  any  one,  Mr.  Froude 
names  William  the  Silent,  Luther, 
John  Knox,  Andrew  Melville,  the 
Regent  Murray,  Coligny,  Cromwell, 
Milton,  and  John  Bunyan.  The 
Calvinism  of  all  the  members  of  this 
remarkably  assorted  group  is  at  least 
open  to  serious  question.  As  to 


their  supereminent  goodness  and 
almost  angelic  purity,  it  would  be  an 
easy  but  not  a  pleasant  task  to  point 
out  the  refutation  in  their  fatal  short- 
comings. It  may  be  that  Cromwell 
had  "  the  tenderness  of  a  woman  "  in 
his  heart,  but  no  testimony  to  support 
that  assertion  could  possibly  be  pro- 
cured in  Ireland.  It  may  be  that 
Knox  was  not  a  sour  fanatic,  that 
William  was  all  unselfishness,  that 
Coligny  was  blameless,  and  that 
Milton's  wife  was  mistaken  in  her 
estimate  of  her  husband. 

As  to  the  Regent  Murray,  who 
was  told  to  his  face  by  John  Knax 
that  his  religion  was  "  for  his  own 
commoditie,"  and  whom  Aytoun* 
has  incarcerated  in  the  immortal 
amber  of  his  verse  as  "  the  falsest 
villain  ever  Scotland  bred  " — 

"  False  to  his  faith,  a  wedded  priest : 

Still  falser  to  the  Crown  ; 
False  to  the  blood,  that  in  his  veins 

Made  bastardy  renown  ; 
False  to  his  sister,  whom  he  swore 

To  guard  and  shield  from  harm ; 
The  head  of  many  a  felon  plot, 

But  never  once  the  arm  ! 
A  verier  knave  ne'er  stepped  the  earth 

Since  this  wide  world  began  ; 
And  yet — he  bandies  texts  with  Knox, 

And  walks  a  pious  man  !  " — 

we  are  perfectly  satisfied  that 
Robespierre  is  an  accomplished 
Christian  gentleman  beside  him,  for 
Robespierre  at  least  never  stole  his 
sister's  jewels  nor  took  bribes  from 
his  country's  enemies. 

Then  we  are  treated  by  the  author 
to  a  promenade  down  the  path  of 
ages,  amid  the  wrecks  of  empires 
and  of  systems,  and  to  rhetorically 
embroidered  sketches,  with  mention 
more  or  less  extended  of  Olympus, 
Valhalla,  Egyptian  idolatry,  Bud- 
dhism, in  which  "  Zoroaster,  like 
Moses,  saw  behind  the  physical 
forces  into  the  deeper  laws  of  right 
and  wrong,"  Greek  theology,  the 
Stoics,  "the  Galilean  fishermen 

*  Author  of  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers. 


Mr.  Froude  and  Calvinism. 


543 


and  the  tentmaker  of  Tarsus,"  and 
— Islamism.  Of  all  these,  the  last 
most  decidedly  brings  out  Mr. 
Froude's  warmest  enthusiasm,  and 
we  find  ourselves  querying  if  it  is 
Mohammed's  fatalism  he  so  much  ad- 
mires, for  the  monotheism  of  the 
prophet  could  hardly  be  called 
Calvinistic,  thus  making  the  burning 
of  Servetus  a  gratuitous  waste  of 
cord-wood.  Here  we  feel  bound  in 
justice  to  say  that,  although  the  men 
of  Galilee  and  of  Tarsus  do  not 
appear  to  excite  any  very  strong 
admiration  in  our  author,  he  never- 
theless makes  the  handsome  con- 
cession that  he  is  not  "  upholding 
Mohammed  as  if  he  had  been  a  perfect 
man,  or  the  Koran  as  a  second 
Bible,"  and  that  "  the  detailed  con- 
ception of  man's  duties  was  inferior, 
far  inferior,  to  what  St.  Martin  and 
St.  Patrick,  St.  Columba  and  St. 
Augustine,  were  teaching  or  had 
taught  in  Western  Europe." 

The  early  Christian  church  being 
essentially  Catholic,  it  does  not  draw 
very  heavily  on  either  Mr.  Froude's 
enthusiasm  or  his  admiration,  and,  in 
speaking  of  "  the  mystery  called  tran- 
substantiation  "  in  the  twelfth  century, 
he  makes  an  attempt  to  sum  up  Ca- 
tholicity in  a  vein  partaking  of  the 
brutality  with  which,  in  his  History 
of  England,  he  has  the  cool  insolence 
to  speak  of  the  Catholic  religion — 
the  religion  of  Copernicus,  Sir  Tho- 
mas More,  Fenelon,  and  Dr.  Newman 
— as  "  a  Paphian  idolatry." 

The  Reformation  is,  of  course,  in- 
troduced with  flourish  of  trumpets. 
But  the  Reformation  was  essentially 
Lutheran,  and  not  Calvinistic.  Lu- 
ther himself,  who  was,  so  Mr.  Froude 
assures  us,  "  one  of  the  grandest  men 
that  ever  lived  on  earth,"  than  whom 
"none  more  loyal  to  the  light  that 
was  in  him — braver,  truer,  or  wider- 
minded,  in  the  noblest  sense  of  the 
word  " — this  Luther,  we  say,  was  as 


sincere  a  believer  as  Saint  Augustine 
in  the  real  presence — in  transubstan- 
tiation,  as  Mr.  Froude  has  it — a  doc- 
trine which,  on  all  occasions  and  as 
far  as  in  him  lies,  our  English  writer 
seeks  to  drag  in  the  mud.  And  yet 
this  Luther,  so  believing,  was,  Mr. 
Froude  seeks  to  persuade  us,  a  Cal- 
vinist. 

Calvinism,  in  practice,  was  a  lovely 
thing,  and  Mr.  Froude  proves  that  it 
was  by — John  Knox,  whom  he  thus 
cites :  "  Elsewhere,"  says  Knox,  speak- 
ing of  Geneva,  "  the  word  of  God  is 
taught  as  purely ;  but  never  anywhere 
have  I  seen  God  obeyed  as  faith- 
fully." 

Mr.  Froude  is,  moreover,  surprised 
that  Calvinism  should  have  been 
called  intolerant,*  and  sums  up  its 
vindication  thus  :  "  Intolerance  of  an 
enemy  who  is  trying  to  kill  you  seems 
to  me  a  pardonable  state  of  mind." 

In  the  face  of  this  citation,  it  is  al- 
most unnecessary  to  state  that  the 
name  of  Servetus  does  not  once  oc- 
cur in  the  forty-seven  pages  of  the 
Address,  nor  is  the  slightest  allusion 
made  to  him.  And  if  the  curious 
reader,  unacquainted  with  the  practi- 
cal working  of  Calvinism  in  Geneva, 
where  God  was  "obeyed  so  faith- 
fully," should  inquire  how  it  was  that 
this  perfect  Christian  man,  Calvin, 
wrote  his  laws  in  blood  and  enforced 
them  with  the  aid  of  executioners  and 
torturers ;  how  it  was  that  he  perse- 
cuted some  men  and,  under  color  of 


*  Mr.  Froude's  memory  is  not  always  good. 
In  his  History  of  England,  vol.  ix.,  p.  307,  he  tells 
us:  "The  guidance  of  the  great  movement  was 
snatched  from  the  control  of  reason  to  be  made 
over  to  Calvinism  ;  and  Calvinism,  could  it  have 
had  the  world  under  its  feet,  would  have  been  as 
merciless  as  the  Inquisition  itself.  The  Hugue- 
nots and  the  Puritans,  the  Bible  in  one  hand,  the 
sword  in  the  other,  were  ready  to  make  war  with 
steel  and  fire  against  all  which  Europe  for  ten 
centuries  had  held  sacred.  Fury  encountered 
fury,  fanaticism  fanaticism  ;  and  wherever  Cal- 
vin's spirit  fe  nitrated,  the  Christian  world  was 
divided  into  two  armies,  who  abhorred  each  other 
with  a  bitterness  exceeding  the  utmost  malignity 
of  mere  human  nature" 


544 


Mr.  Froude  and  Calvinism. 


law,  assassinated  others,  he  may  be 
referred  to  these  witnesses:  First. 
Jerome  Bolsec,  exiled  for  proposing 
"  an  opinion  false  and  contrary  to  the 
evangelical  religion."  Second.  Peter 
Arneaux,  who,  for  saying  that  Calvin 
was  "  a  wicked  man  announcing  false 
doctrine,"  was  condemned  to  walk 
the  streets  of  Geneva  in  his  shirt,  a 
lighted  torch  in  his  hand,  bare-head- 
ed and  bare-footed.  Third.  Henri 
de  la  Marc,  exiled  for  saying  that 
Peter  Arneaux  was  a  worthy  man, 
and  that,  if  Calvin  had  a  spite  against 
any  one,  -he  gratified  it.  Fourth. 
Jacques  Gruet,  who  was  beheaded 
and  his  head  afterward  nailed  to  a 
post,  for  the  crime  of  being  the 
author  of  placards  accusing  the  Cal- 
vinists  of  persecution,  and  for  proofs 
of  impiety  found  in  his  private  writ- 
ings when  his  house  was  searched. 
Finally.  Servetus,  who,  for  being  "  a 
sower  of  heresies,"  was,  by  Calvin's 
authority,  imprisoned,  left  there  for 
two  months  to  suffer  by  hunger  and 
nakedness,  and  then  brought  out  and, 
at  the  age  of  forty-four  years,  burned 
alive. 

We  cannot  be  certain  that  Mr. 
Froude  has  ever  heard  of  any  of 
these  Protestants  martyred  for  their 
opinions.  If  he  has  heard  of  them, 
we  presume  he  means  to  vindicate 
Calvin,  and  to  cover  their  cases  by 
the  crushing  statement  at  page 
43 :  "  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  to- 
lerate lies  clearly  convicted  of  being 
lies  under  any  circumstances;  special- 
ly it  is  not  easy  to  tolerate  lies  which 
strut  about  in  the  name  of  religion." 

The  passage  is  characteristic  of 
Mr.  Froude's  capacity  for  ambiguity 
and  indirection,  but  he  neglects  to 
indicate  the  tribunal  of  truth  at 
which  these  lies  are  "  clearly  convict- 
ed." It  is  a  serious  matter  for  a 
gentleman  of  no  particular  religious 
principle  to  say  that  this  or  the  oth- 
er theological  conviction  is  a  lie 


which  struts  about  in  the  name  of 
religion;  for,  in  the  eye  of  the  theolo- 
gically convicted,  the  most  offensive- 
ly disgusting  of  all  struts  is  the  strut 
of  "  no  religion  to  speak  of."  More- 
over, the  author  had  better  have  left 
unpublished  the  last  member  of  the 
sentence  we  have  quoted,  because, 
in  his  case,  it  irresistibly  suggests  this 
other  phrase  :  "  It  is  not  easy  to  to- 
lerate novels  which  strut  about  in  the 
name  of  history." 

Thus  we  know,  as  matter  of  re- 
cord, that  Norman  Leslie  proposed 
to  Henry  VIII.  the  assassination  of 
Cardinal  Beaton  for  a  sum  of  money, 
that  the  negotiation,  at  first  delayed, 
was  finally  closed  and  carried  out. 
Leslie  got  his  money,  and  the  cardi- 
nal was  murdered,  because,  as  Mr. 
Froude  touchingly  relates  it,  Henry's 
position  "  obliged  him  to  look  at 
facts  as  they  were  rather  than  through 
conventional  forms." 

Mr.  Froude  presents  the  hired  bra- 
vo of  Henry  VIII.  thus  :  "  Norman 
Leslie  did  not  kill  Cardinal  Beaton 
down  in  the  castle  yonder  because 
he  was  a  Catholic,  but  because  he 
was  a  murderer." 

Mr.  Froude  does  not  appear  by 
his  writings  to  have  an  unvarying 
standard  of  morality.  Apparently 
incapable  of  judging  actions  as  they 
are,  he  measures  them  by  his  person- 
al like  or  dislike  of  the  actors.  Al- 
ways the  advocate,  never  the  philo- 
sophical historian,  he  presents  but 
one  side  of  a  case.  Certain  person- 
ages in  history  are  with  him  always 
right,  certain  others  are  always  wrong. 
Even  the  crimes  of  the  former  are 
meritorious,  or,  at  worse,  indifferent, 
while  the  indifferent  sayings  and  do- 
ings of  the  latter  are  sins  of  deepest 
die.  We  may  see  this  tendency  ex- 
emplified in  the  address  before  us 
which  seeks  to  make  Calvinism 
lovely. 

The  author  says,  in  plain  terms, 


Love  for  Animals. 


545 


that  it  was  not  more  criminal  in  a 
Calvinist  to  burn  a  witch  than  for 
any  other  person  to  invite  a  spirit- 
rapper  to  dinner. 

Of  course  he  expresses  the  opin- 
ion euphuistically  and  in  mellifluous 
phrase,  but,  nevertheless,  he  does 
express  it.  And  that  our  readers 
may  fully  understand  that  we  do  not 
even  unintentionally  misrepresent 
him,  we  give  his  words.  At  page 
43,  we  read : 

"  In  burning  witches,  the  Calvinists  fol- 
lowed their  model  too  exactly  ;  but  it  is 
to  be  remembered  that  they  really  be- 
lieved those  poor  creatures  to  have  made 
a  compact  with  Satan.  And,  as  regards 
morality,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  in- 
viting spirit-rappers  to  dinner,  and  allow- 
ing them  to  pretend  to  consult  our  dead 


relations,  is  very  much  more  innocent. 
The  first  method  is  but  excess  of  indigna- 
tion with  evil  ;  the  second  is  complacent 
toying  with  it." 

It  is  worth  while  to  notice  how 
deftly  Mr.  Froude  handles  his  posi- 
tive and  comparative. 

For  Calvinists  to  burn  people  alive 
is  innocent,  and  intercourse  with  spirit- 
rappers  is  not  very  much  more  inno- 
cent. 

With  such  juggling  as  this  of  facts 
and  phrases,  the  author  of  Calvinism 
has  written  his  History  of  England, 
the  delight  of  circulating  library  sub- 
scribers because  it  is  "  as  interesting 
as  a  novel." 

And  so  it  is,  for  the  best  of  rea- 
sons. 


LOVE    FOR  ANIMALS. 


"  HE  prayeth  well  who  lovcth  well 

Both  man,  and  bird  and  beast ; 
He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 


IN  reading  the  lives  of  the  saints, 
I  have  been  particularly  struck  with 
their  love  for,  and  their  power  over, 
the  animal  world.  They  seemed  to 
live  nearer  the  heart  of  nature  than 
other  mortals,  and  perceived  there 
diviner  harmonies.  Perhaps  this 
sympathetic  relation  sprang  from  the 
belief  that,  as  the  whole  natural, 
world  participated  in  the  fall  of  man, 
so  it  has  its  part  in  the  fruit  of  our 
Saviour's  Passion.  At  least,  they  be- 
lieved that  animals,  in  common  with 
man,  received  life  from  God  and  ex- 
ist through  him.  "All  creatures," 
says  Denis  the  Carthusian,  "  partake 
of  the  divine,  eternal,  and  uncreated 
VOL.  XIIL— 35 


beauty."  The  saints  respected  in 
animals  that  divine  wisdom  which 
Albertus  Magnus  tells  us,  in  his  book 
on  animals,  is  to  be  recognized  in 
their  instinct.  Dr.  Newman  says : 
"  Men  of  narrow  reasoning  may 
smile  at  the  supposition  that  the 
woods  and  wild  animals  can  fall 
into  the  scheme  of  theology  and 
preach  to  the  heart  the  all-pervad- 
ing principles  of  religion ;  but  they 
forget  that  God's  works  have  a  unity 
of  design  throughout,  and  that  the 
author  of  nature  and  of  revealed  reli- 
gion is  one." 

Dr.  Faber  saw  throughout  creation 
a    threefold  manifestation  of  God, 


546 


Love  for  Animals. 


typifying  his  being,  the  generation  of 
the  Son,  and  the  procession  of  the 
Spirit. 

Sanctity  seems  to  restore  man  to 
his  primeval  relation  to  nature,  and 
give  him  back  the  power  he  possessed 
in  Eden  over  the  animal  world.  The 
Holy  Scriptures  tell  us  of  beasts  and 
birds  sent  to  minister  to  the  wants  of 
man,  and  how  the  very  lions  reve- 
renced the  prophet  Daniel.  Animals 
were  submissive  to  man  before  his 
fall,  and  they  went  obediently  into 
the  ark  at  the  command  of  Noah. 
Such  things  are  renewed  and  repeat- 
ed in  the  lives  of  the  Christian  saints. 
It  is  not  more  wonderful  that  a  raven 
should  bring  St.  Paul  the  Hermit 
half  a  loaf  every  day  for  sixty  years, 
and  a  whole  one  when  visited  by  St. 
Anthony,  than  that  one  should  feed 
the  prophet.  St.  Gregory  of  Nazianzen 
relates  that  St.  Basil's  grandmother, 
St.  Macrina,  having  taken  refuge  with 
her  husband  in  the  forests  of  Pontus 
during  a  persecution,  was  miracu- 
lously fed  by  stags.  St.  Bega,  when 
a  hermitess  in  a  cave  on  the  Cum- 
berland coast,  lived  in  supernatural 
familiarity  with  the  sea-birds  and  the 
wolves  of  Copeland  forest,  and  they 
in  part  supplied  her  with  food.  St. 
Roch  is  usually  represented  with  the 
dog  that  used  to  accompany  him  in 
his  pilgrimages.  When  St.  Roch 
had  the  plague,  the  dog  went  daily 
into  the  city  and  returned  with  a 
loaf  of  bread  for  his  master. 

Among  the  old  legends  that  em- 
body the  popular  idea  of  the  venera- 
tion of  the  animal  world  for  holiness, 
is  that  of  the  Flight  into  Egypt.  It 
is  said  the  lions  and  leopards  crept 
out  of  their  lairs  to  -lick  the  baby 
hands  of  the  infant  Jesus.  When 
Christians, -in  the  times  of  persecu- 
tion under  the  Roman  emperors, 
were  thrown  to  the  wild  beasts  in 
the  amphitheatre,  there  are  many 
-examples  of  these  usually  ferocious 


animals  refusing  to  touch  the  holy 
victims,  as  in  the  well-known  in- 
stances of  Andronicus  and  Tar- 
chus. 

St.  Blaise  is  depicted  surrounded 
by  a  variety  of  animals,  such  as  the 
lion  and  the  lamb,  the  leopard  and 
the  hind,  who  seem  to  have  laid  aside 
their  animosity.  This  saint  was  oblig- 
ed, in  the  persecution  of  the  reign  of 
Diocletian,  to  take  refuge  in  a  cave 
of  the  mountains.  It  was  the  haunt 
of  wild  beasts,  whose  ferocity  he  so 
disarmed  that  they  came  every  morn- 
ing, as  if  to  ask  his  blessing,  says  the 
old  legend.  One  day,  he  met  an  old 
woman  in  distress  for  the  loss  of  her 
only  earthly  possession,  a  pig,  which 
had  been  carried  off  by  a  wolf.  Such 
power  had  St.  Blaise  over  the  animal 
world,  that  when  he  ordered  the  wolf 
to  bring  back  the  pig  he  obeyed. 

Some  time  after,  the  woman  killed 
her  pig  and  took  a  part  of  it  to  St. 
Blaise,  who  had  been  thrown  into 
prison  and  left  without  any  food, 
thereby  preventing  him  from  starv- 
ing. 

St.  Jerome  is  represented,  in  Chris- 
tian art,  with  the  lion  he  healed,  and 
which  remained  with  him.  The  le- 
gend tells  us  the  saint  made  the  lion 
guard  the  ass  that  brought  his  fagots 
from  the  forest.  One  day,  the  lion 
went  to  sleep  in  the  woods,  and  the 
ass  was  stolen.  The  lion  returned 
home  with  drooping  head,  as  if. 
ashamed.  St.  Jerome  made  him 
bring  the  fagots  in  place  of  the  ass, 
which  he  did  till  he  discovered  his 
old  friend  in  a  caravan  of  merchants, 
whom  he  so  terrified  that  they  con- 
fessed their  sin  to  St.  Jerome  and 
restored  the  ass. 

There  is  a  very  similar  legend  of 
the  Abbot  Gerasimus,  who  lived 
near  the  river  Jordan. 

We  are  told,  in  the  lives  of  the 
fathers  of  the  desert,  of  one  of  them 
who  was  carrying  provisions  across 


Love  for  Animals. 


547 


the  desert  to  his  brethren.  Wearied 
with  his  burden  and  the  long  journey, 
he  called  to  a  wild  ass  he  espied  to 
come  and  aid  him,  for  the  love  of 
Christ.  The  ass  hastened  to  his  as- 
sistance, and  bore  the  father  and  his 
load  to  the  cells  of  his  brethren. 

St.  Aphraates  dispersed  the  army 
of  locusts  that  threatened  the  country 
around  Antioch. 

St.  Martin  commanded  the  ser- 
pents, and  they  obeyed  him. 

And  we  read  how  the  wolf-hounds, 
hungry  and  fierce,  that  were  kept  for 
the  chase,  respected  St.  Walburga 
when  she  went,  late  at  night,  to  visit 
the  dying  daughter  of  a  neighboring 
baron. 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  these 
animals  recognized,  as  an  able  writer 
says,  the  presence  of  Him  who  lulled 
the  tempest  with  a  word  in  the  souls 
in  whom  he  dwells. 

Tradition  records  the  fondness  of 
one  of  the  twelve  apostles — the  loved 
apostle  John — for  animals.  Every 
one  has  heard  of  the  tame  partridge 
he  took  pleasure  in  feeding.  He  was 
seen  tending  his  bird  by  a  passing 
hunter,  who  expressed  his  surprise  to 
see  the  apostle,  so  renowned  for  his 
age  and  sanctity,  thus  employing  his 
time.  St.  John  asked  him  if  he  al- 
ways kept  his  bow  bent.  "That 
would  soon  render  it  useless,"  said  the 
hunter.  "  So  do  I  unbend  my  mind 
in  this  way  for  the  same  reason  you 
unbend  your  bow — to  prevent  its  be- 
coming useless."  Perhaps  he  derived 
his  love  for  animals  from  his  ances- 
tress Rebecca,  who  showed  the  kind- 
ness of  her  nature  in  offering  to  water 
the  camels  of  the  stranger.  Eliezer 
saw  it,  and  began  wooing  her  for  his 
master's  son. 

There  are  numerous  instances  in 
which  animals  instinctively  betook 
themselves  to  the  saints  for  protec- 
tion. A  hind,  pursued  by  dogs,  took 
refuge  with  St.  Giles  in  his  cave  near 


the  mouth  of  the  Rhone.  The  hunt- 
ers, following  on  his  track,  found  the 
wounded  beast  crouching  beside  Ihe 
saint,  who  protected  him.  The  hind 
remained  with  St.  Giles,  who  fed  on 
his  milk.  This  saint  is  represented 
in  paintings  with  the  animal  beside 
him.  "  Ane  hind  set  up  beside  Sanct 
Geill,"  says  Sir  David  Lindsay. 

There  is  a  similar  legend  about  St. 
Procopius,  a  hermit,  with  whom  a 
hunted  hind  took  refuge. 

As  St.  Anselm  was  riding  to  the 
Manor  of  Herse,  a  hare,  pursued  by 
hunters,  sought  shelter  under  the 
housings  of  his  mule.  St.  Anselm 
wept,  but  the  foresters  laughed,  and 
the  hounds  stood  around  at  bay.  The 
saint  said  :  "  This  poor  hare  reminds 
me  of  the  soul  of  a  sinner  beset  by 
fiends  eager  to  seize  their  prey."  He 
ordered  the  hunters  not  to  pursue  the 
hare,  which  fled. 

So  a  deer  took  refuge  from  hunters 
in  the  cell  of  St.  Aventin,  a  hermit 
who  lived  on  an  island  in  the  Seine. 
One  night  a  bear  attacked  his  hut 
with  furious  cries.  The  saint  betook 
himself  to  prayer,  and  at  dawn  found 
the  animal,  subdued  and  gentle,  lying 
at  his  door  licking  his  paw.  The  saint 
saw  it  was  pierced  by  a  thorn,  and 
drew  it  out,  when  the  beast  went 
quietly  away  into  the  forest.  When 
a  person,  who  lived  for  a  time  with 
St.  Aventin,  caught  some  fish,  the 
saint  threw  them  back  into  the  river, 
saying :  "  Go,  little  creatures,  return 
to  your  element  and  food  and  remain 
there  at  liberty:  my  element  and 
food  are  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom  I  wish 
to  return,  that  in  him  I  may  live  for 
ever." 

St.  Bartholomew,  a  hermit  of  Fame, 
was  so  gentle  in  his  movements  that 
the  wild  sea-birds  were  not  afraid  of 
him.  He  allowed  no  one  to  molest 
them.  He  tamed  an  eider-duck, 
which  daily  fed  out  of  his  hand. 
One  day,  as  St.  Bartholomew  was 


548 


Love  for  Animals. 


sitting  on  the  sea-shore,  a  cormorant 
pulled  the  edge  of  his  garment  with 
its  bill.  He  followed  the  bird,  and 
found  its  young  had  fallen  into  a  fis- 
sure in  the  rocks.  He  rescued  them 
from  danger. 

St.  Helier,  a  hermit  in  the  isle  of 
Jersey,  lived  for  years  on  a  barren 
crag  overlooking  the  sea.  Attention 
was  called  to  the  place  of  his  retreat 
by  the  flight  of  the  birds  who  shared 
the  rock  with  him,  and  he  was  be- 
headed by  his  pagan  discoverers. 

The  marine  animals  would  fawn 
on  St.  Cuthbert  while  he  was  pray- 
ing by  night  on  the  island  of  Fame. 
The  eider-ducks  are  called  by  the  is- 
landers to  this  day  "  St.  Cuthbert's 
ducks." 

So  the  nuns  of  Whitby  '•  exulting 
told ' 

"  How  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail, 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail, 
And  sinking  down,  with  flutterings  faint, 
They  do  their  homage  to  the  saint." 

St.  Serf,  an  old  Scottish  monk,  had 
a  pet  ram  which  he  had  raised  and 
used  to  follow  him  about.  The  laird 
of  Tillicoultry  stole  the  animal  and 
<;  ate  him  up  in  pieces  small."  Being 
accused  of  the  theft,  the  laird  declar- 
ed on  oath  that  he  had  neither  stolen 
nor  eaten  the  ram.  Whereupon,  so 
runs  the  old  legend,  the  ram  "  bleat- 
ed in  his  wayme  "  !  The  saint  pre- 
dicted that  no  heir  born  to  the  estate 
of  Tillicoultry  should  succeed  to  his 
patrimony,  which  prediction  has  been 
verified  down  to  our  own  time. 
During  the  last  two  centuries  Tilli- 
coultry has  been  in  the  possession  of 
thirteen  different  families,  and  in  no 
case  has  the  heir  born  to  it  become 
the  owner.  Lord  Colville,  a  distin- 
guished soldier  of  the  time  of  James 
VI.,  retired  to  his  estate  of  Tillicoul- 
try to  spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in 
retirement.  Walking  on  the  terrace 
one  day,  he  slipped  while  looking  up 
.at  an  old  hawthorn  tree,  and  fell  down 


the  bank  and  was  instantly  killed. 
The  estate  was  afterwards  sold  to  the 
Earl  of  Stirling,  at  whose  death  it 
was  sold  to  Sir  Alexander  Rollo,  and 
so  it  has  passed  from  one  family  to 
another  down  to  our  time.  In  1837, 
it  was  bought  by  Mr.  Stirling,  who 
was  accidentally  killed.  His  brother, 
not  the  born  heir,  succeeded  him,  but 
sold  it  in  1842  to  Mr.  Anstruther,  who 
in  turn  sold  it  to  his  brother,  the  pre- 
sent proprietor. 

St.  Richard,  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
through  excessive  tenderness  for  the 
animal  world,  hardly  ever  ate  any 
meat.  When  he  saw  any  lamb  or 
chicken  on  his  table,  he  used  to  say  : 
"  We  are  the  cause  of  your  death,  ye 
innocent  ones.  What  have  ye  done 
worthy  of  death  ?"  He  thought  as 
Frederick  Schlegel,  who  remarks : 
"  The  sorrows  of  beasts  are  certainly 
a  theme  for  the  meditations  of  men, 
and  I  could  not  agree  to  the  justice 
of  regarding  it  as  a  subject  unworthy 
of  reflection,  or  of  permitting  sympa- 
thy with  them  to  be  banished  from 
the  human  breast."  St.  Richard's 
love  extended  to  the  whole  natural 
world.  In  the  time  of  his  troubles 
he  used  to  retire  to  the  parsonage  of 
a  country  curate,  not  far  from  Win- 
chester, to  find  solace  in  communion 
with  nature.  His  friend  loved  to 
look  at  him  walking  in  the  garden 
watching  the  unfolding  of  the  flower- 
buds  or  amusing  himself  by  budding 
and  grafting,  forgetful  of  the  Avrath 
of  the  king  and  the  number  of  his 
enemies.  A  graft  which  the  owner 
regarded  with  great  pride  having 
died,  Richard  regrafted  it.  It  lived 
and  bore  fruit. 

Many  stories  are  told  of  the  love 
of  St.  Wahheof,  Abbot  of  Melrose, 
for  animals,  and,  in  particular,  of  his 
affection  for  the  old  gray  horse  which 
he  constantly  rode,  and  used  playfully 
to  call  Brother  Grizzle  (Prater  Fer- 
randus}.  He  was  even  known  to 


Love  for  Animals. 


549 


discipline  himself  for  having  killed  an 
insect,  saying  he  had  taken  away  the 
life  of  one  of  God's  creatures  which 
he  could  not  restore.  His  gray  horse 
was  well  known  in  the  valley  of  the 
Tweed.  The  humble  abbot  rode  him, 
with  his  own  luggage  and  that  of  his 
few  attendants  slung  on  before  him, 
including  the  boots  of  his  groom. 
He  appeared  before  his  kinsman,  the 
King  of  Scotland,  in  this  array. 
Waltheofs  brother  was  ashamed  of 
him,  but  the  king  was  so  edified  that 
he  knelt  to  ask  the  abbot's  blessing, 
and  granted  him  all  his  petitions, 
saying :  "  This  man  hath  put  ail 
worldly  things  under  his  feet,  but  we 
are  running  after  this  fleeting  world, 
losing  soul  and  body  in  the  pursuit." 

Sophronius,  writing  in  a  more  re- 
mote age,  says:  "Going  to  New 
Alexandria,  we  found  Abbot  John, 
who  had  spent  eighty  years  in  that 
monastery,  so  full  of  charity  that  he 
was  pitiful  also  to  brute  animals. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  used  to  give 
food  to  all  the  dogs  that  were  in  the 
monastery,  and  would  even  bring 
grain  to  the  ants  and  the  birds  on  the 
roof." 

And,  at  a  later  day  again,  at  Ci- 
teaux  a  great  number  of  storks  built 
their  nests  around  the  abbey,  and,  on 
going  away  for  the  winter,  would 
hover  over  the  monks  working  in  the 
fields,  as  if  to  ask  their  blessing,  which 
was  given  them. 

We  are  told  in  the  annals  of  Cor- 
by  that  the  novices  had  an  otter 
which  they  kept  for  a  long  time  in 
the  refectory.  And  the  success  of 
Friar  Baddo  in  training  a  dog  is 
spoken  of. 

There  was  a  peculiar  breed  of 
black  dogs  in  the  Abbey  of  St.  Hu- 
bert in  the  Ardennes,  called  the  dogs 
of  St.  Hubert. 

The  birds  of  Croyland  would  feed 
from  the  hands  of  St.  Guthlac,  the 
hermit,  and  alight  on  his  head  and 


shoulders,  and  the  fish  would  come 
up  out  of  the  water  for  the  food  he 
gave  them. 

So  a  white  swan  was  for  fifteen 
years  in  the  habit  of  coming  up  from 
the  marshes  and  flying  around  St. 
Hugh  of  Lincoln,  and  then  alighting 
to  eat  from  his  hand,  sometimes 
thrusting  its  bill  into  his  bosom. 
This  swan  survived  the  saint  many 
years,  but,  after  his  death,  returned 
to  its  old  wild  habits,  avoiding  all 
human  beings. 

St.  Columba  used  to  feed  the  sea- 
beaten  herons  that  alighted  on  the 
island  of  lona. 

The  sparrows  would  descend  and 
eat  out  of  St.  Remi's  hand. 

And  the  birds  would  hover  around 
the  hermits  of  Montserrat  and  eat 
from  their  hands. 

Hugo  of  St.  Victor  shows  his  fa- 
miliarity with  the  habits  of  animals 
by  his  allusions  to  them  in  his  in- 
structions. 

Digby  relates,  that  in  1507  there 
was  a  lamb  in  the  convent  of  Muri 
that  used  to  go  to  the  choir  at  the 
sound  of  the  bell  and  remain  during 
the  chanting  of  the  divine  office. 
When  the  matin  bell  rang,  it  would 
run  around  the  corridors  and  knock 
its  head  against  the  door  of  each  cell 
till  it  had  roused  the  inmate,  and,  on 
going  to  the  choir,  if  it  saw  one  va- 
cant stall,  it  would  return  to  the  dor- 
mitory and  bleat  for  the  missing  one. 

St.  Philip  Neri  could  not  bear  to 
witness  the  slightest  cruelty  to  ani- 
mals, and  would  caution  the  coach- 
man  not  to  run  over  one.  And 
even  wild  animals  would  respond  to 
his  tenderness  by  their  familiarity 
with  him,  and  dogs  would  leave 
their  masters  to  follow  him.  Seeing 
one  of  his  congregation  tread  on  a 
lizard  as  he  was  passing  through  the 
court,  St.  Philip  said  to  him :  "  Cruel 
fellow,  what  has  that  poor  little  ani- 
mal done  to  you  ?"  He  was  greatly 


550 


Love  for  Animals. 


agitated  at  seeing  a  butcher  wound 
a  dog  with  his  knife.  A  boy  having 
brought  him  a  bird,  St.  Philip  through 
pity  ordered  it  to  be  let  out  at  the 
window.  Shortly  after,  he  express- 
ed regret  for  having  given  the 
bird  its  freedom,  for  fear  it  might  die 
of  hunger.  Louis,  one  of  his  young 
penitents,  had  two  little  birds  which 
he  gave  St.  Philip.  He  accepted 
them  on  condition  the  giver  would 
come  every  day  to  see  after  them, 
wishing  to  exert  a  good  influence 
over  the  youth.  One  day  Louis 
came  and  found  the  saint  ill  in  bed, 
and  one  of  the  birds  perched  on  his 
face.  It  then  fluttered  around  his 
head,  singing  very  sweetly.  St.  Phi- 
lip asked  Louis  if  he  had  accustomed 
the  bird  to  do  so.  Louis  replied  in 
the  negative.  St.  Philip  tried  in  vain 
to  drive  the  bird  away,  and  finally 
had  the  cage  brought,  when  it  went 
in  as  if  through  obedience. 

Father  Pietro  Consolini,  of  the  Ora- 
tory, tells  a  curious  story  of  a  good 
brother  who  worked  in  the  kitchen. 
In  order  to  satisfy  his  devotion  for 
the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  he 
would  put  a  cat  upon  the  kitchen  ta- 
ble, and  order  it  to  keep  watch  while 
he  was  absent.  Then  he  would  go 
off  to  church  with  a  peculiar  confi- 
dence in  God.  The  cat,  as  if  re- 
membering the  submission  due  to 
man  in  his  primitive  state  of  inno- 
cence, used  to  mount  the  table  as 
desired,  and  remain  there,  as  if  on 
guard,  till  the  good  brother  returned. 

St.  Anthony  of  Padua  also  was 
full  of  love  for  animals,  as  well  as  of 
nature  in  general,  as  he  showed  by 
constant  allusions  in  his  sermons. 
He  was  always  dwelling  with  delight 
upon  the  whiteness  and  gentleness 
of  the  swans,  the  mutual  charity  of 
the  storks,  the  purity  and  fra- 
grance of  the  flowers  of  the  fields, 
etc.,  etc.  When  preaching  once  to 
sinners  who  refused  to  listen  to  him, 


he  suddenly  turned  away  from  them, 
and,  appealing  to  the  animal  world, 
asked  the  fish  of  the  water  to  heark- 
en to  him.  The  old  legend  tells  how 
they.lifted  their  heads  in  great  num- 
bers from  the  water  to  listen  to  his 
words. 

St.  Bernard  would  deliver  the  bird 
from  the  snare  of  the  fowler,  and  the 
wild  hare  from  the  hounds. 

St.  Ignatius  Loyola  admired  the 
beauty,  wisdom,  and  power  of  the 
Creator  in  his  creatures.  He  was 
often  rapt  in  contemplation  before 
an  insect,  a  flower,  or  a  blade  of 
grass. 

St.  Francis  de  Sales  so  constantly 
manifests  an  extraordinary  love  of  na- 
ture in  his  writings  that  they  have  been 
compared  to  the  sacred  veil  of  Isis, 
on  which  was  embroidered  all  creat- 
ed things.  Here  is  an  extract  taken 
at  random  from  his  writings,  which 
lose  their  rare  bouquet  in  translating  : 

"  It  had  been  snowing,  and  there 
was  in  the  court,  at  least,  a  foot  of 
snow.  Jean  swept  a  small  space  in 
the  centre,  and  scattered  grain  on 
the  ground  for  the  pigeons  to  eat. 
They  came  in  a  flock  to  take  their 
food  there  with  wonderful  peace  and 
quietness,  and  I  amused  myself  with 
looking  at  them.  You  cannot  imag- 
ine how  much  these  little  creatures 
edified  me.  They  did  not  utter  a 
sound,  and  those  who  had  finished 
their  meal  immediately  made  room 
for  others,  and  flew  a  short  distance 
to  see  them  eat.  When  the  place 
was  partly  vacated,  a  quantity  of 
birdlings  that  had  been  surveying 
them  came  up,  and  the  pigeons  that 
were  still  eating  drew  up  in  one  cor- 
ner to  leave  the  more  space  for  the 
little  birds,  who  forthwith  began  to 
eat.  The  pigeons  did  not  molest 
them. 

"  I  admired  their  charity,  for  the 
pigeons  were  so  afraid  of  annoying 
the  little  birds  that  they  crowded  to- 


Love  for  Animals. 


551 


gether  at  one  end  of  their  table.  I 
admired,  too,  the  discretion  of  the  lit- 
tle mendicants,  who  only  asked  alms 
when  they  saw  the  pigeons  were 
nearly  through  their  meal,  and  that 
there  was  enough  left.  Altogether, 
I  could  not  help  shedding  tears  to 
see  the  charitable  simplicity  of  the 
doves,  and  the  confidence  of  the  lit- 
tle birds  in  their  charity.  I  do  not 
know  that  a  sermon  would  have  af- 
fected me  so  keenly.  This  little  pic- 
ture of  kindness  did  me  good  the 
whole  day." 

And  again,  in  writing  to  Ma- 
dame de  Chantal  on  the  repose  of 
the  heart  on  the  divine  will,  he 
says: 

"  I  was  thinking  the  other  day  of 
what  I  had  read  of  the  halcyon,  a 
little  bird  that  lays  on  the  sea-shore. 
They  make  their  nests  perfectly  round, 
and  so  compact  that  the  water  of  the 
sea  cannot  penetrate  them.  Only  on 
the  top  there  is  a  little  hole  through 
which  they  can  breathe.  There  they 
lodge  their  little  ones,  so  if  the  sea 
rises  suddenly,  they  can  float  upon 
the  waves  with  no  fear  of  being  wet 
or  submerged.  The  air  which  enters 
by  the  little  hole  serves  as  a  counter- 
poise, and  so  balances  these  little 
cushions,  these  little  barquettes,  that 
they  are  never  overturned." 

There  is  in  the  Louvre  a  charming 
little  picture  by  Giotto  of  St.  Fran- 
cis preaching  to  the  birds.  The 
saint's  face,  with  an  earnest,  loving 
expression,  is  looking  up  at  the  birds, 
that,  with  outstretched  necks  and 
half-open  beaks,  appear  to  catch  his 
words.  The  old  legend  which  this 
painting  illustrates  with  all  the  artist's 
vividness  in  presenting  a  story,  is 
equally  charming  in  its  simplicity. 
It  is  as  follows :  As  St.  Francis  was 
going  toward  Bivagno,  he  lifted  up 
his  eyes  and  saw  a  multitude  of 
birds.  He  said  to  his  companions  : 
Wait  for  me  here  while  I  preach  to 


my  little  sisters  the  birds.  The 
birds  all  gathered  around  him,  and 
he  spoke  to  them  somewhat  as  fol- 
lows :  "  My  little  sisters  the  birds,  you 
owe  much  to  God  your  Creator, 
and  ought  to  sing  his  praise  at  all 
times  and  in  all  places,  because  he 
has  given  you  liberty,  and  the  air  to 
fly  about  in,  and,  though  you  neither 
spin  nor  sew,  he  has  given  you  a 
covering  for  yourselves  and  your  lit- 
tle ones.  He  sent  two  of  your 
species  into  the  ark  with  Noah  that 
you  might  not  be  lost  to  the  world. 
He  feeds  you,  though  you  neither 
sow  nor  reap.  He  has  given  you 
fountains  and  rivers  in  which  to 
quench  your  thirst,  and  trees  in  which 
to  build  your  nests.  Beware,  my  lit- 
tle sisters,  of  the  sin  of  ingratitude, 
and  study  always  to  praise  the  Lord." 

As  he  preached,  the  birds  opened 
their  beaks,  and  stretched  out  their 
necks,  and  flapped  their  wings,  and 
bowed  their  heads  toward  the  earth. 

His  sermcn  over,  St.  Francis  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  the  birds 
flew  up  into  the  air,  singing  sweetly 
their  song  of  praise,  and  dispersed 
toward  the  four  quarters  of  the  world, 
as  if  to  convey  the  words  they  had 
heard  to  all  the  world. 

The  sympathy  of  St.  Francis  of 
Assisi  with  nature,  both  animate  and 
inanimate,  is  well  known.  He  has 
been  styled  the  Orpheus  of  the  mid- 
dle ages.  Like  the  Psalmist,  he  call- 
ed upon  all  nature  to  praise  the 
Lord :  "  Praise  the  Lord  from  the 
earth,  ye  dragons  and  all  ye  deeps  ; 
fire,  hail,  snow,  ice,  stormy  winds 
which  fulfil  his  word,  mountains 
and  all  hills,  fruitful  trees  and  all  ce- 
dars, beasts  and  all  cattle,  serpents 
and  all  feathered  fowls." 

The  very  sight  of  a  bird  incited 
St.  Francis  to  lift  his  soul  to  God  on 
the  wings  of  prayer.  Crossing  the 
lagunes  of  Venice  on  his  way  from 
Syria,  he  heard  the  birds  singing,  and 


552 


Love  for  Animals. 


said  to  his  companions  :  "  Let  us  go 
and  say  the  divine  office  in  the  midst 
of  our  brethren  the  birds,  who  are 
praising  God."  But  finding  they  di- 
verted his  attention  from  his  office, 
he  said  :  "  My  brethren  the  birds, 
cease  your  song  till  we  have  fulfilled 
our  obligations  to  God."  The  birds 
ceased  their  song  till  the  saint  gave 
them  permission  to  resume  it. 

Preaching  in  the  open  air,  in  the 
environs  of  Alviano,  St.  Francis  could 
not  make  himself  heard  on  account 
of  the  number  of  swallows.  He 
stopped  and  addressed  them :  "  My 
sisters  the  swallows,  you  have  spok- 
en long  enough.  It  is  only  right 
that  I  should  have  my  turn.  Listen 
to  the  word  of  God  while  I  am 
preaching." 

Meeting  a  young  man  who  had 
caught  a  number  of  doves,  he  looked 
on  them  with  eyes  of  pity,  and  said  : 
"  O  good  young  man !  I  entreat  thee 
to  give  me  those  harmless  birds,  the 
scriptural  emblems  of  pure,  humble, 
and  faithful  souls,  so  they  may  not 
fall  into  cruel  hands  and  be  put  to 
death."  The  young  man  gave  them 
to  St.  Francis,  who  put  them  in  his  bo- 
som, and  said  to  them  in  the  sweetest 
of  accents  :  "  O  my  little  sisters  the 
doves  !  so  simple,  so  innocent,  and  so 
chaste,  why  did  you  allow  yourselves 
to  be  caught  ?"  He  made  nests  for 
them  in  the  convent,  where  they  laid 
1  and  hatched  their  young,  and  became 
as  tame  as  hens  among  the  friars. 

St.  Francis  was  often  seen  employ- 
ed in  removing  worms  from  the  road 
that  they  might  not  be  trampled  on 
by  travellers,  remembering  that  our 
Divine  Redeemer  compared  himself 
to  a  worm,  and  also  having  compas- 
sion on  a  creature  of  God. 

He  revered  the  very  stones  he  trod 
•on,  so  that  he  sometimes  trembled 
in  walking  over  them,  recalling  him 
who  is  the  chief  corner-stone  of  the 
spiritual  edifice. 


He  wished  the  brothers  when  they 
cu£  wood  in  the  forest  to  leave  some 
shoots  in  memory  of  Him  who  wish- 
ed to  die  for  us  upon  the  wood  of 
the  cross. 

A  flower  reminded  him  of  the  rod 
of  Jesse  which  budded  and  blossom- 
ed, and  whose  perfume  is  diffused 
throughout  the  world. 

He  sometimes  wished  he  were  one 
of  the  rulers  of  the  land,  that  at 
Christmas  he  might  scatter  grain  by 
the  wayside  and  in  the  fields,  that 
the  birds  also  might  have  occasion 
to  rejoice  on  that  festival  of  joy. 

Before  his  death,  St.  Francis  made 
a  great  feast  at  Christmas,  to  which 
he  invited  the  animals.  He  prepar- 
ed a  manger  in  the  woods,  in  which 
there  was  straw,  an  ox,  and  an  ass. 
A  long  procession  of  friars,  followed 
by  a  crowd  of  people  bearing  torch- 
es and  chanting  hymns,  descended 
the  mountain.  Mass  was  offered, 
and  St.  Francis  preached  on  the  birth 
of  Christ,  after  which,  filled  with  a 
holy  joy,  he  went  through  the  fields 
bursting  forth  into  a  hymn,  calling 
upon  the  vines,  the  trees,  the  flowers 
of  the  field,  the  stars  of  heaven, 
and  the  sun,  and  all  his  brethren  and 
sisters  throughout  nature,  to  rejoice 
with  him,  and  to  unite  with  him  in 
blessing  their  Creator. 

A  wolf  ravaged  the  environs  of  Ago- 
bio  to  the  great  terror  of  the  people. 
St.  Francis  went  forth  armed  with 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  command- 
ed his  brother  the  wolf,  in  the  name 
of  Christ,  to  do  no  more  harm.  The 
wolf,  that  was  making  furiously  at 
the  saint  with  distended  jaws,  stopped 
short,  and  lay  down  meek  as  a  lamb 
at  his  feet.  Then  St.  Francis  laid 
before  the  wolf  the  enormity  of  his 
offence  in  devouring  men  made  in 
the  image  of  God,  and  promised  that 
if  he  would  henceforth  abstain  from 
his  ravages  he  should  be  fed  daily 
by  the  inhabitants.  The  wolf  signi- 


Love  for  Animals. 


553 


fied  his  assent  to  the  arrangement 
by  placing  his  paw  in  that  of  St. 
Francis.  Then  the  saint  took  the 
wolf  to  the  market-place,  and  made 
known  to  the  people  the  compact  he 
had  made.  They  ratified  the  agree- 
ment to  feed  the  wolf  daily  till  the 
end  of  his  days,  and  for  two  years 
he  went  from  door  to  door  to  get  his 
food,  harming  no  one,  at  the  end  of 
which  time  he  died,  greatly  to  the 
sorrow  of  all. 

Frederick  Ozanam  says  in  this  le- 
gend, which  may  provoke  a  smile : 
"  The  animal  that  preys  upon  the 
spoils  and  lives  of  men  is  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  people  of  the  middle 
ages,  fierce  and  terrible  when  their 
passions  were  excited,  but  never  de- 
spaired of  by  the  church,  who  took 
their  blood-stained  hands  in  her  di- 
vine ones,  and  gently  led  them  on 
till  she  succeeded  in  inspiring  them 
with  a  horror  of  rapine  and  vio- 
lence." 

St.  Francis  would  salute  in  a  friend- 
ly manner  the  cattle  in  the  pastures. 
Once,  seeing  a  lamb  among  the  goats 
and  cattle,  he  was  filled  with  pity, 
and  said  to  his  brethren,  "  So  was 
our  sweet  Saviour  in  the  midst  of 
the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees.  A  mer- 
chant that  happened  along  bought 
the  lamb  and  gave  it  to  St.  Francis. 
It  was  confided  to  some  nuns,  who 
carefully  tended  it,  and  of  its  wool 
spun  and  wove  a  garment  for  the 
saint,  who  often  kissed  it  tenderly 
and  showed  it  to  his  friends.  Going 
to  Rome,  St.  Francis  took  the  lamb 
with  him  and,  when  he  left,  gave  it 


to  a  pious  lady.  The  lamb  followed 
her  everywhere,  even  to  church.  If 
she  did  not  rise  early  enough  in  the 
morning,  he  would  strike  his  head 
against  her  bed  till  he  roused  her. 

St.  Francis  would  weep  if  he  saw 
a  lamb  about  to  be  killed,  recalling 
Him  who  was  led  as  a  sheep  to  the 
slaughter,  and  would  sell  his  very 
garments  to  save  it  from  death. 

He  loved  the  ant  less  than  any 
other  insect,  because  it  was  so  thought- 
ful for  the  morrow.  Of  the  whole 
animal  world,  he  cared  the  most  for 
birds,  who  loved  him  too,  and  at  his 
death  joyfully  sang  his  triumphant 
entry  into  heaven.  The  larks,  in 
particular,  assembled  at  an  early  hour 
on  the  roof  of  the  cell  where  the 
dead  saint  lay,  with  songs  of  extra- 
ordinary sweetness  that  lasted  for  se- 
veral hours. 

An  infinite  number  of  such  exam- 
ples could  yet  be  cited,  but  enough 
have  been  given  to  show  how  the 
animal  world  lays  aside  its  ferocity 
in  proportion  as  man  returns  to  his 
primitive  state  of  innocence.  This 
is  quite  in  accordance  with  our  idea 
of  the  millennium  :  The  wolf  also 
shall  dwell  with  the  lamb,  and  the 
leopard  shall  lie  down  with  the  kid, 
and  the  calf,  and  the  young  lion,  and 
the  fading  together,  and  a  little  child 
shall  lead  them. 

If,  then,  sanctity  brings  man  back 
to  his  true  relations  to  the  Deity,  and 
restores  him  to  his  primitive  relations 
with  nature,  let  us  work  our  way 
back  to  Eden  by  our  purity,  fasts, 
vigils,  and  prayers. 


554 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism, 


CATHOLICITY  AND  PANTHEISM. 


NO.    XI. 


RELATIONS     BETWEEN     THE    SUBLIMATIVE 
MOMENT  AND  SUBSTANTIAL  CREATION. 

IT  will  be  the  aim  of  this  article 
to  point  out  some  consequences 
which  result  from  the  essence  and 
properties  of  the  supernatural  term, 
considered  respectively  to  the  term 
of  substantial  creation.  They  go  to 
establish  the  absolute  supremacy  of 
the  supernatural  term  over  substantial 
creation.  We  shall  give  them  in  as 
many  propositions. 

\st.  In  the  general  plan  of  the  cos- 
mos, the  supernatural  term  in  itself  and 
in  its  application,  forming  that  part  of 
the  cosmos  which  may  be  called  the 
supernatural  order,  takes  precedence  of 
substantial  creation,  or  the  natural 
order. 

This  proposition  is  easily  proven. 
The  greater  the  intensity  of  per- 
fection in  a  being,  the  nobler  is  the 
being ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  greater 
amount  of  being  a  thing  contains 
or  exhibits,  the  higher  is  the  place 
which  it  occupies  in  the  ordinate  lo- 
cation and  harmony  of  the  cosmos. 
The  principle  is  too  evident  to  need 
any  proof,  and  we  assume  it  as  grant- 
ed. Now,  we  have  shown  that  the 
supernatural  term  in  itself  and  in  its 
application  is  by  far  more  perfect 
than  substantial  creation ;  because  it 
is  a  higher  and  more  perfect  simili- 
tude of  Christ  and  of  the  Trinity ;  be- 
cause it  is  the  complement  and  the 
perfection  of  nature,  and  enables  it 
to  be  joined  with  the  Theanthropos, 
and  through  him  to  be  ushered  into 
the  society  of  the  three  divine  per- 
sons, communicating  with  their  life, 
and  thus  arriving  at  the  palingenesia- 


cal  state.  Consequently,  the  super- 
natural in  the  cosmic  plan  must  take 
precedence  of  substantial  creation, 
and  in  the  intention  and  design  of 
the  creator  must  precede  nature. 

20".  The  supernatural  is  the  end  of 
substantial  creation,  and  third  end  of 
the  exterior  action  of  the  infinite. 

In  a  series  of  means  co-ordinate 
with  each  other,  and  depending  one 
upon  another   in  order  to  attain  a 
primary  object,  that  which  in  force 
of  the  excellence  and  perfection  of  its 
nature  precedes  others,  is  to  be  con- 
sidered as  end  in  respect  to  those 
means  which    follow  next    to  it  in 
dignity    of   nature ;     otherwise    the 
means  could  have  no  relation  what- 
ever with  each  other,  and  the  primary 
end    could  not  be  attained.     In    a 
series  of  means  co-ordination  implies 
dependence,  and  this  dependence  is 
established  by  the  superiority  of  the 
one,  and    inferiority  of    the   other. 
Hence   the   superior  means   in    the 
series  becomes  end  respectively  to  in- 
ferior means  in  the  same  series,.   Now, 
we  have  demonstrated  that  the  super- 
natural term  precedes  nature  in  ex- 
cellence and  intensity  of  perfection  ; 
it  becomes,  therefore,  in  the  harmony 
of  the  cosmic  plan,  the  end  of  the 
substantial  moment ;  as  the  Thean- 
thropic  moment  is  end  in  reference 
to   the   supernatural,  and   as   God's 
manifestation  of  his  infinite  excellence 
and  perfections    is  the  end  of   the 
Theanthropos,  and  thus  the  primary 
end  of  the  cosmic  plan  is  obtained. 

"  All  things  are  yours,"  said  St.  Paul 
of  those  in  whom  the  supernatural 
term  is  realized  :  "  you  are  Christ's ; 
Christ  is  God's." 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


555 


3*/.  The  supernatural  term  is  the 
exemplar  and  type  of  substantial 
creation. 

For  it  is  the  end  which  determines 
and  shapes  the  nature  of  the  means. 
The  creative  intelligence  of  the  in- 
finite, by  contemplating  the  end  which 
it  has  in  view,  and  the  essential  laws 
of  being  residing  in  his  nature,  which 
is  the  Being,  shapes  and  fashions  men- 
tally the  nature  and  properties  of  the 
means.  Hence  it  is  evident  that,  the 
supernatural  term  being  the  end  of 
substantial  creation,  it  stands  towards 
it  as  the  exemplar  and  type  to  its 
copy. 

4//fc.  The  supernatural  term  is  the 
mediator  between  the  Theanthropos  and 
substantial  creation. 

This  last  proposition  is  a  conse- 
quence of  the  preceding  ones.  For, 
if  the  supernatural  term  precedes 
substantial  creation  in  excellence  and 
perfection  of  being,  if  it  is  its  end 
and  its  type,  it  is  evident  that,  in  the 
general  order  and  harmony  of  the 
cosmos,  its  natural  place  is  be- 
tween the  Theanthropos  and  sub- 
stantial creation.  Consequently,  it  is 
mediator  between  them.  Of  course, 
the  intelligent  reader  will  easily  un- 
derstand that  this  mediatorship  is  not 
one  merely  of  place  and  location,  but 
a  mediatorship  of  action ;  since  the 
terms  here  in  question  are  all  agents. 

These  four  properties  of  the  super- 
natural moment,  which,  we  flatter 
ourselves,  have  been  demonstrated 
and  put  beyond  the  possibility  of 
doubt,  will  enable  our  readers  to  see 
the  philosophy  of  various  other 
truths  held  by  .Catholicity,  and  denied 
by  rationalism,  Pantheism,  and  Pro- 
testantism. 

And,  first,  the  possibility  of  miracles 
follows  evidently  from  these  prin- 
ciples. 

A  miracle  is  a  sensible  phenome- 
non superseding  or  contrary  to  the  es- 
tablished laws  of  corporal  creation. 


A  body  left  to  itself  by  the  ordinary 
law  of  gravitation  should  fall  to  the 
ground.  Suppose  it  should  hover 
between  heaven  and  earth  without 
any  support,  it  would  present  a 
phenomenon  contrary  to  the  na- 
tural law  of  bodies.  It  would  be 
what  is  called  miracle,  from  the  word 
miror,  to  wonder  or  to  be  amazed, 
because  our  intellect  is  always  as- 
tonished when  it  cannot  see  at  once 
the  cause  of  an  effect. 

The  possibility  of  such  phenomena 
contrary  to  the  established  laws  of 
nature  has  been  denied  by  Pantheists 
and  rationalists,  both  for  the  same 
reason,  though  each  draw  that  rea- 
son from  a  different  source.  The 
Pantheist,  who  admits  that  the  cos- 
mos is  nothing  but  that  primary 
indefinite  something  which  is  con- 
tinually developing  itself  by  a  neces- 
sary interior  movement,  denies  the 
possibility  of  miracles  on  the  ground 
that  the  development  of  the  infinite 
being  necessary,-  and  being  per- 
formed according  to  the  necessary 
laws  of  being,  the  development  must 
necessarily  be  uniform,  and  the  phe- 
nomena resulting  from  it  always  the 
same. 

The  rationalist,  though  not  ad- 
mitting the  germinal  primary  activity 
of  Pantheism,  asserts  the  absolute  im- 
mutability of  the  laws  of  creation, 
and  consequently  cannot  concede  the 
possibility  of  any  contravention  to  the 
results  of  those  laws,  without  sup- 
posing their  total  overthrow. 

We  hold  that  the  possibility  of 
miracles  follows  clearly  from  the 
properties  of  the  supernatural  mo- 
ment; for,  if  the  supernatural  mo- 
ment precedes  nature  in  force  of  it3 
intrinsic  excellence  and  perfection 
of  being,  if  it  is  the  end  and  type  of 
the  natural  order,  it  is  perfectly  evi- 
dent that  the  whole  natural  order  is 
dependent  upon  and  subject  to  the 
supernatural  order  by  the  law  of 


556 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


hierarchy ;  and  consequently  it  is 
evident  that  the  laws  governing  the 
sensible  order  are  also  dependent 
upon  and  subject  to  the  supernatural 
order,  and  must  have  been  determin- 
ed and  fashioned  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  serve  every  purpose  of  that 
same  order. 

Hence,  if  the  supernatural  term,  in 
order  to  assert  itself  before  created 
spirits,  to  prove  its  own  autonomy, 
its  necessity,  requires  a  phenomenon 
contrary  to  the  established  law  of 
sensible  creation,  those  laws  must  ne- 
cessarily give  way  before  their  hier- 
archical superior,  otherwise  the  whole 
order  of  the  cosmos  would  be  over- 
thrown. This  consequence  is  abso- 
lutely inevitable ;  and  any  one  who 
has  followed  us  in  the  demonstration 
of  the  intrinsic  superiority  of  the  su- 
pernatural term  over  substantial  crea- 
tion, cannot  fail  to  perceive  it.  But 
to  make  it  better  understood  we  shall 
enter  for  a  moment  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  question. 

Let  us  take,  as  an  example,  the  law 
of  gravitation.  Why  do  bodies  left 
to  themselves  fall  to  the  ground  ?  The 
natural  philosopher,  with  a  look  of 
profound  wisdom,  will  answer  at  once, 
because  of  the  law  of  gravitation. 
Now,  if  our  philosopher  claims  to 
give  no  other  answer  but  that  which 
is  within  the  sphere  of  his  researches, 
the  answer  is  correct ;  because  his  sci- 
ence of  observation  can  carry  him 
no  further.  But  if  by  the  word  gra- 
vitation he  should  pretend  to  give  a 
satisfactory  ultimate  reason  of  the 
phenomenon  of  the  fall  of  bodies, 
his  answer  would  make  a  metaphysi- 
cian laugh.  The  law  of  gravitation  ! 
Indeed  !  But  what  is  that  law  ?  Does 
it  exist  in  the  body,  or  in  God  ?  or 
has  it  an  existence  independent  of 
both  ?  If  it  exists  in  the  body,  how 
can  it  be  a  general  law,  when  each 
body  is  an  individuum  ?  If  it  exist 
in  God,  how  is  it  broken  or  altered. 


or  destroyed,  when  the  phenomenon 
of  a  miracle  affects  only  a  particular 
body  ?  If  it  has  an  existence  inde- 
pendent of  both,  what  is  it  ?  Is  it  a 
god,  or  a  Platonic  idea,  and,  if  so, 
whence  does  it  derive  the  force  to 
assert  itself  over  God's  creation  ? 

These  few  questions,  and  many 
more  which  we  could  bring  forward, 
show  that  to  account  for  the  fall  of 
bodies  by  the  law  of  gravitation,  is 
to  give  no  particular  or  satisfactory 
reason  for  the  phenomenon, 

We  have  already  given  one  theory, 
the  theory  of  the  most  profound  me- 
taphysicians of  the  world,  that  no 
finite  beings  can  act  without  the  aid 
of  God;  that  God  must  really  and 
effectively  excite  them  to  action,  aid 
them  during  the  action  until  it  is  ac- 
complished ;  because  he  is  necessari- 
ly the  first  and  the  universal  cause. 
Therefore,  bodies  as  well  as  higher 
beings  are  absolutely  dependent  upon 
God  for  their  action  ;  and  that  which 
natural  philosophers  call  the  law  of 
gravitation,  or  any  other  law,  such 
as  attraction,  repulsion,  and  so  forth, 
in  itself  is  nothing  more  than  the  ac- 
tion of  God  upon  bodies.  Now,  God 
in  acting  in  and  upon  bodies  has 
certainly  a  plan  and  an  order  marked 
out  in  his  mind,  according  to  which 
he  acts  in  and  directs  them.  This 
order  he  has  derived  from  the  infi- 
nite laws  of  being,  which  are  his  very 
essence,  and  consequently,  in  this 
sense,  that  order  is  stable  and  immu- 
table. But  it  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  this  order  marked  out  in  the 
mind  of  God,  according  to  which  he 
acts  in  and  directs  bodies,  is  not  the 
whole  order  of  the  cosmos.  It  is  only 
a  part,  a  moment,  and  the  most  infe- 
rior of  all.  Consequently,  it  is  an 
order  subject  to  and  dependent  upon 
the  order  of  the  other  and  higher 
moment,  and  upon  the  universal  or- 
der of  the  cosmos.  Hence  the  same 
divine  essence,  the  eternal  model  and 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


557 


type  of  everything,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  marks  out  the  order  for  the 
acting  in  and  directing  of  bodies, 
subjects  it  to  the  order  of  higher 
moments,  and  to  the  cosmological, 
universal  order.  In  the  application, 
therefore,  of  this  eternal  order  mark- 
ed out  by  his  infinite  essence,  God 
acts  in  and  directs  bodies  according 
to  the  stable  and  immutable  order 
proper  to  this  moment,  until  an  ex- 
ception is  necessary.  But  when  the 
order  of  higher  moments  and  the 
universal  order  demand  an  exception, 
the  order  of  the  direction  of  bodies, 
being  inferior,  must  necessarily  yield 
to  the  superior,  and  the  sensible  or- 
der must,  so  to  speak,  be  suspended 
for  that  occasion.  We  have  said, 
so  to  speak,  because  even  then  the 
sensible  order  is  not  altered  or  brok- 
en, as  rationalism  imagines  ;  it  is  the 
application  of  the  general  sensible 
order  to  a  particular  body  which  is 
suspended.  It  is  not  the  objective 
order,  but  the  subjective  particular 
realization  of  it,  which  is  superseded. 
Let  us  take  as  example  the  law  so 
often  mentioned.  The  general  order 
established  in  the  mind  of  God  with 
regard  to  acting  in  bodies  is  to  make 
them  gravitate  toward  the  centre  of 
the  earth.  Suppose  an  exception  of 
this  law  becomes  necessary  to  assert 
the  supernatural  order.  God,  upon 
that  particular  occasion,  does  not 
apply  the  general  law  in  a  particular 
body,  but  acts  in  it  contrary  to  that 
law.  Is  the  law  of  gravitation  brok- 
en or  altered  in  consequence  of  that 
exception  ?  If  the  law  were  an  essen- 
tial property  of  bodies,  a  natural  conse- 
quence of  their  essence,  it  would  be. 
But  the  law  in  its  general  and  objec- 
tive essence  exists  in  -God  only ;  it 
does  not  exist  in  the  body ;  and  con- 
sequently it  cannot  be  altered  by  a 
suspension  of  its  application  in  a 
given  case. 

Were  God  to  act  otherwise  than 


to  admit  such  exceptions  in  the  sub- 
jective application  of  the  order  of 
sensible  creation,  he  would  go  against 
reason,  and  act  contrary  to  his  es- 
sence ;  for  in  that  case  he  would  pre- 
fer a  particular  and  inferior  order  to 
the  general  and  superior  order  of  the 
whole  cosmos.  The  true  principles, 
then,  in  the  present  matter  are  the 
following  : 

i  st.  The  laws  according  to  which 
bodies  act  and  are  directed  do  not 
exist  in  bodies,  but  are  an  order 
marked  out  in  the  mind  of  God  as 
derived  from  his  infinite  essence. 

2d.  This  order  is  an  element,  and 
an  inferior  one,  of  the  universal 
order  of  the  whole  cosmos,  and  con- 
sequently, by  the  law  of  hierarchy, is 
subject  to  that  same  universal  order. 

3d.  This  sensible  order  is  always 
stable  and  permanent  in  itself  and 
in  its  objective  state,  but  in  its  ap- 
plication to  particular  bodies  is  sub- 
ject to  variation  wh<*n  this  variation 
is  demanded  by  a  superior  order,  or 
by  the  universal  order  of  the  cosmos. 

The  reader  will  observe,  after  what 
we  have  said,  how  futile  is  the  argu- 
ment of  rationalists  that  a  miracle  is 
impossible  because  the  laws  of  bodies 
are  immutable.  Certainly,  if  the  laws 
exist  in  the  bodies.  But  the  laws  of 
bodies,  as  we  have  said,  are  nothing 
more  than  the  order  marked  out  in 
the  mind  of  God,  according  to  which 
he  acts  in  and  directs  them,  and,  this 
order  being  universal  and  objective, 
is  never  changed  or  altered.  Only 
its  application  in  particular  bodies 
on  a  particular  occasion  is  not  made, 
or  made  in  a  contrary  sense,  because 
such  is  the  requirement  of  the  univer- 
sal order.  If  this  be  kept  in  view, 
every  difficulty  will  vanish  in  refer- 
ence to  this  matter;  for  this  is  ex- 
actly that  which  prevents  rationalists, 
from  understanding  the  possibility  of 
miracles — their  want  of  perception 
that  it  is  God  who  acts  in  every  sin- 


558 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


gle  body.  They  imagine  a  general 
principle,  as  if  it  were  self-existing, 
which  pervades  all  the  bodies,  which 
ought  to  be  destroyed  to  permit  the 
exception.  Now,  this  is  a  mere  phan- 
tom. It  is  God,  we  repeat  it,  who 
applies  the  order  marked  in  his  mind 
in  every  single  body,  which  in  his 
mind  only  is  universal  and  objective- 
ly immutable,  but  subjectively,  in  its 
application,  it  need  not  be  con- 
stant, except  so  long  as  no  excep- 
tion is  required.  Our  natural  philo- 
sophers of  the  rationalistic  school 
imagine  the  law  of  bodies  to  be  a 
sort  of  demigod,  stern  and  immutable, 
particularly  loth  of  and  averse  to 
being  disturbed,  and  consequently 
cannot  see  the  possibility  of  a 
miracle. 

The  second  truth  which  follows 
from  the  attributes  of  the  supernatu- 
ral moment,  is  that  prayer  governs  the 
universe. 

Prayer,  taken  in  its  strictest  accep- 
tation, is  the  universal  mode  of  ac- 
tion of  spirits  elevated  to  the  super- 
natural moment.  To  understand 
this  rightly,  it  is  necessary  to  observe 
that  every  moment  of  the  action  of 
God,  considered  in  its  term,  is  pos- 
sessed of  a  particular  mode  of  action 
resulting  from  and  befitting  its  es- 
sence and  attributes.  Thus,  substan- 
tial creation,  or  the  whole  aggregate 
of  being  included  in  this  moment,  acts 
as  it  were  by  apprehension  and  voli- 
tion. In  spiritual  beings,  this  man- 
ner of  acting  is  strictly  and  properly 
so ;  in  inferior  beings,  like  the  brutes,  it 
is  less  so,  but  bears  a  great  resem- 
blance to  it,  for  the  animal  has  ap- 
prehensive faculties,  though  want- 
ing in  the  power  of  generalization 
and  abstraction,  and  confined  within 
the  concrete  and  in  the  individual; 
and  he  has  also  instincts  and  ten- 
dencies leading  toward  the  object 
apprehended.  The  vegetable  king- 
dom acts  according  to  the  same 


manner,  though  more  materially  ;  for 
it  apprehends  the  elements  required 
for  its  growth  from  the  earth  and  the 
atmosphere,  and,  assimilating  them 
to  itself  by  an  interior  force,  is  able 
to  develop  itself.  Every  one  is 
aware  that  the  general  laws  of  mat- 
ter are  those  of  attraction  and  repiil- 
sion,  which  bear  a  resemblance, 
though  a  faint  one,  to  the  law  of 
apprehension  and  volition. 

Now,  the  particular  mode  of  act- 
ing in  persons  elevated  to  the  super- 
natural moment  is  by  prayer,  which 
is  composed  of  various  elements  ac- 
cording to  various  relations  under 
which  it  is  considered. 

It  may  be  considered  in  itself,  its 
essence  and  nature,  and  in  the  per- 
sons to  whom  it  has  reference.  The 
persons  are  the  infinite  and  the  finite. 
In  itself,  prayer  is  divided  into  two 
moments — a  deprecatory  moment, 
and  a  life-giving  moment. 

A  deprecatory  moment — because 
the  effect  of  the  prayer,  resting  abso- 
lutely on  the  free  will  of  the  infinite, 
cannot  be  claimed  by  the  finite  as  a 
right,  but  as  an  effect  of  an  infinite, 
goodness  yielding  to  a  supplication  ; 
and  in  this  sense  it  implies  the  fol- 
lowing elements  on  the  part  of  the 
finite : 

i st.  An  acknowledgment,  theo- 
retical and  practical,  of  the  infinite 
as  being  the  absolute  and  universal 
source  of  all  good ;  and  of  the  abso- 
lute dependence  of  the  finite  upon 
the  infinite  in  all  things ;  this  ac- 
knowledgment arising  in  the  finite 
from  the  consciousness  and  feeling 
of  its  finiteness  both  in  the  natural 
and  the  supernatural  order. 

2d.  A  gravitation,  natural  and  su- 
pernatural, on>the  part  of  this  finite 
toward  the  infinite,  as  the  origin 
and  the  preserver  of  the  being  in  both 
orders,  as  the  mover  of  its  natural 
and  supernatural  faculties,  and  as  the 
final  complement  of  both. 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


559 


3d.  A  cry  to  the  infinite  for  the 
satisfaction  of  this  aspiration. 

4th.  A  firm  and  unshaken  reliance 
of  being  satisfied  in  this  aspiration, 
founded  both  on  the  intrinsic  good- 
ness and  on  the  personal  promises 
of  the  infinite. 

These  four  elements  on  the  part 
of  the  finite  are  absolutely  necessary 
to  constitute  a  prayer  in  its  depreca- 
tory sense ;  and  they  are  either  im- 
plicitly or  explicitly  to  be  found  in 
every  prayer.  The  spirit  who  bows 
before  the  infinite  must  acknowledge 
theoretically  and  practically  that 
God  is  the  Master  and  Lord  of  all 
things,  the  infinite  eternal  source  of 
all  being  and  all  perfection  ;  he  must 
acknowledge  and  be  conscious  freely 
and  deliberately  that  his  being  comes 
from  God,  and  that  that  same  divine 
action  which  created  and  elevated 
it  must  maintain  it  in  existence,  aid 
it  in  the  development  of  its  faculties, 
and  bring  it  to  its  final  completion. 
He  must  freely  and  deliberately  yearn 
after  ail  this,  and  have  firm  reliance 
that  the  infinite  will  maintain  his  be- 
ing, aid  it  in  its  growth,  and  bring  it 
to  its  full  bloom  in  the  palingenesia. 

On  the  part  of  the  infinite,  prayer 
in  this  same  deprecatory  sense  im- 
plies an  action  of  God  existing  and 
aiding  the  finite  in  producing  the 
aforesaid  four  acts  necessary  to  con- 
stitute a  prayer. 

If  we  regard  prayer  in  its  lifegiving 
moment,  it  implies  two  elements  :  one 
on  the  part  of  the  infinite,  the  other 
on  the  part  of  the  finite.  On  the 
part  of  the  infinite,  it  implies  a  real 
actual  and  personal  communication, 
a  giving  of  himself  by  a  personal  in- 
tercourse to  the  finite;  and,  on  the 
part  of  the  latter,  a  personal  ap- 
prehension of  the  infinite,  and  an 
assimilation  of  and  transformation 
into  the  infinite.  We  cannot  refrain 
here  from  quoting  a  beautiful  page  of 
a  French  writer  in  explanation  of  this 


last  element :  "  When  man's  will,  lifted 
by  an  ardent  desire,  succeeds  in  put- 
ting itself  in  contact  with  the  supreme 
will,  the  miracle  of  the  divine  inter- 
vention is  accomplished.  Prayer, 
which  renders  God  present  to  tts,*  is 
a  kind  of  communion  by  which  man 
feeds  on  grace,  and  assimilates  to 
himself  that  celestial  aliment  of  the 
soul.  In  that  ineffable  communica- 
tion, the  divine  will  penetrates  our 
will,  its  action  is  mingled  with  our 
action  to  produce  but  one  and  the 
same  indivisible  work,  which  belongs 
whole  and  entire  to  both ;  wonderful 
union  of  grandeur  and  of  lowliness,  of 
a  power  eternally  fecund,  and  of  a 
created  activity  which  is  exhausted 
by  its  very  duration,  of  an  incorrupti- 
ble and  regenerating  element  with 
the  infirm  and  corruptible  elements 
of  our  being;  union,  which  believed 
in  invariably,  though  conceived  in 
different  manner  by  the  savage  tribes 
as  well  as  by  the  most  civilized  na- 
tions, has  been  under  different  forms, 
and  in  spite  of  the  errors  which  have 
obscured  it,  the  immortal  belief  of 
humanity."  t 

Now,  we  maintain  that  prayer,  un- 
derstood in  all  its  comprehension, 
besides  the  effect  which  it  produces 
in  its  own  natural  sphere,  is  also  the 
hierarchical  superior  of  the  action  of 
the  whole  substantial  creation ;  and 
that,  consequently,  the  latter  must 
yield  to  the  former,  whenever  they 
should  happen  to  come  in  conflict 
with  each  other ;  and  thus,  under  this 
respect,  it  may  be  said  that  prayer 
governs  the  world. 

This  may  be  proven  by  two  sorts 
of  argument ;  one  as  it  were  exterior, 
the  other  intrinsic  to  the  subject. 

The  first  is  drawn  from  the  pro- 
perties of  the  supernatural  moment. 
For,  if  this  moment  is  superior  to 


*  Orig.  De  Orat. 

t  Gerbet,  Le  Dogme  Gtntrateur  de  la  PUU 
Catholique. 


560 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


substantial  creation,  if  it  is  the  end 
and  type  of  it,  every  one  can  see 
that  the  mode  of  acting  of  elevated 
spirits — spirits  in  whom  the  super- 
natural moment  is  realized  and  con- 
creted— must  necessarily  precede  and 
be  superior  to  the  mode  of  action  of 
substantial  creation,  and  that  the 
latter  must  necessarily  be  subject  to 
the  former — unless  we  abolish  and 
deny  the  universal  law  of  hierarchy 
presiding  and  ruling  over  all  the  mo- 
ments of  the  exterior  action  of  God, 
and  founded  on  the  intrinsic  and  re- 
spective value  of  beings.  Actio  se- 
qttitur  esse  is  the  old  axiom  of 
ontology.  If  the  being  of  the  super- 
natural moment  is  superior  to  the 
being  of  substantial  creation,  the  mode 
of  action  of  the  first  must  also,  in  force 
of  that  axiom,  be  superior  to  the  mode 
of  action  of  the  latter.  When,  there- 
fore, a  natural  law,  a  law  of  substan- 
tial creation,  comes  in  opposition 
with  a  true  prayer,  a  prayer  made 
with  all  the  conditions  which  its 
nature  requires,  the  natural  law  must 
yield  and  give  way  to  prayer. 

The  second  argument  is  drawn  from 
the  essence  of  prayer  as  a  life-giving 
agent.  What  is  prayer  in  this  sense  ? 
It  is  an  actual  communication  of  the 
finite  with  the  infinite,  an  actual  par- 
ticipation of  the  infinite  and  his  at- 
tributes ;  it  is  a  possession  which  the 
finite  takes  of  the  infinite,  the  appro- 
priation, the  assimilation  of  the  infinite. 
It  is  the  finite  transported  and  trans- 
formed into  the  infinite.  For  in  it  the 
mind  of  the  finite  takes  hold  of  the 
mind  of  the  infinite,  and  is,  as  it  were, 
transformed  into  it;  the  will  and 
energy  of  the  finite  grasps  the  will  and 
the  almighty  power  of  the  infinite,  and 
is  changed,  as  it  were,  into  it ;  the  per- 
son of  the  finite  is  united  to  the  person 
of  the  infinite,  and  is  assimilated  to 
him.  Now,  it  is  evident  that  prayer 
understood  in  this  sense  is  no  longer 
an  act  of  the  finite  alone,  but  an  act 


of  both  the  finite  and  the  infinite ;  it 
is  the  result  of  the  energy  of  both. 
Its  efficacy  and  energy  therefore  must 
be  as  superior  to  the  energy  of  all 
substantial  creation  as  the  infinite  is 
superior  to  the  finite.  Consequently, 
it  is  evident  that  when  a  natural  law 
pregnant  with  finite  energy  comes  in 
conflict  with  a  prayer  impregnated, 
so  to  speak,  with  infinite  energy,  the 
former  must  yield  to  the  superior  force 
of  the  latter. 

Prayer  governs  the  world  also  in  a 
sense  more  general  than  the  one  we 
have  hitherto  indicated  for  it.  The 
sum  of  all  the  actions  of  substantial 
creation  has  been  so  disposed,  and 
is  so  ruled  and  governed,  as  to  be 
always  subject  to  the  sum  of  all  the 
actions  of  the  supernatural  moment, 
and  this  for  the  same  reasons  de- 
veloped above. 

Here  it  can  be  seen  with  how 
much  reason  those  philosophers  who 
call  themselves  rationalists  sneer  and 
wax  indignant  at  the  fact,  constant 
in  time  and  place,  of  the  importance 
which  mankind  has  attached  to 
prayer  for  physical  reasons,  as  for 
rain,  for  fair  weather,  for  a  good  har- 
vest, and  the  like.  They  show  evi- 
dently how  far  they  are  from  under- 
standing the  sublime  hierarchical 
harmony  of  the  cosmos,  which  the 
simple  ones  of  the  earth,  who  have 
faith  in  God,  instinctively  feel  and 
acknowledge.  For  if  God  did  not 
create  the  cosmos  at  random  without 
a  plan  or  design,  he  assuredly  must 
have  followed  and  maintained  the 
necessary  relations  of  things.  Now, 
if  substantial  creation  and  its  mode 
of  action  is  hierarchically — that  is,  in 
comprehension  of  being — inferior  to 
the  supernatural  term  and  its  mode 
of  action,  if  the  latter  is  the  end  and 
type  of  the  former,  and  if  they  are 
not  to  be  kept  apart,  but  to  be 
brought  together  into  unity  and  har- 
mony, and  must  thus  harmoniously 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


561 


act,  it  is  clear  to  the  rudest  under- 
standing that  the  one  mode  of  action 
must  be  subject  to  the  other,  and 
that  consequently,  when  a  prayer  is 
in  opposition  with  the  realization  of 
natural  law,  the  natural  law  must 
yield,  and  the  prayer  must  prevail. 

Nor  will  it  do  to  say  that  if  such 
were  the  case  the  natural  order 
would  no  longer  enjoy  any  stability 
or  permanence,  because  some  prayer 
or  other  might  come  continually  in 
opposition  to  it.  For  the  whole  se- 
ries of  actions  of  substantial  creation 
is  marked  out  eternally  in  the  mind 
of  the  infinite.  Likewise  the  whole 
series  of  actions  of  the  supernatural 
moment  is  marked  out  in  the  same 
mind ;  they  are  brought  together  in 
beautiful  harmony  in  the  same  divine 
intellect  from  all  eternity.  God  has 
foreseen  when  and  how  a  prayer 
would  require  the  suspension  of  the 
natural  law,  and  has  willed  and  de- 
creed it,  so  that  no  suspension  of 
natural  law,  consequent  upon  a  pray- 
er, can  take  place  which  has  not 
been  foreseen  and  arranged  harmo- 
niously from  all  eternity;  and  if  we 
could  for  a  moment  cast  a  glance 
into  the  mind  of  the  infinite,  we 
should  see  an  infinite  series  of  ac- 
tions of  substantial  creation;  an  in- 
finite series  of  actions  of  the  superna- 
tural moment ;  all  intertwined  in  a  most 
harmonious  whole,  and  the  different 
exceptions  here  and  there  only  link- 
ing together  the  two  orders,  putting 
them  in  bolder  relief,  and  enhancing 
the  beauty  and  harmony  of  the  whole 
cosmos.  The  theory  which  we  have 
been  vindicating  explains  also  a  phe- 
nomenon so  frequent  and  so  common 
in  the  history  of  the  Catholic 
Church — the  saint  who  works  mira- 
cles, or  the  Thaumaturgus. 

A  saint  is  one  in  whom  a  certain 
fulness  of  the  supernatural  term  re- 
sides, and  hence  a  certain  fulness  of 
the  particular  mode  of  action  belong- 
VOL.  XHI. — 36 


ing  to  that  moment.  A  saint  can 
pray  well;  therefore  he  can  work 
miracles,  and  does  oftentimes.  Pro- 
testantism has  not  only  denied  most 
of  the  miracles  not  recorded  in  the 
Bible,  but  has  gone  so  far  as  to  deny 
the  possibility  of  such  miracles  ever 
occurring  after  the  establishment 
and  propagation  of  Christianity,  on 
the  plea  that  they  are  no  longer 
necessary.  It  was  but  a  logical 
consequence  of  its  doctrine  of  justi- 
fication. If  man  is  not  really  made 
holy  in  his  justification,  if  he  does 
not  receive  in  his  soul  the  term  of 
the  supernatural  moment  as  really 
inherent  in  him,  it  is  clear  he  cannot 
have  or  possess  the  mode  of  action 
of  that  moment,  still  less  a  certain 
fulness  of  it.  Consequently,  neither 
is  he  elevated  above  substantial  crea- 
tion, nor  is  his  mode  of  action  superior 
to  the  action  of  that  same  moment, 
and  therefore  he  cannot  exercise  a 
power  and  an  efficacy  which  he  has 
not.  In  other  words,  a  man  justi- 
fied according  to  the  Protestant  doc- 
trine cannot  be  a  saint  intrinsically, 
and  cannot  consequently  pray.  And 
how  could  he  work  miracles  ?  It 
was  natural  to  deny  such  possibility. 

But  endow  a  man  with  the  super- 
natural term  in  a  certain  fulness,  and 
hence  suppose  him  possessed  of  a 
fulness  of  its  mode  of  action  intrinsi- 
cally superior  in  energy  to  the  mode 
of  action  of  substantial  creation,  and 
you  may  suppose  he  is  likely  to  ex- 
ercise it,  and  work  miracles  often- 
times. 

As  to  the  plea  of  necessity,  it  is 
absolutely  futile.  A  miracle  would 
be  necessary  even  after  the  establish- 
ment of  Christianity  in  all  times  and 
places,  which,  by  the  bye,  has  not 
been  accomplished  yet,  if  for  no 
other  reason,  in  order  to  assert  and 
vindicate  from  time  to  time  the  exis- 
tence and  the  supremacy  of  the 
supernatural  over  the  natural. 


562 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism, 


The  third  truth  emanating  from 
the  qualities  of  the  supernatural  mo- 
ment is  that  those  created  persons 
in  whom  the  term  of  that  moment  is 
realized  are  essentially  mediators  be- 
tween the  Theanthropos  and  substan- 
tial creation. 

The  principle  follows  evidently 
from  the  fourth  quality  essentially  be- 
longing to  the  supernatural  term,  that 
of  being  mediator  between  the  other 
moments,  the  hypostatic  and  the 
substantial. 

For  if  the  term  of  that  moment  in 
intensity  of  being  and  perfection 
hold  a  place  between  the  other  two 
moments,  it  is  evident  that  those  in 
whom  the  moment  is  realized  must 
hold  the  same  middle  place  and  be, 
consequently,  mediators.  Hence,  it 
appears  how  the  Catholic  doctrine 
of  the  intercession,  and,  by  logical 
consequence,  of  the  invocation,  of 
saints,  is  a  cosmological  law,  as  im- 
perative as  any  other  law  of  the 
cosmos.  For  what  does  the  word 
mediator  mean  ?  Limiting  the  ques- 
tion to  location  or  space,  it  signifies 
a  thing  placed  or  located  between 
two  others;  in  a  hierarchical  sense, 
confining  the  question  to  being  and 
essence,  it  expresses  a  thing  in  es- 
sence and  nature  inferior  to  one  and 
superior  to  another;  in  the  same 
sense,  confining  the  question  to  ac- 
tion and  development,  it  exhibits  a 
thing  in  its  action  and  development 
inferior  to  the  action  and  develop- 
ment of  one  and  superior  in  the  same 
to  another.  The  person,  therefore,  in 
whom  the  supernatural  term  is  real- 
ized is  mediator  in  the  sense  of  being 
in  essence,  nature,  attributes,  action, 
and  development,  superior  to  the 
same  things  of  substantial  creation, 
and  inferior  to  those  of  the  Thean- 
thropos. Now,  as  the  cosmos  is  not 
governed  by  the  law  of  hierarchy 
alone,  but  also  by  the  law  of  unity 
and  communion,  and  as  these  laws 


imply  a  real  and  effective  union  and 
communication  of  being  and  action 
between  the  terms  of  the  cosmos,  it 
follows  that  the  person  in  whom  the 
supernatural  term  is  concreted  is  in  real 
and  effective  communication  with  the 
Theanthropos,  as  inferior,  and  in  real 
and  effective  communication,  as  supe- 
rior, with  substantial  creation;  he  is 
in  communication  with  the  former  as 
subject  and  dependent,  with  the  latter 
as  superior,  and  with  both  as  medi- 
um ;  that  is,  a  recipient  relatively  to 
the  Theanthropos,  as  transmitting 
what  it  receives  from  the  Theanthro- 
pos relatively  to  substantial  creation ; 
both  relations  being  exercised  by  the 
person  elevated  in  every  sense,  either 
as  receiving  from  the  Theanthropos 
and  transmitting  to  substantial  crea- 
tion, or  as  representative  of  substan- 
tial creation  before  the  Theanthropos. 

And  as  we  are  speaking  of  moral 
persons,  that  is,  free,  intelligent  agents, 
in  what  can  these  relations  consist 
but  in  this,  that  elevated  persons, 
acting  as  mediums,  may  intercede 
and  obtain  favors  for  created  persons 
from  the  Theanthropos,  and  these 
may  invoke  their  intercession  in  their 
behalf? 

The  doctrine,  therefore,  of  the  in- 
tercession and  the  invocation  of 
saints  is  a  cosmological  law,  resulting 
from  the  law  of  hierarchy,  unity,  and 
communion,  and  governing  the  rela- 
tion of  purely  created  persons  with 
those  elevated  to  the  supernatural 
moment. 

It  must  be  here  remarked  that  the 
mediatorship  of  persons  elevated  is 
not  confined  only  to  persons  in  their 
mere  natural  state,  but  it  extends 
also  to  persons  elevated  to  the  super- 
natural moment,  because  the  super- 
natural term  admits  of  variety  of 
degree,  some  persons  being  en- 
dowed with  a  certain  fulness  of  that 
moment,  some  with  much  less.  Those 
in  whom  the  fulness  is  realized  are 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


563 


hierarchically  mediators  between  the 
Theanthropos  and  other  elevated 
spirits  possessing  a  less  amount  of 
that  term,  and  can  consequently  in- 
tercede for  the  latter. 

It  must  be  remarked,  in  the  second 
place,  that  the  law  governs  the  cos- 
mos not  only  in  its  germinal  state, 
but  also  in  its  state  of  completion 
and  perfection ;  and  we  cannot  possi- 
bly discover  or  imagine  by  what 
logical  process  Protestantism,  which 
admits  this  law  in  the  germinal  and 
incipient  state  of  the  cosmos,  denies 
it  to  exist  between  persons  elevated 
to  the  state  of  palingenesia  and  those 
who  are  yet  in  the  germinal  state. 
This  denial,  so  far  as  we  can  see, 
could  be  supported  only  by  the  sup- 
position that  as  soon  as  an  elevated 
person  reaches  its  final  development, 
every  tie  of  union,  every  bond  of  in- 
tercourse, is  immediately  broken 
asunder  between  him  and  other  per- 
sons living  yet  in  the  germinal  state 
of  the  cosmos.  But  how  false  and 
absurd  this  supposition  would  be  is 
evident  to  every  one  who  at  all  un- 
derstands the  exterior  works  of  God. 
The  cosmos  being  measured  by  time, 
is  essentially  successive;  in  other 
words,  all  the  elements  of  the  cosmos 
cannot  possibly  reach  their  final  com- 
pletion at  one  and  the  same  time, 
the  law  of  variety  and  hierarchy  ne- 
cessarily forbidding  it.  It  is  abso- 
lutely necessary,  then,  that  some 
elements  should  reach  their  final  per- 
fection first  and  some  afterwards,  in 
proportion  as  they  come  to  take  place 
in  the  cosmos  successively.  If,  there- 
fore, by  one  element  of  the  cosmos 
reaching  its  final  development  all  in- 
tercourse were  to  be  broken  between 
it  and  all  other  elements  which  have 
not  reached  so  high  a  condition,  it 
would  follow  that  the  cosmos  would 
never  be  one,  never  in  harmony,  until 
all  had  reached  their  final  completion 
and  the  creation  of  more  elements 


entirely  ceased.  It  would  be  a 
continual  disorder  and  confusion  un- 
til the  end  of  the  world.  Now  this 
is  absurd,  since  unity  and  har- 
mony must  always  govern  and  adorn 
God's  works.  Nor  can  we  see  any 
intrinsic  reason  why  it  should  be 
broken.  The  only  plea  alleged  by 
Protestants  in  support  of  this  suspen- 
sion of  all  communion  between  the 
spirits  in  palingenesia  and  those 
living  on  earth,  is  that  there  can  be 
no  possible  means  of  communication 
between  them.  They  express  this 
idea  commonly  by  saying  that  the 
saints  in  heaven  cannot  hear  our 
prayers.  How  philosophical  this  plea 
is  we  leave  it  to  the  intelligent  reader 
to  determine.  Suppose  we  had  no 
direct  answer  to  give  to  this  plea,  the 
absolute  necessity  of  the  cosmos 
being  one  and  harmonious  would 
make  a  true  philosopher  infer  that 
the  infinite  must  have  found  a  means 
whereby  to  keep  up  this  communica- 
tion, though  it  might  be  unknown  to 
us  what  that  means  actually  is. 

But  the  direct  answer  is  at  hand. 
The  Word  of  God  is  essentially  the 
life  of  the  cosmos.  He  is  the  type 
of  all  the  essences,  of  all  the  natures, 
of  all  the  personalities,  of  all  the  acts 
composing  the  cosmos.  The  cos- 
mos, in  all  these  respects,  is  reflected 
in  the  Word.  "  All  that  was  made  in 
him  was  life."  (St.  John.) 

Now,  all  elevated  spirits  are  united 
to  and  live  in  the  Incarnate  Word. 
The  spirits  or  persons  in  the  germinal 
state  are  united  to  his  person  by  the 
supernatural  essence  and  the  super- 
natural faculties  of  intelligence  and 
of  will.  This  forms  the  essential 
union  between  them  and  the  Thean- 
thropos. The  spirits  in  the  final 
state  are  united  to  him  in  the  same 
substantial  sense,  with  the  exception 
that  their  supernatural  essence  has 
reached  its  utmost  completion,  their 
supernatural  intelligence  is  changed 


564 


Catholicity  and  Pantheism. 


into  intuition,  and  their  supernatural 
will  has  immediate  possession  of 
God. 

The  consequence  of  these  princi- 
ples is  that  the  spirits  in  the  germinal 
state  produce  acts  of  invocation  to 
the  spirits  in  the  final  state,  and  these 
acts  are  reflected  or  reproduced  in 
the  Theanthropos  as  the  type  and  the 
intelligible  objective  life  of  the  cos- 
mos. 

The  spirits  in  the  final  state  see,  by 
intuition,  in  the  Theanthropos  all  those 
acts  of  invocation  of  the  spirits  in  the 
germinal  state,  and  thus  come  to 
know  what  the  spirits  on  earth  claim 
from  them.  As  orator  and  audience, 
living  in  the  same  atmosphere,  can 
hold  intercourse  with  each  other,  be- 
cause the  words  uttered  by  the  orator 
are  transmitted  by  the  air  to' the  ears 
of  his  audience,  so  the  spirits  on  earth 
and  the  spirits  in  heaven  hold  inter- 
course with  each  other,  because  they 
live  in  the  same  medium. 

The  spirits  on  earth  making  acts 
of  invocation  to  their  brethren  in 
heaven,  these  acts  are  reflected  or 
reproduced  in  the  Theanthropos,  and 
from  him  reverberate  and  reach  the 
eyes  of  the  spirits  in  heaven  living  in 
him,  and  thus  they  come  to  the  know- 
ledge of  the  wants  and  prayers  of 
their  brethren  on  earth. 

But  why  such  interposition  of  per- 
sons when  we  could  go  directly  to 
the  Theanthropos?  Does  this  not 
detract  from  the  mediatorship  of 
Christ  ? 

Why,  but  because  the  cosmos  must 
be  one  ?  Why,  but  because  all  the 
elements  of  the  cosmos  must  com- 
municate with  each  other  ?  And 
how  can  this  doctrine  detract  from 
the  mediatorship  of  Christ  when  he 
is  made  the  source,  the  origin,  the 
end  of  everything  ?  If  Catholic  doc- 
trine claimed  this  intercourse  inde- 
pendently of  the  Theanthropos,  it 
would  certainly  detract  from  his  me- 


diatorship. But  do  we  not  establish 
and  centre  this  mediatorship  of  the 
saint  entirely  in  the  Theanthropos  ? 

The  last  truth  which  follows  from 
the  essence  of  the  supernatural  term 
is  what  is  called  the  worship  of  saints. 
This  truth  is  not  only  a  cosmological 
law, but  an  ontological  principle,  since, 
considered  in  its  simplest  and  most 
ultimate  acceptation,  it  implies  no- 
thing more  than  the  duty  incumbent 
on  every  moral  agent  to  acknow- 
ledge, theoretically  and  practically, 
the  intrinsic  value  of  being.  Sup- 
pose a  certain  being  is  possessed  of  a 
hundred  degrees  of  perfection,  so  to 
speak,  I  cannot,  without  a  flat  con- 
tradiction to  my  intelligence,  which 
apprehends  it,  deny  or  ignore  it;  I 
cannot,  without  a  flat  contradiction 
to  my  expansive  faculty  or  will,  which 
is  attracted  by  it,  fail  to  appreciate  it 
practically.  Now,  the  worship  of 
saints,  against  which  Protestantism 
has  written  and  said  so  much,  is 
founded  entirely  on  that  ontological 
principle.  The  saint  is  possessed  of 
a  certain  fulness  of  the  supernatural 
term.  The  supernatural  intelligence 
of  other  elevated  spirits  apprehends 
this  fulness,  and  the  supernatural 
will  of  the  same  spirits  cannot  fail  to 
value  it.  This  theoretical  and  prac- 
tical appreciation  is  esteem,  and 
when  expressed  outwardly  is  honor 
and  praise.  By  the  ontological  prin- 
ciple of  recognizing  the  value  of  be- 
ing, therefore,  it  is  evident  that  the 
Catholic  theory  of  the  worship  of 
saints  is  not  only  theologically  law- 
ful, but  eminently  philosophical. 
Protestantism,  in  denying  this  wor- 
ship, follows  the  same  principle  with- 
out being  aware  of  it. 

It  starts  from  its  own  doctrine  of 
justification,  which  consists,  as  we 
have  seen,  not  in  the  interior  cleans- 
ing of  the  soul  from  sin  and  in  its 
elevation  to  the  supernatural  mo- 
ment, but  in  an  external  application 


Sayings  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Desert. 


565 


to  it  of  the  merits  of  Christ.  The 
example  of  the  cloak  is  most  appro- 
priate. Suppose  a  man,  all  filthy  and 
loathsome ;  cover  him  with  a  rich  and 
splendid  cloak,  so  as  to  hide  the  filth 
and  loathsomeness,  and  you  have  an 
example  of  Protestant  justification.  It 
is  all  foreign,  outward,  unsubjective. 
Now,  apply  the  ontological  principle 
of  the  value  of  being  to  a  saint  of  this 
calibre,  and  it  is  evident  that  you 
cannot  esteem  and  value  him  be- 
cause he  is  worth  nothing  subjec- 
tively, and  hence  the  denial  of  the 


worship  of  saints  is  a  logical  conse- 
quence of  the  Protestant  doctrine  of 
justification,  and  an  application,  in 
a  negative  sense,  of  the  ontological 
principle  of  the  value  of  beings. 

On  the  contrary,  admit  the  Catho- 
lic doctrine  of  justification,  whereby  a 
man  is  not  only  cleansed  from  sin, 
but  elevated  to  a  supernatural  mo- 
ment, receiving  as  inherent  in  him  a 
higher  and  nobler  nature  and  higher 
and  nobler  faculties,  and  it  is  evident 
that  you  must  acknowledge  this, 
value,  esteem,  and  honor  it 


SAYINGS  OF  THE  FATHERS    OF   THE    DESERT. 


So  that  there  were  in  the  moun- 
tain monasteries  like  tabernacles,  full 
of  divine  choirs  of  men  singing,  read- 
ing, praying ;  and  so  great  an  ardor 
for  fasting  and  watching  had  his  (St 
Antony's)  words  enkindled  in  the 
minds  of  all  that  they  labored  with 
an  avidity  of  hope  and  with  unceas- 
ing zeal  in  works  of  mutual  charity, 
and  in  showing  mercy  to  those  who 
needed  it,  and  they  seemed  to  inhabit 
a  sort  of  heavenly  country,  a  city 
shut  off  from  worldly  conversation, 
full  of  piety  and  justice.  Who,  look- 
ing at  such  an  army  of  monks — who, 
beholding  that  manly  and  concord- 
ant company,  in  which  there  was 
none  to  do  harm,  no  whisper  of  de- 
traction, but  a  multitude  of  abstinent 
men  and  an  emulation  of  kind  offices, 
would  not  immediately  break  forth 
into  the  words:  How  beautiful  are 
thy  tabernacles,  O  Jacob,  and  thy 
tents,  O  Israel !  As  woody  valleys,  as 
watered  gardens  near  the  rivers,  as 


tabernacles  which  the  Lord  hath 
pitched,  as  cedars  by  the  waterside 
(Num.  xxiv.  5,  6)  ? 

The  disciple  of  an  aged  and  fa- 
mous monk  was  once  assailed  by 
temptation.  And,  when  the  old  man 
saw  him  struggling,  he  said  to  him : 
Do  you  wish  me  to  ask  God  to  take 
away  this  trial  from  you  ?  But  he 
answered :  I  see  and  consider,  fa- 
ther, that  though  I  wrestle  painfully, 
yet  out  of  this  labor  I  bear  fruit. 
But  ask  this  of  God  in  thy  prayers, 
that  he  may  give  me  patience  to  en- 
dure. And  his  father  said  to  him : 
Now  I  know,  my  son,  that  thou  hast 
made  great  progress,  and  surpasses! 
me. 

Let  no  man,  when  he  has  despised 
the  world,  think  that  he  has  left  any- 
thing great. — From  the  Life  of  blessed 
Abbot  Antony,  by  St.  Athanasius. 


566         The  Italian  Guarantees  and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff. 


THE  ITALIAN  GUARANTEES  AND  THE  SOVEREIGN 

PONTIFF. 


AFTER  having  been  proposed  by 
the  government  of  Italy,  recast  by 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  amended 
by  the  Senate,  adopted  by  the  Cham- 
ber as  amended,  and  approved  and 
signed  by  ihe  King  and  his  ministers, 
the  project  of  the  guarantees  for  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff's  independence  has 
become  a  part  of  the  law  of  the  land. 
We  are  perfectly  willing  to  believe 
that  his  majesty,  regarding  this  scheme 
as  promising  the  fullest  amount  of 
freedom  it  was  possible  to  obtain 
from  his  parliament  for  the  Head  of 
the  Church,  signed  it  with. a  feeling 
of  relief;  for  if  we  are  to  credit  the 
rumors,  more  or  less  well  founded, 
one  hears  in  Florence  and  in  Rome, 
broken  tables  and  furniture  over- 
turned bore  witness  to  the  unwilling- 
ness of  the  supreme  authority  in  the 
state  to  permit  the  violation  of  the 
Papal  territory  or  to  accept  the  ple- 
biscite of  the  so-called  people  of 
Rome.  Not  so,  however,  was  it  with 
the  legislators  of  the  kingdom.  To 
them  the  Papacy  has  been  and  is  a 
huge  incubus,  that  disturbs  their  rest, 
frightens  them  in  their  dreams,  and 
which  can  be  got  rid  of  in  truth  only 
by  their  waking  up  to  a  sense  of  what 
their  real  duty  is.  Their  aim  has 
been,  in  dealing  with  it,  to  yield  up  as 
little  as  possible  of  their  ill-gotten 
power  over  the  successor  of  St.  Peter, 
and  to  secure  themselves  as  effectually 
as  possible  against  the  only  power  they 
ever  feared — his  spiritual  weapons. 
This  is  the  criterion  by  which  we 
should  study  these  guarantees;  by 
the  light  of  it  we  propose  to  examine 
them,  and  to  discuss  their  pretended 
advantages. 


When  the  Italian  government, 
hurried  on  by  the  spirit  of  revolution, 
seized  upon  Rome  during  the  com- 
plications of  last  autumn  that  insured 
impunity  for  the  moment  to  the  act, 
they  found  themselves  face  to  face 
with  the  spiritual  ruler  of  the  whole 
Catholic  world,  and  with  the  fixed 
convictions  or  invincible  prejudices 
of  two  hundred  millions  of  men,  who 
regarded  the  position  in  which  the 
Sovereign  Pontiff  had  been  placed  as 
not  only  against  all  law,  but  also  hurt- 
ful to  their  best  interests.  How  were 
they  to  deal  with  so  delicate  a  ques- 
tion ?  The  situation  of  Europe  might 
for  a  time  delay  the  solution,  but 
eventually  there  must  be  an  account 
given  and  satisfaction  rendered  to  the 
Catholic  world.  The  cabinet  hit  on  the 
only  means  it  could  hope  to  use  with 
any  appearance  of  success,  and  the 
promises  of  the  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  Sig.  Visconti  Venosta,  served 
as  a  decent  pretext  to  liberal  govern- 
ments not  to  interfere  actively  in  the 
accommodation  of  things  in  Italy. 
These  promises  are  contained  in  the 
despatches  sent  to  different  govern- 
ments during  last  winter,  and  pub- 
lished in  the  diplomatic  documents 
laid  before  the  various  legislative 
bodies  of  Europe  during  the  past  six 
months.  To  do  the  minister  justice, 
he  has  stood  out  successfully  against 
the  extreme  radical  party  in  parlia- 
ment that  opposed  most  violently 
any  idea  of  concessions  such  as  he 
had  designed  for  the  independence 
of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  and  his  ap- 
peal to  the  loyalty  of  Italy  brought 
down  the  applause  of  the  house,  and 
effectually  destroyed  the  influence  of 


The  Italian  Guarantees  and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff.         567 


his  opponents.  Still,  even  if  we  at- 
tribute to  any  other  feeling  than  fear 
of  foreign  intervention  the  measures 
adopted,  they  are  not  for  that  reason 
intrinsically  enhanced  in  value,  nor 
are  they  anything  more  than  the  most 
the  Italian  government  is  capable 
or  willing  to  do  to  protect  the  power 
of  the  Pope. 

That  power,  be  it  well  understood, 
is  in  the  eyes  of  the  rulers  of  Italy 
merely  a  spiritual  power,  for  the  tem- 
poral, they  consider,  was  annihilated 
by  the  cannon  that  beat  down  the 
walls  on  the  2oth  of  September,  1870, 
and  by  the  plebiscite  of  the  2d  of 
October  following.  How  does  this 
law  of  guarantees  confirm  the  exercise 
of  that  power?  We  shall  see  by 
referring  to  several  of  the  articles, 
not  quoting  the  law  at  length,  as  it 
has  already  appeared  in  the  public 
journals. 

Article  II.  says  in  the  last  clause : 
"  The  discussion  of  religious  questions 
is  entirely  free." 

Article  III.  says  that  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff  may  have  his  guards  "  without 
prejudice  to  the  obligations  and  duties 
resulting  from  such  guards,  from  the 
existing  laws  of  the  kingdom  of 
Italy." 

Article  IV.  contemplates  the  possi- 
bility of  the  government  taking  upon 
themselves  the  expenses  of  the  mu- 
seums and  library  of  the  Pontifical 
palaces. 

Article  V.  says  these  museums, 
library,  collections  of  art  and  of 
archaeology,  are  " inalienable" 

Article  VIII.  forbids  sequestration 
of  papers  merely  spiritual  in  their 
character. 

Article  XIII.  declares  that  the 
ecclesiastical  seminaries  of  Rome, 
and  of  the  six  suburban  sees  presided 
over  by  cardinals,  are  to  continue 
subject  to  the  Holy  See,  without  any 
interference  on  the  part  of  the  scho- 
lastic authorities  of  the  kingdom. 


Article  XVI.  says :  "  The  disposi- 
tions of  the  civil  laws  with  regard  to 
the  creation  and  the  manner  of  ex- 
istence of  ecclesiastical  institutions, 
and  the  alienation  of  their  property, 
remain  in  force." 

Article  XVII.  The  recognition  of 
the  juridical  effects  of  the  spiritual 
and  disciplinary  acts,  as  well  as  of 
any  other  act  of  the  ecclesiastical 
authority,  belongs  to  the  civil  juris- 
diction. Such  acts,  however,  are 
void  of  effect  if  contrary  to  the  law 
of  the  state  or  to  public  order,  or 
hurtful  to  the  rights  of  private  per- 
sons, and  are  subject  to  the  penal 
laws  if  they  constitute  a  crime. 

Let  us  take  a  cursory  glance  at 
these  cullings  from  the  "  guarantees," 
and  see  if  they  conflict  at  all  with 
the  spiritual  power  of  the  Pontiff. 
Before  the  twentieth  of  September, 
1870,  the  whole  of  the  city  of  Rome 
and  the  dependent  provinces  were 
presided  over  in  spirituals  by  the 
Pope,  and  all  of  the  inhabitants  were 
Catholics,  except  a  few  Jews,  treated 
with  charity,  though  not  allowed  to 
make  proselytes.  By  this  decree  the 
door  is  thrown  open  to  every  sect 
that  chooses  to  come  and  try  to 
proselytize  the  Roman  people.  They 
must  see  as  clearly  as  we  do  that  the 
last  clause  of  Article  II.  deals  the 
most  powerful  and  insidious  blow  at 
the  spiritual  power  of  the  Pope  in 
spiritual  matters,  encouraging  his 
people  to  spiritual  defection,  or  at 
least  lessening  him  in  their  esteem  as 
a  spiritual  teacher.  This  is  too  evi- 
dent to  need  further  dwelling  on,  and 
we  pass  to  the  next  indictment. 

The  Pope's  guards  are  to  protect 
him  and  execute  his  orders,  but  in- 
asmuch as  they  are  not  on  this  ac- 
count freed  from  the  obligations  of 
Italian  citizens  by  the  tenor  of  Arti- 
cle III.,  it  is  quite  easy  to  under- 
stand how  in  the  course  of  time 
elements  of  discord  may  arise;  and 


568         The  Italian  Guarantees  and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff. 


therefore,  in  the  use  of  his  guards 
the  Pope  must  conform  to  the  civil 
code  of  the  kingdom  of  Italy,  or 
take  the  consequences  referred  to 
further  on. 

Articles  IV.  and  V.  regard  the 
library  and  museums  of  the  Vatican 
and  of  other  palaces.  The  original 
draught  of  the  project  declared  these 
collections  the  property  of  the  state. 
The  criticism  it  excited  on  this  ac- 
count brought  about  the  modifica- 
tions we  have  here,  which  substitute 
inalienability  for  the  asserted  right  of 
property,  without  adverting  to  the 
fact  that  such  a  modification  implies 
dominion  in  the  one  making  it, 
while  there  is  contemplated  a  pos- 
sible taking  on  themselves  by  the 
government  of  the  expenses  of  these 
museums  that  certainly  points  to  the 
same  idea. 

The  VHIth  Article  forbids  the  se- 
questration of  papers  and  documents 
of  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  merely 
spiritual  in  their  nature.  The  infer- 
ence is  that  any  other  documents 
not  merely  spiritual  may  be  seques- 
trated ;  and,  as  doubts  may  arise, 
who  is  to  decide  ?  Certainly  not 
the  church  or  the  Pope,  for  he  is 
the  accused;  there  is  no  umpire ;  and 
a  strong  police  force  is  at  the  beck 
of  the  Italian  government,  and  the 
question  will  be  solved  readily. 

The  Xlllth  Article,  regarding  the 
ecclesiastical  seminaries  and  col- 
leges, exempts  them  from  the  control 
of  the  scholastic  authorities,  but,  with 
regard  to  their  temporal  concerns, 
we  are  told  in  the  XVIth  Article  they 
must  be  subject  to  the  civil  jurisdic- 
tion. We  leave  it  to  our  practical 
men  of  America  to  say  whether  or 
not  the  man  who  holds  the  purse- 
strings  and  manages  the  funds  has 
any  influence  on  the  people  he  pays 
or  are  paid  through  him.  In  the 
case  before  us  the  Italian  civil  au- 
thorities are  those  who  pay,  having 


in  many  cases  the  full  administration 
of  the  funds.  We  feel  tempted  to 
refer  to  the  case  of  the  Roman  Col- 
lege, the  funds  of  which  have  been 
withheld  since  the  first  of  January, 
1871. 

The  first  draught  of  Article  XVII. 
was  too  strong.  It  said  openly : 
In  case  of  conflict  between  the  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  powers,  the  su- 
preme civil  tribunal  of  the  kingdom 
was  to  decide.  This  was  toned 
down  to  suit  better  rather  tender 
susceptibilities.  The  result  we  have 
in  the  clause  quoted  above,  which 
says  the  same  thing  in  other  words, 
and  in  stronger  terms,  if  we  look  to 
the  penal  sanction  referred  to.  Here 
is  the  whole  pith  of  the  matter.  "  As 
long  as  it  is  possible  for  us  to  get  on 
without  dispute,"  say  the  govern- 
ment, "  all  well ;  but  the  moment  a 
question  arises,  ive  must  solve  it." 
Moreover,  as  the  legislative  autho- 
rities have  made  the  law,  they  can 
amend  or  alter  it  if  they  think  pro- 
per, and  there  is  and  can  be  no 
guarantee  that  they  will  not. 

Such  are  the  disadvantages  cre- 
ated by  the  vexed  project,  which  from 
the  amount  of  discussion  it  has 
caused,  deserves  the  title  of  the  Pons 
Asinorum  of  the  Italian  parliament. 

There  are  several  points  in  this 
law  which  have  some  title  to  be 
looked  on  as  advantages,  relatively 
to  the  condition  in  which  the  So- 
vereign Pontiff  has  been  placed  since 
the  overthrow  of  his  temporal  sove- 
reignty. These  are  the  inviolability 
of  the  person  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff, 
the  payment  of  the  monthly  sum  of 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  the  protection 
of  the  Conclave  as  well  as  of  the 
Pontiff  in  the  discharge  of  duty,  the 
immunity  of  ecclesiastics  employed 
by  him,  the  postal  and  telegraphic  ar- 
rangements, and  the  abolition  of  the 
royal  *  placet '  and  '  exequatur.'  But 
it  is  to  be  remarked  that,  on  the  first 


The  Italian  Guarantees  and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff.        569 


place,  with  regard  to  some  the  digni- 
ty of  the  Head  of  the  Church  will 
not  permit  him  to  avail  himself  of 
them  ;  then  with  reference  to  others, 
they  are  imperatively  wrung  from  the 
Italian  government  by  the  public 
opinion  of  foreign  nations;  while, 
lastly,  respecting  others,  the  govern- 
ment will  always  have  it  in  their 
power  to  exercise  a  surveillance  that 
renders  the  concessions  more  or  less 
nugatory,  and  in  nowise  satisfactory 
to  the  people  of  Catholic  and  non- 
Catholic  nations. 

But  independent  of  all  the  above 
reasons,  there  are  intrinsic  motives 
that  make  any  code  of  guarantees 
worth  little  more  than  the  paper  on 
which  they  are  indited.  All  are 
agreed  that  the  Head  of  the  Church 
must  be  independent;  the  Italian 
government  acknowledges  it,  and 
Catholics  and  non-Catholics  proclaim 
it  throughout  the  world.  In  what 
does  this  necessary  independence 
consist?  It  consists  essentially  in 
being  free  of  undue  influence  from 
any  source  whatsoever.  Now,  such 
freedom  can  be  obtained  only  by  re- 
storing the  Pope  to  the  condition  in 
which  he  was  prior  to  the  year  1860. 
For  we  can  imagine  the  several  other 
conditions  in  which  the  Pope  might 
be  placed. 

He  may  continue  as  he  is  at  the 
present  moment. 

He  may  be  the  privileged  citizen 
of  a  Roman  republic. 

He  may  be  the  sovereign  ruler  of 
the  city  of  Rome  under  the  protection 
of  the  Italian  government  together 
with  other  governments  throughout 
the  world. 

None  of  these  conditions  is  a 
guarantee  of  his  freedom. 

In  the  first  place,  we  suppose  him 
to  be  in  the  condition  in  which  he  is 
at  the  present  moment.  The  reasons 
we  have  given  above,  the  practical 
experience  had  of  the  protection 


given  to  the  Pope  and  those  attached 
to  him,  the  seizure  of  the  encyclical, 
and  other  acts  of  which  his  eminence 
the  Cardinal  Secretary  of  State  has 
complained  publicly,  the  subjection 
a  salary  paid  by  the  Italian  govern- 
ment would  bring  with  it,  and  the 
general  suspicion  to  which  his  acts 
are  liable,  from  the  influence  of  the 
powerful  government  under  which  he 
lives — all  make  it  impossible  that 
this  state  of  things  should  continue. 

Nor  is  it  possible  that  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff  should  be  the  privileged  and 
protected  member  of  a  Roman  re- 
public. To  tell  the  truth,  the  present 
state  of  things  is  preferable  to  that. 
Republics,  and  particularly  a  Roman 
republic,  are  too  liable  to  commotion, 
a  mob  is  too  easily  excited  to  vio- 
lence, a  demagogue  is  too  likely  to 
gain  great  influence  over  this  city,  to 
make  it  at  all  advisable  that  the 
Pontiff  should  have  republicans  for 
his  neighbors.  A  prince  has  duties 
to  his  people,  to  his  dynasty,  and  to 
other  nations  that  check  him,  and 
make  him  keep  order  in  his  realm ; 
whereas  the  common  people  are  re- 
strained by  no  such  consideration, 
and  a  clamorous  hostile  demonstra- 
tion, with  a  stoppage  of  supplies, 
would  very  probably  be  the  answer 
to  any  act  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff 
that  did  not  meet  with  their  appro- 
bation. The  vicissitudes  of  the  days 
of  Cola  di  Rienzi  are  there  to  show 
how  incompatible  with  the  mobile 
masses  of  a  republic  is  the  necessarily 
unbending  firmness  of  a  moral  ruler. 
Not  much  happier  than  the  foregoing 
is  the  idea  proposed  by  the  able  de- 
puty of  the  Italian  parliament,  Signer 
Toscanelli,  who  would  have  Rome  a 
free  city  under  the  sovereign  control 
of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  and  protected 
by  the  Italian  government.  It  would, 
practically  speaking,  be  impossible  to 
eliminate  all  influence  on  the  part  of 
the  government  protecting  and  close- 


570          The  Italian  Guarantees  and  the  Sovereign  Pontiff. 


ly  in  material  contact  with  the  Ro- 
man Curia.  Even  supposing  that 
the  maintenance  of  the  Pope  and  his 
dependents  did  not  come  from  that 
government,  it  would  not  be  advisable 
or  satisfactory.  In  this  case,  the  mo- 
ney for  the  support  of  the  ecclesias- 
tical authorities  would  have  to  come 
from  foreign  nations.  Although  this 
would  save  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  from 
much  of  his  subjection  to  the  rulers 
of  Italy,  it  would  still  leave  him  sub- 
ject to  influence  of  another  kind  very 
undesirable.  The  point  is  a  delicate 
one,  but  we  will  treat  it  with  all  due 
consideration  for  those  concerned. 
In  legislating  for  mankind,  you  have 
no  right  to  expect  heroic  actions,  and 
this  more  particularly  if  those  actions 
pertain  to  the  supernatural  order.  This 
rule  is  to  be  applied  to  the  Sovereign 
Pontiffs  as  to  every  one  else.  To 
their  great  honor,  the  Sovereign  Pon- 
tiffs have  stood  nobly  firm  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  duties  of  their  exalted 
state  ;  many  a  one  has  shed  his  blood 
for  the  faith,  many  a  one  has  lan- 
guished in  chains  for  the  good  of  his 
flock,  many  a  one  has  braved  the  fury 
of  crowned  tyrants  for  the  safety  and 
well-being  of  the  church  of  Christ. 
But  above  all  praise  as  their  conduct 
has  often  been,  you  have  no  right  to 
put  them  in  a  position  that  requires 
the  exercise  of  such  heroic  firmness. 
Now,  what  is  the  condition  of  a  Pope 
dependent  on  the  precarious  con- 
tributions of  foreign  nations  for  his 
support  ?  It  is  one  in  which  an  ex- 
ternal influence  is  continually  at  work 
to  check  him  in  the  free  and  impar- 
tial discharge  of  his  duty ;  it  is  one  in 
which  he  is  continually  forced  to 
lay  aside  all  human  considerations 
of  prudence  and  throw  himself  with 
fulness  of  faith  on  Divine  Providence. 
The  position  is  a  sublime  one,  but 
for  that  very  reason  no  man  or  body 
of  men  have  any  right  to  place  him 
in  it.  If  he  sees  fit  to  condemn  some 


cherished  opinion  in  a  nation,  the 
people  cool  in  their  devotion  to  him, 
and  as  the  contributions  of  which  we 
speak  are  voluntary,  the  disinclina- 
tion to  receive  his  decisions  brings 
with  it  a  disinclination  to  give  spon- 
taneously what  had  been  so  given 
before,  and  the  direct  consequence 
of  every  pontifical  act  unacceptable 
is  very  likely  to  be  a  diminution  in 
the  funds  that  come  in  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  Pontiff;  in  fact,  if  we 
may  be  allowed  the  expression,  these 
contributions  may  be  looked  on  as  a 
kind  of  spiritual  thermometer,  that 
by  their  rise  or  fall  indicate  the 
warmth  or  the  coolness  of  feeling 
towards  the  Pope.  In  point  of  fact, 
it  is  well  known  that  not  a  few 
prophesied,  during  the  discussions  of 
the  question  of  the  infallibility  in  the 
past  year,  that  the  passing  of  the  de- 
cree would  bring  about  a  decided 
falling  off  in  the  Peter  Pence.  Not- 
withstanding this,  the  Sovereign  Pon- 
tiff threw  himself  upon  Providence, 
and  his  hope  was  not  deceived.  To 
the  honor  of  Catholics  throughout 
the  world  be  it  said,  the  contributions 
of  the  Peter  Pence  of  to-day  exceed 
those  of  all  other  epochs,  and  enable 
the  Holy  Father  to  administer  to  the 
most  pressing  wants  of  the  flock  over 
which  he  personally  and  directly  pre- 
sides. The  hand  of  Providence  is 
certainly  here.  Such  manifestations 
of  Providence,  however,  as  we  have 
said,  no  one  has  a  right  in  legislating 
to  look  forward  to,  and  therefore  it 
is  absolutely  necessary  that  the  Head 
of  the  Church  should  be  the  sove- 
reign of  a  small  state,  large  enough 
to  save  him  from  the  necessity  of  tu- 
telage, and  yielding  a  yearly  revenue 
sufficient  to  maintain  him  and  those 
he  must  have  around  him  with  the 
decorum  due  to  his  condition.  To 
this  it  may  be  objected,  that  his  sub- 
jects will  be  deprived  of  many  ad- 
vantages enjoyed  by  free  nations. 


The  Rose. 


571 


We  are  very  sceptical  about  these 
advantages;  the  progress  of  Rome 
under  Pius  IX.  has  been  solid  and 
satisfactory ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  Roman  subjects  of  the  Pontiff 
will  have  many  advantages  to  which 
other  nations  are  often  strangers :  the 
advantage  of  light  taxation,  the  ad- 
vantage of  laws  repressing  immo- 
rality, the  advantage  of  peace  with 
its  delightful  arts,  the  advantage  of 
an  enlightened  protection  of  science 
and  of  the  fine  arts,  and  then  the 
great  material  advantage  of  seeing 
their  city  the  resort  of  the  cultivated 
and  wealthy  classes  of  all  nations, 
who  flock  to  Rome  to  see  the  suc- 


cessor of  St.  Peter,  and  to  enjoy  the 
gorgeous  and  imposing  ceremonial 
of  the  church.  For  far  less  advan- 
tages than  these  we  deprived  the 
citizens  of  a  portion  of  our  country 
of  the  great  privilege  of  their  political 
franchise;  of  all  nations  we  should 
be  the  last  to  find  fault  with  the  in- 
fliction of  a  similar  disqualification, 
of  much  more  apparent  harm  than 
real,  and  which  is  compensated  for 
an  hundredfold.  And  this  we  say 
all  the  more  earnestly  because,  in  the 
case  of  Rome,  it  is  not  the  welfare  of 
a  collection  of  states  that  is  provided 
for,  but  the  peace  and  good  order  of 
all  nations  of  the  earth. 


THE     ROSE. 


Is  there  any  portion  of  mankind 
that  has  not  inhaled  the  sweet  per- 
fume of  this  lovely  flower?  From 
Borneo  to  the  ruins  of  the  Parthe- 
non; from  Kamschatka  to  Bengal; 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Hudson's 
Bay  to  the  mountains  of  Mexico  ; 
from  Cairo  to  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  it  graces  the  palace  and  the 
chamber,  lavishes  itself  full-leaved  on 
the  processions  of  Corpus  Christi, 
and  serves  as  a  pretty  plaything  to 
the  child,  who  cracks  the  swollen 
petals  on  his  innocent  forehead. 

Of  it  the  Hebrews  made  their 
crowns,  and  in  their  solemnities 
the  high-priest  wreathed  it  around 
his  head. 

When  the  Queen  of  Sheba  visited 
Solomon,  it  is  said,  she  tried  every 
means  to  assure  herself  not  only  of 
his  superior  wisdom,  but  also  of  the 
quickness  of  his  perception.  She 
placed  before  him  one  day  two  roses, 
one  artificial,  but  so  well  made  that 
she  defied  the  king  to  distinguish  the 


false  one  from  the  real.  He  sent  for 
a  bee,  which  naturally  alighted  on 
the  true  one,  and  thus,  without  ap- 
proaching either,  was  able  to  give 
his  decision. 

Among  the  Hebrews,  the  bride- 
groom as  well  as  the  bride  wore  a 
crown  of  roses,  of  myrtle,  or  of  olive. 

Mythology  assigns  to  the  rose  the 
most  illustrious  origin.  At  the  mo- 
ment when  Pallas  came  out  of  the 
brain  of  Jupiter,  the  earth  produced 
the  rose,  that  delight  might  follow  in 
the  wake  of  wisdom.  White  at  first, 
the  poets  have  not  quite  agreed  to 
what  it  owed  its  many-purpled  hues. 
We  are  told  by  some  that  the  exqui- 
site Adonis  was  mortally  wounded 
by  a  boar,  and  that  his  flowing  blood 
fell  on  the  roses,  and  colored  them 
for  ever.  According  to  others,  Ve- 
nus ran  to  protect  him,  and  the 
thorns  and  briers  tore  her  lovely 
skin,  and  the  purple  drops  fell  on  a 
wild  rose,  dyed  it,  and  consecrated 
it  for  ever  in  her  honor.  Such  a 


572 


The  Rose. 


circumstance  was  scarcely  necessary 
to  make  so  perfect  a  flower  sacred 
to  the  goddess  of  beauty.  Some 
authors  say  that  in  the  midst  of 
an  Olympian  fete  the  goddess 
Hebe  spilled  the  embalmed  vermil- 
ion nectar,  and  that  the  white  roses 
spread  their  petals  to  receive  the 
perfume  and  the  color. 

Mythology  also  relates  that  Love 
presented  to  Harpocrates,  the  god  of 
silence,  the  flower  that  no  one  had 
ever  seen,  and  that  consequently 
had  never  revealed  anything.  Hence 
came  the  custom  of  suspending  a 
rose  from  the  ceiling  of  the  room 
where  families  assembled,  in  order 
that  discretion,  of  which  it  was  the 
symbol,  might  become  the  guaran- 
tee of  the  sacred  security  of  all  their 
conversations.  Sub  rosa  (under  the 
rose)  was  a  proverb  that  signified : 
We  can  speak  freely, without  suspicion. 

Venus  and  Cupid  were  represent- 
ed crowned  with  roses;  so,  also, 
Flora,  the  goddess  of  flowers,  and 
Comus,  who  presided  at  festivities. 

Aglae,  the  youngest  of  the  Graces, 
carried  the  rosebud  in  her  hand,  the 
attribute  of  youth  and  beauty. 

The  Graces,  the  Muses,  and  Bac- 
chus also  received  their  homage  in 
crowns  of  roses;  their  altars  were 
hung  with  garlands,  and  those  good 
old  servants  the  Penates  were  some- 
times decorated  in  like  manner.  Of 
all  the  flowers,  the  rose  was  dedicat- 
ed to  the  greatest  number  of  divini- 
ties, although  nearly  all  of  them  had 
some  plant  especially  sacred. 

The  opening  hour  of  day  sowed 
roses  in  Aurora's  path,  who  at  sight 
of  her  father  the  sun  wept  tears  of 
joy  over  her  favorite  flowers.  So  the 
poets  of  antiquity  explain  the  drops 
of  dew  that  tremble  and  scintillate 
on  the  roses  in  the  morning  light. 
The  rose  designates  the  dawn ;  and, 
bathed  with  dew,  it  is  the  emblem 
of  filial  piety. 


Peace  is  represented  holding  x, 
rod  of  thorns  with  roses  and  olive 
branches,  and  the  muse  Erato,  when 
presiding  over  lyric  poetry,  was 
always  crowned  with  myrtle  and  the 
rose. 

The  appearance  of  Christianity 
gave  to  the  rose  another  origin,  and 
we  cite  the  legend.  Once,  a  holy 
virgin  of  Bethlehem,  falsely  accused 
and  calumniated,  was  condemned  to 
perish  by  fire.  She  prayed  to  our 
Lord,  beseeching  him  to  come  to 
her  aid,  because  he  knew  she  was 
not  guilty  of  what  they  reproached 
her  with.  The  fire  went  out  imme- 
diately; the  burning  fagots  were 
transformed  into  red-rose  bushes  cov- 
ered with  flowers,  and  those  that 
were  not  lit  into  white  ones.  These 
roses  were  the  first  ever  seen,  and 
became  from  that  time  the  flower  of 
the  martyrs. 

The  rose  appeared  at  a  very  dis- 
tant epoch  as  the  emblem  of  the 
Virgin ;  it  was  particularly  recogniz- 
ed as  such  by  St.  Dominic,  when  he 
instituted  the  devotion  of  the  rosary, 
in  direct  allusion  to  the  life  of  holy 
Mary. 

Prayer  appears  always  to  have 
been  symbolized  by  roses.  There  is 
a  story  told  of  a  servant  who,  hav- 
ing to  carry  an  immense  amount  of 
treasure  belonging  to  his  master 
through  a  wood,  was  there  awaited 
by  a  band  of  robbers.  On  entering 
the  forest,  he  remembered  that  he 
had  that  morning  omitted  his  Ave 
Marias,  so  he  knelt  down  to  say 
them.  As  he  prayed,  the  Virgin 
placed  a  beautiful  garland  on  his 
head,  to  which  at  each  Ave  she  add- 
ed a  rose.  The  brilliancy  around 
him  became  intense,  and  the  whole 
wood  was  illuminated.  The  good 
man  knew  nothing  of  his  beautiful 
crown  of  roses,  but  the  robbers  saw 
the  vision  and  let  him  pass  unharm- 
ed. 


New  Publications. 


573 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  DIVINE  LITURGY  OF  ST.  JOHN  CHRY- 
SOSTOM.  Translated  by  H.  C.  Roma- 
noff. London,  Oxford,  and  Cam- 
brige :  Rivingtons.  1871. 

This  is  a  neat  little  book,  trans- 
lated, by  a  Russian,  from  the  origi- 
nal Greek.  The  catechism  contain- 
ed in  the  front  is  so  very  ancient 
and  Catholic  that  it  will  be  a  diffi- 
cult task  indeed  for  those  members 
of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church 
in  England  and  America  who  dream 
of  union  with  the  Greek  schism,  ever 
to  reconcile  it  with  the  catechism 
that  begins,  "What  is  your  name? 
N.  orM." 

There  is  a  note  at  the  bottom  of 
page  79,  to  the  effect  that,  when  the 
priest  signs  the  elements  and  says 
the  words,  "And  make  this  bread 
to  be  thy  Holy  Body,  and  what  is  in 
this  cup  to  be  thy  Holy  Blood,"  it  is 
supposed  that  the  consecration  takes 
place,  or,  as  the  translator  says,  tran- 
substanttatton.  This  is  an  error  in- 
vented by  the  modern  Greeks  and 
introduced  by  one  Nicholas  Cabasi- 
las,  contrary  to  the  Council  of  Flo- 
rence and  to  all  Catholic  tradition. 
For  it  is  the  universal  teaching  and 
belief  that  the  consecration  or  tran- 
substantiation  takes  place  when  the 
priest  does  what  Christ  did,  and 
says  the  very  same  words  that 
Christ  said:  "This  is  my  body;  this 
is  my  blood."  That  is  the  form  of 
the  sacrament  of  the  Eucharist. 
The  ritualists  object  to  the  Roman 
vestments  on  the  ground  that  they 
are  not  of  the  ancient  shape.  We 
would  like  them  to  look  at  page  18, 
and  answer  this  question  :  Which  is 
the  more  like  the  ancient  vestment 
— the  Roman  or  the  Greek  ?  Any 
candid  man  would  answer  that  the 
former  is.  The  Greek  chasubles  are 
cut  away  in  front,  the  Roman  at  the 
sides.  However,  we  hope  that  the 
day  will  soon  come  when  these  good 
people  will  learn  that  the  essence  of 


religion  does  not  consist  in  the  shape 
of  a  chasuble  or  the  cut  of  a  cope, 
but  rather  in  a  childlike  obedience 
to  that  Infallible  Authority  which  is 
able  to  regulate  matters  of  disci- 
pline and  worship  as  well  as  to  de- 
fine matters  of  faith  and  morals. 

THE  HOLY  COMMUNION,  ETC.  By  Hubert 
Lebon.  Translated  from  the  French 
by  M.  A.  Garnett.  Baltimore:  John 
Murphy.  New  York  :  The  Catholic 
Publication  Society.  1871. 

A  delicious  book  for  those  who 
are  favored  with  sensible  devotion 
to  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  while,  at 
the  same  time,  it  is  so  solid  that 
those  who  are  less  favored  will  find 
much  of  it  very  profitable. 

THE  ILLUSTRATED  CATHOLIC  SUNDAY- 
SCHOOL  LIBRARY.  Fourth  Series.  6 
vols.  New  York  :  The  Catholic  Pub- 
lication Society.  1871. 

The  contents  of  this  series  are  as 
follows :  "  Tales  of  Catholic  Artists ;" 
"  Honor  O'More's  Three  Homes  ;" 
"  Sir  ^Elfric,  and  other  Tales  ;"  "  Se- 
lect Tales  for  the  Young;"  "Tales 
for  the  Many  ;"  and  "  Frederic  Wil- 
mot." 

These  are  very  far  removed  from 
those  tales,  selected  at  haphazard, 
too  often  to  be  met  with  in  libraries 
for  the  young  which  are  juvenile 
but  in  name,  the  compilers  of  which 
are  apparently  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  as  much  depends  on  judicious 
selection  as  careful  rejection.  In 
external  appearance,  paper,  typo- 
graphy, binding,  and  illustration,  we 
have  also  displayed,  in  miniature, 
the  distinguishing  characteristic  of 
the  works  issued  by  the  Publication 
Society,  liberality  of  expenditure 
limited  only  by  the  suggestions  of 
good  taste.  But,  while  thus  equal 
in  every  respect  to  the  preceding 
sets,  and  coming,  too,  most  oppor- 
tunely just  in  time  for  the  annual 


574 


New  Publications. 


distributions,  there  is  to  this  series 
one  great  drawback  which  the  re- 
viewer may,  but  our  boys  and  girls 
certainly  cannot,  overlook — it  con- 
tains six  volumes  only;  each  of  the 
preceding  sets  contained  twelve. 

THE  STATE  OF  THE  DEAD.  By  the  Rev. 
Anson  West.  Philadelphia  :  J.  B.  Lip- 
pincott  &  Co.  1871. 

The  only  "  dead  "  on  whose  "  state  " 
this  work  throws  any  light  are  those 
who,  like  the  author,  are  dead  to  the 
grace  of  humility.  "Fathers,  coun- 
cils, creeds,  and  decrees,"  says  he, 
"are  of  no  account  and  of  no  au- 
thority in  establishing  the  doctrines 
of  divine  truth  " — (Preface,  p.  ix.) 
"We  have  ignored  these,"  he  adds, 
"and  have  deferred  to  no  one"  (sic). 
And  so,  forsooth,  his  own  "ipse  dix- 
it,"  the  complacent  "  we  deny  "  with 
which  he  quashes  an  argument,  are 
"  of  account  and  authority  in  estab- 
lishing the  doctrines  of  divine  truth." 
"  Divine  truth,1'  indeed  !  What  can 
he  know  of  that,  entombed  as  he  is 
in  his  own  self-sufficiency? 

LIFE  OF  THE  MOST  REV.  OLIVER  PLUN- 

KET.     By  the  Rev.  Patrick  Moran,  D.D. 

8vo,  pp.  396.     New  York  :   P.  O'Shea. 

1871. 

This  abridged  edition  of  the  life, 
sufferings,  and  execution  of  the  cele- 
brated Archbishop  of  Armagh,  taken 
from  the  larger  work  of  the  same  au- 
thor published  in  Ireland  some  years 
ago,  will  be  found,  from  its  intrinsic 
merits  and  portable  form,  to  be  a 
favorite  and  popular  book  among 
the  mass  of  American  Catholics. 
Though  relating,  in  a  concise  man- 
ner, the  leading  facts  in  the  life  of 
that  persecuted  primate,  it  is  neces- 
sarily deficient  in  many  of  the  fea- 
tures which  made  Monsignor  Mo- 
ran's  original  memoir  so  valuable  an 
addition  to  the  historical  annals  of 
the  reign  of  the  Second  Charles  of 
England.  The  voluminous  corre- 
spondence of  Dr.  Plunket  with  the 
Internunzio  at  Brussels  and  the 
Secretary  of  the  Propaganda;  his 
reports  on  the  condition  of  ecclesi- 
astical affairs  in  Ireland  from  1670 


till  within  a  short  time  of  his  death  ; 
and  the  decrees  of  the  general  and 
provincial  synods  convoked  by  him, 
all  of  which  are  very  fully  repro- 
duced in  the  original  book,  are  to- 
tally or  partially  omitted  in  the  com- 
pendium before  us.  Still,  we  are 
glad  to  see  an  authentic  account 
of  the  piety,  learning,  and  heroism 
of  the  illustrious  victim  of  Protes- 
tant intolerance  placed  within  the 
reach  of  all  who  reverence  his  me- 
mory, and  especially  of  those  who 
feel  proud  in  being  able  to  call  him 
their  countryman. 

THE  TRUCE  OF  GOD.  A  Tale  of  the  Elev- 
enth Century.  By  George  H.  Miles. 
i  vol.,  i6mo.  Baltimore  :  John 
Murphy  &  Co.  1871. 

The  contest  between  Pope  Greg- 
ory VII.  and  Henry  IV.  of  Germany 
forms  the  groundwork  of  this  de- 
lightful story,  which  abounds  with 
interesting  descriptions  of  feudal 
times,  and  gives  us,  with  charming 
simplicity,  the  details  of  the  daily 
religious  life  of  the  people  of  those 
"  dark  ages,"  so  luminous  with  the 
light  of  faith. 

The  character  of  the  intrepid,  pa- 
tient Hildebrand  is  drawn  with  a 
skilful  hand,  and  reminds  us  that 
persecution  has  ever  been  the  lot  of 
the  faithful  Vicar  of  Christ. 

The  pleasing  title  of  the  book 
brings  to  our  remembrance  the  fact 
that  the  church  of  God  in  those 
days  sanctified  to  peace  a  portion  of 
every  week,  beginning  at  sunset  on 
Wednesday  and  continuing  till  Mon- 
day morning.  All  private  warfare 
was  forbidden  during  these  days, 
under  pain  of  excommunication. 

This  precept  mingles  with  the 
thread  of  the  story,  which  is  both 
attractive  and  instructive,  leaving 
upon  the  mind  and  heart  a  most 
agreeable  impression. 

The  mechanical  portion  of  the 
book  is  beautifully  executed,  and 
we  are  delighted  to  see  that  all  the 
books  got  oat  this  season  by  Mr. 
Murphy  are  in  the  same  elegant 
style. 


New  Publications. 


575 


THE  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.  By  Professor 
Dr.  Ernst  Curtius.  Translated  by  A.  W. 
Ward,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  St.  Peter's  Col- 
lege, Cambridge,  and  Professor  of  His- 
tory in  Owens  College,  Manchester. 
Vol.^.  New  York :  Scribner.  1871. 

Every  scholar  knows  how  learned 
Germans  write  history.  Dr.  Gurtius 
ranks  with  Mommsen  as  a  historian, 
and  his  History  of  Greece,  of  which 
this  volume  is  the  first  instalment, 
is  to  be  classed  with  the  History  of 
Rome  by  the  latter  author.  We  be- 
lieve that  it  has  the  advantage  over 
it  of  being  complete,  and,  moreover, 
its  subject  is  even  more  interesting 
to  students  and  men  of  letters.  It 
is  brought  out  in  a  style  of  excel- 
lence similar  to  that  of  Mommsen's 
History,  leaving  nothing  in  that  re- 
spect to  be  desired.  We  hope  that 
the  demand  for  works  of  this  kind 
may  be  sufficient  to  induce  some  one 
of  our  great  publishing-houses  to 
favor  the  public  with  a  translation 
of  Leo's  Universal  History,  which  is 
the  masterpiece  of  German  histori- 
cal works. 


MARTYRS  OMITTED  BY  FOXE  :  Being  Re- 
cords of  Religious  Persecutions  in  the 
i6th  and  lyth  Centuries.  Compiled  by 
a  Member  of  the  English  Church.  With 
a  Preface  by  the  Rev.  Frederick  G.  Lee, 
D.C.L.,  F.S.A.,  Vicar  of  All  Saints', 
Lambeth.  London :  John  Hodges. 
1870. 

This  is  a  singular  and  a  singularly 
interesting  little  volume.  It  is  An- 
glican, as  the  title  shows ;  yet,  strange 
to  say,  it  is  made  up  of  brief  but  well- 
written  and  affectionate  memorials 
of  More,  Campion,  Arundel,  Plun- 
ket,  and  a  number  of  other  il- 
lustrious martyrs  of  the  Catholic 
faith  and  the  supremacy  of  the  Ro- 
man Church  in  England  and  Ireland. 
It  is  a  book  which  we  can  unhesitat- 
ingly recommend  to  Catholics  as  well 
as  Protestants,  and  which  we  should 
rejoice  to  see  extensively  circulated. 
We  cherish  the  most  unbounded  ven- 
eration for  these  heroic  martyrs,  and 
ardently  long  for  the  time  when  they 
may  be  solemnly  canonized  by  the 


authority  of  that  Holy  See  for  whose 
rights  they  suffered  torments  and 
death.  The  author  has  our  thanks 
for  his  pious  tribute  to  the  sacred 
and  holy  memory  of  these  blessed 
victims  of  Protestant  English  cruel- 
ty. May  it  help  to  bring  England  to  a 
penitent  recognition  of  their  merits, 
and  bring  a  blessing  from  God  to  him- 
self 


THE  AMERICAN  ANNUAL  CYCLOPEDIA 
AND  REGISTER  OF  IMPORTANT  EVENTS 
OF  THE  YEAR  1870.  Vol.  X.  New 
York  :  D.  Appleton  &  Co.  1871. 

This  volume  of  Appletoris  Cyclo- 
pcedia  is  certainly,  at  least  considered 
as  a  register  of  current  events,  of 
unusual  interest.  No  recent  year 
has  witnessed  events  in  Europe  of 
such  importance  as  have  occurred 
in  1870;  and  the  accounts  given  of 
them  are  sufficiently  full.  Of  course 
they  have  been  carefully  prepared, 
and  are  interesting  from  the  nature 
of  the  case.  So  far  as  we  have  no- 
ticed, the  proper  scope  of  .such  a 
publication  has  been  well  observed, 
plain  statements  of  facts  being  given 
without  comment  or  apparent  pre- 
judice. The  statement  of  the  pre- 
face, however,  that  by  the  overthrow 
of  the  temporal  sovereignty  of  the 
Pope,  "  liberalism  and  authority  have 
been  brought  to  a  final  issue  before 
the  world,"  is  somewhat  objection- 
able ;  as  is  also,  and  in  a  much  high- 
er degree,  the  introduction  of  a 
portrait  of  the  wretched  man  who, 
unfortunately  for  himself  as  well  as 
others,  is  the  nominal  head  of  the 
Italian  kingdom,  for  a  frontispiece. 
Portraits  are  also  given  of  two  really 
distinguished  and  remarkable  men, 
Generals  Von  Moltke  and  Robert 
E.  Lee. 

The  results  of  the  United  States 
census  of  1870  are  given,  and  full 
information  as  to  the  present  condi- 
tion and  growth  of  each  state.  The 
scientific  information  is  on  the  whole 
valuable  and  accurate.  In  the  pre- 
sent intense  activity  of  research  in 
this  field,  it  is  of  course  impossible 
to  admit  into  a  work  of  this  kind 


;r6 


New  Publications. 


everything  of  interest  and  impor- 
tance, and  nothing  besides,  and  a 
better  selection  could  hardly  have 
been  made.  The  volume  is  very 
creditable  to  its  able  and  enterpris- 
ing publishers. 


WONDERS  OF  EUROPEAN  ART.  By  Louis 
Viardot.  Illustrated.  I  vol.  i6mo. 
New  York:  Charles  Scribner  &  Co. 
1871. 

We  have  so  often  spoken  in  praise 
of  the  volumes  of  this  series,  known 
as  "  The  Library  of  Wonders,"  that  it 
is  with  regret  we  are  compelled,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  present  volume, 
to  condemn  any  of  them.  But  such 
books  as  these  need  careful  editing, 
and  in  the  volume  before  us  this  has 
evidently  been  neglected ;  for  on 
page  88  we  find  "  the  idolatries  of 
the  Catholic  Church,"  as  well  as 
similar  expressions  elsewhere,  that 
unfit  it  for  circulation  amongst  our 
Catholic  youth.  We  would  most 
respectfully  suggest  to  the  pub- 
lishers a  little  more  care  in  future 
volumes,  if  they  desire  to  have  these 
books  placed  in  Catholic  libraries, 
or  given  as  school  and  college  pre- 
miums, for  both  of  which  they  are, 
otherwise,  admirably  adapted. 


THE  Catholic  Publication  Society 
has  in  press,  and  will  soon  publish  : 
The  Life  of  Mother  Julia,  foundress 
of  the  Sisters  of  Notre  Dame.  Fa- 
miliar Instructions  on  Mental  Prayer, 
By  the  Abbe  Courbon.  Translated 
from  the  French,  and  edited  by  Rev. 
W.  T.  Gordon,  of  the  Oratory,  Lon- 
don. Light  in  Darkness  :  A  Treatise 
on  the  Obscure  Night  of  the  Soul.  By 
Rev.  A.  F.  Hewit.  The  Illustrated 
Catholic  Family  Almanac  for  1872.  A 
Life  of  Mother  Margaret  Mary  Hal- 
lahan,  abridged.  A  new  edition  of 
Mylius's  History  of  England,  contin- 
ued down  to  the  present  day  and 
adapted  for  schools.  Gahans  Church 
History,  a  new  editi-on,  continued 
down  to  the  present  time. 

The  Catholic  Publication  Society 
will  also  soon  publish  in  one  hand- 


some volume  The  Pictorial  Bible 
and  Church  History  Stories,  being  a 
compendious  narrative  of  sacred 
history,  brought  down  to  the  pre- 
sent times  of  the  church,  by  Rev. 
Henry  Formby.  It  will  be  copious- 
ly illustrated  from  designs  by  the 
most  eminent  artists,  and  will  be 
sold  at  a  price  so  as  to  place  it  with- 
in the  reach  of  every  Catholic  fam- 
ily in  the  United  States. 

WE  have  just  received  from 
Messrs.  Murphy  &  Co.  an  advance 
copy  of  Patron  Saints,  by  Miss  Starr. 


BOOKS  RECEIVED. 

From  THE  CATHOLIC  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY,  New 
York:  A  History  of  the  Christian  Councils; 
from  the  Original  Documents,  to  the  close  of 
the  Council  of  Nicaea,  A.D.  325.  By  Charles 
Joseph  Hefele,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Rottenburg, 
etc.  Translated  from  the  German  by  W.  R. 
Clark,  M.A.  Oxon.  i  vol.  8vo. — The  Priest  on 
the  Mission :  A  Course  of  Lectures  on  Mis- 
sionary and  Parochial  Duties.  By  Frederick 
Canon  Oakley,  M.A.  i  vol.  i2mo. 

From  P.  F.CUNNINGHAM,  Philadelphia :  The  Acts 
of  the  Early  Martyrs.  By  J.  A.  M.  Fastre",  S.J. 
First  Series  and  Second  Series.  2  vols.  12010. 

From  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  Co.,  Philadelphia: 
Hesperk.  By  Cora  L.  V.  Tappan.— Thistle- 
down. By  Esmeralda  Boyle. 

From  BENZIGER  BROS.,  New  York  :  Euchiridion 
Sacerdotum  Curam  Animnrum  Agentum.  Com- 
pilatum  a  L.  B.  V.  M.  Moczygemba. 

From  P.  O'SHEA,  New  York:  The  Catholic 
Youth'b  Hymn  Book ;  containing  hymns  of 
the  seasons  and  festivals  of  the  year,  and  an 
extensive  collection  of  sacred  melodies ;  to 
Avhich  are  added  an  easy  Mass,  Vespers,  and 
Mottets  for  Benediction.  Arranged,  with  a 
special  view  to  the  wants  of  Catholic  schools, 
by  the  Christian  Brothers. 

From  CHARLES  SCRIBNER  &  Co.,  New  York  : 
Common  Sense  in  the  Household:  A  Manual 
of  Practical  Housewifery.  By  Marion  Harland. 

From  P.  J.  KENEDY,  New  York:  The  Life  of 
St.  Mary  of  Egypt ;  to  which  is  added  The  Life 
of  St.  Cecilia  and  The  Life  of  St.  Bridget. 

From  LEE  &  SHErARD,  Boston :  The  Model 
Prayer:  A  Course  of  Lectures  on  the  Lord's 
Prayer.  By  George  C.  Baldwin,  D.D.,  au- 
thor of  "Representative  Women,"  etc. 

From  ROBERTS  BROS.,  Boston :  Ad  Clerum :  Ad- 
vice to  a  Young  Preacher.  By  Jos.  Parker, 
D.D.,  author  of  "  Ecce  Deus." 

From  J.  MURPHY  &  Co.,  Baltimore :  The  Child's 
Prayer  and  Hymn  Book,  for  the  use  of  Catholic 
Sunday-schools. 


THE 


CATHOLIC  WORLD 


VOL.  XIII.,  No.  77.— AUGUST,  1871. 


INFALLIBILITY. 


WE  propose  to  treat  this  topic  in 
a  manner  somewhat  different  from 
the  ordinary  one,  and  which  may 
seem  indirect  and  circuitous.  We 
hope  to  come  to  the  point  more  se- 
curely in  this  way  than  by  the  more 
direct  road,  and  to  drive  before  us 
the  whole  body  of  outlying,  strag- 
gling difficulties  and  objections.  In 
particular,  we  intend  to  place  in  a 
clear,  intelligible  light  the  nature, 
purport,  and  ground  of  the  recent 
definition  of  the  Council  of  the  Vati- 
can, which  has  made  the  infallibility 
of  the  Roman  Pontiff  an  article  of 
faith.  It  is  for  this  purpose  that  we 
have  taken  up  the  general  topic  of 
infallibility;  and  the  reason  for  dis- 
cussing this  general  topic  rather  than 
the  exclusive  question  of  Papal  in- 
fallibility alone  is,  that  the  latter 
cannot  be  properly  explained  except 
in  its  relation  to  the  former.  The 
infallibility  of  the  church  is  a  more 
general  and  extensive  idea  than  the 
infallibility  of  the  Pope.  In  the 
order  of  time,  it  was  prior  to  it  in 
the  minds  of  the  great  mass  of  the 
faithful  as  a  certain  truth  of  the  di- 
vine revelation,  and  it  was  before  it 
as  an  article  of  explicit  Catholic 


faith.  The  precise  point  which  many 
persons  have  not  clearly  understood 
has  been,  how  it  could  have  been 
less  clearly  known  and  less  explicitly 
believed  by  a  number  of  good  Ca- 
tholics before  the  Council  of  the 
Vatican  than  after  it,  especially  con- 
sidering its  very,  great  practical  im- 
portance. They  are  puzzled  to 
thin*  that  it  was  not  an  article  of 
universal,  explicit  faith  always,  as 
much  as  the  infallibility  of  the 
church.  Or,  in  few  and  plain  words, 
they  do  not  understand  how  a  coun- 
cil could  define  it  as  an  article  of 
faith  which  must  be  believed  as  a 
condition  of  Catholic  communion, 
when  it  had  not  been  always  pro- 
posed as  an  article  of  faith,  with  the 
obligation  of  believing  and  professing 
it,  to  all  the  faithful  everywhere.  If 
it  is  a  new  dogma,  how  can  it  be  a 
part  of  the  old  Catholic  faith  handed 
down  from  the  apostles,  and  what 
authority  has  a  council  to  create  a 
new  dogma  ?  If  it  is  an  old  dogma, 
how  could  the  denial  of  its  certain, 
infallible  truth  have  been  tolerated, 
and  the  judgment  of  a  council  make 
this  denial  now,  for  the  first  time,  to 
become  a  heresy,  to  which  the  penal- 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by  REV.  I.  T.  HECKER,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


578 


Infallibility. 


ty  of  an  anathema  is  affixed  ?  The 
answer  to  these  questions  is  plain 
enough  to  any  one  who  has  a  mode- 
rate knowledge  of  the  elements  of 
theology.  No  council  can  create  a 
dogma  which  is  new,  in  the  sense  of 
being  a  new  doctrine,  or  a  new  re- 
velation. The  new  definitions  of 
the  Council  of  the  Vatican  are  defi- 
nitions of  old  truths,  old  doctrines, 
revealed  by  Jesus  Christ  and  the 
apostles,  and  contained  in  Scripture 
and  tradition.  But  some  of  the 
truths  proposed  by  these  definitions, 
although  old  doctrines,  and  contained 
in  the  original  deposit  of  faith,  are 
new  dogmas  in  this  sense,  that  they 
are  more  explicit  statements  of  truths 
implicitly  contained  in  dogmas  pre- 
viously defined  or  declared,  and  that 
they  are  now  newly  proposed  under 
this  more  precise  and  extended  form 
to  the  faithful,  as  revealed  doctrines, 
with  the  obligation  of  receiving  them 
as  articles  of  faith.  The  dogma  of 
the  infallibility  of  the  Roman  Pontiff 
was  contained  implicitly  in  the^og- 
ma  of  the  infallibility  of  the  church, 
and  in  the  dogma,  long  since  expli- 
citly defined,  of  the  Papal  suprema- 
cy; in  Scripture  and  tradition  also; 
and  in  the  general  teaching  of  the 
schools  of  theology,  in  a  more  dis- 
tinct and  express  form.  Wherefore, 
as  we  have  said,  it  is  useful  and  im- 
portant to  show  how  it  is  contained 
in  and  related  to  the  general  prin- 
ciples of  the  essential  constitution 
and  infallibility  of  the  church,  as  well 
as  to  make  an  exposition  of  the  specific 
proofs  of  its  truth  as  a  distinct  doc- 
trine from  the  Scripture,  the  fathers, 
and  the  general  teaching  which  has 
prevailed  in  the  church.  In  this 
way,  a  Catholic,  to  whom  new  truths, 
or  truths  less  clearly  and  certainly 
known  than  others,  have  been  pro- 
posed as  a  part  of  the  Catholic  faith 
by  the  Council  of  the  Vatican,  will 
see  that  his  ideas  are  not  changed 


but  enlarged,  and  enlarged  not  by 
an  addition  of  extrinsic  matter,  but 
by  the  growth  and  development 
within  his  own  mind  of  the  faith 
which  he  already  possessed  in  its  in- 
tegrity. 

Let  us  begin  by  defining  and 
clearly  comprehending  the  term  in- 
fallibility. It  is  a  negative  term  in 
its  literal  meaning.  Fallible  means 
liable  to  err.  Infallible  means  not 
liable  to  err;  and  infallibility  is  the 
exemption  from  liability  to  error. 
When  we  say  that  the  church  is  in- 
fallible, we  say,  in  strictness  of  mean- 
ing, that  the  church  is  not  liable  to 
err.  Her  infallibility  is  some  kind 
of  immunity  from  error,  which  is  one 
of  her  essential  notes.  This  immu- 
nity from  error  evidently  implies 
some  sort  of  unerring  possession  of 
truth,  and  therefore  denotes  a  posi- 
tive quality  or  prerogative,  as  is 
frequently  the  case  with  terms  of 
a  negative  form.  What  it  denotes 
in  Catholic  theology  we  will  explain 
more  fully  as  we  proceed.  The  po- 
sitive idea,  in  which  the  general 
notion  of  infallibility  has  its  founda- 
tion, is  one  of  the  first  principles  not 
only  of  Catholic  theology,  but  of  all 
theology  and  philosophy.  The  un- 
erring and  certain  possession  of  some 
eternal  and  universal  truths  is,  and 
must  be,  affirmed  by  all  who  profess 
that  man  has  or  can  have  the  know- 
ledge of  God  and  of  the  relation  of 
his  own  soul  to  him,  whether  by  rea- 
son or  revelation;  that  is,  by  all 
except  sceptics.  With  sceptics  we 
wish  to  have  nothing  to  do,  for  they 
are  not  entitled  to  be  treated  as  ra- 
tional beings.  Every  rational  man 
will  admit  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  wisdom,  and  that  the  wise  man 
possesses  it,  and  therefore  knows 
something  in  the  order  of  rational 
truth.  St.  Augustine  has  proved  this 
in  a  most  subtle  and  conclusive  man- 
ner in  his  short  treatise,  Against  tht 


Infallibility. 


579 


Academicians,  the  earliest  of  his  pub- 
lished works,  written  while  he  was 
preparing  for  baptism.  The  wise 
man,  he  proves,  cannot  have  the 
notion  of  probability  or  verisimilitude, 
unless  he  has  the  idea  of  truth.  He 
knows,  at  least,  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  truth,  otherwise  he  could 
not  affirm  in  a  reasonable  manner 
that  anything  is  probably  in  con- 
formity with  truth,  that  is,  appears 
to  be  true,  or  resembles  truth,  which 
is  the  meaning  of  verisimilitude. 
Moreover,  every  man  is  forced  to 
admit  the  certain  truth  of  a  number 
of  disjunctive  propositions.  "  I  am 
certain  that  the  world  is  either  one 
or  not,  and  if  not  one,  either  a  finite 
or  an  infinite  number.  Also,  that 
this  world  has  its  order,  from  a  mere- 
ly physical  law  of  nature,  or  some 
higher  power;  that  it  either  is  with- 
out beginning  or  end,  or  else  has  a 
beginning  and  no  end,  or  had  no 
beginning  but  will  have  an  end,  and 
numberless  other  things  of  the  same 
kind."*  In  the  same  manner,  we 
may  say  :  Either  the  visible  world  is 
an  illusion  or  real;  either  God  ex- 
ists or  he  does  not  exist ;  Christian- 
ity is  either  true  or  false;  either 
Catholicity  is  genuine  or  counterfeit 
Christianity ;  either  the  existence  of 
God,  the  truth  of  the  Catholic  re- 
ligion, the  infallibility  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  can  be  proved  with  certitude, 
or  they  cannot  be  proved.  These 
disjunctive  propositions  can  be  mul- 
tiplied indefinitely,  and  they  are 
only  different  examples  of  that  prin- 
ciple of  logic  called  the  principle  of 
contradiction,  which  it  is  impossible 
for  any  one  seriously  and  intelligently 
to  deny  or  even  to  doubt.  Reason, 
therefore,  forces  us  to  affirm  that 
we  know  something  with  unerr- 
ing certainty,  that  is,  that  the  human 
intellect  is  at  least  to  this  limited 

*  Contra  Academicus,  lib.  iii.  §  23. 


extent  exempt  from  liability  to  de- 
ception or  error,  and,  so  far,  infallible. 
The  only  possible  dispute  in  philo- 
sophy or  theology  relates  to  the 
subject  and  extent  of  infallibility. 
What  truths  are  known  or  knowable 
with  infallible  certitude,  and  where 
is  the  infallibility  seated  which  gives 
this  certitude  ? 

Every  man  who  affirms  that  God 
obliges  the  human  conscience  to  give 
a  firm  and  undoubting  assent  to  cer- 
tain truths,  and  to  obey  certain  moral 
rules,  must  admit  that  he  also  gives 
the  means  of  knowing  with  unerring 
certainty  these  truths  and  moral  rules. 
Even  the  probabilist  cannot  escape 
this.  For  he  who  would  act  safely 
on  a  probable  conscience  must  have 
a  reflex  certainty  that  he  does  not 
sin  in  doing  so.  If  we  are  bound  to 
assent  to  truth,  and  to  obey  law,  of 
which  we  have  only  probable  evi- 
dence, and  this  obligation  is  certain, 
we  must  know  with  certainty  that  we 
are  subjectively  acting  in  a  right 
manner  in  giving  our  assent  and  obe- 
dience. A  philosopher  who  affirms 
that  we  have  certain  knowledge  of 
this  truth  and  this  law  is,  of  course, 
a  more  strict  infallibilist  than  the  oth- 
er. Yet  the  principle  is  in  common. 
When  a  man  affirms  that  God  has 
made  a  positive  revelation,  and  that 
in  his  revelation  he  has  disclosed 
truths  and  promulgated  laws  which 
he  binds  the  conscience  of  every  one 
to  whom  they  are  proposed  to  believe 
and  obey,  he  extends  the  principle 
of  infallibility  much  further.  If  I 
am  to  believe  these  truths,  especially 
such  as  are  above  reason,  with  a  firm, 
undoubting  assent,  and  to  be  held 
bound  to  keep  these  laws,  especially 
such  as  are  hard  to  keep,  the  revela- 
tion must  be  made  to  my  mind  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  me  certain- 
ty, without  any  fear  of  error.  Who- 
ever admits  this  must  assent  also  to 
the  following  disjunctive  proposition: 


5  So 


Infallibility. 


Either  the  revelation  of  God  is  made 
known  to  the  individual  mind  through 
the  medium  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
or  in  some  other  way.  We  are  not 
concerned  at  present  to  prove  the 
proposition  that  the  revelation  is 
made  known  through  the  church  as 
a  medium.  Our  argument  is  imme- 
diately directed  to  those  who  admit 
and  believe  it  already.  Therefore, 
leaving  aside  all  discussion  with  those 
who  are  not  Christians  or  not  Catho- 
lics, we  merely  affirm,  as  a  conse- 
quence from  what  has  been  proved, 
that  the  principle  of  infallibility,  so 
far  as  Christian  faith  is  concerned,  is 
seated  in  the  church  as  the  medium 
of  divine  revelation.  With  us  Cath- 
olics it  is  unquestioned  that  the  church 
is  that  visible  society  whose  supreme 
head  is  the  Pope.  Our  only  object 
of  investigation  is  the  nature,  extent, 
and  more  precise  seat  of  that  infalli- 
bility which  the  church  possesses  as 
the  depository  of  divine  revelation, 
and  the  medium  of  communicating 
it  to  individual  minds. 

The  church  is  infallible.  To  make 
more  plain  the  meaning  of  this  pro- 
position, let  us  go  back  once  more 
to  the  etymology  of  the  term  infalli- 
ble. The  Latin  word  from  which  it 
is  derived  is  fallo,  signifying  deceive. 
Infallible  signifies  incapable  of  being 
deceived  or  deceiving.  The  church, 
as  infallible,  cannot  be  deceived  or 
deceive,  respecting  that  body  of  truth 
which  has  been  deposited  in  her  by 
the  apostles,  and  which  they  received 
from  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Holy  Spi- 
rit. The  positive  and  fundamental 
truth  from  which  this  negative  state- 
ment of  the  inerrancy  of  the  church 
is  derived,  and  which  it  protects,  is, 
that  the  church,  as  a  visible,  organiz- 
ed society,  is  the  immediate  recipient 
of 'a  certain  divine  revelation,  and 
the  medium  of  its  transmission  and 
communication.  This  divine  revela- 
tion must  be  accepted  and  believed 


with  a  firm  assent,  excluding  all 
doubt,  by  each  individual.  It  is  a 
revelation  of  dogmas  and  doctrines, 
some  of  which  are  mysteries  above 
reason,  and  of  laws  which  are  strict- 
ly obligatory.  Each  individual  must 
receive  the  faith  and  law  from  the 
church,  of  which  he  is  a  member  by 
baptism,  with  unquestioning  submis- 
sion and  obedience  of  the  intellect 
and  will,  But  this  entire,  unreserv- 
ed faith  and  obedience  could  not  be 
justly  exacted,  unless  the  church  were 
divinely  enabled  to  impart  pure,  un- 
mixed truth,  and  to  prescribe  pure, 
unmixed  holiness  to  her  members, 
and  divinely  secured  from  imparting 
or  prescribing  error  or  sin.  Autho- 
rity and  obligation  are  correlative  in 
nature  and  extent.  As  is  the  obliga- 
tion, so  is  the  authority.  If  the  ob- 
ligation is  universal  and  without  re- 
serve, the  authority  is  sovereign  and 
supreme.  If  the  obligation  requires 
an  absolute,  undoubting  assent  of  the 
mind,  and  a  divine  faith,  the  autho- 
rity must  be  infallible.  Whoever  is 
bound  to  unconditional  assent  must 
be  secured  in  immunity  from  error  in 
believing.  Whoever  is  authorized  to 
command  assent  must  be  secured  in 
immunity  from  error  in  teaching.  Su- 
preme and  sovereign  authority  in 
teaching,  and  absolute  obedience  in 
receiving  what  is  taught,  require  and 
exact,  as  a  necessary  condition,  iner- 
rancy in  that  society  which  is  consti- 
tuted on  the  principle  of  this  autho- 
rity and  its  correlative  obedience. 
The  fundamental  idea  of  the  Catho- 
lic Church,  therefore,  contains  in  it 
that  passive  and  active  infallibility 
which  belongs  to  the  hierarchy  and 
the  faithful  as  composing  one  body 
under  their  head,  the  Roman  Pontiff. 
Wherever  divine  and  Catholic  faith,  or 
certain  knowledge  derived  from  faith, 
and  the  obligation  of  unreserved, 
complete  assent  and  obedience,  are  „ 
found,  there  is  the  passive  infallibili- 


Infallibility. 


58l 


ty  of  the  church.  Wherever  supreme 
teaching  authority  is  found,  command- 
ing this  obedience,  declaring  or  de- 
fining this  faith,  or  revealed  doctrine, 
or  certain  truth  derived  from  and  de- 
pending on  it,  there  is  the  church's 
active  infallibility  in  exercise.  The 
influence  of  those  gifts  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  by  which  the  church  is  ren- 
dered infallible  pervades  the  whole 
body  of  the  church,  and  manifests 
itself  in  the  most  multiform  ways. 
The  church  is  living  and  immortal. 
Her  life  is  divine  and  supernatural, 
and  its  principle  is  faith.  The  faith 
is.  therefore,  the  principle  of  an  im- 
mortal life,  and  itself  an  immortal 
principle  within  the  church.  Like 
the  principle  of  animal  vitality,  it  is 
found  in  every  part  of  the  organiza- 
tion, but  vitalizing  each  organ  and 
member  in  a  different  way,  according 
to  its  function.  Brain,  heart,  lungs, 
and  fingers  are  vitalized  by  the  same 
principle,  although  each  one  fulfils 
a  special  office.  So  in  the  church, 
the  supreme  head,  the  hierarchy,  the 
laity,  are  animated  by  the  same  di- 
vine principle  of  faith,  and  concur 
in  the  general  functions  of  the  great 
organic  unit,  but  each  in  his  own 
place  and  in  a  special  office.  The 
result  of  their  combined  and  com- 
plex action  is  the  perpetuation  of 
the  divine  revelation  in  all  times  and 
places  until  the  end  of  the  world. 
We  have  to  consider,  therefore,  a 
great  many  other  constituent  parts, 
organs,  and  members  of  the  body 
of  the  church,  as  well  as  the  head, 
in  order  to  understand  the  relation 
which  the  head  bears  to  them  and 
they  to  it,  and  the  manner  in  which 
its  special  function  influences  and  is 
influenced  by  the  other  functions. 
We  can  do  this  only  in  a  brief  and 
imperfect  manner  in  a  short  es- 
say, but  we  will  endeavor  to  touch 
upon  some  of  the  principal  parts 
of  this  great  and  extensive  subject 


in  a  manner  sufficient  for  our  pur- 
pose. 

The  revelation  which  proceeded 
from  the  Incarnate  Word  of  God 
was  diffused,  in  a  great  variety  of 
ways,  by  the  apostles,  and  committed 
to  a  great  number  of  various  chan- 
nels for  transmission  through  the  com- 
ing ages.  They  gave  it  to  the  faith- 
ful by  their  preaching,  they  embo- 
died it  in  the  hierarchy,  in  the  sac- 
raments, in  the  creed,  in  the  liturgy, 
in  fasts  and  festivals,  in  rites,  cere- 
monies, and  worship.  They  taught 
it  to  their  companions  and  successors 
in  the  episcopate  in  the  most  com- 
plete and  thorough  manner.  They 
committed  it  to  writing,  in  great 
part,  in  their  inspired  scriptures,  and 
gave  their  sanction  to  other  books 
written  under  divine  inspiration  by 
those  "who  were  not  apostles.  To 
use  a  figure,  there  are  many  great 
rivers  by  which  the  inspired  and  di- 
vine doctrines  of  the  apostles  flow 
through  all  parts  of  the  world,  and 
through  all  the  succeeding  periods 
of  time.  The  great  sources  of  these 
rivers  are,  nevertheless,  but  two : 
Scripture  and  tradition.  The  Holy 
Scripture  is  infallible,  as  well  the 
Old  Testament,  which  is  proposed 
anew  to  Christians  by  the  church,  as 
the  New  Testament,  in  which  the 
clearer  and  more  complete  revela- 
tion is  contained.  Apostolic  tradi- 
tion is  infallible,  and  therefore  Ca- 
tholic tradition,  which  is  an  unerring 
transmission  of  it,  is  also  infallible. 
The  written  and  oral  teaching  of  the 
apostles  has  come  down  to  us  by  the 
numerous  great  rivers  and  the  small- 
er numberless  rivulets  of  Catholic 
tradition,  irrigating  the  fields  and 
gardens  of  the  church,  and  opening 
the  way  to  intellectual  communion 
between  different  countries  and  cen- 
turies. These  streams  can  be  traced 
back  to  their  sources  by  the  student. 
The  single  doctrines  of  faith  and  the- 


582 


Infallibility. 


ology  can  be  traced  one  by  one, 
and  the  whole  body  of  doctrines,  as  a 
complete  system,  can  be  followed 
up,  through  the  expositions,  medita- 
tions, and  commentaries  of  saints, 
doctors,  and  fathers  of  the  church, 
to  the  Holy  Scripture.  In  the  same 
way,  the  student  can  go  back  to  the 
original  tradition.  He  is  not  re- 
stricted to  one  line  of  argument  or 
evidence,  for  there  are  many  con- 
verging lines,  each  one  more  or  less 
certain  and  sufficient  by  itself,  and 
all,  taken  together,  irresistibly  and 
overwhelmingly  conclusive  and  con- 
vincing. One  who  is  not  able  to 
make  an  investigation  of  this  kind 
may,  nevertheless,  be  competent  to 
understand  the  general  and  equally 
conclusive  argument  from  prescrip- 
tion. He  may  know  enough  of  his- 
tory to  be  aware  that  the  principal 
doctrines  of  the  faith  were  universal- 
ly held  in  the  tenth  century,  still 
further  back  in  the  fifth,  and  before 
that,  indefinitely,  without  any  record 
of  a  change,  or.  any  adequate  cause 
for  such  general  consent,  except  the 
teaching  of  the  apostles. 

Not  only  are  the  Scriptures  and 
apostolic  tradition  infallible  sources 
of  doctrine  which  is  unerringly  trans- 
mitted, but  the  general  sense  and  be- 
lief of  the  faithful  is  also  infallible. 
The  faithful  have  received  from  the 
beginning  the  teaching  of  the  divine 
revelation  by  a  supernatural  sense, 
a  divine  gift  of  faith,  so  that  the  re- 
velation has  not  remained  merely 
extrinsically  proposed  to  them,  but 
also  received  and  appropriated  by 
them,  in  a  living  manner,  through 
the  inward  operation  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  in  their  minds.  This  sense  of 
the  faithful  is  even  one  of  the  motives 
of  the  definitions  made  by  popes 
and  councils.  It  was  consulted  by 
Pius  IX.  when  he  was  preparing  to 
make  his  decree  respecting  the  Im- 
maculate Conception,  and  it  was  re- 


cognized at  the  Council  of  the  Vati- 
can as  expressed  in  the  numerous 
petitions  for  the  definition  of  papal 
infallibility.  The  body  of  the  faith- 
ful cannot  lose  the  faith,  or  any  part 
of  it,  or  embrace  any  heresy  as  be- 
longing to  faith.  Their  unanimous 
consent  in  doctrine  is  an  infallible 
evidence  of  the  true  faith  in  itself, 
and  a  note  of  the  true  religion.  The 
body  of  the  church  is  immortal  in 
the  life  of  faith,  and  indefeasible  in 
its  supernatural  existence,  and  there- 
fore infallible,  as  well  as  the  head. 
It  cannot  separate  from  its  head  in 
doctrine.  The  universal  recognition 
of  the  Pope  by  the  church  makes  it 
infallibly  certain  that  he  is  the  true 
and  legitimate  Pope,  and  the  uni- 
versal acceptance  of  a  council  as 
oecumenical  makes  it  infallibly  cer- 
tain that  it  is  a  true  council,  although 
it  be  certain  also,  on  other  infallible 
motives,  that  Pope  and  council  are 
legitimate.  The  want  of  this  univer- 
sal recognition  caused  for  many 
years  the  legitimacy  of  certain  popes 
to  be  doubtful  in  a  large  part  of 
Christendom,  and  of  course  made  the 
authority  of  their  decrees  doubtful, 
and  would  have  made  the  authority 
of  any  council  convoked  by  them  as 
a  general  council  also  doubtful.  It 
was  the  unanimous  agreement  of  the 
whole  church  in  recognizing  Martin 
V.  as  the  true  successor  of  St.  Peter, 
which  gave  to  all  the  faithful  cer- 
tainty that  he  was  their  lawful  head. 
If  a  Catholic  had  no  other  evidence 
that  the  dogmatic  decree  of  Pius  IX. 
declaring  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion a  doctrine  of  faith,  and  the  de- 
crees of  the  Vatican  Council  defin- 
ing the  infallibility  of  the  Pope,  are 
valid  and  binding,  except  the  uni- 
versal profession  of  the  faithful  that 
they  believe  these  doctrines  with  a 
divine  and  Catholic  faith,  that  alone 
would  be  sufficient  to  give  him  in- 
fallible certainty. 


Infallibility. 


583 


The  infallibility  of  the  church  in 
this  general  sense,  which  is  an  attri- 
bute of  the  whole  body  or  visible  so- 
ciety, includes  and  exacts  the  infalli- 
bility of  the  teaching  and  ruling  hie- 
rarchy in  a  special  and  particular 
sense,  which  is  also  capable  of  an  in- 
dependent proof  of  its  own.  The 
faithful  are  subject  to  the  hierarchy 
and  dependent  on  it  for  the  sacra- 
ments, for  regulation,  and  for  in- 
struction. All  that  life  which  is  dif- 
fused throughout  the  body  must  ex- 
ist in  a  more  immediate  and  intense 
action  in  its  highest  organs.  An  in- 
fallible church  cannot  be  subject  to 
a  fallible  teaching  authority.  The 
apostles  were  infallible  witnesses, 
teachers,  and  judges,  in  respect  to  the 
faith  and  everything  connected  with 
it,  as  the  original  founders  of  the 
church,  under  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
by  whom  they  were  immediately 
commissioned.  The  church  was 
made  infallible  by  participation  with 
them,  as  they  were  made  infallible 
by  participation  with  Christ,  who  was 
himself  infallible  as  the  Son  of  God. 
The  authority  of  officially  declaring 
the  testimony  of  the  church,  of  teach- 
ing authoritatively  its  doctrine,  of 
judging  in  all  controversies,  and  of 
punishing  all  delinquents,  was  left  by 
the  apostles  to  their  successors  the 
bishops;  and  the  special  authority 
of  St.  Peter,  as  the  Vicar  of  Christ, 
was  transmitted  by  him  to  his  succes- 
sors in  the  See  of  Rome.  In  their 
prophetical  office,  as  the  immediate 
organs  of  the  revelation  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  they  left  no  successors,  for 
when  the  faith  and  law  of  Christ 
were  once  fully  revealed,  the  neces- 
sity of  this  office  ceased.  But  their 
official  infallibility  was,  of  necessity, 
perpetuated  in  that  episcopal  order 
which  inherited  the  hierarchical  dig- 
nity and  authority  of  the  Apostolic 
College.  The  church  is  infallible  in 
teaching  and  judging,  as  well  as  in 


keeping  and  professing  the  deposit 
of  faith,  and  accepting  what  is  taught 
by  lawful  authority.  Every  Catho- 
lic knows  this  to  be  a  fundamental 
doctrine  of  the  faith.  But  it  is  the 
Ecclesia  Doccns,  the  church  or  as- 
sembly of  prelates,  which  is  meant 
in  this  proposition.  There  is  no  in- 
fallibility in  fathers,  doctors,  theolo- 
gians, priests,  or  the  faithful  general- 
ly, which  is  separate  from  or  inde- 
pendent of  the  authority  of  the  epis- 
copate. Even  bishops  who  sepa- 
rate from  the  unity  of  their  order  by 
revolting  against  its  supreme  chief, 
lose  all  their  authority.  No  matter 
how  many  bishops,  priests,  and  lay- 
men separate  from  this  unity,  their 
whole  number  is  of  no  more  account 
than  if  there  were  but  one,  since 
they  are  totally  cut  off  from  the 
church.  Tertullian,  Apollinaris,  Cran- 
mer,  Luther,  the  whole  mass  of 
Oriental  schismatics  and  other  sece- 
ders,  count  for  nothing.  Those  who 
revolt  from  the  unity  of  the  church 
lose  the  grace  of  faith,  and  have  no 
longer  any  share  in  the  church's  in- 
fallibility. The  consent  of  fathers, 
doctors,  theologians,  and  of  the  faith- 
ful is  infallible,  because  it  represents 
Catholic  tradition,  which  is  itself  a  re- 
flection or  image  of  the  authoritative 
teaching  of  the  apostles  and  their  suc- 
cessors. There  is  na  contradiction  or 
dissension  possible  in  truth,  but  only 
in  error.  In  how  may  ways  so- 
ever the  truth  infallibly  manifests  it- 
self, these  various  manifestations  must 
always  agree  with  each  other.  In 
order  that  the  official  teaching  and 
judgments  of  the  episcopate  may 
always  agree  with  Scripture,  tradi- 
tion, with  each  other,  with  the  teach- 
ing of  fathers,  theologians,  doctors, 
and  the  consent  of  the  faithful,  they 
must  be  infallible.  All  alike  being 
infallible,  they  must  agree.  No  in- 
dividual, or  number  of  individuals, 
therefore,  can  be  qualified  to  cite 


584 


Infallibility. 


either  Scripture  or  tradition  against 
the  authority  of  the  church,  any  more 
than  to  cite  the  authority  of  one  apos- 
tle against  that  of  another  apostle. 
To  do  this,  is  merely  to  oppose  pri- 
vate judgment,  individual  opinion, 
to  public,  official,  and  authoritative 
judgment,  which  is  destructive  of  the 
very  principle  of  authority  and  orga- 
nization. The  supreme  teacher  and 
judge  must  decide  in  all  doubtful  and 
disputed  cases,  without  appeal,  what 
is  the  doctrine  and  law,  what  is  the 
sense  of  Scripture,  the  witness  of 
tradition,  the  doctrine  of  the  fathers, 
the  common  belief  of  the  faithful. 

From  this  final  and  decisive  au- 
thority, and  the  correlative  obligation 
of  obedience,  we  derive  another  and 
most  cogent  proof,  that  wherever 
sovereignty  in  the  order  of  ideas  or 
doctrinal  supremacy  resides  in  the 
church,  it  must-  be  there  that  the 
active  infallibility  of  the  church  is 
principally  seated.  A  supreme  and 
final  judgment  or  decree  must  be  an 
infallible  judgment.  It  is  irretracti- 
ble,  irreformable.  irreversible.  The 
church  is  committed  to  it,  and  bound 
by  it  for  ever,  and  that  by  the  law  of 
God.  It  must  be,  therefore,  the  ab- 
solute truth,  and  whatever  tribunal 
is  qualified  to  pronounce  it  to  be  so, 
and  to  exact  unlimited  assent  and 
obedience  from  nil  the  faithful,  must 
be  infallible. 

We  must  be  careful,  however,  not 
to  limit  the  authority  to  teach,  and 
to  require  outward  obedience  or  even 
inward  assent,  or  the  obligation  of 
submission  to  authority,  to  the  sphere 
of  infallible  declarations  and  judg- 
ments. In  the  natural  order  itself, 
we  are  frequently  bound  in  con- 
science to  assent  to  things  which 
are  only  probable,  and  to  act  on 
the  supposition  that  they  are  true. 
Probability  is  the  only  and  the  suffi- 
cient guide  of  life  in  most  things. 
Self-evident  and  demonstrable  truths, 


and  indubitable  facts,  are  com- 
paratively few  in  number.  With- 
out a  basis  of  certitude,  there  would 
be  no  .such  thing  as  real  versimilitude 
or  probability.  But  with  that  basis 
we  can  construct  a  great  edifice  of 
beliefs,  opinions,  and  practical  rules, 
which  have  more  or  less  of  the  firm- 
ness and  stability  of  their  foundation. 
The  probability  of  these  beliefs  is  to 
a  great  extent  extrinsic — that  is,  de- 
rived from  authority  which  in  reason 
and  conscience  we  are  bound  to  re- 
spect. It  is  reasonable,  and  it  is  a 
duty,  to  receive  the  instruction  of 
parents,  teachers,  masters,  with  do- 
cility; to  respect  the  authority  of 
learned  and  wise  men,  of  tribunals, 
and  of  the  common  sense  of  society. 
In  the  supernatural  order  it  is  the 
same.  The  authority  of  the  Holy 
Scripture  is  not  restricted  to  that 
portion  of  its  teaching  which  the 
mind  perceives  with  an  absolute  cer- 
titude. There  is  a  moral  obligation 
on  every  student  of  the  Scripture  to 
give  its  probable  sense  and  meaning 
that  inward  assent  which  corresponds 
to  the  degree  of  probability  which 
his  mind  and  conscience  apprehend, 
and  which  may  approach  indefinitely 
near  to  certainty.  It  is  the  same 
with  tradition,  and  with  other  sources 
of  Catholic  doctrine,  such  as  the 
teaching  of  standard  authors  in  dog- 
matic and  moral  theology,  the  official 
instructions  of  confessors,  preachers, 
and  pastors  of  the  church,  including 
those  of  councils  and  of  the  Sove- 
reign Pontiff.  Under  this  head  are 
to  be  classed  the  decrees  of  the  Ro- 
man Congregations,  excepting  those 
cases  in  which  the  Pope  gives  them 
a  higher  sanction  than  the  one  or- 
dinarily given.  There  is,  therefore, 
a  wide  sphere  in  which  an  authority 
is  exercised  within  the  order  of  ideas 
which  is  legitimate,  and  to  which 
deference  and  obedience  are  due,  but 
which  is  not  guaranteed  to  have  a 


Infallibility. 


585 


complete  and  perpetual  immunity 
from  all  error.  We  cannot  say,  there- 
fore, that  there  cannot  be  any  exer- 
cise of  teaching  authority  in  the 
church  which  is  fallible,  but  only  that 
the  church  cannot  be  left  without 
any  authority  except  that  which  is 
fallible.  To  a  certain  extent,  Scrip- 
ture and  tradition  may  be  ambiguous, 
doubtful,  capable  of  being  interpret- 
ed differently ;  but  we  cannot  be  left 
altogether  in  doubt  or  uncertain- 
ty about  their  meaning.  Catholic 
schools  may  have  their  differences 
about  dogmatic  or  moral  theology, 
but  they  cannot  be  altogether  divid- 
ed and  dissentient.  The  common 
belief  of  the  faithful  may  shade  off 
insensibly,  so  that  it  is  difficult  or 
impossible  to  draw  a  precise  line  be- 
tween what  is  in  itself  pertaining  to 
faith  and  that  which  is  only  opinion, 
but  it  cannot  be  in  all  things  indis- 
tinct and  vague.  The  confessor,  the 
pastor,  the  bishop,  the  theologian, 
the  father  of  the  church,  may  teach 
something  which  is  erroneous,  but 
this  liability  to  error  cannot  be  uni- 
versal. The  tribunals  of  the  church, 
even,  may  be  obliged  to  decide  upon 
partial  and  incomplete  evidence  and 
knowledge  of  the  cause,  and  after- 
wards to  annul  their  decisions,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  heliocentric  theory. 
But  these  tribunals  cannot  be  always 
and  altogether  without  a  higher  and 
more  certain  rule  to  guide  them. 
There  must  be  a  supreme  and  sove- 
reign authority  in  the  church  which 
is  infallible,  and  which  can  guide,  di- 
rect, restrain,  and  correct  all  inferior 
and  fallible  exercise  of  authority. 
This  sovereign  authority  is  only  exer- 
cised in  the  declaration  and  definition 
of  doctrine  in  an  irreversible  and 
irreformable  manner,  and  with  an 
obligation  annexed  of  that  assent 
which  excludes  even  a  hypothetical 
doubt,  or  a  right  of  ever  withdraw- 
ing or  modifying  assent.  It  is  this 


authority  which  we  say  must  be  in- 
fallible. And,  moreover,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  conceive  of  the  real  existence 
of  an  authority  of  this  kind  which  is 
not  infallible.  The  belief  of  the  in- 
fallibility of  the  church  was  therefore 
contained,  from  the  first,  demon- 
strably,  in  the  belief  of  the  supreme 
authority  of  the  church.  Moreover, 
it  has  always  been  distinctly  believed 
and  taught,  as  well  as  acted  on,  in 
all  ages,  and  has  been  explicitly  de- 
clared by  the  Council  of  the  Vatican, 
and,  so  far  as  the  Pope  is  concerned, 
defined  in  express  terms. 

This  infallible  and  perpetual  magis- 
tracy of  the  church  is  exercised  in 
its  ordinary  way  by  the  official  teach- 
ing of  the  Catholic  episcopate,  whose 
supreme  head  is  the  Pope,  and  of  the 
priests  commissioned  by  them  to 
teach.  It  began  before  the  New 
Testament  was  written,  and  contin- 
ued for  nearly  three  hundred  years 
before  any  oecumenical  council  was 
held.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  fancy 
that  either  the  Scripture,  or  the  de- 
crees of  councils,  created  the  faith. 
It  existed  before  them,  and  was  ap- 
prehended with  a  vividness  and  dis- 
tinctness perhaps  surpassing  anything 
which  has  been  witnessed  in  later 
periods. 

The  solemn  and  special  exercise 
of  this  magistracy  is  through  the 
judgments  and  definitions  of  the 
Holy  See,  either  with  or  without  the 
concurrence  of  cecumenical  councils. 
These  solemn  acts  have  had  for  their 
first  object  to  express  in  definite  terms 
what  was  always  taught  and  believed 
as  of  the  Catholic  faith,  and  to  con- 
demn all  opposite  errors.  Their  se- 
cond object  has  been  to  declare  and 
define  revealed  truths  contained  in 
Scripture  and  tradition,  but  not  pro- 
posed by  the  church  as  of  Catholic 
faith  before  their  solemn  definition. 
Their  third  object  has  been  to  define 
truths  not  revealed,  but  so  connected 


586 


Infallibility. 


with  or  related  to  revealed  truths, 
that  they  are  necessary  to  the  pro- 
tection of  the  faith  and  law  of  the 
church.  Many  of  the  judgments  be- 
longing to  the  last  two  classes,  also, 
are  negative  in  their  form,  that  is, 
condemnations  of  heretical,  errone- 
ous, or  otherwise  censurable  tenets 
and  opinions.  The  necessity  for  mak- 
ing these  definitions  has  been  so  con- 
stant and  frequent  during  the  history 
of  the  church,  that  the  principal  doc- 
trines of  the  faith,  and  a  vast  body 
of  doctrine  pertaining  to  or  connect- 
ed with  it,  are  distinctly  and  expli- 
citly taught  in  the  collection  of  the 
acts  of  the  Holy  See  and  the  oecu- 
menical councils.  It  would  be,  how- 
ever, a  most  grievous  error  to  sup- 
pose that  everything  contained  in 
Scripture  and  tradition,  much  less 
the  whole  body  of  truth  which  is  ca- 
pable of  infallible  definition,  has  been 
exhausted,  or  could  be  expressed  in 
a  certain  definite  number  of  propo- 
sitions, to  which  no  addition  could 
ever  be  made.  The  fountain  is  inex- 
haustible. And,  no  matter  how  long 
time  may  last,  the  church  can  still 
proceed  to  make  new  and  more  ex- 
plicit elucidations  and  definitions  of 
that  complete  and  Catholic  body  of 
truth  which  she  has  held  and  taught 
either  explicitly  or  implicitly  from 
the  beginning.  The  notion  that  the 
church  is  a  merely  mechanical  me- 
dium, for  transmitting  a  definite  and 
precise  number  of  propositions  of 
faith,  is  wholly  false.  It  is  the  no- 
tion of  a  certain  number  of  Angli- 
cans, but  wholly  foreign  to  the  true 
and  Catholic  idea.  It  is  not  only  he- 
terodox, but  rationally  untenable  and 
ridiculous.  Equally  so  is  the  com- 
mon Protestant  notion  of  a  division 
among  revealed  truths  into  two  class- 
es, the  fundamental  and  non-funda- 
mental, in  the  sense  in  which  those 
terms  are  used  by  Protestant  theolo- 
gians. Undoubtedly,  there  are  mys- 


teries and  doctrines  which  are  funda- 
mental in  the  sense  that  they  are  at 
the  basis  of  Christianity,  and  more 
necessary  to  be  universally  known 
and  explicitly  believed  than  any  oth- 
ers. And,  consequently,  there  are 
other  truths  which  belong  to  the  su- 
perstructure, to  the  minor  and  less 
principal  parts  of  the  system,  or  to 
its  finish  and  ornamentation.  But, 
in  the  sense  to  which  we  have  refer- 
ence, they  are  all  equal.  That  is, 
there  is  the  same  obligation  of  be- 
lieving any  one  revealed  truth  as 
any  other,  because  the  authority  of 
God  is  equally  sovereign  and  majes- 
tic in  each  single  instance.  We  are 
bound  to  believe,  implicitly,  every- 
thing contained  in  the  written  and 
unwritten  word  of  God.  Whatever 
the  church  proposes  as  a  revealed 
truth  we  are  bound  to  believe  expli- 
citly as  a  part  of  the  Catholic  faith, 
as  soon  as  we  know  it.  Whatever 
else  we  know  certainly  to  be  contain- 
ed in  the  word  of  God,  we  are  bound 
to  believe  by  divine  faith.  In  re- 
gard to  all  that  portion  of  revealed 
truth  which  is  not  thus  clearly  made 
known  to  us,  we  are  bound  to  sub- 
mit our  minds  unreservedly  to  the 
decisions  and  judgments  which  the 
church  may  hereafter  make,  and  in 
the  meantime  to  adhere  to  that  which 
seems  to  be  the  truth.  A  Catholic 
must  not  only  believe  what  the 
church  now  proposes  to  his  belief,  but 
be  ready  to  believe  whatever  she 
may  hereafter  propose.  And  he  must, 
therefore,  be  ready  to  give  up  any 
or  all  of  his  probable  opinions  so 
soon  as  they  are  condemned  and  pro- 
scribed by  a  competent  authority. 
Moreover,  he  must  believe  what  the 
church  teaches,  not  simply  or  chiefly 
because  he  has  convinced  himself  by 
his  own  investigations  that  her  doc- 
trines are  really  contained  in  the 
word  of  God,  but  because  the  infalli- 
ble authority  of  the  church  proposes 


Infallibility. 


587 


them  as  revealed  doctrines.  The 
latest  decisions  of  the  church  have, 
therefore,  the  same  authority  as  the 
earliest.  The  Council  of  the  Vati- 
can is  equally  sacred  with  the  Coun- 
cil of  Trent,  and  the  Council  of 
Trent  with  the  First  Council  of  Ni- 
ca;a. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  prove  to  any 
tolerably  instructed  Catholic  that  this 
is  the  only  doctrine  which  has  been 
recognized  as  orthodox,  or  taught 
with  the  sanction  of  the  hierarchy, 
within  the  Catholic  communion.  It 
is  found  in  all  our  catechisms  and 
books  of  instruction,  and  preached 
by  all  pastors.  It  is  an  amazing  fact 
that  some  ostensible  converts  to  the 
church  in  England,  who  have  lately 
renounced  their  sworn  allegiance  to 
her  authority,  have  declared  that 
they  never  understood  this  doctrine. 
This  only  shows  the  depth  of  the 
ignorance  of  Catholic  doctrine  which 
prevails  among  many  of  the  most  intel- 
ligent and  educated  Protestants,  espe- 
cially those  of  the  Anglican  sect.  Priests 
educated  in  the  faith  from  their  child- 
hood, cannot  easily  apprehend  such 
ignorance  in  persons  who  apparently 
hold  Catholic  doctrines  and  are  at- 
tracted by  Catholic  ceremonies.  They 
may,  therefore,  in  some  cases  pre- 
suppose in  their  catechumens  an  un- 
derstanding of  the  fundamental  Ca- 
tholic principle  which  they  have  not, 
and  pass  them  in  with  a  superficial 
instruction  which  leaves  them  as 
much  Protestants  as  they  were  be- 
fore. It  is  to  be  hoped  that  greater 
precaution  will  be  used  hereafter  in 
this  important  matter.  It  is  also 
true  that  a  number  of  nominal  Ca- 
tholics, and,  sad  to  say,  some  priests, 
a  few  of  whom  had  stood  in  high 
repute,  have  recently  manifested  to 
the  world  how  utterly  they  had  in 
their  secret  hearts  thrown  off  the  al- 
legiance due  to  the  authority  of  the 
church.  But  these  examples  prove 


nothing.  It  is  as  clear  as  the  sun 
that  the  doctrine  we  have  laid  down 
is  the  doctrine  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
It  is  the  doctrine  of  Bossuet  as  well 
as  that  of  Bellarmine,  of  Waterworth 
as  well  as  of  Wiseman.  No  oth- 
er doctrine  has  ever  been  tolerat- 
ed in  the  church,  and  if  any  have 
held  or  taught  any  other,  at  any 
time,  who  have  not  been  personally 
condemned  and  excommunicated, 
they  were  still  only  pretended  but 
not  real  members  of  the  Catholic 
communion.  A  most  signal  mani- 
festation of  the  universal  faith  of  the 
church  in  this  doctrine  was  made  in 
the  year  1854.  The  doctrine  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception,  which  St. 
Thomas  and  many  other  Dominican 
writers  had  opposed  without  censure, 
and  which  the  Holy  See  had  strictly 
forbidden  all  theologians  to  call  a 
dogma  of  Catholic  faith  before  the 
definition,  was  then  proclaimed  as  a 
dogma  of  faith  by  Pius  IX.  with  the 
applause  of  the  whole  body  of  bi- 
shops, clergy,  and  faithful.  Another 
one  has  been  made  within  the  last 
year  by  a  number  of  bishops,  priests, 
and  other  Catholics,  who  have  given 
up  their  opinions  respecting  the  in- 
fallibility of  the  Pope,  and  have  re- 
ceived that  doctrine  as  a  doctrine  of 
faith,  simply  upon  the  authority  of 
the  Council  of  the  Vatican. 

This  remark  brings  us  to  a  part, 
and  a  very  important  part,  of  our  sub- 
ject, which  we  promised  at  the  be- 
ginning of  this  article  to  treat  of  at 
its  close,  and  thus  give  a  complete 
view  of  the  doctrine  of  infallibility. 

The  definition  of  the  Council  of 
the  Vatican,  by  virtue  of  the  fore- 
going principles,  furnishes  every  one 
of  the  faithful  with  an  infallible 
motive  for  believing  the  infallibility 
of  the  Pope  as  a  dogma  of  faith,  and 
imposes  the  obligation  of  faith  on  his 
conscience.  The  teaching  of  the 
universal  episcopate,  in  accordance 


538 


Infallibility. 


with  that  definition,  furnishes  another 
equally  infallible  motive.  And  so 
does  the  universal  belief  of  the  faith- 
ful, who  receive  and  submit  to  that 
infallible  definition  of  the  council. 
There  is,  moreover,  such  an  abun- 
dance of  proof  from  the  Scripture, 
and  the  most  conspicuous  monuments 
of  tradition,  of  the  doctrine  in  ques- 
tion, that  any  person  of  ordinary 
education  is  capable  of  understanding 
enough  of  the  evidence  in  the  case 
to  make  a  reasonable  judgment,  and 
might  have  done  so,  even  before  the 
case  was  decided.  The  fact  that  a 
small  number  of  theologians  held  a 
different  opinion  was  really  of  no 
weight  at  any  time,  considering  the 
vastly  preponderating  weight  of  the 
judgment  of  all  the  saints,  the  great 
majority  of  theologians,  and  almost 
the  entire  body  of  the  bishops. 
Whatever  seeming  probability  the 
opinion  of  this  small  minority  might 
have  had  in  the  minds  of  some 
having  been  totally  destroyed  by  the 
judgment  of  the  council,  the  reasons 
from  Scripture  and  tradition  gain 
now  their  full  force  and  are  seen  in 
their  true  light.  But  the  purpose  we 
have  had  in  view,  and  which  we 
stated  at  the  outset,  is  not  the  exhi- 
bition of  these  specific  proofs,  but 
the  exposition  of  the  relation  of  the 
new  definition  to  the  supremacy  itself 
and  the  general  doctrine  of  infallibi- 
lity; as  well  as  an  answer  to  the 
question,  how  the  infallibility  of  the 
Pope  could  have  remained  so  long 
without  an  express  definition. 

In  the  first  place,  as  to  the  supre- 
macy. The  Pope  is,  by  divine  right, 
supreme  ruler,  supreme  teacher,  and 
supreme  judge  over  the  universal 
church,  and  over  all  its  priests  and 
members,  individually  and  collective- 
ly. As  supreme  ruler,  he  must  be 
infallible  j  not  indeed  in  all  his  parti- 
cular acts,  but  in  his  principles  and 
rules  of  government.  Otherwise,  he 


might  subvert  the  constitution  of  the 
church,  destroy  morality,  oppress  and 
depose  the  orthodox  prelates,  promote 
heretics  to  the  highest  places,  and 
do  in  the  Catholic  Church  what  the 
schismatical  Eastern  patriarchs  have 
done,  and  what  Cranmer  did  in  Eng- 
land. By  the  very  supposition,  there 
would  be  no  authority  in  the  church 
to  control  him,  and  all  the  prelates 
and  faithful  would  be  bound  to  obey 
him.  For,  if  there  is  any  authority 
in  the  church  superior  to  the  Papal 
authority,  the  supremacy  is  in  that 
authority,  and  not  in  the  Pope.  As 
supreme  teacher,  he  can  instruct  all 
Christian  bishops,  as  well  as  laity, 
in  regard  to  the  doctrine  which  they 
must  believe,  and  bind  their  con- 
sciences to  submit  to  his  teaching. 
It  follows  from  our  entire  foregoing 
argument  that  infallibility  is  necessary 
to  the  possession  and  exercise  of 
such  a  power.  As  supreme  judge  in 
questions  of  faith  and  morals,  his 
decision  must  be  final  and  irrever- 
sible; for  there  is  no  judge  above 
him  except  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
himself.  But  the  final  judgments 
which  the  whole  Catholic  Church  is 
bound  to  accept  must  be  infallible. 
Sovereignty,  or  the  possession  of  the 
plenitude  of  power,  when  it  extends 
over  the  realm  of  mind  and  con- 
science, exacts  infallibility.  And  this 
has  been  most  lucidly  and  conclu- 
sively proved,  during  the  recent  con- 
troversies, by  Archbishop  Dechamps, 
Dom  Gueranger,  and  various  other 
able  writers. 

The  infallibility  of  the  Pope  is 
implicitly  contained  in  and  logically 
concluded  from  the  infallibility  of  the 
church  in  general,  and  of  the  teach- 
ing hierarchy  in  particular,  in  sub- 
stantially the  same  way  as  it  is  in 
the  supremacy.  The  church  is  es- 
sentially constituted  by  its  fundamen- 
tal principle,  which  is  that  of  organic 
unity  under  one  visible  head,  the 


Infallibility. 


589 


successor  of  St.  Peter.  The  vital 
force  of  this  organic  unity  is  faith, 
and,  as  the  body  is  infallible  in  faith, 
and  also  governed  by  the  head,  the 
head  must  be  infallible  in  a  higher 
and  more  immediate  sense ;  other- 
wise, the  body  of  the  church  would 
be  liable  either  to  become  corrupt  in 
faith  by  remaining  united  to  a  cor- 
rupted head,  or  to  cease  to  be  a  body 
by  separating  from  its  head.  If  we 
take  the  church  as  represented  by 
another  similitude,  it  is  founded,  as  a 
building,  on  the  Rock  of  Peter; 
that  is,  the  Roman  Church  and  the 
succession  of  Roman  pontiffs.  The 
foundation  must  be  stable  and  im- 
movable in  faith,  if  the  structure 
resting  upon  it  has  this  immovable 
stability.  So,  also,  the  episcopal 
hierarchy,  whether  dispersed  or  con- 
gregated in  a  general  council,  must 
remain  in  communion  of  faith  and 
doctrine  with  the  Roman  Church  and 
Pontiff.  The  Pope  must  sanction 
their  decrees,  otherwise  they  are  null 
and  void.  Those  bishops  who  se- 
parate from  the  faith  of  the  Roman 
Pontiff,  no  matter  how  numerous 
they  may  be,  fall  out  of  the  commu- 
nion of  the  church  and  forfeit  their 
authority  to  teach.  Evidently,  there- 
fore, if  the  teaching  hierarchy  is  in- 
fallible, the  rule  and  authority  which 
directs  and  governs  it  must  be  in- 
fallible. If  a  pilot  is  placed  on  the 
flag-ship  of  a  fleet  which  has  to  pass 
through  a  dangerous  strait,  and  orders 
are  given  to  every  ship  to  follow  in 
his  wake,  it  is  evident  that  the  suc- 
cess of  the  passage  depends  on  the 
unerring  skill  of  the  pilot.  A  fallible 
head  to  an  infallible  hierarchy,  a  fal- 
lible guide  to  an  infallible  church,  a 
fallible  supreme  teacher,  a  fallible 
Vicar  of  Christ !  What  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms  !  Who  can  believe  that 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ever  con- 
stituted his  church  upon  such  incon- 
sistent principles?  The  supremacy 


of  the  Pope  and  the  infallibility  of 
the  church  plainly  cannot  coexist 
with  each  other  in  fact,  or  be  united 
into  a  coherent  whole  in  logic,  with- 
out the  infallibility  of  the  Pope  as 
the  term  of  union.  Yet  these  two 
doctrines  have  always  been  the  con- 
stitutive principles  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 

It  is,  however,  still  requisite  to 
answer  the  question,  how  any  doctrine 
different  from  that  defined  by  the 
Council  of  the  Vatican  could  have 
existed  and  been  tolerated  so  long 
among  Catholics,  and  how  the  church 
could  have  postponed  her  definition 
to  this  late  period.  When  we  say  it 
is  requisite,  we  mean,  merely,  requi- 
site in  order  to  complete  the  expla- 
nation we  promised  to  make.  We 
have  no  right  to  ask  reasons  of  the 
church,  any  more  than  of  Almighty 
God,  as  a  preliminary  to  our  submis- 
sion. We  are  to  take  with  unques- 
tioning docility  whatever  instruction 
the  church  gives  '  us.  Yet,  we  are 
permitted  to  make  investigation  of 
the  truths  of  our  religion,  in  order  to 
understand  them  better,  to  confirm 
our  belief,  and  to  be  ready  to  answer 
objections.  Therefore,  we  reply  to 
the  question  stated  above,  first,  in 
general  terms,  that  the  infallibility  of 
the  Roman  Pontiff  has  always  been 
held,  taught,  and  acted  on  by  the 
supreme  authority  itself,  and  practi- 
cally acknowledged  by  all  good  Ca- 
tholics ;  and  that  its  explicit  definition 
was  delayed  until  the  necessity  and 
expediency  of  such  a  definition  was 
made  clearly  manifest,  and  the  fitting 
occasion  furnished  by  the  providence 
of  God. 

The  argument  will  be  made  more 
clear  if  we  substitute  the  term  irre- 
formable  in  the  place  of  infallible. 
All  irreformable  decrees  are  confess- 
edly infallible,  and  the  question  of 
law  and  fact  is  therefore  precisely 
this :  whether  the  Roman  Pontiffs 


590 


Infallibility. 


have  ever  suffered  their  dogmatic 
decrees  to  be  judicially  revised  by 
the  bishops,  or  to  remain  suspended 
as  to  their  complete  obligatory  force, 
until  the  express  or  tacit  assent  of 
the  bishops  had  been  manifested; 
and  whether  the  church  has  ever  re- 
cognized any  such  right  in  the  bi- 
shops. So  far  as  the  Popes  are  con- 
cerned, it  is  enough  to  refer  to  the 
unquestionable  fact  that  they  have 
expressly  prohibited  appeals  from  the 
judgment  of  the  Holy  See  to  an 
oecumenical  council,  from  the  time  of 
Celestine  I.  in  the  fifth  century.  Mar- 
tin V.  and  Pius  II.  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  Julius  II.  and  Paul  V.  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  renewed  this 
prohibition.  Clement  XI.,  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  condemned  the 
Jansenists,  who  had  appealed  from 
the  Bull  Unigenitus  to  a  general 
council,  and  pronounced  sentence  of 
excommunication  upon  all  who  pro- 
moted the  appeal,  unless  they  aban- 
doned it  and  subscribed  to  the  Uni- 
genitus, This  sentence  was  a  general 
one,  including  all  appeals  from  the 
Holy  See  to  an  oecumenical  council. 
It  was  accepted  by  the  whole  church, 
a  small  party  of  Jansenists  only  re- 
maining contumacious,  and  has  been 
incorporated  into  the  canon  law. 
Moreover,  the  Holy  See  has  always 
required  the  bishops  to  receive  and 
promulgate  without  any  judicial 
examination,  and  without  delay,  all 
its  dogmatic  judgments;  and  they 
have  submitted  to  this  demand  obe- 
diently, even  those  who,  like  Bossuet, 
have  held  Gallican  opinions.  The 
most  illustrious  and  irrefragable  proof 
of  the  doctrine  of  the  universal  epis- 
copate on  this  point  which  could  be 
given,  was  really  given  at  the  Coun- 
cil of  the  Vatican.  The  monition  at 
the  end  of  the  constitution  on  faith, 
which  plainly  declares  the  obligation 
of  entire  submission  to  the  doctrinal 
decrees  of  the  Holy  See,  was  approv- 


ed by  the  unanimous  vote  of  all  the 
fathers,  including  those  belonging  to 
what  was  called  the  minority.  The 
Popes  have  always  claimed  and  exer- 
cised the  office  of  supreme  judges  in 
matters  of  faith,  the  episcopate  and 
the  whole  church  consenting  and 
submitting,  and  all  dissidents  being 
compelled  to  keep  silence  or  incur 
excommunication. 

The  definition  of  the  Council  of 
the  Vatican  has  not,  therefore,  con- 
ferred any  new  rights  on  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff  or  enlarged  their  exercise.  It 
has  only  made  an  explicit  statement 
that  the  rights  always  possessed  and 
exercised  by  him  are  declared  in  the 
divine  revelation  to  belong  to  him 
jure  divino,  with  the  guarantee  of  in- 
fallibility in  their  exercise,  and  pro- 
posed this  statement  to  all  the  faith- 
ful with  the  obligation  of  receiving  it 
as  a  part  of  the  Catholic  faith. 

It  is  not  very  difficult  to  give  satis- 
factory reasons  why  this  was  not 
done  before.  The  church  does  not 
make  definitions  without  a  positive 
reason.  Ordinarily,  she  waits  until 
the  truth  is  denied  or  disputed.  Be- 
fore the  Council  of  Constance,  or 
rather  the  period  which  immediately 
preceded  that  council,  the  plenary 
authority  of  the  Pope  had  not  been 
called  in  question  except  by  open 
schismatics  and  heretics.  We  have 
the  authority  of  Gerson,  the  principal 
author  of  Gallicanism,  for  the  asser- 
tion that  any  one  who  had  advanced 
his  doctrine  of  the  subjection  of  the 
Pope  to  the  council  before  that  time, 
would  have  been  universally  condem- 
ned as  a  heretic.  The  Council  of 
Constance  was  a  very  irregular,  ab- 
normal, and  imperfect  council,  until 
the  election  of  Martin  V.  near  its 
close.  It  was  rather  a  congress  or 
states-general  of  Christendom  than 
a  council.  The  residence  of  the 
popes  at  Avignon  and  the  subsequent 
division  of  Catholic  Christendom  into 


Infallibility, 


591 


three  obediences,  had  put  the  ponti- 
fical authority  in  abeyance  and  di- 
minished the  moral  force  of  the  Ho- 
ly See.  The  right  and  duty  of  put- 
ting an  end  to  this  state  of  things, 
and  bringing  the  whole  church  under 
the  jurisdiction  of  one  certain  and 
lawful  head,  had  devolved  by  default 
upon  the  bishops,  aided  by  the  influ- 
ence and  authority  of  the  princes, 
and  the  counsel  of  the  principal 
theologians  and  priests  of  the  time. 
Harrassed  and  distracted  by  the  dif- 
ficulties and  dangers  which  besetrthe 
church,  a  number  of  leading  men 
whose  spirit  and  intention  were  good, 
and  who  were  devoted  to  the  pre- 
servation of  Catholic  unity,  had  fall- 
en into  the  grievous  mistake  of  seek- 
ing a  remedy  for  existing  and  threat- 
ening disorders  in  a  limitation  of  the 
sovereign  authority  of  the  Vicar  of 
Christ.  Martin  V.  obviously  did  the 
only  thing  prudent  or  even  possible 
for  the  moment,  in  leaving  the  irre- 
gular and  uncanonical  decrees  which 
they  had  passed  to  die  of  their  own 
intrinsic  weakness.  His  successor, 
Eugenius  IV.,  had  too  many  open 
and  contumacious  rebels  and  schis- 
matics to  deal  with,  to  permit  him 
to  alienate  those  who  had  fallen  into 
minor  errors,  unawares,  by  a  formal 
condemnation.  At  the  Council  of 
Florence,  the  reconciliation  of  the 
Greeks  and  other  Orientals  to 
the  Holy  See  was  the  object  of 
paramount  importance.  At  the 
Fifth  Council  of  Lateran  and  at 
the  Council  of  Trent,  the  fathers 
were  absorbed  by  questions  of  far 
greater  immediate  necessity  than  that 
of  Gallicanism.  Yet  the  Council  of 
Lateran  came  very  near  defining  the 
Papal  infallibility,  and  the  result  of 
the  Council  of  Trent  was  to  strength- 
en the  pontifical  authority  immense- 
ly, as  may  be  seen  by  reading  the 
history  of  its  final  confirmation  and 
promulgation,  and  examining  the 


bull  of  confirmation  itself,  which  ef- 
fectually sweeps  away  every  vestige 
of  the  irregular  legislation  of  Con- 
stance. Between  the  Council  of 
Trent  and  the  Council  of  the  Vati- 
can, no  other  oecumenical  council 
intervened.  The  Gallican  contro- 
versy, as  all  know,  chiefly  raged  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  The 
Pope  refrained  from  any  formal  con- 
demnation of  the  Gallican  tenets,  al- 
though urged  even  by  that  monarch 
himself  to  terminate  the  controversy 
by  a  final  judgment;  and,  although 
these  opinions  were  held  and  advo- 
cated by  a  certain  number  of  Catho- 
lic prelates  and  theologians  from  that 
time  until  the  Council  of  the  Vatican, 
they  were  never  branded  by  any  note 
of  censure  by  the  Holy  See.  It  may 
seem  surprising  that  such  a  patient 
and  cautious  method  of  dealing  with 
errors  which  have  at  length  been 
condemned  as  heretical  should  have 
been  pursued;  but  any  one  who 
knows  the  whole  'history  of  the  mat- 
ter must  admire  the  supernatural 
wisdom  of  this  course  of  conduct. 
One  motive,  doubtless,  for  it,  was  re- 
spect for  Bossuet.  But  another  and 
more  powerful  reason  was  that  the 
Holy  See  desired  to  gain  a  victory 
by  the  means  of  discussion  and  argu- 
ment, before  reverting  to  the  exercise 
of  authority. 

And  again,  it  is  obvious  at  first 
sight  that  a  far  greater  moral  weight 
has  been  given  to  the  final  definition, 
by  the  fact  that  the  Sovereign  Pon- 
tiffs have  left  the  solemn  and  decisive 
deliberation  and  judgment  of  a  mat- 
ter which  relates  to  their  own  high- 
est and  most  sublime  prerogative,  to 
the  bishops  of  the  church  assembled 
in  a  general  council.  It  may  appear 
strange  to  some  that  the  church 
could  tolerate  an  error  even  for  a 
time.  But  there  is  a  great  difference 
between  those  errors  which  subvert 
the  foundation  and  rule  of  faith,  and 


592 


Infallibility. 


those  which  only  shake  them  a  little. 
The  errors  of  the  Jansenists,  Febro- 
nians,  and  other  rebels  against  the 
authority  of  the  Holy  See,  were  of 
the  first  class,  and  were  never  tolerat- 
ed. But  the  Gallicans  of  the  school 
of  Bossuet  recognized  and  practised 
the  duty  of  obedience  to  the  Holy 
See.  Their  error  lay  rather  in  an  il- 
logical, indistinct,  and  imperfect  con- 
ception of  the  supreme  authority  of 
the  Roman  Pontiff,  than  in  a  denial 
of  any  of  its  attributes.  They  ad- 
mitted the  right  of  the  Pope  to  issue 
dogmatic  judgments,  and  'the  obliga- 
tion of  bishops  and  the  faithful  to  re- 
ceive them  with  interior  assent  and 
obedience.  They  acknowledged 
that  these  judgments  became  judg- 
ments of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
were  made  irreformable  as  soon  as 
the  assent  of  a  majority  of  the  bi- 
shops was  even  tacitly  given.  As 
this  assent  has  always  been  given, 
not  tacitly  alone,  but  by  the  most 
formal  and  express  adhesion,  there 
has  never  been  any  practical  diver- 
gence in  doctrine  between  orthodox 
Gallicans  and  the  more  consistent 
Ultramontanes.  St.  Augustine  him- 
self had  said  that  it  is  sometimes  the 
wisest  course  to  tolerate  for  a  time 
the  errors  of  those  who  hold  the  faith 
firmly,  and  err  only  by  an  imperfect 
knowledge  and  a  confused  concep- 
tion of  the  truth.  The  church  has 
not  hesitated  or  faltered  in  regard  to 
her  own  principles,  or  failed  to  act 
on  them  with  full  and  distinct  con- 
sciousness. But  it  is  not  always  nec- 
essary for  her  to  propose  them  fully 
and  completely  as  articles  of  divine 
and  Catholic  faith  to  her  children. 
It  is  for  the  church,  guided,  illumi- 
nated, governed,  and  assisted  by  the 
Holy  Spirit,  to  judge  of  the  time  and 
manner  in  which  she  will  unfold  and 
display  in  all  their  brilliant  majesty 
the  treasures  of  her  doctrine.  She 
has  waited  until  the  nineteenth  cen- 


tury to  encircle  the  brow  of  the 
Queen  of  Heaven  with  the  coronet 
of  her  definition  of  the  Immaculate 
Conception,  and  to  place  in  the  tia- 
ra of  the  Vicar  of  Christ  a  new  jewel 
by  defining  his  infallibility.  From 
both  these  splendid  acts,  in  which 
her  divine  authority,  her  irresistible 
power,  her  infallible  wisdom,  and  her 
miraculous  unity  are  manifested  with 
the  most  radiant  lustre,  incalculable 
blessings  will  flow  in  abundance  upon 
her  faithful  children.  Christ  is  hon- 
ored* in  his  Mother  and  in  his  Vicar. 
The  serpent's  head  is  crushed  anew. 
Faith  triumphs  in  her  new  conquests. 
The  kingdom  of  God  is  strengthened 
and  consolidated,  and  the  kingdom 
of  Satan  is  shaken  to  its  foundations. 
Like  the  cathedral  of  Cologne,  the 
superb  edifice  of  theology  approaches 
to  its  completion,  the  new  marble 
rises  side  by  side  with  that  which  is 
dimmed  by  the  dust  of  ages,  and 
new  pinnacles  are  placed  upon  an- 
cient foundations.  This  temple  is 
one  whose  builder  and  maker  is  not 
man  but  God,  whose  designs  are 
formed  in  eternity,  but  realized  gra- 
dually and  successively  in  time. 
From  the  foundation  to  the  top- 
stone,  the  massive  solidity,  the  sym- 
metry and  unity  of  plan,  the  harmo- 
ny of  proportions,  the  perfection  of 
beauty,  which  become  more  clearly 
evident  with  every  century,  disclose 
the  idea  in  the  infinite  mind  of  the 
Supreme  Architect.  The  Catholic 
Church  has  been  designed  and  con^ 
structed  by  the  same  being  who  de- 
signed and  constructed  the  universe. 
As  the  solar  system  is  unerring  and 
unfailing  in  its  movements,  prescrib- 
ed to  it  by  the  immutable  law  of  its 
Creator,  so  is  the  church  unerring 
and  unfailing  by  the  law  of  its  divine 
Founder.  And  as  the  sun  can  never 
cease  to  be  the  unfailing  source  of 
light  and  heat,  and  the  immovable 
centre  of  revolution,  while  the  solar 


Inf aliibility. 


593 


system  endures,  so  the  See  of  Peter 
must  remain  the  centre  and  the 
source  of  truth,  doctrine,  law,  unity, 
and  perpetual  movement  to  the  Ca- 
tholic Church,  so  long  as  time  en- 
dures. It  is  this  unerring  stability  of 
the  Catholic  Church  in  the  law  pre- 
scribed by  its  founder,  Jesus  Christ, 
which  is  properly  termed  infallibili- 
ty ;  and,  since  this  stability  is  commu- 
nicated to  all  the  distant  and  depen- 
dent churches  under  her  obedience 
by  the  Roman  Church,  it  is  in  the 
Roman  Church  that  infallibility  has 
its  immovable  seat  and  centre. 

It  is  plain  from  the  foregoing  ar- 
gument how  false  and  flimsy  is  the 
pretence  of  Dr.  Dollinger,  M.  Loy- 
son,  and  the  other  rebels  against  the 
Council  of  the  Vatican,  that  they 
have  been  excommunicated  for  ad- 
hering to  the  old  Catholic  faith  which 
they  have  always  held.  All  heretics 
have  said  the  same  thing,  except 
those  who  have  openly  averred  that 
they  reject  the  authority  of  the  Ca- 
tholic Church.  This  is  what  the 
Arians  said,  and  Arius  knew  how  to 
play  the  injured,  persecuted  saint 
and  prophet  of  God,  even  better  than 
M.  Loyson.  The  creed  of  Nice  is  a 
new  creed,  said  the  Arians  and  Semi- 
Arians.  So  said  the  rebels  against 
the  Councils  of  Constantinople,  Eph- 
esus,  and  Chalcedon.  The  little  Jan- 
senist  sect  in  Holland  calls  itself  the 
Old  Catholic  Church,  and  its  mem- 
bers take  the  name  of  Old  Catholics. 
The  allegation  is  palpably  and  ridi- 
culously false.  The  Gallican  opin- 
ions were  never  a  part  of  the  Catho- 
lic doctrine.  The  highest  claim  that 
could  ever  be  made  for  them  by  their 
advocates  was,  that  they  were  proba- 
ble opinions  not  condemned  by  the 
supreme  authority.  The  best  theo- 
logians have  condemned  them  as  er- 
roneous and  proximate  to  heresy. 
The  Holy  See  has  never  shown  them 
the  slightest  favor,  but,  on  the  con- 
VOL.  xiii. — 38 


trary,  has  used  all  means,  except  that 
of  express  condemnation,  to  drive 
them  out  of  seminaries,  to  destroy 
their  credit,  and  to  inculcate  the  true 
and  sound  doctrine.  They  were  to- 
lerated errors.  While  they  were  to- 
lerated, it  was  possible  for  good  Ca- 
tholics, and  even  learned  men,  to 
hold  them  in  good  faith ;  since  good 
and  learned  men,  and  even  prelates, 
are  fallible  interpreters  of  both  Scrip- 
ture and  tradition,  and  may  err  in 
reasoning  and  judgment.  But  their 
temporary  toleration  gave  them  no 
rights,  not  even  those  which  belong 
to  received  opinions  of  Catholic 
schools  of  theology.  There  were 
good  reasons  for  a  purely  passive  to- 
leration for  a  time.  But  none  for 
the  indefinite  continuance  of  such 
toleration.  The  silence  of  an  oecu- 
menical council,  viewing  all  the 
events  which  had  occurred  during 
the  past  two  centuries,  would  have 
given  the  advocates  of  Gallicanism  a 
plausible  pretext  to  claim  for  it  a 
positive  toleration,  a  recognition  of 
its  real  and  solid  probability.  More- 
over, it  was  reviving  under  a  ne\r 
and  more  dangerous  form ;  numbers 
of  good  and  loyal  Catholics  were  be- 
ginning to  go  astray  after  a  so-called 
Catholic  liberalism,  and  a  clique  of 
secret  traitors  was  plotting  a  revolt 
against  the  Holy  See,  disguised  un- 
der the  ambiguities  and  reservations 
of  Gallicanism.  Error,  though  it 
may  lie  dormant  and  not  show  its 
dangerous  character  for  a  time,  soon- 
er or  later  works  out  the  conclusions 
contained  in  its  premises.  Gallican- 
ism was  an  illogical  doctrine,  con- 
taining implicitly  the  denial  of  the 
papal  supremacy.  It  was  necessary, 
therefore,  to  condemn  it,  and  to  de- 
fine the  truth.  Those  who  gave  up 
their  opinions  in  obedience  to  the  de- 
cree of  the  Vatican  acted  like  Catho- 
lics, and  like  reasonable  and  consis- 
tent men.  As  Catholics,  they  were 


594 


The  True  Harp. 


bound  to  obey  a  divine  authority. 
As  reasonable  men,  they  were  bound 
to  abandon  an  opinion  which  they 
had  embraced  on  merely  probable 
grounds,  as  soon  as  the  certain  truth 
was  made  known  to  them. 

Moreover,  the  malcontents  were 
taught  from  their  childhood,  and 
some  of  them  have  themselves  taught, 
as  authors  and  professors,  the  infalli- 
bility of  oecumenical  councils  as  a 
doctrine  of  the  Catholic  faith.  They 
have  renounced,  abjured,  and  tram- 
pled on  that  faith,  by  rebelling  against 
the  Council  of  the  Vatican,  and  bid- 
ding defiance  to  the  authority  of  their 
bishops  and  of  the  Pope.  They  are 
justly  excommunicated.  The  ana- 
thema of  the  church  has  smitten 
them,  and  they  are  doomed  to  with- 
er and  die,  and  go  into  oblivion. 
As  for  the  Catholic  Church  and  her 
docile  children,  they  have  made  a 
great  act  of  faith  which  has  had  a 
most  salutary  effect  already,  in 
strengthening  the  habit  of  divine 


faith,  and  in  illuminating  the  intel- 
lect with  the  knowledge  of  the  truth. 
Its  salutary  effects  in  the  future  will 
be  still  greater.  There  was  never  a 
time  when  the  continuous  and  imme- 
diate exercise  of  the  supreme  teach- 
ing authority  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ 
was  so  necessary  and  so  easy  as  the 
present  critical,  momentous  period. 
Never  a  time  when  it  was  so  neces- 
sary for  all  the  faithful  to  place  an  ab- 
solute and  boundless  confidence  in 
the  chair  of  Peter.  God  has  made 
known  to  all  men,  as  a  truth  of  his 
divine  revelation,  the  infallibility 
of  that  chair,  and  of  his  august 
Vicar  who  sits  in  it.  This  truth  is 
equally  certain  with  the  greatest  mys- 
teries of  the  faith,  the  Trinity  and 
the  Incarnation.  This  chair  of  Pe- 
ter can  neither  be  deceived  nor  deceive 
us,  for  its  doctrine  rests  on  the  vera- 
city of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  author 
of  truth,  and  in  believing  and  obey- 
ing it  we  believe  and  obey  Almighty 
God. 


THE     TRUE     HARP. 

SOUL  of  the  Bard !  stand  up,  like  thy  harp's  majestical  pillar ! 

Like  its  golden  arch,  O  heart!  in  reverence  bow  thee  and  bend  ! 
Mind  of  the  Bard,  like  the  strings  be  manifold,  changeful,  responsive : 

This  is  the  harp  God  smites — the  harp,  man's  master  and  friend ! 


AUBREY  DE  VERE. 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cayla. 


595 


A   PILGRIMAGE   TO    CAYLA.* 


CAYLA,  August  i,  1867. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  In  pressing 
my  hand  for  the  last  time,  when  I 
left  Quebec  two  months  ago,  you 
said,  "  Do  not  fail  to  visit  Cayla."  I 
made  you  the  promise,  and  to-day  I 
accomplish  it.  It  is  from  the  chamber 
itself  of  Eugenie  de  Guerin  that  I 
write. 

You  who  have  such  an  avowed 
admiration  for  the  sister  of  Maurice, 
with  what  rapture  you  will  enjoy  the 
minute  details  which  I  have  to  com- 
municate !  How  many  times  have 
we  asked,  after  having  read  the  ad- 
mirable Journal  of  Eugenie,  after 
having  lived  with  her  the  life  at  Cay- 
la,  what  had  become  of  that  domes- 
tic life  which  she  described  with  such 
exquisite  art,  and  which  she  caused 
us  to  love  so  much  ?  Who  are  now 
the  actual  inmates  of  that  antique 
chateau?  If"  Mimi,"  sweet  "  Mimi," 
is  still  living?  etc.  To  all  these 
questions  I  can  to-day  reply.  On 
my  return  to  Poitiers  from  a  short 
visit  to  the  little  city  of  Airvault,  the 
cradle  of  my  ancestors,  I  turned  my 
steps  toward  Toulouse,  where  I  ar- 
rived this  morning.  The  entire  city 
was  in  a  state  of  festivity,  the  streets 
were  all  decorated,  and  filled  with 
pilgrims,  flags  waved  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  the  fa£ades  of  the  houses 
were  hung  with  wreaths  of  flowers. 
They  were  celebrating  the  last  day 
of  the  grand  fetes  in  honor  of  St.  Ger- 
maine  Cousin. 

The  railroad  which  runs  from  Tou- 
louse to  Alby  stops  at  Gaillac,  and 
there  branches  off  to  the  station 

*  These  letters,  from  the  pen  of  the  well-known 
Canadian  writer,  M.  1'Abbe  Casgrain,  have  been 
translated  for  THE  CATHOLIC  A\"ORLD,  with  the 
permission  of  the  author. — TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE. 


of  Tessounieres.  Leaving  Alby  to 
the  right,  I  came  down  to  Cahuzac 
about  two  o'clock.  The  terminus  is 
about  half  a  league  from  the  village. 
I  was  obliged  to  make  this  little  trip 
on  foot,  in  company  with  the  mail- 
carrier,  who  also  took  charge  of  my 
valise. 

The  landscape  is  hilly  and  abrupt, 
and  has  a  savage  aspect.  The  road 
winds  through  the  valley,  rises  and 
descends  between  the  wooded  moun- 
tains, whence  peep  out  here  and 
there  some  white  rocks  which  indi- 
cate a  sterile  soil. 

At  a  turn  in  the  road,  I  perceived 
on  an  acclivity  Cahuzac,  whose  name 
vibrates  so  pleasantly  on  tfie  ears  of 
Eugenie.  From  there  a  carriage 
conducted  me  iiva  few  moments  to 
Andillac,  a  village  more  than  modest, 
which  appeared  on  my  left,  with  its 
poor  little  church,  where  repose  the 
tombs  of  Maurice  and  Eugenie,  where 
she  came  so  often  to  pray,  to  weep, 
to  hope,  to  implore  with  many  tears 
the  salvation  of  her  brother. 

Here  the  road  turns  off  and  climbs 
a  hillside.  The  guide  pointed  with  his 
finger  across  the  trees  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ravine  to  the  Chateau  of 
Cayla,  which  rises  isolated  on  a 
graceful  eminence.  'Tis  a  spacious 
mansion  of  severe  aspect.  Nothing 
distinguishes  it  from  ordinary  struc- 
tures, except  a  little  tower  built  on 
one  of  its  angles,  which  gives  it  a 
slightly  feudal  tinge.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  unobtrusiveness  of  this  man- 
or when  seen  in  its  landscape- fram- 
ing, the  effect  is  laughing  and  pic- 
turesque, thanks  to  the  prestige  of 
poetry,  that  fairy  enchantress  who  has 
touched  every  object  in  this  domain 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cayla. 


with  her  golden  ring.  Here,  though 
the  fairy  is  an  angel,  it  is  Eugenie. 

The  carriage  crossed  the  ravine, 
and  followed  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Usson,  a  little  stream  which  turns 
the  parish  mill.  It  then  began  the 
steep  ascent  to  Cayla,  and  finally 
stopped  before  the  farm,  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  of  chickens,  who  were 
cackling  and  disporting  themselves, 
in  the  sun,  on  a  litter  of  straw.  A 
servant  came  up  at  that  moment 
from  the  rabbit-warren  on  the  north 
side,  and  politely  invited  me  into  the 
salon,  a  pretty  enough  room,  open- 
ing on  the  terrace.  Some  furniture 
in  modern  style,  white  curtains,  some 
wax  fruit  and  flowers,  a  few  paintings 
on  the  walls,  a  little  picture  of  Cay- 
la and  its  surroundings,  on  the  table 
a  handsome  edition  of  the  works  of 
Eugenie  and  Maurice;  this  last  the 
most  beautiful  ornament  of  this 
home. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  young 
lady  with  a  distinguished  air  and 
dreamy  expression  entered.  It  was 
Caroline  de  Guerin,  Eugenie's  niece, 
that  dear  little  "  Caro  "  whom  she 
used  to  rock  on  her  knees,  now  mar- 
ried to  M.  Melchior  Mazuc,  of  a  no- 
ble and  wealthy  family  of  Montpel- 
lier.  She  was  soon  followed  by  an- 
other person,  much  older  but  still 
sprightly,  dressed  very  humbly,  with 
an  expression  of  extreme  sweetness 
in  her  countenance,  and  a  modesty 
yet  more  lovely,  with  marked  features, 
lit  up  by  her  bright  eyes,  and  a  smile 
uniting  extreme  delicacy  and  bene- 
volence. 

1  introduced  myself  as  coming  from 
America,  from  Canada,  attracted  to 
this  remote  corner  of  France  by  the 
fame  of  Eugenie. 

"  Has  the  reputation  of  our  Euge- 
nie reached  that  far?"  exclaimed 
Marie  de  Guerin,  for  it  was  she. 

From  this  moment  the  conversa- 
tion did  not  languish,  fed,  as  it  was, 


by  the  thousand  nothings  around 
which  the  halo  of  poetry  has  been 
thrown  by  the  author  of  the  Jvur- 
nal. 

Just  as  I  rose  to  take  my  leave, 
M.  Mazuc  entered,  followed  by 
Madame  de  Guerin,  the  widow  of 
Erembert.  They  had  summoned  M. 
Mazuc  from  the  fields,  where  he  had 
been  superintending  his  vinedressers. 
He  is  a  man  in  the  strength  of  age, 
an  old  officer  in  the  army  of  Algiers, 
with  a  manly  face,  energetic  look, 
amiable  and  impulsive  character. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  he.  "  You 
come  all  the  way  from  America  and 
as  far  as  our  mountains  to  visit  us, 
and  already  talk  of  leaving  ?  No, 
no ;  you  must  not  think  of  such  a 
thing.  You  have  not  seen  anything 
yet;  you  must  stay  and  visit  the 
neighborhood,  and  we  will  give  you 
Eugenie's  room,  and  you  will  find  it 
just  as  it  was  at  the  time  of  the 
Journal.  Then,  here  is  my  brother 
Nerestan,  who  has  just  returned 
from  Africa,  where  he  filled  the  office 
of  officer  of  colonization;  he  will  en- 
tertain you  about  Algiers,  and  you 
can  talk  to  him  of  Canada." 

"  Oh  !  very  well,"  said  M.  Neres- 
tan, shaking  me  cordially  by  the 
hand ;  "  and  I  will  begin  at  once  by 
telling  you  that  the  best  system  of 
colonization  that  I  know  of,  I  found 
in  a  book  printed  in  Canada  which 
accidentally  fell  into  my  hands." 

They  all  then  urged  me  with  so 
much  politeness  to  stay  that,  con- 
quered by  their  kind  persuasions,  I 
yielded  to  the  pleasure  of  remaining. 

While  awaiting  tea,  Marie  equip- 
ped herself  without  any  ceremony  in 
an  old  straw  hat  with  a  broad  brim, 
and  invited  me  to  take  a  walk  and 
visit  the  environs.  We  were  already 
old  acquaintances.  We  went  out  by 
the  door  that  opens  on  the  terrace, 
which  rests  on  the  crest  of  the  ra- 
vine. Along  the  wall  grew  several 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cayla. 


597 


pomegranate-trees,  and  some  jas- 
mine in  bloom,  from  which  Maurice 
gathered  a  bouquet  the  day  before 
his  death.  He  walked  down  here, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Eugenie,  to 
warm  in  the  bright  sun  his  limbs 
already  struck  with  the  chill  of  death, 
to  bathe  his  panting  breast  in  the 
pure  warm  morning  air,  and  to  con- 
template for  the  last  time  the  beauti- 
ful sky  of  Cayla. 

Some  stone  steps  lead  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  ravine,  where  the  little 
stream  runs  along,  shaded  by  willows, 
whose  rippling  has  so  often  caused 
that  amiable  recluse  to  dream  and 
sing  in  her  little  chamber.  Here  is 
the  fountain  of  Teoule",  that  is  to  say, 
of  the  Tile,  so-called  from  the  huge 
tile  which  serves  as  a  reservoir  for 
the  water  from  the  rock.  We  cross- 
ed the  Pontet  which  leads  to  the 
laundry,  where,  like  the  beautiful 
Nausicaa  of  old,  Eugenie  came  some- 
times to  wash  her  robes  ;  and  which 
inspired  these  pretty  reflections  : 

"  A  day  passed  in  drying  one's 
linen  leaves  but  little  to  say.  It  is, 
however,  pretty  enough  to  spread 
out  a  nice  white  wash  on  the  grass, 
or  to  see  it  waving  from  the  lines. 
You  can  be,  if  you  wish,  either  the 
Nausicaa  of  Homer,  or  one  of  the 
princesses  of  the  Bible  who  washed 
the  tunics  of  their  brothers.  We 
have  a  laundry  that  you  have  not  seen, 
at  the  Moulinasse,  large  enough  and 
full  of  water,  which  embellishes  this 
recess,  and  attracts  the  birds,  who 
love  the  coolness  to  sing  in.  I  write 
you  with  clean  hands,  having  just 
returned  from  washing  a  dress  in  the 
stream.  Tis  delightful  to  wash,  and 
see  the  fish  pass,  the  little  waves,  bits 
of  grass,  and  fallen  flowers,  to  follow 
this,  that,  and  I  know  not  what  in 
the  thread  of  the  stream  !  So  many 
things  are  seen  by  the  laundress  who 
knows  how  to  look  in  the  course  of 
the  stream  !  'Tis  the  bathing-place 


of  the  birds,  the  miiror  of  heaven, 
the  image  of  life,  a  hidden  path,  a 
baptismal  reservoir." 

A  few  steps  in  the  meadow,  a 
superb  chestnut-tree,  three  or  four 
centuries  old,  spreads  its  vast  shade ; 
old  sentinel  of  the  chateau,  which 
has  seen  born  and  die  the  genera- 
tions of  De  Guerins.  The  ridge  of 
Sept-Fonds  winds  through  the  trees 
as  far  as  the  top  of  the  hill ;  on  the 
neighboring  declivity  is  the  little  cop- 
pice of  Buis,  with  its  pretty  little 
pathway,  full  of  shade  and  mystery, 
and  where  Eugenie  had  her  little  dog 
buried. 

"  y*ffy  $•""• — He  is  dead,  my  poor 
little  dog.  I  am  so  sad,  I  have  but 
little  inclination  to  write. 

"  Juty  2ff- — I  have  just  put  Bijou 
in  the  warren  of  the  coppice,  among 
the  flowers  and  birds.  I  am  going 
to  plant  a  rose-bush  there,  and  call 
it  the  dog-rose.  I  have  kept  his  two 
little  front  paws,  which  so  often  rest- 
ed on  my  hands,,  on  my  feet,  on  my 
knees.  He  was  so  nice,  so  graceful 
when  he  lay  down,  and  in  his  caress- 
es !  In  the  morning  he  used  to  come 
to  the  foot  of  my  bed,  to  lick  my 
feet  as  I  was  getting  up ;  then  went 
to  give  papa  the  same  greeting.  We 
were  his  two  favorites.  All  this  comes 
back  to  me  now.  Past  objects  go  to  the 
heart.  Papa  regrets  him  as  much  as 
I  do;  he  said  he  would  have  given 
ten  sheep  for  this  poor  little  dog. 
Alas !  everything  must  leave  us,  or 
we  must  leave  everything. 

"  A  letter  just  received  has  caused 
me  another  pang.  The  affections  of 
the  heart  differ  like  their  objects. 
What  a  difference  the  grief  for  Bijou, 
and  that  for  a  soul  being  lost,  or  at 
least  in  danger  of  it !  O  my  God  ! 
how  frightful  that  is  in  the  eyes  of 
faith  !" 

Passing  before  the  farm,  we  cast 
a  glance  at  the  other  side  of  the  val- 
ley. Facing  us,  this  mass  of  green  is 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cay  la. 


the  Bois  du  Pigimbert,  with  the  ham- 
let of  Pausadon,  where  Vialarette 
lived,  that  poor  woman  whom  Marie 
and  her  sister  used  to  visit.  More 
to  the  left,  on  the  heights,  is  the  vil- 
lage of  Merix,  and  below,  toward  the 
north,  Leutin,  where  Eugenie  went 
so  frequently  to  hear  Mass,  ^fc 

The  road  from  the  warren  of  the 
north  skirts  the  base  of  the  hill, 
which  extends  itself  in  the  rear  of 
the  old  castle.  Here,  as  elsewhere, 
all  is  full  of  souvenirs. 

"  Every  tree  has  its  history,  every  stone  a  name." 

Here  Maurice  played  with  his 
sisters  among  the  branches  of  the 
Treilhon,  that  old  vine-stalk  which 
twines  itself  round  the  trunk  of  an 
oak-tree.  "  Mimi  "  smiled  at  the  re- 
collection of  the  slides  they  used  to 
take  down  the  side  of  the  ravine. 
She  pointed  out  a  little  underwood 
of  maples ;  they  were  small  trees 
about  the  thickness  of  one's  arm, 
and  which  have  nothing  in  common 
with  the  king  of  our  forests. 

A  sudden  storm  coming  up  ob- 
liged us  to  seek  shelter  in  the  man- 
sion. A  few  moments  before,  the 
sky  was  serene  and  blue ;  now  all 
was  obscured  by  clouds,  the  rain 
came  down  in  torrents,  and  it  began 
to  thunder  and  lighten.  This  south- 
ern sky  always  reminds  me  of  a  great 
child,  changing  from  smiles  to  tears 
with  a  wonderful  facility. 

At  half-past  seven,  supper  was 
announced,  at  which  was  served  the 
excellent  wine  of  Cayla.  At  the  side 
of  its  father,  was  little  Mazuc  de 
Guerin.,  a  child  of  eighteen  months. 
Oh !  that  Eugenie  could  have  caress- 
ed this  child  of  "  Caro's." 

The  evening  passed  delightfully; 
anecdotes  were  told,  reminiscences 
of  Cayla,  of  America,  of  Algeria, 
and  episodes  related  by  M.  Mazuc 
of  the  wars  in  Africa,  in  the  moun- 


tains of  Kabylia.  "  Mimi "  then  brought 
us  back  to  our  present  surroundings 
by  relating  some  interesting  details 
of  the  widow  of  Maurice.  She  re- 
turned from  India  after  the  death  of 
her  husband,  and  died  at  Bordeaux 
in  1861. 

And  the  good  M.  Bories  is  still 
living,  but  struck  with  a  cruel  mala- 
dy, and  is  but  a  mere  wreck. 

At  bed-time  I  was  conducted  to 
my  room.  A  spiral  staircase  ascends 
to  the  principal  story,  and  leads  into 
the  great  hall.  This  is  the  stately  and 
solemn  apartment  of  the  manor.  In 
it  a  vast  fireplace,  whose  mantel  is 
sustained  by  caryatides  in  stone ;  en 
either  side  are  the  figures  of  two  ca- 
valiers in  their  armor,  rudely  sketch- 
ed. In  former  days  these  walls  were 
covered  with  the  armor  of  the  seign- 
ors  of  this  house ;  this  inlaid  floor, 
to-day  so  silent,  resounded  to  the 
footsteps  of  armed  knights,  carrying 
on  the  points  of  their  lances  stan- 
dards and  pennons  on  which  the  la- 
dies of  the  castle  had  embroidered 
the  proud  device  of  the  sires  of  De 
Guerin.  Omni  exception?  majores. 
It  was  in  this  saloon,  now  so  desert- 
ed, that  they  armed  themselves  to 
fight  against  the  Moors  and  the  fe- 
rocious Albigenses,  or  where  they 
donned  their  richest  armor,  their 
brilliant  helmets  of  finest  steel,  and 
their  gilded  breast-plates,  to  cross 
their  lances  in  the  tournament.  At 
the  time  of  Eugenie,  all  this  antique 
splendor  had  long  since  passed  away. 
Here  as  elsewhere,  the  Revolution  had 
reaped  its  harvest  of  destruction,  and 
the  rich  Seignors  de  Guerin  "  were 
now,"  said  she,  "  only  poor  squires, 
striving  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the 
door." 

On  the  right  side  of  the  hall  is 
a  door  opening  into  the  chamber  oi 
"  Mimi;"  on  the  left,  one  opening  in- 
to that  of  Maurice.  At  the  extreme 
end,  away  back,  retired  like  a  cell, 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cay  la. 


599 


hidden  like  the  nest  of  a  bird,  is  the 
little  room  of  Eugenie.  It  is  in  this 
room,  and  on  her  table,  that  I  am 
now  writing  to  you,  surrounded  by 
the  same  silence,  and  lit  by  the  same 
modest  light  of  her  lamp.  Before 
me  is  her  little  chapel  in  miniature, 
her  crucifix,  her  etagere  of  books. 
Nothing  besides  this,  neither  orna- 
ments nor  luxury ;  nothing  except  the 
most  commonplace.  But  these  va- 
lueless nothings  have  become  relics ; 
this  little  room  a  chapel,  this  table 
an  altar.  'Twas  from  this  white  and 
peaceful  cage  that  the  dove  of  Cayla 
flew  away  to  the  land  of  dreams, 
gathered  the  celestial  flowers  of  poe- 
try, conversed  with  the  angels,  and 
sang  with  her  heart.  It  is  here  that 
she  prayed,  read,  wrote  her  Journal, 
and  those  admirable  letters  to  Louise 
de  Bayne,  Madame  de  Maistre,  and 
Maurice;  'tis  here  that  she  wrote  her 
heart's  history,  that  she  lived,  that 
she  died;  from  here  that  she  went  to 
rejoin  Maurice. 

I  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the 
Journal,  and  gave  myself  up  to  its 
fascinations,  where  the  least  object, 
an  insect  that  flies,  a  bird  that  sings, 
a  ray  of  light  penetrating  the  blinds, 
inspired  her  with  those  charming 
thoughts,  those  poetical  pages,  like  a 
harmony  of  Lamartine,  fine  and  pro- 
found as  a  passage  of  La  Rochefou- 
cauld. Her  thoughts  take  at  times 
the  most  unexpected  flights,  sublime 
transports,  like  an  elevation  of  Bos- 
suet's. 

Never  perhaps  has  there  been  a 
more  delicate  organization,  a  more 
susceptible  imagination.  Her  soul 
was  like  an  ./Eolian  harp  which  vi- 
brates to  the  slightest  breath. 

Mile,  de  Guerin  wrote  with  a  gol- 
den pen.  I  would  compare  her  to 
Madame  Sevigne,  if  Madame  Sevigne 
was  less  frivolous.  The  latter  amuses 
and  dazzles,  the  former  captivates 
and  touches ;  the  one  is  as  bright  as 


a  lark,  the  other  dreamy  as  a  dove. 
The  first  has  more  genius,  the  second 
more  soul.  There  is  more  sentimen- 
tality in  Madame  de  Sevigne,  in  Eu- 
genie de  Guerin  more  sentiment. 
The  writings  of  one  skim  over  the 
surface  of  the  soul,  those  of  the  other 
penetrate  it.  We  can  admire  Ma- 
dame de  Sevigne,  we  love  Eugenie 
de  Guerin. 

Before  me,  hanging  to  the  frame- 
work of  her  library,  is  a  picture  of 
St.  Therese  de  Gerard,  a  present  to 
her  from  the  Baroness  de  Rivieres. 
I  re-read  the  passage  suggested  by 
this  little  engraving,  those  aspirations 
toward  contemplative  life,  which  re- 
veal such  tender  piety,  such  deep 
and  true  devotion.  This  pure  heart 
turned  naturally  toward  heaven,  like 
the  mariner's  needle,  which  always 
points  to  the  north.  "  She  was  of 
those  souls,"  said  Mgr.  Mermillod, 
"  who  in  the  midst  of  our  material 
cares  hear  the  Sursum  Corda  of  the 
Holy  Church,  and  who  delight  in 
these  noble  and  holy  aspirations." 
"  We  can  make  a  church  everywhere," 
says  she  in  some  of  her  writings. 

I  open  the  window,  and,  like  her, 
I  contemplate  the  beautiful  night — 
the  country  half-buried  in  shadows, 
the  myriads  of  stars,  which,  like  gol- 
den nails,  sustain  the  blue  tapestry  of 
heaven.  All  is  silence,  meditation, 
mystery ;  a  single  murmur,  that  of 
the  stream. 

It  sings  for  me,  as  it  formerly  did 
for  Eugenie.  In  looking  back  into 
the  past,  I  ask  myself  if  I  have  ever 
spent  a  sweeter  hour  or  experienc- 
ed more  vivid  emotions. 

Adieu,  it  is  midnight.  Expect  soon 
a  sequel  to  this  letter. 

To  M.  L'ABBE  L.,  Quebec. 

PARIS,  August  9,  1867. 
.  .  .  At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,. 
I  heard  a  knock  at  my  door.      I  was 
already  up.     The   previous  evening 


6oo 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cayla. 


I  had  made  an  arrangement  with 
Mile,  de  Guerin  to  go  to  Andillac, 
where  I  wished  to  say  Mass,  and  vi- 
sit the  graves  of  Maurice  and  Eu- 
genie. 

The  cheerful  aspect  of  nature 
seemed  to  echo  the  brightness  of  my 
thoughts.  The  heights  of  Merix 
were  bathed  in  the  rosy  hues  of 
morning;  in  the  sky  appeared  the 
first  golden  threads  of  the  sun ;  in 
the  plain  the  slight  fragrance  of  the 
dew,  perfumed  breezes,  and  the  war- 
bling of  the  birds. 

We  saluted  in  passing  the  little 
cross  where  the  brother  and  sister 
took  such  a  tender  adieu  of  each 
other,  where  Eugenie  preserved  so 
long  the  impression  that  the  horse's 
foot  made  in  the  plastic  soil.  One 
Christmas  Eve,  going  to  midnight 
Mass,  she  gathered,  in  her  simple 
piety,  some  branches  covered  with 
hoar-frost  from  the  bushes  which  grow 
along  this  road,  which  she  wished  to 
place  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament — 
a  scene  which  she  described  with  so 
much  freshness  and  charming  grace  : 

"  We  all  went  to  midnight  Mass, 
papa  in  advance — the  night  was  su- 
perb. Never  had  there  been  a  more 
beautiful  midnight,  so  much  so  that 
papa  put  his  head  out  from  his  man- 
tle several  times  to  look  at  the  firma- 
ment. The  ground  was  covered  with 
hoar-frost,  but  we  did  not  feel  the 
cold,  and  then  the  air  was  warmed 
in  front  of  us  by  the  torches  which 
our  servants  carried  to'  light  the  way. 
It  was  charming,  I  assure  you,  and 
I  only  wish  you  could  have  been 
with  us,  going  to  church  along  these 
roads  bordered  with  little  bushes,  as 
white  as  if  they  were  all  in  bloom. 
The  hoar-frost  makes  beautiful  flow- 
ers. We  saw  a  branch  so  lovely  that 
we  wished  to  make  a  bouquet  for 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  but  it  melted 
in  our  hand.  All  flowers  are  short- 
lived. I  regretted  my  bouquet:  it 


was  sad  to  see  it  melt,  and  dissolve 
drop  by  drop." 

Going  along,  Mile,  de  Guerin  told 
me  of  the  last  sickness  and  death  of 
her  sister.  Two  years  before,  her 
health  became  seriously  affected ;  it 
was  in  vain  that  the  physician  sent 
her  to  the  waters  of  Cauterets,  to 
seek  the  strength  which  would  never 
more  return. 

She  felt  her  end  approaching ;  but 
she  did  not  tremble ;  in  her  complete 
resignation,  there  was  no  place  for 
fear.  As  she  watched  the  span  of 
life  gradually  diminish,  she  seemed 
to  fold  within  herself,  like  the  sensi- 
tive plant;  wrapped  around  her  the 
mantle  of  holy  recollection,  in  which 
great  souls  envelope  themselves  at 
the  approach  of  that  supreme  con- 
templation which  she  foresaw.  She 
talked  but  little,  prayed  much,  and 
smiled  rarely.  Her  little  room  had 
become  the  cell  of  a  religious;  she 
lived  there  cloistered,  only  leaving  it 
to  go  to  church.  Prayer  was  her  re- 
creation, the  Holy  Eucharist  her 
food. 

"  I  wish  to  die  after  having  re- 
ceived the  holy  communion,"  said 
she  a  short  time  before  her  death. 
They  noticed  that  she  looked  often 
toward  Andillac,  where  she  was  go- 
ing so  soon  to  dwell.  The  swallow 
is  compelled  to  fly  away  on  the  eve 
of  winter;  the  winter  of  death  was 
approaching. 

She  took  cold  going  to  Mass  on 
the  Epiphany,  and  returned  home 
with  a  fever,  which  increased  rapid- 
ly. Inflammation  of  the  lungs  super- 
vened, which  hurried  her  to  the  por- 
tal of  death  in  a  few  days.  After 
having  received  the  holy  Viaticum, 
"  I  can  die  now,"  sighed  she  with  a 
celestial  smile.  "  Adieu,  my  dear 
Marie!"  And  as  she  felt  the  tears 
tremble  in  her  eyes,  at  seeing  her  so 
overcome  with  grief,  she  embraced 
her,  and  said,  while  turning  her  head 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cayla. 


601 


away  to  conceal  her  emotion,  "  Ah ! 
do  not  let  us  be  sad !"  as  if  she  was 
afraid  of  weakening  the  generosity 
of  her  sacrifice. 

Such  was  the  appointed  end  of 
Mile.  Eugenie  de  Guerin.  She  died 
like  a  saint,  •"  as  the  angels  would 
die,  if  they  were  not  immortals,"  said 
one  of  her  friends. 

We  arrived  at  Andillac. 

"  Mosou  Ritou  " — M.  le  Cure—"  is 
he  in  the  rectory  ?"  asked  Mile,  de 
Guerin  in  patois  of  the  old  servant, 
as  she  entered  with  the  familiarity 
of  an  habituee. 

M.  1'Abbe  Massol  welcomed  us  cor- 
dially, and  conversed  with  me  about  a 
project  which  he  had  had  in  view  for 
some  time  of  rebuilding  the  church 
of  Andillac  with  the  offerings  of  the 
admirers  of  Eugenie  de  Guerin.  The 
encouraging  sympathy  which  he  had 
received  led  him  to  hope  that  he 
would  very  soon  be  able  to  accom- 
plish his  purpose,  which  will  be  the 
honor  of  the  tomb  of  this  pious  young 
girl,  and  her  aureola  by  choice  :  this 
was  indeed  the  only  glory  that  she 
desired.  * 

The  actual  church  of  Andillac  is 
really  nothing  more  than  a  ruin.  Its 
tottering  belfry,  roof  falling  in  from 
age,  cracked  and  crumbling  walls, 
present  the  picture  of  desolation.  It 
is  necessary  to  descend  several  steps 
in  order  to  enter  this  other  Bethle- 
hem, whose  sombre,  decayed,  and 
humid  aspect  sends  a  chill  to  the 
heart.  Nothing  less  than  the  most 
ardent  faith,  or  Eugenie's  happy  im- 
agination, could  enable  a  person  to 

*  On  my  return  to  Canada,  a  small  collection 
•was  taken  up  among  the  admirers  of  Eugenie, 
which  amounted  to  five  hundred  francs,  and 
which  has  been  sent  to  Mile,  de  GueVin. 

His  Holiness  Pius  IX.,  whom  we  count  among 
the  admirers  of  the  virgin  of  Cayla,  and  desig- 
nated by  him  in  a  letter  as  the  blessed  Eugenie, 
has  deigned  to  accord  his  apostolic  benediction, 
and  a  plenary  indulgence,  to  all  the  benefactors 
of  Andillac.  Their  names  are  inscribed  in  the 
archives  of  the  parish,  and  the  holy  sacrifice  of 
the  Mass  is  offered  for  them  four  times  a  year. 


breathe  in  what  seems  more  like  a 
charnel-house  than  a  church,  or 
cause  a  ray  of  brightness  and  poetry 
to  enter  there. 

I  whispered  to  Mile.  Guerin  that  I 
was  going  to  say  Mass  for  the  illus- 
trious dead  of  her  family ;  and  I  had 
the  happiness  of  giving  the  holy 
communion  to  the  sister  of  Eugenie. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  in 
thanksgiving  on  the  prie-dieu  where 
she  used  to  kneel  left  an  impression 
never  to  be  forgotten;  angel,  she 
conversed  here  with  the  angels,  with 
the  Spouse  of  virgins ;  she  unfolded 
here  to  the  wind  of  eternity  those 
wings  of  light  which  detached  her 
every  day  more  and  more  from  the 
earth,  and  which  have  finally  trans- 
ported her  to  the  bosom  of  our 
Lord. 

On  leaving  the  church,  Mile,  de 
Guerin  silently  opened  the  gate  of 
the  cemetery.  I  was  face  to  face 
with  the  beloved  graves.  The  morn- 
ing sunlight  flooded  this  garden  of 
the  dead,  as  if  to  remind  me  of  that 
other  invisible  light  which  illumines 
the  other  shore  of  life  that  never 
fades.  A  shaft  of  white  marble,  the 
only  monument  in  the  cemetery, 
marks  the  grave  of  Maurice.  We 
read  distinctly  the  mournful  date, 
July  19,  1839.  At  the  side  to  the 
right  is  a  simple  wooden  cross,  one 
o  its  arms  supporting  a  crown  of 
immortelles,  with  this  inscription  en- 
closed in  a  medallion :  Eugenie  de  Gue- 
rin, May  31,  1848.  In  the  rear  were 
two  iron  crosses,  one  of  them  mark- 
ing the  grave  of  M.  Joseph  de  Gue- 
rin, Eugenie's  father,  and  the  other 
that  of  Erembert.  They  died  a  year 
apart,  1850  and  1851. 

I  remained  a  long  time  on  my 
knees  beside  the  grave  of  Eugenie, 
in  the  same  place  where,  overwhelm- 
ed by  a  nameless  grief,,  she  wept  tor- 
rents of  tears,  where  she  probed  that 
terrible  mystery  of  death,  fathomless 


602 


A  Pilgrimage  to  Cayla. 


as  her  sorrow ;  and  whence  she  rose 
at  last,  crushed  for  ever,  but  resigned, 
with  this  sublime  cry  of  a  Christian, 
"  Let  us  throw  our  hearts  into  eter- 
nity !"  She  sleeps  now  by  the  side 
of  that  dear  Maurice  for  whom  she 
often  wept,  until  the  day  when  they 
will  rise  together  never  more  to  be 
separated. 

Before  leaving,  Mile,  de  Guerin 
gathered  a  bouquet  of  roses  and  im- 
mortelles rom  her  sister's  grave, 
placed  it  in  my  hands,  and  went  out, 
without  uttering  a  word. 

Adieu,  sweet  and  bkssed  Eugenie  / 
The  glory  which  you  did  not  seek 
has  sought  you,  but  the  aureola 
which  shines  over  your  mausoleum 
need  not  alarm  you  modesty  or  your 
humility.  It  is  pure  as  your  soul, 
sweet  as  your  nature,  religious  as 
your  thoughts,  benevolent  as  your 
life.  Already  it  has  illumined  more 
than  one  soul,  and  strengthened 
more  than  one  heart.  It  will  do 
more:  it  will  rebuild  this  temple, 
whence  will  arise  in  your  honor  the 
hymn  of  gratitude.  Pertransut  bene- 
fadcndo  / 

On  my  return  to  Cayla,  I  thanked 
my  kind  hosts  for  their  gracious  hos- 
pitality, commended  myself  to  the 
prayers  of  Marie,  the  holy,  and  re- 
sumed the  route  to  Toulouse. 

I  have  brought  you  several  souve- 
nirs from  Cayla,  some  drawings,  one 
of  Eugenie's  autographs,  a  few  flow- 
ers, and  a  bunch  of  immortelles, 
which  will  be  relics  for  you. 

To  M.  L'ABBE  L.,   Quebec. 

DATES. 

"  M.  Joseph  de  Guerin  died  in  1851, 
age  70  years. 

"  Madame  Joseph  de  Guerin,  nee  Ger- 
trude de  Fontenilles,  died  in  1819. 

"  Erembert,  born  January,  1803,  died 
December  16,  1850. 

"  Eugenie,  born  January  25,  1805,  died 
May  21,  1848. 

"  Marie,  born  August  30,  1806. 


"  Maurice,  born  August  10,  1818,  died 
July  19,  1839." 

LATER. 

December  20,  1869. 

SINCE  my  return  to  Canada,  seve- 
ral pleasant  little  parcels  have  been 
sent  me  from  Cayla,  among  them 
three  different  views  of  the  chateau,  a 
map  of  the  parish  of  Andillac,  a  pho- 
tograph of  the  church,  and  of  the 
cemetery  in  which  are  the  graves  of 
Maurice  and  Eugenie,  the  likenesses 
of  Maurice,  Marie,  and  Caroline  de 
Guerin. 

The  only  picture  which  exists  of 
Eugenie  is  a  simple  pen-and-ink 
sketch,  scarcely  outlined,  which  was 
sent  me  by  the  editor  of  Eugenie's 
works,  M.  Trebutien. 

Among  these  precious  souvenirs 
from  Cayla,  I  must  also  mention  an 
unpublished  letter  from  Henry  V., 
Count  de  Chambord,  and  another 
from  Cardinal  de  Villecourt,  without 
counting  those  addressed  to  me  by 
Marie  de  Guerin,  several  of  which 
would  not  do  discredit  to  the  collec- 
tion of  Eugenie's.  I  will  only  cite 
from  one  of  them  a  short  passage 
in  which  she  alludes  to  our  young 
Canadian  Zouaves : 

"  I  am  so  edified  to  see  the  devo- 
tion of  the  Canadians  to  our  Holy 
Father  the  Pope.  Your  young  men 
leave  for  Rome,  as  did  the  crusaders 
of  old,  for  Palestine,  at  this  word, 
God  wills  it.  Let  us  hope  that  this 
plenitude  of  generosity  will  not  be 
without  a  happy  result.  Already 
they  have  given  an  example  at  Men- 
tana  ;  if  necessary  they  will  repeat  it. 
.  .  .  "  ^  Letter  dated  January 
30,  1868. 

LETTER   FROM    HENRY    V.,    COUNT   DE 
CHAMBORD. 

FROHSDORF,  June  19,  164. 
I  recollect,  mademoiselle,  having 


Sonnet. 


603 


read  several  years  ago,  with  much  in- 
terest, some  remarkable  extracts  from 
the  works  of  M.  Maurice  de  Guerin,  a 
young  writer  cut  down  in  the  flower 
of  his  age  and  talents.  I  could  not, 
then,  fail  to  welcome  with  a  peculiar 
satisfaction  the  book  of  Mile.  Euge- 
nie de  Guerin,  faithful  mirror  in 
which  is  so  constantly  reflected  the 
twofold  affection  that  filled  her  life— - 
the  love  of  God  and  her  tenderness 
for  her  brother,  sweet  lesson  and 
touching  example  of  that  ardent, 
lively,  and  resigned  faith  which,  in 
the  midst  of  the  sorrows  of  this 
world,  only  finds  consolation  in 
looking  toward  heaven,  where  those 


whom  we  love  here  below,  separated 
from  us  in  an  instant  by  death,  are 
united  again  never  more  to  be  parted. 
I  must  not  defer  any  longer  saying 
to  you  how  much  I  appreciate  this 
gift,  and,  above  all,  the  pious  motive 
which  prompted  it — as  well  as  the 
expressions  of  devotion  and  attach- 
ment with  which  it  was  accompa- 
nied, in  your  name,  as  well  as  in  that 
of  your  sister-in-law.  To  M.  Trebu- 
tien  and  his  daughter  I  beg  you 
will  also  express  my  gratitude. 

Accept  for  yourself,  with  many 
thanks,  the  assurance  of  my  very 
sincere  sentiments.  HENRI. 

To  MLLE.  MARIE  DE  GUERIN. 


SONNET. 
ITALIAN  "  UNIFICATION  "  IN  1861. 

THE  land  which  Improvisator's  throng 

With  one  light  bound  would  "  freedom  "  improvise, 
Freedom  by  England  dragged  from  raging  seas 

Through  centuries  of  wrestling  right  and  wrong. 

The  gamesters  crowned,  their  loaded  dice  downflung, 
Divide  their  gains ;  *  while — shamelessly  at  ease — 
Gold-spangled  fortune,  tinselled  to  the  knees, 

Runs  on  the  tight  rope  of  the  state  new-strung ! 

O  liberty,  stern  goddess,  sad  and  grave, 

To  whom  are  dear  the  hearts  that  watch  and  wait, 

The  hand  laborious,  strenuous  as  the  glaive, 

The  strong,  staid  head,  the  soul  supreme  o'er  fate, 

With  what  slow  scorn  thou  turn'st,  incensed  of  mien, 

From  mimic  freedom's  operatic  scene ! 

AUBREY  DE  VERE. 


*  Napoleon  got  Nice  and  Savoy;  Arictor  Emanuel,  the  Papal  States.  Every  wise  and  religious 
man  must  desire  that  Italy  should  be  free.  The  greatest  enemy  to  true  and  permanent  freedom  is 
that  false  freedom  which  divorces  itself  from  justice  that  it  may  wed  itself  to  fortune. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


THE   HOUSE   OF  YORKE. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


TWO    YEARS    AFTEK 


A  HEAVY  heart  is  a  wonderful  as- 
sistant in  acquiring  repose  of  man- 
ner, it  weighs  so  on  the  impulses  and 
desires,  and  thus  keeps  them  in  or- 
der— fortunately  for  Mrs.  Jane  Row- 
an. On  the  whole,  she  behaved  very 
well  in  her  new  situation,  and  did 
not  fret  herself  nor  the  family  too 
much.  By  the  gentleman  of  the 
house  and  his  daughter  she  was  not 
treated  as  a  hired  servant,  but  as  Mr. 
Williams's  sister  might  have  been 
treated,  if  he  had  had  one  to  take 
charge  of  his  establishment.  With 
the  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Bond,  and  the 
servants,  it  was  otherwise.  The  for- 
mer was  one  of  those  persons  who 
merit  pity,  from  the  fact  that  they 
can  never  feel  the  delight  of  a  gene- 
rous emotion.  She  worshipped  the 
guinea's  stamp,  but  the  preciousness 
of  fine  gold  she  knew  not :  for  her, 
the  guinea  might  as  well  have  been 
made  of  copper.  If  she  had  been 
born  to  a  servile  estate,  she  would 
have  remained  there,  and  adorned 
her  position ;  but  she  had  been  asso- 
ciated with  persons  of  respectability 
and  even  of  eminence.  The  advan- 
tages of  this  association  she  showed 
in  that  the  arrogance  with  which  she 
treated  her  supposed  inferiors  was 
cold  and  quiet,  and  her  subservience 
to  her  acknowledged  superiors  had 
an  air  of  personal  fondness. 

This  woman's  greatest  fear  was 
lest  some  one  should  marry  her  bro- 
ther-in-law, in  consequence  of  which 
she  labored  incessantly  to  remove 
from  him  all  dangerous  acquaintan- 


ces :  her  second  source  of  terror  was 
that  her  niece  might  be  captivated 
by  some  ineligible  person,  and  the 
result  was  that  every  hovering  mon- 
sieur and  professor  who  assisted  in 
educating  the  young  woman  was 
watched  as  if  he  had  been  a  pick- 
pocket. Helen  Williams  used  to 
complain  bitterly  to  the  housekeep- 
er of  this  espionage,  and  Mrs.  Bond 
used  as  strenuously  to  invoke  the 
aid  of  the  housekeeper  in  watching ; 
so  that  the  unfortunate  woman  was 
between  two  fires,  and  scorched  pro 
and  con.  But  the  great  trial  of  her 
life  was  the  servants.  Over  these 
potentates  she  was  supposed  to  ex- 
ercise some  authority,  and  for  some 
of  their  doings  she  was  held  respon- 
sible; but  the  fact  was  that  they 
laughed  her  to  scorn.  As  to  com- 
manding them,  Mrs.  Rowan  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  command- 
ing the  lancers  or  the  cadets,  and 
indeed  the  lancers  or  the  cadets  would 
quite  as  soon  have  thought  of  obey- 
ing her.  But  through  all  these  mean 
annoyances,  thanks  to  sorrow,  the 
quieter,  she  walked  with  a  gentle 
patience  which  saved  her  from  se- 
rious hurt, 

Happily,  the  person  on  whom  her 
fortunes  most  depended  put  her  quite 
at  ease  in  his  regard.  Mr.  Williams 
was  moderately  kind,  not  expressive- 
ly polite,  and  did  not  scruple  to  make 
her  useful.  He  had  also  certain  ha- 
bits which  soothed  her  sense  of  infe- 
riority, since  she  did  not  consider 
them  polite  :  he  reached  across  the 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


605 


table  sometimes  in  a  shocking  man- 
ner to  help  himself,  he  bolted  his 
food  when  he  was  in  haste,  he  smok- 
ed a  pipe  in  the  sitting-room  without 
asking  leave,  and,  while  smoking,  ha- 
bitually assumed  a  position  contrary 
to  the  apparent  intention  of  nature, 
by  placing  his  feet  higher  than  his 
head.  There  were  times  when  the 
housekeeper  dared  to  think  that  she 
was  almost  as  much  a  lady  as  Mr. 
Williams  was  a  gentleman.  But  she 
liked  him  all  the  better  for  his  defi- 
ciencies. She  liked  him.  too,  for  the 
interest  he  took  in  her  son. 

In  the  fall,  Mr.  Williams  and  Ma- 
jor Cleaveland  had  entered  into  part- 
nership, and  enlarged  their  shipping 
interests,  and  the  former  had  said  to 
Mrs.  Rowan  of  Dick,  "  If  the  boy 
continues  to  do  well,  we  must  give 
him  a  ship." 

The  mother's  heart  beat  high.  In 
two  years  Dick  would  come  back, 
and  then  perhaps  Mr.  Williams  would 
remember  his  promise.  That  her  son 
would  deserve  such  favor  she  never 
doubted.  Young  Mr.  Rowan  had 
the  power  of  inspiring  every  one  who 
knew  him  with  entire  confidence.  So 
the  mother  set  herself  to  endure  and 
count  away  the  months  to  the  com- 
ing home  of  her  son.  The  winter 
melted,  and  spring  came — six  months 
nearer !  The  summer  glowed,  and 
grew  chilly  into  autumn — only  a  year 
longer  !  A  second  winter  wore  itself 
away — but  six  months  left !  and  what 
you  can  have  back  again  in  six 
months,  you  touch  already.  Six 
months  is  only  twenty-four  weeks ; 
and,  while  you  are  counting  them,  the 
four  have  slipped  away.  What  sig- 
nifies five  months  ?  One  sleeps 
through  nearly  a  third  of  them,  which 
leaves  three  months  of  conscious 
waiting.  Hearts  do  not  count  frac- 
tions. Three  months — and  now  they 
begin  to  drag.  It  is  July,  and  that 
month  has  so  many  days,  and  the 


days  have  so  many  hours  in  them, 
and  the  hours  are  so  long.  You  be- 
gin to  fancy  that  heat  dilates  time  as 
well  as  metals.  You  say  that  it  is 
just  your  luck  that  the  only  time  in 
the  year  when  two  months  in  succes- 
sion have  thirty-one  days  should  be 
precisely  this  time.  Good-by  to  Ju- 
ly !  I  \vould  have  spoken  you  more 
courteously,  O  month  of  Caesar  !  had 
you  not  stood  between  my  friend  and 
me.  Not  Caesar's  self  may  do  that ! 
Two  months  now;  but  much  may 
happen  in  that  time  :  kingdoms  have 
been  lost  and  won  in  less.  Fade,  O 
summer  flowers !  for  ye  can  bloom 
again  when  love  is  dead.  Hasten, 
O  fruitful  autumn !  and  bring  the 
harvest  long  waited  for.  The  weeks 
grow  less,  and  only  one  is  left ;  but 
you  dare  not  rejoice ;  so  much  may 
happen  in  a  week !  Days  roll  round 
with  an  audible  jar,  as  if  you  heard 
the  earth  buzz  on  her  axis,  and  only 
one  is  left.  O  God  !  how  much  may 
happen  in  a  day !  The  pendulum 
swings  entangled  in  your  heart-strings, 
the  minutes  march  like  armed  men. 
Merciful  Father !  hearts  have  broken 
in  a  minute.  Yes;  but  hearts  that 
were  sinking  have  grown  glad  in  a 
minute,  shall  grow  glad,  Deo  volente. 
The  terrible  //^that  held  his  skeleton 
finger  up  before  the  face  of  your 
hope,  that  drove  sleep  from  your 
eyes,  that  weighed  upon  you  cease- 
lessly, shall  fade  to  a  shadow,  and 
the  shadow  shall  disappear  in  sun- 
shine— Deo  -volente  ! 

The  sea  was  smooth — perhaps  the 
prayers  of  the  mother  had  smoothed 
it;  the  sky  was  sunny — it  may  have 
been  for  that  mother's  sake  ;  and  one 
blessed  tide  that  came  running  up 
the  harbor,  ripple  after  ripple  falling 
on  the  shore  like  breathless  messen- 
gers, brought  a  ship  in  from  the 
East  with  a  precious  freight  for  the 
owners,  and  for  Mrs.  Rowan  a  freight 
more  precious  than  if  the  ship  had 


6o6 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


been  piled  for  her  mast-high  with 
gold. 

A  young  man's  handsome  bronzed 
face  looked  eagerly  through  the  rig- 
ging, and  saw  a  carriage  drawn  up 
close  to  the  wharf,  a  man  standing 
beside  the  open  door  of  it,  and  a 
woman's  pale  face  leaning  out.  The 
pale  face  turned  red  as  he  looked, 
and  his  mother's  hands  were  stretch- 
ed toward  him. 

"  O  Dick !  my  own  boy !" 

"  Jump  right  in  and  go  home  with 
your  mother,"  said  Mr.  Williams. 
"  I  want  to  see  the  captain." 

And  this  reminds  us  that  we  are 
before  our  story.  Several  notable 
incidents  had  occurred  in  Mrs.  Row- 
an's life  before  that  happy  day.  One 
was  that,  on  the  first  of  September, 
just  a  month  before,  Mr.  Williams 
had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  The 
two  were  sitting  together  after  tea, 
Helen  having  gone  to  a  concert  with 
her  aunt.  Mrs.  Rowan  was  hem- 
ming handkerchiefs  for  Mr.  Williams, 
and  thinking  of  Dick,  wondering 
where  he  was  and  what  he  might  be 
doing  just  at  that  moment,  and  Mr. 
Williams  was  glancing  over  the  Eve- 
ning Post,  and  thinking  of  himself 
and  his  companion. 

If  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  at  that  time  General  Taylor, 
had  sent  Daniel  Webster  as  his  am- 
bassador to  invite  Mrs.  Rowan  to 
preside  over  the  White  House  for 
him,  she  could  not  have  been  more 
astonished. 

There  was  nothing  amazing  in  the 
manner  of  the  proposal,  however. 
Mr.  Williams  had  just  been  reading 
an  editorial  on  the  "  Wilmot  provi- 
so," and,  having  finished  it,  took 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  glanced 
across  the  table  on  which  his  elbow 
leaned,  and  said  quietly,  "  I've  been 
thinking  that  we  may  as  well  get 
married,  as  we  shall  probably  always 
live  together.  Helen  and  Dick  will 


some  time  build  nests  of  their  own, 
and  they  won't  want  either  of  us.  I 
shall  treat  you  as  well  as  I  always 
have,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  sat- 
isfied with  that,  and  I  shall  do  some- 
thing for  Dick.  I'm  rather  in  love 
with  the  fellow.  I  really  cannot  see 
why  you  should  object,  though  I 
give  you  credit  for  being  surprised. 
If  you  had  expected  me  to  ask  you, 
I  should  have  disappointed  you. 
Suppose  we  should  be  married  before 
Dick  gets  home,  for  a  pleasant  sur- 
prise for  him !" 

Mrs.  Rowan  had  dropped  her  work, 
and  sat  staring  at  Mr.  Williams,  to 
see  if  he  were  jesting. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  said. 
"  How  does  the  idea  strike  you  ?" 

"  It  strikes  me  " — she  stammered 
faintly,  and  stopped  there. 

"  So  I  perceive,"  was  the  dry  com- 
ment with  which  he  put  his  pipe  be- 
tween his  lips  again.  "  Take  time. 
Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  answer ;  I 
am  not  a  frantic  lover  of  twen- 

ty." 

Mrs.  Rowan  sat  with  her  hands 
clasped  on  the  pile  of  handkerchiefs 
in  her  lap,  and  tried  to  think.  It 
would-  be  good  for  Dick,  it  would  be 
better  for  Dick,  it  would  be  best  for 
Dick.  On  Dick's  account,  she  could 
not  dream  of  refusing;  indeed,  she 
would  not  have  presumed  to  refuse, 
even  had  there  been  no  Dick  in  the 
case.  But,  for  all  that,  Mr.  Wil- 
liams's  last  sentence  rang  in  her  ears, 
and  made  her  eyes  fill.  Once  upon  a 
time — so  long  ago  ! — she  was  young 
and  pretty,  and  then  there  was  some- 
body handsomer,  better  educated, 
more  talented  than  this  man,  who  was 
a  frantic  lover  of  tAventy  when  he  ask- 
ed her  to  be  his  wife.  If  she  had  known 
better  then,  been  more  earnest  and 
serious,  that  blossom  day  of  her  life 
had  borne  good  fruit,  perhaps,  instead 
of  an  apple  of  Sodom,  and  her  hus- 
band might  have  been  still  living. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


607 


If  she  had  loved  him  less  weakly, 
she  might  have  saved  him. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mr.  Williams,  hav- 
ing given  her  ten  minutes  by  the 
clock. 

She  started,  and  came  back  to  the 
present.  In  the  pain  of  the  past  she 
was  momentarily  strong.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  know  best  for  yourself,"  she 
said  quietly ;  "  and  I  have  no  objec- 
tion for  Dick's  sake." 

Mr.  Williams  had  been  a  little  afraid 
of  a  scene,  and  her  quiet  and  the  tears 
in  her  eyes  touched  him.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  will  be  sorry  for  it,  Jane," 
he  said  kindly.  "  I  have  heard  that 
you  have  had  one  sad  experience, 
and  I  can  promise  you  that  you  shall 
have  nothing  like  that  from  me." 

A  slight  shadow,  almost  a  frown, 
passed  over  her  face.  "You  are 
very  kind,"  she  said  in  a  cold  voice. 
"But  as  to  the  past,  no  one  is  to 
bl,ame  but  me.  I  stand  by  the  man 
I  married  when  I  was  a  young  girl. 
I  loved  him  then  and  always,  and  I 
hope  to  meet  him  again.  He  was 
too  good  for  me." 

"  All  right !"  replied  the  merchant 
cheerfully,  but  with  some  surprise. 
He  had  not  thought  that  the  widow 
possessed  so  much  spirit.  "  We  need 
not  disagree  about  him.  We  can 
enter  into  a  partnership  for  the  rest 
of  our  lives.  As  to  the  other  world, 
I'll  ask  for  no  mortgages  on  that. 
If  you  run  away  with  Mr.  Row- 
an when  we  get  there,  I  won't  run 
after  you.  May  be  somebody  else 
will  be  claiming  me.  I'm  satisfied, 
if  you  are.  We  are  too  old  for  sen- 
timent." 

So  saying,  he  turned  again  to  the 
Evening  Post,  and  pursued  his  read- 
in-. 

Too  old  for  sentiment !  She  look- 
ed at  him  with  eyes  in  which,  for  a 
moment,  a  high  and  shining  wonder 
dilated.  Why,  if  Richard  had  lived 
and  prospered,  and  she  had  made 


him  happy,  she  could  have  run  to 
meet  him  with  roses  of  joy  in  her 
cheeks,  though  she  were  half  a  cen- 
tury old.  She  could  have  been  as 
watchful  of  his  looks  and  tones,  as 
quick  to  tune  her  own  by  them,  as 
when  she  was  a  girl.  Too  old  for 
sentiment!  Well,  it  takes  all  sorts 
of  people  to  make  a  world,  she 
thought. 

An  hour  of  silence  passed,  the  wo- 
man sewing,  the  man  reading.  At 
ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Rowan  rose  to  go 
to  bed.  Mr.  Williams  looked  up. 
"  Let's  see,  this  is  September  first," 
he  said.  "  Suppose  we  call  in  the 
parson  about  the  tenth  ?" 

She  stopped— she  and  her  breath. 

"  You  know  we  need  not  bother 
about  a  bridal  tour,"  he  said.  "  And 
I  think  we  may  as  well  keep  our 
own  counsel.  When  it  is  all  over, 
I'll  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Bond  as  a 
new  sister-in-law.  Don't  be  afraid  : 
I  will  make  her  keep  the  peace.  I 
am  a  justice,  you'know." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Rowan. 
"  Do  as  you  like." 

There  was  no  more  said  that 
night;  but  the  next  morning  Mr. 
Williams  gave  the  widow  a  short 
lecture  on  the  manner  in  which  he 
wished  her  to  conduct  herself  toward 
those  about  her.  "You  are  too 
humble  and  yielding,"  he  said.  "  Of 
course,  I  do  not  expect  you  to  change 
your  character;  but,  recollect,  you 
have  me  to  stand  by  you.  If  Sarah 
Bond  should  annoy  you,  stand  your 
ground.  If  the  servants  are  impu- 
dent, dismiss  them.  If  anything 
whatever  happens  displeasing  to  you, 
tell  me  the  minute  I  get  home,  and 
I  will  set  the  matter  right." 

With  that  he  went. 

An  hour  after,  a  carriage  drew  up 
at  the  door,  and  a  woman  came  into 
the  house,  and  asked  to  see  Mrs. 
Rowan.  She  was  a  woman  of  middle 
age,  and  looked  nervous  and  worried. 


6o8 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


"  I  am  Miss  Bird,  Miss  Clinton's 
companion,"  she  announced.  "  Miss 
Clinton  wants  to  see  you  right  away. 
She  has  sent  the  carriage  for 
you." 

"  Who  is  Miss  Clinton  ?"  Mrs. 
Rowan  asked ;  "  and  what  does  she 
want  of  me  ?" 

The  companion  looked  at  her  in 
astonishment.  Not  know  who  Miss 
Clinton  was  !  But  it  must  be  true 
that  she  did  not,  or  she  would  not  have 
presumed  to  ask  the  other  question. 
"  Miss  Clinton  is  one  of  the  first 
ladies  in  Boston,"  Miss  Bird  said, 
with  quite  a  grand  air.  "  When  you 
go  to  her,  she  will  probably  tell  you 
what  she  wants." 

"  Cannot  she  come  to  see  me  ?" 
Mrs.  Rowan  asked. 

This  last  piece  of  assumption  was 
from  the  future  Mrs.  Williams,  not 
from  Mr.  Williams's  housekeeper. 

"  Why,  what  can  you  be  thinking 
of?"  the  woman  cried.  "  Miss  Clin- 
ton must  be  eighty  years  old,  if  not 
ninety.  I  am  not  sure  but  she  is  a 
hundred." 

Having  ventured  so  much,  after  a 
slight  pause,  Miss  Bird  went  on. 
"  And  she  is  like  cider,  the  older  she 
grows,  the  sourer  she  grows." 

"  Oh !  then,  I  will  go,"  Mrs.  Row- 
an said  at  once.  "  I  didn't  know  she 
was  so  old." 

She  did  not  hurry,  however.  She 
arrayed  herself  deliberately  from  head 
to  foot,  and  came  down  to  find  Miss 
Bird  pacing  the  entry  in  a  fever  of 
impatience. 

"  Dear  me !  do  come !"  exclaimed 
that  frightened  creature,  and  uncere- 
moniously pulled  Mrs.  Rowan  into  the 
carriage.  "  Drive  for  your  life  !"  she 
called  out  then  to  the  coachman. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  with  Miss 
Clinton  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Rowan  anx- 
iously. 

"Oh!  bless  us!"  sighed  the  com- 
panion. "  Something  is  always  the 


matter  with  Miss  Clinton  when  she 
has  to  wait." 

They  reached  the  house — a  large, 
old-fashioned  one  in  a  most  respecta- 
ble locality — entered,  and  went  up- 
stairs to  a  sunny  parlor  with  windows 
looking  into  a  garden.  The  four 
walls  of  this  room  were  entirely  cov- 
ered with  pictures,  the  central  places 
being  occupied  by  four  portraits  of 
a  lady,  the  same  lady,  painted  in 
different  costumes,  and  at  different 
ages.  It  was  a'  handsome  face,  not 
without  signs  of  talent.  The  origi- 
nal of  these  portraits  sat  in  an  arm- 
chair near  one  of  the  windows.  The 
silvery  curls  of  a  wig  clustered  about 
her  wrinkled  face,  a  scarlet  India 
shawl  was  wrapped  around  her  tall, 
upright  form,  and  her  small  hands 
glittered  with  rings.  On  a  table  at 
her  elbow  were  her  hand-bell,  eye- 
glasses, scent-bottle,  snuff-box,  and 
bonbonniere. 

As  the  two  entered  the  room,  the 
old  lady  snatched  her  glasses,  and 
put  them  up  with  a  shaking  hand. 
"  So  you  have  got  here  at  last !"  she 
cried  out.  "  Have  you  been  taking 
Mr.  What's-his-name's  housekeeper 
a  drive  on  the  Mill-dam,  Bird  ?" 

"  I  was  obliged  to  wait  for  Mrs. 
Rowan,"  Bird  said  meekly.  "  She 
will  tell  you." 

"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  was  ready, 
ma'am,"  interposed  Mrs.  Rowan.  "  I 
did  not  want  to  take  the  trouble  to 
come  at  all.  If  you  have  no  busi- 
ness with  me,  I  will  go  home  again." 

Miss  Clinton  turned  and  stared  at 
the  speaker,  noticing  her  for  the  first 
time. 

"  I  have  business  with  you,"  she 
said  in  a  sharp  voice,  after  having 
looked  the  widow  over  deliberately- 
"  Come  here !  Bird,  bring  a  chair, 
and  then  go  out  of  the  room." 

Bird  obeyed. 

"  I  want  to  know  about  that  Yorke 
girl,"  the  old  lady  began,  when  they 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


609 


were  alone.  "  If  you  wish  to  be- 
friend her,  you  had  better  tell  me  all 
you  know.  As  for  Amy  Arnold,  she 
deserves  to  be  poor.  I  will  not  give 
her  a  dollar.  She  was  always  a  sen- 
timental simpleton,  with  her  fine 
ideas.  Not  but  fine  ideas  are  good 
in  their  place :  I  always  had  them, 
but  I  had  common  sense  too.  I 
kept  my  sentiments,  as  I  keep  my 
rings  and  brooches,  for  ornament; 
that  is  the  way  sensible  people  do ; 
but  she  must  pave  the  common  way 
with  hers.  Fancy  a  girl  with  abso- 
lute beauty,  and  money  in  expecta- 
tion, if  she  behaved  herself,  marrying 
a  poor  artist  because,  forsooth,  they 
had  congenial  souls  !  Congenial  fid- 
dlesticks !  If  I  had  had  the  power, 
I  would  have  shut  her  up  till  she 
came  to  her  senses.  I  am  thankful 
to  be  able  to  say  that  I  did  box  her 
ears  soundly.  Fortunately,  the  fel- 
low died  in  a  year,  and  Mr.  Charles 
Yorke  took  pity  on  her.  Charles 
Yorke  is  a  respectable  man,  but  I 
am  not  fond  of  him.  I  was  fond  of 
Robert  till  he  treated  Alice  Mills  so. 
Though,  indeed,  it  was  an  escape  for 
Alice ;  for  he  would  have  broken  her 
heart.  Robert  didn't  know  enough 
to  love  a  plain  woman. 

"  The  little  Pole  knew  how  to 
make  him  behave  himself.  I  rather 
liked  that  girl,  and  I  would  have 
done  something  for  them  if  Alice 
had  not  been  my  friend.  What  is 
the  child  like  ?  Tell  me  all  about 
her." 

The  door  opened.  "  I  won't  see 
anybody!"  Miss  Clinton  screamed, 
waving  the  servant  away.  Then,  as 
he  was  going,  she  called  him  back. 
"  Who  is  it  ?  Alice  Mills  ?  The  very 
one  I  want !  Show  her  in  !" 

Mrs.  Rowan  looked  with  eager  in- 
terest at  this  visitor,  and  saw  a  lady 
of  medium  size,  graceful  figure,  and 
plain  face.  Was  she  plain,  though  ? 
That  was  the  first  impression;  but 
VOL.  xin. — 39 


when  she  had  taken  Miss  Clinton's 
hand,  and  kissed  her  cheek  tenderly, 
putting  her  other  hand  on  the  other 
cheek,  in  a  pretty,  caressing  way, 
and  had  asked  sweetly  of  the  old 
lady's  health,  Mrs.  Rowan  found  her 
beautiful.  So  still  and  gentle,  and 
yet  so  bright,  was  she,  all  harmony 
seemed  to  have  entered  the  room 
with  her.  Even  Miss  Clinton's  harsh 
face  softened  as  she  looked  up  at 
her  with  a  gaze  of  fondness  that  had 
something  imploring  in  it,  and  clung 
to  her  hand  a  moment. 

"You  have  come  in  good  time, 
my  dear,"  she  said  then,  in  a  voice 
far  gentler  than  she  had  spoken  with 
before.  "  This  is  the  person  who 
had  charge  of  Robert  Yorke's  daugh- 
ter." 

The  lady  had  seated  herself  close 
to  Miss  Clinton's  side,  with  a  hand 
still  resting  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 
At  this  announcement  she  turned 
rather  quickly,  but  with  instinctive 
courtesy,  and  looked  searchingly  at 
Mrs.  Rowan.  Then  she  went  to 
take  her  hand.  "  I  had  a  letter  from 
Edith  to-day,"  she  said,  "and  she 
mentioned  you  very  affectionately. 
I  thought  when  I  read  it  that  I  would 
go  to  see  you." 

"  Ahem !"  coughed  Miss  Clinton 
harshly.  "  Come  here,  Alice !  I 
have  sent  for  Mrs.  What's-her-name 
to  tell  us  all  about  the  child,  so  you 
are  saved  the  trouble  of  going  to 
her." 

Mrs.  Rowan's  impulse  had  been 
to  kiss  the  gentle  hand  that  touched 
hers,  but  this  interruption  checked 
her.  Miss  Mills  went  back  to  her 
seat,  and  the  catechism  began.  It 
was  not  a  pleasant  one.  More  than 
once  the  widow  thought  that  "  one 
of  the  first  ladies  in  Boston  "  was  a 
very  rude  and  impudent  old  woman; 
but  for  the  sake  of  that  sweet  face, 
which  seemed  to  entreat  her  forbear- 
ance, she  answered  civilly. 


6io 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


The  questioning  ended.  "  Now 
you  may  go,"  said  Miss  Clinton,  and, 
turning  her  back  on  Mrs.  Rowan,  be- 
gan to  talk  to  her  friend. 

"  O  my  friend !  how  can  you  ?" 
exclaimed  Miss  Mills  reproachfully. 
"  You  are  so  kind,  Mrs.  Rowan," 
rising  to  take  leave  of  her.  "  I  am 
glad  to  have  seen  you." 

Mrs.  Rowan's  face  was  crimson. 
What  would  Dick  say  to  see  his  mo- 
ther so  treated  ?  and  what  would  Mr. 
Williams  say  ? 

"  Why,  Alice,  she  is  that  John 
Williams's  housekeeper,"  the  old  wo- 
man said,  when  Mrs.  Rowan  had 
gone. 

"  And  what  are  you  ?"  was  the 
question  which  rose  almost  to  the 
younger  lady's  indignant  lips.  But 
she  suppressed  it,  and  only  showed 
her  disapproval  by  sitting  silent  a 
moment. 

"  Did  you  expect  me  to  get  up 
and  make  a  court  courtesy  ?"  pursu- 
ed Miss  Clinton.  "  Why,  I  wouldn't 
do  that  for  you,  my  dear.  And  why 
should  I  not  tell  her  to  go  ?  I  had 
no  more  to  say  to  her,  and  I  dare 
say  she  was  glad  to  get  away.  If 
people  fell  in  love  with  me  as  they 
do  with  you,  you  soft  creature  f  then 
I  might  be  sweeter  with  them ;  but 
they  hate  rne,  and  so  I  can  afford  to 
be  sincere.  It  saves  trouble,  be- 
sides." 

"  If  every  one  -practised  that  sort 
of  sincerity,  we  should  soon  lapse 
into  barbarism,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"If  you  only  came  here  to  lecture 
and  scold  me,  you  had  better  have 
staid  away,"  the  old  woman  cried, 
beginning  to  tremble. 

The  other  said  nothing,  only  sat 
and  looked  steadily  at  her.  With 
Alice  Mills,  charity  was  a  virtue,  not 
a  weakness.  She  beheld  with  pain 
and  terror  this  woman,  whose  whole 
life  had  been  one  of  utter  selfishness, 
who  was  going  down  to  the  grave 


with  no  love  in  her  heart  for  God 
nor  her  neighbor.  She  knew  that 
she  was  the  only  one  who  dared  to 
speak  the  truth  to  Miss  Clinton,  and 
therefore  she  dared  not  be  silent. 
She  knew  that  she  was  the  only  one 
in  whom  the  lonely  old  sinner  be- 
lieved, or  whom  she  could  be  influ- 
enced by;  and  it  was  one  of  the 
prayerful  studies  of  her  life  how  best 
to  use  that  power.  To  yield  to  pity, 
and  refrain  from  reproof,  would  be 
to  encourage  faults  which  had  be- 
come habitual;  so,  instead  of  coax- 
ing and  soothing,  she  only  waited 
for  submission,  not  to  herself,  but  to 
right  and  justice.  The  time  for  Miss 
Clinton's  conversion  was  so  short, 
and  the  progress  had  been  so  slow, 
this  friend  was  almost  tempted  to 
despair.  "  Final  impenitence  "  seem- 
ed to  be  written  in  those  hard  old 
eyes,  on  that  bitter  old  mouth. 

Miss  Clinton  scolded,  then  com- 
plained, then  bemoaned  herself,  final- 
ly submitted.  "  You  know,  Alice, 
I  have  got  so  in  the  habit  of  order- 
ing people  about,  and  most  people 
are  so  slavish,  I  do  not  think,"  she 
said,  wiping  her  eyes. 

That  was  all  her  friend  asked — a 
sense  of  having  done  wrong.  Then 
came  the  time  for  soothing,  and  for 
bright  and  cheerful  talk. 

After  such  a  regimen,  it  might 
reasonably  be  supposed  that  Miss 
Clinton  would  treat  her  next  visitor 
with  decent  civility;  and  the  imme- 
diate happy  result  of  the  lesson  was 
that  for  that  day  Bird  escaped  fur- 
ther abuse. 

When,  a  fortnight  later,  Miss  Mills 
told  the  old  lady  that  Mr.  Williams 
and  Mrs.  Rowan  were  married,  Miss 
Clinton  was  astounded.  "  That  ac- 
counts for  her  turning  so  red  when  I 
told  her  to  go,"  she  said.  "  Well, 
well,  I  must  be  polite  to  Bird.  For 
anything  I  know,  she  may  be  en- 
gaged to  John  C.  Calhoun." 


TJie  House  of  Yorke. 


611 


Mr.  Calhoun  was  one  of  the  old 
lady's  idols. 

"  Married  his  housekeeper  !  "  she 
pursued  dreamily.  "  What  a  pot- 
pourri society  is  becoming !  Though 
now  I  think  of  it,  John  Williams 
came  from  nothing," 

"  We  all  came  from  nothing,  dear," 
said  the  other  softly,  "  and  soon  we 
shall  return  to  nothing." 

Yes,  Mrs.  Rowan  was  married, 
and  quite  at  home  in  her  new  char- 
acter. Mrs.  Bond  had  been  met  in 
open  field,  challenged,  engaged,  and 
routed.  At  present  she  was  at  home 
nursing  her  wounds;  but  we  may 
confidently  expect  that  in  time  she 
will  hand  in  her  submission  to  the 
powers  that  be.  They  were  quite 
willing  to  wait:  their  impatience 
was  not  devouring.  Their  minds 
were  pleasantly  occupied  about  this 
time  by  several  things.  Dick's  re- 
turn was  the  principal  joyful  event. 
Besides  that,  Major  Cleaveland  was 
visiting  them.  He  had  come  up  to 
superintend  the  refurnishing  of  his 
town-house  for  the  reception  of  a 
bride.  His  marriage  was  to  take 
place  in  a  week  or  two  at  Seaton, 
and  his  partner,  with  his  new  wife 
and  step-son,  were  invited  to  go 
down  and  be  present  at  the  cere- 
mony. Mrs.  Rowan-Williams  had 
hesitated  very  much  about  accepting 
the  invitation,  but  it  was  urged  by 
the  bridegroom-elect;  Mr.  Williams 
was  disposed  to  go,  Dick  looked  his 
desire  to  go,  Edith  had  written  a 
coaxing  letter,  and  even  Hester 
Yorke  had  sent  a  very  pretty  note, 
hoping  that  they  would  come.  So 
it  was  decided  that  they  should  go. 

Why  should  Hester  Yorke's  invi- 
tation be  of  special  consequence, 
does  any  one  ask  ?  Having  been 
put  off  as  long  as  was  possible,  the 
truth  must  be  told  at  last,  though 
with  great  dissatisfaction.  Miss  Hes- 
ter Yorke  is  to  be  the  bride.  Instead 


of  fixing  his  affections  on  Melicent, 
who  was  twenty  years  his  junior,  or 
Clara,  who  was  twenty  two,  nothing 
would  satisfy  this  man  but  Hester, 
the  youngest,  and  Hester  he  ^Yon. 

But  it  was  a  good  while  before  he 
won  the  father  and  mother.  Mr. 
Yorke  consented  first,  rather  ungra- 
ciously, but  Mrs.  Yorke  did  not 
yield  till  the  last  minute,  and  then 
only  to  her  husband's  solicitations. 

"  If  Hester  is  satisfied  to  marry  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  her  father," 
he  said,  "  we  may  as  well  consent. 
The  age  is  the  only  objection." 

"  Hester  is  satisfied  now,"  the 
mother  said  anxiously ;  "  but  she  is 
only  a  child.  We  dp  not  know  how 
it  will  be  ten  years  hence,  when  her 
character  will  be  more  developed. 
She  will  then  be  twenty-eight,  and 
he  fifty.  "  Oh  !  I  have  no  patience 
with  these  ridiculous  widowers ! " 
And  the  lady  wrung  her  hands. 

"  You  misjudge  Hester,  my  dear," 
the  husband  said.  "  She  has  devel- 
oped all  she  ever  will.  She  is  no 
pomegranate  in  the  bud,  but  a  cherry 
fully  ripened.  Have  you  never  ob- 
served that  whatever  is  hers  is  al- 
ways perfect  in  her  eyes?  She  is 
ready  now  to  maintain  to  the  world 
that  this  is  the  most  beautiful  house 
that  ever  was  built;  that  rat-holes 
are  an  advantage  ;  that  our  furniture 
is  the  more  desirable  for  being  worn; 
that  our  roses  are  finer  than  any 
others,  our  vines  more  graceful,  our 
birds  more  musical.  Why,  my  dear, 
she  thinks  that  I  am  a  beauty ! " 

A  soft  little  laugh  rippled  over 
Mrs.  Yorke's  lips.  "  So  do  I !"  she 
said. 

"  That  is  because  you  look  at  me 
with  such  beautiful  eyes,"  replied  the 
gentleman  gallantly.  It  was  not  of- 
ten that  his  personal  appearance  was 
complimented.  "  But,  to  return  : 
Hester  will  be  the  same  to  her  hus- 
band. Once  married  to  him,  she 


6l2 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


will  be  absolutely  convinced  that 
there  is  not  to  be  found  his  equal.  I 
have  no  fear  but  that,  ten  years  hence, 
if  Major  Cleaveland  should  be  placed 
by  the  side  of  the  most  magnificent 
man  on  earth,  Hester  would  main- 
tain boldly  that  her  husband  was  the 
superior.  No;  I  anticipate  no  trou- 
ble for  a  long  while.  The  only  dis- 
agreeable view  I  take  is,  that  when 
Hester  is  fifty,  the  golden  middle  age 
for  a  healthy  woman,  she  will  be 
nursing  a  childish  old  man  of  seven- 
ty-four, instead  of  having  an  equal 
friend  and  companion." 

"  Dear  me  !"  exclaimed  the  wife, 
"  I  cannot  possibly  weep  over  what 
may  happen  ,thirty-two  years 
hence." 

And  so  the  matter  was  settled ;  and 
now  the  Major  was  doing  his  utmost 
in  honor  of  the  event  The  house 
in  Seaton  had  been  already  put  in  per- 
fect order,  and  the  house  in  town  was 
now,  as  we  see,  being  adorned.  They 
were  to  come  there  immediately,  af- 
ter a  quiet  wedding  at  Hester's 
home. 

When  Major  Cleaveland  returned 
to  Seaton,  a  week  after  the  wedding, 
he  carried  two  offerings  from  Mrs. 
Rowan,  one  for  the  bride-elect,  the 
other  for  Edith.  Hester's  present 
was  quite  simple,  a  package  of  pho- 
tographic views  taken  in  the  city  of 
Peking,  and,  seen  through  a  stereo- 
scope, almost  as  good  as  a  visit  to 
that  city.  But  Dick's  offering  to 
Edith  was  an  extravagant  one:  it 
was  a  Maltese  cross  set  with  eme- 
ralds. 

This  gift  created  a  warm  discussion 
in  the  Yorke  family,  who  were  almost 
unanimous  against  Edith's  accepting 
it.  Carl  was  especially  indignant. 
"  Edith  is  almost  a  young  lady,"  he 
said;  "and  the  fellow  is  presuming 
in  sending  her  such  a  present.  If 
he  does  not  know  better,  he  should 
be  taught."  Even  Mrs.  Yorke  was 


disposed  to  be  strict.  But  when 
they  had  all  spoken,  it  was  found 
that  Edith  had  a  voice. 

They  were  in  the  sitting-room  with 
Major  Cleaveland,  who  had  just  ar- 
rived, and  Mrs.  Yorke  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  group.  She  had  open- 
ed the  box,  and  held  the  cross  up 
glittering  against  her  white  hand. 
Edith  had  not  touched  it.  She  stood 
beside  her  aunt's  chair,  and  listened 
while  the  discussion  went  on.  Her 
eyes  were  cast  down,  and  she  seem- 
ed perfectly  quiet ;  but,  while  she  lis- 
tened, into  her  usually  pale  cheeks  a 
color  grew,  deepening  from  pink  to 
a  glowing  crimson. 

"  I  shall  not  refuse  Dick's  present," 
she  said  decidedly,  when  they  came 
to  a  pause;  and  as  she  spoke  up 
went  her  eyelids.  Finding  that  Dick 
had  no  other  friend  but  her,  that  he 
had  enemies,  perhaps,  that  his  feel- 
ings were  not  to  be  counted,  instant- 
ly she  came  to  the  rescue.  As  her 
glance  flashed  swiftly  around  the  cir- 
cle, it  was  as  though  a  blade  haiT 
been  swung  before  their  eyes. 

"  But,  my  dearest  Edith,"  began 
Melicent,  and  then  went  over  the 
whole  argument  again  in  her  mosl 
suave  and  convincing  manner. 

"  I  know  it  all,"  Edith  replied 
firmly.  "  I  know  what  people  con- 
sider proper  about  presents ;  but  this 
is  not  a  common  case.  I  would  not 
take  that  cross  from  Carl,  nor  from 
any  other  gentleman.  But  Dick  is 
like  no  one  else  to  me,  and  he  shall 
not  be  hurt  nor  offended.  He  took 
pains  to  get  the  present,  and  thought 
a  good  deal  about  it,  and  brought  it 
over  the  ocean  for  me,  and  was  in 
hopes  that  I  would  be  pleased;  and 
I  will  not  disappoint  him." 

Mrs.  Yorke  took  the  girl's  hand 
affectionately,  the  disputed  jewel 
dropping  in  her  lap.  "  I  would  not 
hurt  his  feelings  for  the  world,  my 
love,"  she  said.  "  Leave  it  all  to  me. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


613 


I  will  explain  to  him  so  that  he 
cannot  be  offended." 

"  Aunt  Amy,  no  one  in  the  world 
can  explain  between  Dick  Rowan 
and  me,"  said  Edith,  withdrawing 
her  hand.  "You  have  been  good 
to  me,  all  of  you,  and  I  love  you,  and 
will  obey  you  when  it  is  right.  But 
this  isn't  right :  it  is  only  what  peo- 
ple who  know  nothing  about  it  think 
proper.  Dick  was  good  to  me  first 
of  all.  Mamma  used  to  have  him 
take  care  of  me  when  I  was  a  tiny 
little  girl ;  and,  after  mamma  died,  he 
did  everything  for  me.  If  I  wanted 
anything,  he  got  it  for  me  if  he 
could;  and  if  I  broke  his  playthings 
and  tore  his  books,  he  never  scold- 
ed me.  I  remember  once  I  hit  him 
with  a  stick,  and  almost  put  his  eye 
out ;  and  when  I  cried,  he  kissed  me 
and  said,  '  I  know  you  didn't  mean 
to,  dear,'  before  his  eye  had  stopped 
aching.  That  was  the  way  he  al- 
ways did.  And  afterward,  when  the 
children  laughed  at  me,  because  I 
was  poor  and  queer,  and  they  threw 
mud  and  stones  at  me  here  in  the 
streets  of  Seaton,  Dick  fought  them, 
he  alone  against  the  whole.  And  I 
<iever  cried  but  he  comforted  me. 
[  could  not  tell  all  that  he  did  for 
me,  though  I  should  talk  a  week. 
1  won't  turn  him  off  now.  If  he 
wanted  to  die  for  me,  I'd  let  him ;  for 
it  would  be  more  than  cruel  to  refuse. 
So,  Aunt  Amy,  please  to  give  me  the 
cross.  I  am  going  to  wear  it  always." 

They  were  all  silent  at  this  first 
outbreak  of  her  who  had  often  won 
from  Carl  the  greeting  of  Coriolanus 
to  his  wife,  "My  gracious  silence, 
hail !"  No  one  had  the  heart  to  re- 
fuse any  longer,  whatever  might  be 
the  consequences  of  yielding. 

Edith  took  the  chain,  and  hung  it 
about  her  neck,  looking  down  on  the 
cross  a  moment  as  it  rested  on  her 
bosom.  "  Green  means  hope,"  she 
said. 


Carl  left  the  room.  No  one  else 
said  anything.  Her  address  had  struck 
too  near  home.  They  might  forget 
the  time  when  she  had  been  poor  and 
homeless,  but  she  was  not  obliged 
to;  and  they  could  not  in  con- 
science quite  disentangle  her  from  her 
past. 

"  Dearest  Aunt  Amy,  do  smile 
again  !"  Edith  entreated,  putting  her 
arms  around  Mrs.  Yorke's  neck. 
"  You  are  not  displeased  with  me  ! 
Don't  you  remember  you  told  Dick 
that  ingratitude  is  the  vice  of  slaves  ?" 

"  Dear  child,  you  do  as  you  will 
with  me,"  her  aunt  sighed;  and  so 
the  dispute  ended. 

One  day  of  the  next  week,  as  the 
steamer  came  ploughing  up  the  Nar- 
rows into  Seaton  Bay,  Mrs.  Williams 
and  her  son  sat  in  a  corner  of  the 
deck  by  themselves.  Mr.  Williams, 
slightly  seasick,  was  below.  There 
were  not  many  passengers  that  day, 
and  no  one  seemed  to  have  recog- 
nized these  two.  They  sat  leaning 
on  the  rail  and  looking  off  over  the 
water.  It  could  scarcely  be  expect- 
ed that  they  would  not  feel  some 
emotion  on  such  a  return  to  their 
native  town  after  such  a  departure, 
and  Dick  held  his  mother's  trembling 
hand  tight  in  his,  which,  indeed,  was 
scarcely  steady. 

A  low,  sandy  island  lay  before  them, 
and  seemed  to  toss  on  the  surface  of 
the  bay.  "  I  wish  I  could  go  over 
there  before  we  go  home  again,"  the 
mother  whispered,  looking  up  wist- 
fully into  her  son's  face. 

"  No  !"  he  answered.  "  We  shall  be 
commented  on  and  watched  suffi- 
ciently as  it  is.  Let  the  dead  past 
bury  its  dead.  It  is  a  shame  and 
disgrace.  I  cannot  have  it  dragged 
up  again." 

He  spoke  firmly,  and  his  mother 
was  silenced.  She  feared  her  son  in 
his  rare  moods  of  sternness.  They 
awed  her  far  more  than  his  earlier 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


passions  had.  Those  she  had  under- 
stood, and  could  soothe;  but  now  he 
was  growing  out  of  her  knowledge. 
Besides,  she  did  not  dream  what  an 
ordeal  his  meeting  with  Edith's  fami- 
ly was  to  be  to  him.  To  her  sim- 
plicity, Hester's  invitation  and  Edith's 
allowed  intercourse  with  them  seem- 
ed an  entire  adoption ;  but  he  knew 
better.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  time 
above  all  when  he  least  desired  to  be 
remembered  of  his  father. 

As  they  neared  the  wharf,  they 
saw  Major  Cleaveland  standing 
there,  with  a  tall,  slim  girl  beside 
him.  She  wore  a  black  riding-cap 
and  feather,  and  a  glimpse  of  scar- 
let petticoat  showed  as  she  gathered 
up  her  riding-skirt.  The  disengaged 
hand  was  flung  out  with  a  quick 
welcoming  gesture  as  she  saw 
them,  and  a  flush  went  over  her 
face. 

Mr.  Rowan  drew  back  to  let  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Williams  land  first,  and 
waited  till  his  mother  had  received 
the  first  greeting.  Then  he  took 
Edith's  hand,  and  looked  down  at  .her 
as  she  looked  up  at  him.  Her  eyes 
sparkled,  and  she  breathed  quickly 
with  joy.  There  was  not,  he  saw,  a 
cloud  over  the  delight  with  which 
she  met  him. 

"  Dick,"  she  said  ecstatically,  after 
a  minute,  "  I  think  that  you  are  per- 
fectly splendid !" 

In  the  old  times  they  had  used  each 
other's  eyes  for  mirrors :  why  not 
now  ? 

"  You  do !"  said  the  young  man, 
tossing  his  head  with  a  slight  laugh. 
"  Thank  you !" 

"  But  you  have  grown,"  she  pur- 
sued, contemplating  him  with  great 
admiration.  "And  have  not  I 
grown  tall  ?" 

She  stood  back  blushingly  to  be  in- 
spected. 

"You're  a  pretty  fair  height," 
Dick  said  with  an  air  of  moderation. 


"  Come,  they're  waiting  for  us.  Is 
this  your  pony  ?" 

He  lifted  her  to  the  saddle,  then 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  she 
rode  alongside.  He  looked  at  her, 
and  every  nerve  in  him  vibrated  with 
triumph.  She  wore  his  cross  on  her 
bosom  !  They  had  not  thought  how 
much  he  had  dared  to  mean  by  that. 
"  If  they  let  her  take  the  cross,  they 
will  let  her  take  me,"  he  had  said. 
If  the  gift  had  been  refused,  he  would 
never  have  seen  Edith  again. 

"  It  is  most  beautiful,"  she  said, 
catching  his  glance.  "  I  got  Father 
Rasle  to  bless  it,  and  I  wear  it  all 
the  time." 

Presently  Edith  began  to  take  no- 
tice of  Mrs.  Williams;  and  as  she 
looked,  her  wonder  grew.  Mrs. 
Rowan  had  possessed  only  a  wisp 
of  faded  hair :  Mrs.  Williams  had  a 
profuse  and  shining  chevelure.  Mrs. 
Rowan's  teeth  had  been  few  and  far 
between :  Mrs.  Williams's  smile  dis- 
closed two  unbroken  and  immacu- 
late rows  of  ivory.  But  for  the  lin- 
gering lines  in  the  forehead,  and  the 
kind  eyes,  and  the  simple  ways,  Edith 
would  scarcely  have  recognized  her 
old  friend. 

It  was  time  for  an  early  dinner 
when  they  reached  the  house,  and 
Edith  was  to  stay  all  day,  and  be 
hostess.  It  had  been  agreed  that, 
under  the  circumstances,  no  hospita- 
ble cares  could  be  expected  from 
their  host.  His  visitors  were  to  use 
his  house  as  a  hotel,  and  do  quite  as 
they  pleased  in  it.  But  in  the  after- 
noon, Major  Cleaveland  insisted  that 
Mr.  Rowan  should  go  with  him  and 
call  upon  Hester,  who  wished  to 
thank  him  without  delay  for  the 
pretty  present  he  had  sent  her.  Dick 
would  much  have  preferred  remain- 
ing where  he  was;  but  he  went,  and 
was  received  with  the  utmost  cor- 
diality by  all  but  Carl,  who  was  not 
visible. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


615 


But  Carl  came  up  in  the  evening 
to  escort  Edith  home,  and  had  then 
"  the  honor  of  making  Mr.  Rowan's 
acquaintance  "  in  a  remarkably  cool 
and  ceremonious  fashion. 

"  Mother  thought  you  had  better 
come  home  early,  Edith,  because  we 
must  all  be  up  early  in  the  morn- 
ing," he  said,  after  a  little  very  polite 
and  very  constrained  talk.  "  Be- 
sides," he  added,  with  a  slight  smile, 
"  I  believe  Patrick  does  not  allow  his 
horse  to  be  out  after  nine  o'clock. 
He  lent  him  to  me  very  grudg- 
ingly." 

The  night  was  one  of  perfect  si- 
lence as  the  two  rode  homeward 
under  the  stars,  and  they  were  not 
talkative.  Scarcely  a  word  was 
spoken  till  they  had  crossed  the 
bridge,  and  were  riding  up  North 
Street.  Then  Edith  spoke  in  a  low 
voice  : 

"  Are  you  tired,  Carl  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.     Are  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

Then  there  was  silence  for  a  while, 
till  Edith  began  again  : 

"  Carl,  do  not  you  think  that  Mrs. 
Williams  is  pleasant  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  observe,"  he  replied 
coolly.  "  I  scarcely  heard  her  speak. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  she  is  pleasant 
to  you." 

"Oh!  you  talked  with  Mr.  Wil- 
liams," she  said.  "  Did  you  like 
him  ?  " 

"  Not  particularly." 

Another  silence.  They  had  turn- 
ed from  the  public  road,  and  were 
being  enclosed  in  the  forest. 

"  How  did  you  like  Dick  Rowan, 
Carl  ?"  The  question  came  with  a 
faint  sense  of  strain  in  the  voice,  and 
it  was  not  answered  immediately. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  expect  me 
to  be  as  fond  of  him  as  you  are,"  he 
said  presently.  "  He  may  be  like  a 
brother  to  you,  but  to  me  he  is  a 
stranger." 


"  But  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?" 
she  persisted. 

"  He  is  very  handsome,"  Carl  said 
in  a  quiet  tone,  "  and  he  looks  like 
an  honest  fellow.  I  have  no  fault  to 
find  with  him." 

They  turned  up  the  avenue,  alight- 
ed, and  went  up  the  steps  together. 

"  Carl,"  said  Edith  wistfully,  "  are 
you  troubled  about  anything  ?" 

"  What  should  trouble  me,  child  ?" 
he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  kindness 
in  his  voice. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  sighed. 
"  Then  are  you  vexed  with  me  about 
anything  ?" 

"  No,  Edith,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
no  reason  to  be  vexed  with  any  one 
but  myself.  Good-night,  dear !" 

She  echoed  the  good-night,  and 
went  up-stairs,  not  nearly  so  happy 
as  she  had  expected  to  be  that  night. 

The  next  morning  the  marriage 
took  place.  For  Hester's  sake  we 
will  say  that  the  bride  was  lovely, 
and  the  wedding  a  pretty  one.  But 
we  will  not  further  celebrate  Major 
Cleaveland's  anachronistic  nuptials. 

The  Williamses  were  to  leave  town 
in  the  evening.  They  dined  at  the 
Yorkes',  and  went  away  immediately 
after  dinner.  Edith  was  to  walk 
down  to  the  hotel  with  him,  and  stay 
there  till  the  stage-coach  should  come 
for  him. 

"  And  we  will  walk  the  very  long- 
est way,  Dick,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
hardly  had  a  chance  to  speak  to  you 
yet.  We  have  plenty  of  time,  for 
they  have  to  go  up  after  their  va- 
lises." 

While  Edith  ran  up-stairs  for  her 
hat,  Mr.  Rowan  took  leave  of  the 
others,  and  Mrs.  Yorke  walked  out 
into  the  portico  with  him.  The  lady 
seemed  to  find  difficulty  in  uttering 
something  which  she  wished  to  say. 
But  when  she  heard  her  niece  com- 
ing, she  spoke  hastily.  "  Mr.  Row- 
an, Edith  is  but  a  child !" 


6i6 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


His  face  blushed  up.  "  I  do  not 
forget  that,  Mrs.  Yorke,"  he  said; 
tj  but  also,  I  do  not  forget  that  she  is 
a  child  I  have  many  a  time  carried 
in  my  arms." 

"  A  very  headstrong  young  man !" 
thought  Mrs.  Yorke,  as  she  watched 
the  two  go  down  the  steps  together. 

They  went  up  the  road,  to  strike 
into  East  Street,  instead  of  down ; 
and  as  the  road,  after  passing  the 
house,  ceased  almost  entirely,  they 
soon  found  themselves  in  a  narrow 
forest  track.  Over  their  heads  hung 
the  splendid  crimson  and  gold  cano- 
py of  maples  and  beeches  mingled, 
and  vines  ran  through  every  glowing 
tone  from  garnet-black  up  to  rose- 
color,  or  hung  in  deep  purple  masses. 
The  mountain-ash  bent  to  offer  its 
clusters  of  red  berries,  and  there  was 
no  tiniest  shrub  nor  leaf  but  had  its 
gala  autumn  dress.  A  blue  mist 
showed  faintly  through  the  long  for- 
est reaches,  and  rich  earth-odors  rose 
on  the  moist  air. 


The  immense  conversation  which 
was  to  have  been  held  seemed  to 
be  forgotten ;  scarcely  a  word  was 
said  till  they  came  out  into  the  east- 
ern road.  Then  Edith  pointed  across 
the  way,  and  said,  "  Is  it  not  lovely  ?" 
and  they  stopped  a  moment  to 
look. 

There  was  a  tract  of  low  swampy 
land  there  silvered  over  with  mist, 
that  seemed  scarcely  to  rise  a  foot 
above  it.  Through  this  mist  showed 
a  fane  emerald-green  thick  with  pink 
and  purple  blooms,  and  over  it  swam 
a  yellow-bird,  in  smooth  undulations, 
as  if  it  floated  on  a  tide. 

The  two  stood  there  for  some  time 
in  silence,  till  that  picture  was  per- 
fectly painted  on  the  memory  of  each. 
Then  they  walked  on  into  the  vil- 
lage. In  a  few  minutes  after  they 
reached  the  hotel,  the  coach  came 
down  from  Major  Cleaveland's  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams  in  it,  the  fare- 
wells were  said,  and  they  were 
gone. 


CHAPTER  x. 


A    DESPAIRING    CHAPTER. 


AFTER  all,  no  person's  story  can 
be  truly  told  without  beginning  at 
the  creation  of  the  world.  Not  that 
we  would  invoke  Darwinian  aid,  or 
inquire  into  the  family  peculiarities 
of  the  sponge — "  O  philoprogenitive 
sponge !"  Nor  would  we  intimate 
that  the  soul  is  as  passive  to  circum- 
stances as  a  rudderless  ship  to  wind 
and  wave,  but  assert  rather  that  it  is 
like  the  steamer,  the  great  struggling 
creature,  with  a  will  at  heart.  But 
circumstances  are  strong,  even  very 
old  circumstances,  and  our  ancestors 
have  a  word  to  say,  not  as  to  our 
final  destination,  but  as  to  the  road 
t>y  which  we  shall  reach  it.  Coarser 
natures  get  their  bent  after  the  man- 


ner commemorated  by  the  Moham- 
medan legend  :  some  Eblis  of  an  an- 
cestor spurned  their  clay  with  his 
foot  when  the  angels  had  kneaded 
it,  and  the  dent  is  long  in  filling  out; 
but  finer  souls  are  strung  like  the 
wind-harp,  and  from  the  long  line- 
gale  of  ghosts  preceding  them  is 
stretched  now  and  then  a  viewless 
finger,  which  sets  vibrating  some  si- 
lent inherited  chord.  Is  it  a  vanish- 
ing and  perpetually  recurring  strain 
of  a  Gregorian  chant,  breaking  aw- 
fully into  the  pauses  of  a  godless 
life  ?  Is  it  an  airily  riotous  Bacchic 
wreathing  the  slow  minims  of  a  cho- 
ral ?  Catch  up  the  strain  and  re- 
peat it  as  you  will,  all  your  life  shall 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


be  a  palimpsest  with  Te  Deum  lauda- 
mus  written  largely  over  the  fading 
errors;  still  the  merit  of  good-will 
is  not  all  your  own.  Or  trip  as  your 
dutiful  measure  may,  tangled  in  that 
wild  song ;  the  fault  is  not  all  yours. 
Many  a  Cassius  may  claim  indulgence 
on  the  score  of  some  rash  inherited 
humor. 

Does  the  reader  perceive  that  we 
are  trying  to  excuse  somebody  ? 

The  truth  is,  Carl  has  disappoint- 
ed us.  We  meant  him  to  be  an  ex- 
quisite and  heroic  creation,  perfect 
in  every  way;  and  we  had  a  right  to 
expect  that  our  intentions  would  be 
realized ;  did  not  we  make  him  our- 
self?  But  just  as  the  clay  model 
was  finished,  and  we  were  compla- 
cently admiring  it,  into  our  atelier 
stepped  the  grand  antique  mother, 
Nature.  She  came  with  a  sound  of 
scornful  sweet  laughter,  which  seem- 
ed to  roll  cloud-wise  under  her  feet, 
and  curl  up  around  the  strong  and 
supple  form,  and  wreathe  the  wide 
slope  of  her  shoulders.  "  Look  you," 
she  said,  and  pointed  her  finger,  a 
little  shaken  with  merriment,  "  that 
is  not  the  way  /  make  men.  There 
are  no  muscles  in  those  limbs,  there 
is  no  sight  under  that  brow,  there  is 
no  live  heart  beating  in  that  narrow 
chest.  You  have  left  no  chance  for 
a  soul  to  get  into  your  manikin."  So 
saying,  she  stretched  her  finger  yet 
further,  and  mockingly  pushed  it 
through  the  skull  of  our  model ;  then 
disappeared,  leaving  all  the  air  be- 
hind her  tremulous  with  mirth. 

Let  us  hurry  over  the  present  of 
this  Carl  with  a  hole  in  his  head,  out 
of  which  all  his  ideal  perfections  are 
escaping,  but  into  which  his  true  soul 
may  some  day  enter.  Outwardly  he 
is  studying  law,  inwardly  he  is  study- 
ing chaos.  What  books  Mr.  Grif- 
feth  gave  him  to  read,  we  know  not ; 
but  we  do  know  that  the  sentences 
were  like  smooth,  strong  fingers  un- 


tying from  him  many  of  the  restraints 
of  his  former  education.  With  Theo- 
dore Parker,  he  could  call  the  sacred 
Scriptures  the  "  Hebrew  mythology," 
and  describe  baptism  as  "  being  ec- 
clesiastically sprinkled  with  water;" 
and  having  got  so  far — "  What,"  said 
he,  "  is  the  use  of  Mr.  Theodore  Par- 
ker ?"  and  so  dropped  him.  The 
conversations  Mr.  Griffeth  held  with 
him  we  know  little  of,  but  may  pre- 
sume that  they  were  not  profitable. 
We  only  know  that  they  were  fre- 
quent. The  two  were  constantly  to- 
gether, more  constantly  than  suited 
Mr.  Yorke,  who  lost  faith  in  the  mi- 
nister. "  He  has  no  pity,"  he  said. 
"  He  seems  to  have  studied  theology 
only  to  see  how  many  sins  he  can 
commit  without  losing  his  soul."  But 
this  disapprobation  of  his  step-father's 
had  no  effect  on  the  young  man, 
who  was  perfectly  infatuated  with  his 
new  friend.  This  quiet  life  of  Carl's 
had  produced  a  mental  stagnation, 
from  which  arose  all  sorts  of  mias- 
mata. He  dimly  knew  them  as  such, 
but  that  did  not  prevent  his  breath- 
ing and  poisoning  himself  with  them. 
Perhaps  he  also  suspected  that  Mr. 
Griffeth's  wings  would  melt  off  if  he 
were  exposed  to  a  strong  and  search- 
ing light;  but  the  companionship 
was  fascinating,  and  Carl  fancied  that 
he  had  found  his  like.  It  was  not 
so ;  they  were  alike  only  as  sharp 
six  and  flat  seven  are;  they  had 
identical  moods ;  but  Carl  stooped 
to  where  his  new  friend  rose. 

One  of  the  fine  things  the  young 
man  learned  was  the  use  of  opium. 
"It  makes  you  feel  like  a  god 
while  it  lasts."  says  Mr.  Griffeth, 
"  puts  you  into  a  perfectly  Olympian 
state.  But  I  warn  you,"  he  added, 
with  a  tardy  touch  of  conscience,  "  it 
does  not  last  long,  and  from  Olym- 
pia  you  sink  to  Hades." 

"And  then,"  says  Carl,  "you  go 
about  as  Dante  did,  with  your  hands 


6i8 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


folded  under  your  mantle,  and  people 
stand  aside,  and  whisper  about  you. 
I  will  take  the  dark  with  the  bright." 

So  saying,  he  measured  out  the 
drops,  and  drank  them  with  the  in- 
vocation :  "  Come,  winged  enchant- 
ment, and  bear  me  wherever  thou  wilt." 

Reader,  didst  thou  ever  see  one 
dear  to  thee  made  tipsy  with  liquor  ? 
and  dost  thou  remember  the  mingled 
pain,  and  pity,  and  contempt  with 
which  thou  didst  look  on  his  abase- 
ment ?  A  man,  a  king  of  the  earth, 
a  brother  of  saints,  a  friend  of  the 
Crucified,  a  child  of  the  Most  High, 
grovelling  thus ! 

One  comfort,  nature,  and  not  we, 
made  this  man  fall  so.  O  better 
comfort !  he  is  earning  mountain- 
loads  of  self-contempt,  which  shall 
one  day  be  paid  with  interest. 

Only  a  few  other  items  have  we  to 
record  at  this  time.  The  young  ladies 
had  made  their  proposed  literary 
venture — Melicent  with  signal  fail- 
ure, Clara  with  partial  success.  Pub- 
lishers had  twenty-five  different  rea- 
sons, each  better  than  the  last,  why  a 
volume  of  European  travels  would 
not  be  at  that  particular  time  a  for- 
tunate venture,  and  were  unanimous- 
ly unable  to  say  at  what  future  pe- 
riod the  prospect  would  be  brighter. 
Miss  Yorke  was  not  entirely  blind. 
She  perceived  that  her  book  was  a 
failure,  and  withdrew  it.  Whether 
she  contemplated  any  other  work, 
her  family  did  not  know.  She  main- 
tained a  profound  silence  on  the  sub- 
ject. They  suspected,  however,  that 
she  was  studying  out  a  novel.  Clara's 
first  story,  read  with  great  applause 
to  the  family  at  home,  was  modestly 
offered  to  a  respectable  second-class 
magazine,  and  accepted,  with  a  re- 
quest for  more.  So  Miss  Clara  oc- 
cupies the  proud  position  of  being 


independent  in  the  matter  of  pocket- 
money,  and  an  occasional  benefactor 
to  the  others. 

Of  more  consequence  to  us  is  the 
fact  that  Father  Rasle  is  now  set- 
tled in  Seaton,  and  building  a  church 
there.  Something  else  is  also  being 
built  in  'Seaton — a  "  Native  Ameri- 
can" society,  alias  Know-nothing. 
This  society  excited  much  attention 
and  enthusiasm,  especially  in  Mr. 
Griffeth's  congregation,  and  among 
their  friends.  All  the  young  men 
joined  it.  It  seemed  precisely  to 
suit  the  genius  of  Seaton. 

Against  this  party  Mr.  Charles 
Yorke  fought  with  all  his  strength. 
It  was  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  the 
constitution,  he  persisted ;  it  had  no- 
thing in  common  with  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence.  The  views 
and  aims  of  the  party  were  narrow 
and  bigoted,  and  their  leaders  were 
ignorant  demagogues. 

But  all  that  he  gained  by  his  de- 
nunciations was  unpopularity,  and 
the  party  prospered  yet  more.  It  had 
not  only  the  young  and  the  infidel 
for  active  members ;  it  had  a  sly 
encouragement  from  Mr.  Griffeth,  a 
cool  approval  from  Doctor  Martin, 
and  an  earnest  help  from  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Conway,  the  gentleman  whom 
we  left  in  a  soiled  state  half-way 
from  Bragon  to  Seaton.  He  had 
preached  the  next  Sunday  with  ac- 
ceptance to  his  congregation,  and 
was  now  settled  among  them.  We 
may  remark  that  he  has  not  yet  for- 
given Mr.  Griffeth  the  mistake  about 
the  pulpit,  nor  will  he  be  convinced 
that  it  was  a  mistake.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  obduracy,  the  two 
ministers  live  in  a  state  of  feud,  in 
which  their  congregations  take  part, 
to  the  slight  disedification  of  old- 
fashioned  people. 


The  Serial  Literature  of  England. 


619 


THE   SERIAL  LITERATURE   OF   ENGLAND. 


CONSIDERING  the  number  of  perio- 
dicals at  present  published  in  Great 
Britain,  the  extent  of  their  aggregate 
circulation,  and  the  range  and  varie- 
ty of  topics  discussed  in  their  pages, 
their  effect  on  the  public  mind  of 
that  country  for  good  or  evil  can 
scarcely  be  overestimated.  A  maga- 
zine holds  a  middle  place  between 
the  legitimate  literature  of  books  and 
the  ephemeral  and  generally  ill-di- 
gested effusions  of  newspapers,  and 
appeals,  especially  to  the  middle 
classes,  as  it  were,  in  science,  taste, 
and  art.  Business  men  who  have 
not  time  to  read  long  histories  or 
elaborately  compiled  scientific  works, 
and  indolent  ones  who  have  not  in- 
dustry enough  to  do  so,  seek  infor- 
mation or  pleasure  in  perusing  their 
periodicals,  while  the  traveller  as  he 
is  hurried  along  over  the  ocean  or 
the  railroad,  and  the  overwrought 
student  as  he  closes  his  ponderous 
folio  or  lays  aside  his  pen,  alike 
find  recreation  and  relief  in  the  light- 
er and  more  mirthful  contributions 
which,  judiciously  dispersed,  usually 
grace  the  pages  of  our  monthly  and 
semi-monthly  press.  Books,  too,  of 
late  have  accumulated  to  such  a 
fearful  extent  that  the  bibliographer 
finds  it  impossible  to  read  even  a 
moiety  of  them  to  ascertain  their  va- 
lue, and  so  is  forced  to  form  his  opinion 
of  them  second-hand  by  accepting 
the  dicta  of  the  industrious  reviewer, 
whose  decision,  when  judiciously  and 
intelligently  given,  thus  becomes  of 
the  utmost  benefit  to  authors  and 
readers. 

Of  late  years  the  number  and  va- 
riety of  English  magazines  have 
greatly  increased,  and  we  presume 


the  patronage  bestowed  on  them  has 
kept  pace  with  their  growth.  We 
would  be  glad  to  be  in  a  position  to 
say  that,  in  liberality  of  spirit,  fair- 
ness and  originality,  the  improvement 
is  equally  apparent;  but  such  is  not 
the  case,  and  in  this  respect  forms  a 
marked  contrast  to  the  progress  which 
distinguishes  a  similar  class  of  pub- 
lications in  this  and  some  European 
countries.  Propriety  of  expression 
and  a«rtistic  construction  of  senten- 
ces, which  have  always  characterized 
the  composition  of  English  writers, 
even  of  second  or  third  order  of  abi- 
lity, remain,  but  much  of  the  force, 
mental  grasp,  and  wide  range  of  view, 
as  well  as  profound  and  exact  know- 
ledge, which  once  distinguished  their 
criticisms  and  essays,  are  wanting. 
We  are  aware  that  the  generation  of 
able  men  whose  genius  once  illumi- 
nated the  columns  of  Blackwood,  Fr& 
ser,  Household  Words,  etc.,  has  pass- 
ed away;  but  why  have  they  left  us 
no  literary  heirs,  no  worthy  succes- 
sors, to  fill  their  places  and  wield  their 
trenchant  pens  ?  Has  the  English 
mind  deteriorated,  or  is  it  that  Eng- 
lish public  taste  has  become  so  cor- 
rupted by  the  unwholesome  sweets 
of  the  Trollopes,  the  Braddons,  and 
like  sensationalists,  that  it  rejects  the 
salutary  food  presented  it  by  more 
serious  and  natural  writers?  We 
can  hardly  believe  that  this  latter  is 
the  efficient  cause ;  for  before  the  era 
of  Griffin,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Lever, 
and  many  other  favorite  authors,  se- 
veral of  whose  admirable  novels  and 
essays  first  reached  the  public  through 
the  magazines,  the  taste  of  the  mass- 
es was  even  more  vitiated  by  the  ro- 
mances of  the  last  century,  hundreds 


62O 


The  Serial  Literature  of  England. 


of  which  were  sure  to  be  found  on 
the  shelves  of  every  circulating  libra- 
ry in  the  country.  Neither  can1  we 
properly  attribute  this  "dearth  of 
fame  "  to  a  want  of  adequate  pecu- 
niary reward;  for  we  are  assured  that 
encouragement  in  this  respect  is  suf- 
ficiently ample,  and,  compared  with 
that  of  a  generation  ago,  might  be 
called  munificent.  We  are,  therefore, 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
is  an  actual  present  deficiency  of  men- 
tality among  the  majority  of  English 
writers — another  indication,  perhaps, 
of  that  decay  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race,  so-called,  in  England  which  has 
been  so  long  and  so  pertinaciously 
asserted  by  her  rivals.  It  is  certain- 
ly true  that  the  spirit  of  money-get- 
ting is  more  and  more  engrossing  the 
attention  of  the  people ;  and,  while 
other  and  younger  nations,  like  Rus- 
sia, Germany,  and  the  United  States, 
are  rapidly  growing  into  immense 
proportions,  both  artistic  and  literary 
as  well  as  politically,  England,  wrap- 
ped up  mentally  in  her  own  self-con- 
ceit, as  she  is  geographically  shack- 
led by  the  four  seas,  is  sinking  into 
comparative  provincialism. 

The  tone  and  temper  of  her  writ- 
ers when  treating  foreign  subjects, 
we  submit,  amply  prove  this,  were 
all  other  evidence  wanting.  Their 
views  of  the  affairs  of  other  nations 
lack  fairness,  amplitude,  and,  not  un- 
frequently,  truthfulness,  and  always 
seem  like  those  of  men  who  look 
upon  the  broad  outer  world  through 
the  wrong  end  of  a  spy-glass.  Can 
anything  be  more  unjust  than  the 
following  passage,  which  we  find  en 
passant  in  an  article  on  France  in 
the  May  number  of  Blackwood  ? 

"  There  is,  however,  one  cause  of  hope- 
lessness as  regards  France,  and  for  the 
life  of  me  I  do  not  see  how  it  is  to  be  en- 
countered. Here  are  the  people  who  not 
only  asserted  that  they  were  the  politest 
and  most  civilized,  but  the  bravest  and 


boldest  in  Europe,  now  exhibiting  them- 
selves not  only  as  utterly  degraded  and 
debased,  but  actually  as  destitute  of  cour- 
age as  of  morals." 

Apart  from  the  want  of  generosity 
exhibited  by  the  writer  above  in  thus 
ungraciously  stigmatizing  an  unfortu- 
nate ally,  his  estimate  of  her  condi- 
tion is  exceedingly  unfair,  and,  as  he 
professes  in  the  article  to  have  been 
a  frequent  visitor  to  her  shores  in  by- 
gone days,  we  must  attribute  his  ob- 
liquity to  something  else  than  igno- 
rance. In  her  recent  struggle,  France 
showed  nothing  like  cowardice ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  her  children,  veter- 
ans and  recruits,  exhibited  a  courage 
and  heroism  worthy  of  her  proudest 
days  of  military  glory.  Her  signal 
and  rapid  overthrow  was  due  to  oth- 
er causes  than  the  want  of  bravery 
of  her  soldiers.  Within  the  space  of 
about  two  hundred  days,  her  bad- 
ly organized,  poorly  equipped,  and 
generally  indifferently  commanded 
troops  fought  seventeen  pitched  bat- 
tles and  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
general  engagements  against  three- 
quarters  of  a  million  of  the  best  dis- 
ciplined troops  in  Europe.  Of  the 
merits  of  the  quarrel  we  have  noth- 
ing to  say,  but  we  feel  assured  that 
the  troops  of  Kaiser  William  would 
feel  little  complimented  at  being  told 
that  their  splendid  victories  were 
gained  over  a  demoralized  and  cow- 
ardly nation.  As  to  France  being 
destitute  of  morals,  the  contrary  is 
the  fact.  It  is  true  that  Paris,  like 
London  and  other  large  centres  of 
population,  contains  much  that  is 
immoral  and  unholy ;  but  Paris  is  no 
longer  France,  and  those  best  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  country  al- 
lege that  religion  was  never  more  se- 
curely enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people,  nor  her  ministers  so  much 
respected,  as  at  the  present  moment. 

American  questions  are  treated  by 


The  Serial  Literature  of  England. 


621 


our  transatlantic  contemporaries  in 
a  manner  somewhat  different.  Oc- 
casionally they  speak  of  us  in  impar- 
tial and  even  complimentary  terms, 
but  generally  in  a  vein  of  lofty  pa- 
tionage,  such  as  an  indulgent  and 
much-enduring  father  might  be  sup- 
posed to  use  to  his  erring  but  not  al- 
together godless  offspring.  If  we 
exhibit  a  leaning  toward  Russia,  we 
are  forthwith  admonished  to  beware 
of  encouraging  despotism;  if  we  re- 
cal  our  ancient  friendship  with  France, 
we  are  likely  to  be  reminded  that  with 
England  we  are  the  same  in  lan- 
guage, blood,  and  religion ;  but,  if  there 
is  a  treaty  favorable  to  the  "  mother- 
country  "  to  be  concocted,  or  a  Euro- 
pean coalition  adverse  to  the  interests 
of  our  mother  aforesaid  apprehend- 
ed, Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Newton 
are  resurrected  and  become  our  joint 
inheritance,  and  Great  Britain  and 
the  United  States  are  instantly  declar- 
ed to  be  two,  and  the  only  two,  "  free 
governments  in  the  universe  "  having 
a  common  interest  and  a  common  des- 
tiny. Occasionally  this  maternal  sur- 
veillance is  varied  by  an  allusion  to  our 
social  or  topographical  peculiarities, 
really  ludicrous  from  its  very  absurdi- 
ty, while  it  shows,  with  all  this  assump- 
tion of  superiority,  how  very  inaccu- 
rate is  the  knowledge  of  our  kind  re- 
lations. In  a  late  article  on  the  de- 
struction of  the  ancient  forests,  a  writ- 
er in  the  Fortnightly  Review  grave- 
ly protests  against  "  the  further  de- 
struction of  scenery  unique  in  Great 
Britain,  and,  if  represented  in  Ame- 
rica at  all,  but  imperfectly  represent- 
ed by  the  oak  openings  of  Michi- 
gan." Now,  if  an  American  were 
to  talk  of  the  extensive  prairies 
of  Caermarthenshire  or  the  pictur- 
esque mountains  of  Kent,  his  igno- 
rance of  the  physical  peculiarities  of 
even  those  small  subdivisions  would 
be  apt  to  evoke  the  severe  censure 
of  our  London  critics. 


Again,  in  their  reviews  of  Ameri- 
can works,  the  English  magazines, 
whether  through  design  or  from  want 
of  knowing  better,  usually  fall  into 
serious  error  in  respect  to  the  consti- 
tuent elements  of  our  population. 
They  affect  to  regard  the  American 
mind  simply  as  a  mere  emanation  of 
that  of  England,  weakened,  it  is  true, 
by  time  and  distance,  but  still  worthy 
of  some  consideration.  How  such 
a  patent  fallacy  can  be  tolerated  in 
that  country,  our  nearest  European 
neighbor  as  we  are  her  best  custo- 
mer, is  incomprehensible.  We  have, 
it  is  true,  generally  adopted  what  was 
good  in  her  civil  polity  at  the  time 
of  the  Revolution,  and  the  majority 
of  us  speak  her  language  as  our  na- 
tive tongue;  but  AVC  are  no  more 
English  than  we  are  German,  Irish, 
French,  or  Spanish  in  our  origin,  tem- 
perament, habits  of  thought,  or  de- 
velopment of  genius.  We  are  all 
these  combined,  as  well  as  something 
more  which  only  the  free  spirit  of  a 
republic  can  call  into  being,  and,  if 
modesty  would  permit  us,  we  could 
say  with  truthfulness  that  there  is  con- 
tained within  that  word  "  American  " 
all  the  best  elements  of  every  Euro- 
pean race.  The  latest  instance  of  this 
self-deception  we  recently  noticed  in 
Saint  Paul's  Magazine,  in  what  was 
otherwise  a  very  excellent  notice  of 
Hawthorne's  works. 

But  America  has  the  advantage  of 
the  practical  arguments  of  material 
prosperity  and  rapidly  developing 
aesthetic  tastes  on  her  side,  and  is 
fast  becoming  indifferent  to  adverse 
criticism.  With  less  fortunate  coun- 
tries, like  Ireland,  for  instance,  the 
case  is  altogether  different.  The 
English  magazine  writers,  when  at  a 
loss  for  an  illustration  or  "  an  awful 
example,"  never  hesitate  to  draw  on 
the  history  or  pretended  history  of 
the  sister  kingdom  for  the  required 
materials.  We  have  before  us  some 


622 


The  Serial  Literature  of  England. 


dozen  periodicals  published  in  Lon- 
don and  Edinburgh,  the  majority  of 
the  articles  in  which  are  either  on  Irish 
topics  or  contain  allusions  to  the  af- 
fairs of  that  unfortunate  and  misgov- 
erned people,  and  that,  too,  as  it  may 
be  supposed,  in  no  very  partial  or 
eulogistic  terms.  This  unrelenting 
hostility  to  a  weak  nation,  while  it 
may  do  very  well  for  placemen  and 
land-agents  who  live  by  the  griefs  and 
afflictions  of  others,  is  unworthy  the 
chivalrous  spirit  which  should  distin- 
guish the  true  knight  of  the  quill. 
We  fear,  however,  that  Burke's  say- 
ing with  regard  to  the  chivalry  of  the 
middle  ages  is  equally  applicable  to 
our  own  times,  and  that  the  free  lan- 
ces of  the  English  metropolis,  who 
will  fight  in  any  and  every  cause,  are 
more  in  demand  than  the  earnest 
searchers  after  truth  and  the  honest 
correctors  of  public  morals. 

We  argue  this  from  two  facts :  It 
is  not  unusual  for  the  same  person  to 
be  employed  in  writing  for  two  or 
more  publications  altogether  opposed 
in  aim  and  character ;  and,  secondly, 
from  the  total  absence  of  anything 
like  religious  sentiment  in  nearly  the 
entire  periodical  press,  if  we  except 
those  published  in  the  direct  interests 
of  Protestantism,  and  in  those  it  de- 
generates into  absolute  bigotry.  We 
do  not  say  that  all  the  magazines 
are  positively  immoral,  but  they  cer- 
tainly are  negatively  so,  and  in  this 
respect  probably  more  dangerous  to 
the  well-being  of  society.  Take  their 
method  of  treating  some  late  publi- 
cations which  have  been  much  spok- 
en of,  for  example.  We  find  that 
Darwin's  elaborately  nonsensical  the- 
ory of  the  origin  of  the  human  race  is 
handled  with  as  much  delicacy  and 
seriousness  as  if  the  reviewers  had 
grave  doubts  in  their  own  minds  as 
to  whether  their  ancestors  had  or 
had  not  been  monkeys,  or  at  least 
as  if  they  considered  it  an  open  ques- 


tion not  yet  definitely  settled;  while 
the  blasphemies  of  Renan,  instead  of 
eliciting  condemnation  and  reproof, 
are  carefully  and  quietly  reproduced 
and  laid  before  the  reader  with  a 
gentle  caution  against  their  novelty. 
Still,  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  Eng- 
lish magazines  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  be  actively  anti-Catholic  or  un- 
christian. It  partakes  more  of  pa- 
ganism in  a  modified  form,  which, 
while  not  openly  violating  the  laws 
of  society,  practically  ignores  the  in- 
terference of  Providence  in  the  affairs 
of  men,  like  the  Universalist  preacher 
whose  highest  eulogy,  as  pronounced 
by  a  friend,  was  that  he  was  perfect- 
ly neutral  in  politics  and  religion. 
The  short  prose  fiction  sketches  in 
which  the  English  periodicals  abound 
and  which  in  artistic  merit  far  excel 
ours,  are  based  on  the  same  inamiable 
sentimentalism — a  sort  of  polite  in- 
differentism,  by  which  the  heroes  and 
heroines  are  made  to  walk  through 
life  unconscious  that  there  is  a  Being 
to  whom  the  fall  of  a  sparrow  is  not 
unknown,  and  who  directs  the  desti- 
ny of  nations  as.  well  as  individuals. 
Fiction,  if  not  the  best,  is  certainly  a 
very  effective  medium  of  communi- 
cating correct  ideas  and  pure  morali- 
ty to  the  young,  and,  while  it  should 
be  read  sparingly,  cannot  in  this 
age  be  altogether  dispensed  with ; 
and  therefore  it  is  that  too  much 
care  cannot  be  taken  to  see  that  it  is 
not  only  free  from  grossness,  but  that 
it  is  actively  and  primarily  permeat- 
ed by  the  spirit  of  religion.  Where 
this  is  not  observed,  as  we  regret  to 
find  in  the  case  of  the  English  ma- 
gazines, mere  style  of  composition, 
felicity  of  diction,  and  power  of  de- 
cription  count  for  nothing.  They 
are  simply  evidences  of  the  perver- 
sion of  the  gifts  of  God,  which  ought 
always  and  in  all  places  to  be  used 
for  the  greater  glory  and  honor  of 
the  Giver. 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S,J. 


623 


MEMOIR  OF  FATHER  JOHN  DE  BREBEUF,  S.J. 


WELL  acquainted  as  was  Father 
Brebeuf,  from  long  study  and  intel- 
ligent observation,  with  the  character 
and  customs  of  the  Hurons,  he  knew 
thoroughly  how  to  propitiate  their 
favor  and  regain  their  respect.  His 
manly  and  courageous  bearing  dur- 
ing the  prevalence  of  the  fever,  and 
his  undaunted  coolness  and  fearless- 
ness of  death  in  the  midst  of  the  late 
persecution,  had  won  for  him  the 
admiration  of  all  the  nobler  spirits  in 
the  tribe.  In  December,  1637,  he 
gave  a  grand  banquet,  to  which  were 
invited  the  chiefs  and  warriors  of  the 
country.  He  there  addressed  his 
assembled  guests  on  the  necessity  of 
embracing  the  true  faith.  In  Janu- 
ary of  the  next  year,  the  head  chief 
of  the  Hurons,  or  Aondecho,  as  he 
was  called,  returned  the  compliment 
by  giving  a  similar  banquet,  to  which 
Father  Brebeuf  was  invited;  when 
he  came  to  the  banquet,  the  chief 
presented  him  to  the  assembly,  not 
as  a  guest,  but  as  the  host  of  the 
occasion,  addressing  them  thus: 
"  Not  I,  but  Echon,  assembled  you ; 
the  object  of  the  deliberation  I  know 
not ;  but  be  it  what  it  may,  it  must,  I 
am  convinced,  be  of  great  moment. 
Let  all  then  hearken  attentively." 
The  ever-ready  and  zealous  mission- 
ary then  addressed  the  assembly 
on  the  same  subject  —  the  true 
faith.  He  followed  this  up  with  an- 
other banquet  in  February,  where 
his  address  was  followed  by  the 
evident  but  silent  conviction  of  his 
hearers.  At  its  close,  the  Aonde- 
cho arose,  and  exhorted  his  warriors 
and  subjects  to  yield  themselves  to 
the  counsels  of  the  fathers.  The 
deep  guttural  expression  of  approval, 


ho !  ho  !  ho !  resounded  on  all  sides, 
and  the  grateful  missionaries  made 
their  joyful  thanksgiving  by  chanting 
the  hymn  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Then, 
with  one  acclaim,  the  chiefs  and 
warriors  adopted  Father  Brebeuf 
into  their  tribe,  and  created  him  one 
of  the  chiefs  of  the  land — a  dignity 
which  invested  him  with  the  power 
of  summoning  assemblies  of  the  peo- 
ple in  his  own  cabin. 

In  the  spring  of  1638,  the  fever 
began  to  disappear  from  the  country. 
Now,  too,  the  first  Christian  mar- 
riage was  solemnized.  The  wife  of 
Joseph  Chiwattenwha  had  been  bap- 
tized in  March,  and  the  two  were 
united  together  in  holy  matrimony  by 
Father  Brebeuf  on  St.  Joseph's  Day. 
Peter  Tsiwendaentaha  united  with 
them  in  approaching  the  holy  com- 
munion. 

The  public  duties  of  the  mission 
occupied  the  entire  time  of  Father 
Brebeuf.  The  abandonment  of 
Ihonitiria,  in  consequence  of  the 
recent  scourge,  caused  Fathers  le 
Mercier,  Ragueneau,  Gamier,  Jogues, 
Pijart,  and  Chatelain  to  remove  that 
mission  to  Teananstayae,  the  resi- 
dence of  Louis  de  Sainte  Foi.  But 
they  felt  great  fears  about  that  place, 
since  its  chief  had  shortly  before  in- 
stigated the  warriors  to  canvass  the 
murder  of  the  missionaries  at  Ossos- 
sane.  But  Father  Brebeuf,  with 
characteristic  courage  and  zeal,  went 
to  the  village,  and  as  a  chief  of  the 
nation  summoned  a  council  of  the 
chiefs  and  warriors.  The  mission 
was  formally  announced  on  the  spot, 
and  we  shall  soon  see  the  fathers 
offering  up  the  Holy  Mass  at  Tean- 
anstayae. The  year  before,  an  Iro- 


624 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


quois  prisoner  had  received  baptism 
there  from  the  hands  of  Father  Bre- 
beuf; and  now  nearly  a  hundred 
prisoners,  condemned  to  death,  were 
instructed  and  baptized  by  the  mis- 
sionaries on  the  eve  of  their  execu- 
tion. About  this  time  an  entire 
tribe,  the  Wenrohronons,  abandoned 
by  their  allies,  the  Neutrals,  came 
and  threw  themselves  upon  the  hos- 
pitality of  the  Hurons.  They  were 
wasting  away  from  the  effects  of  the 
recent  plague,  and  the  fathers  at 
Ossossane  rushed  to  their  relief. 
They  nursed  their  sick,  instructed 
and  baptized  their  dying,  many  of 
whom  expired  with  the  waters  of 
baptism  fresh  upon  their  brows.  The 
Hurons  themselves  were  moved  in 
favor  of  a  religion  capable  of  produc- 
ing such  heroic  examples;  and  on 
the  nth  of  November,  St.  Martin's 
Day,  one  entire  family,  and  the 
heads  of  two  others,  were  baptized  in 
health.  On  the  Feast  of  the  Imma- 
culate Conception,  others  were  con- 
verted and  baptized,  numbering  in 
all  thirty;  so  that  at  Christmas  there 
was  assembled,  around  that  rude  but 
holy  altar  in  the  wilderness,  a  sincere 
and  fervent  little  congregation  of 
Christians,  adoring  and  offering  their 
gifts  to  the  infant  Saviour. 

The  missionaries  were  now  distri- 
buted in  sets  of  four,  consisting  of 
three  of  the  earlier  and  one  of  the 
recently  arrived  fathers,  at  the  va- 
rious points  through  the  country 
where  missions  were  located.  Many 
new  missions  were  opened,  and  the 
flying  visits  to  villages  whose  mis- 
sions had  been  broken  up  by  the 
persecution  were  renewed.  Among 
the  new  missions  now  opened  was  the 
one  already  alluded  to  at  Teanansta- 
yae,  or  St.  Joseph's,  whose  commence- 
ment on  New  Year's  Day  was  cheered 
with  fifty  baptisms.  The  indefati- 
gable Brebeuf  was  its  founder,  and 
with  him  were  associated  Father 


Jogues,  whose  Indian  name  was 
Ondesson,  and  Father  Ragueneau. 
The  most  perfect  system,  both  as  re- 
gards the  internal  regulation  of  the 
affairs  of  the  mission-house  and  its 
inmates,  and  the  external  labors  of 
the  fathers,  was  introduced  by  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf,  which  enabled  them  to 
perform  an  almost  incredible  amoun-t 
of  missionary  labor.  Among  the 
natives,  an  aged  chief  named  Onde- 
horrea,  who  was  now  a  Christian, 
was  of  great  assistance  to  them  in 
their  labors.  He  had  once  repulsed 
the  fathers  from  his  bed  of  illness, 
and,  having  called  in  the  sorcerers, 
he  then  rejected  them,  and  recalled 
the  fathers,  who  were  at  once  at  his 
side.  He  was  soon  sufficiently  in- 
structed to  be  baptized,  and  at  the 
moment  that  the  saving  waters  touch- 
ed his  forehead,  he  arose  suddenly  in 
perfect  health,  to  the  amazement  of 
all.  He  ever  afterwards  showed  his 
sincerity  as  a  Christian,  and  his  gra- 
titude to  the  fathers,  by  remaining 
their  constant  friend  and  faithful 
assistant. 

A  curious  affair  now  arose,  which 
will  convey  to  us  some  idea  of  the 
trials  with  which  those  devoted  mis- 
sionaries had  to  contend.  A  woman 
living  in  a  little  village  near  Ossos- 
sane, as  she  was  passing  along  one 
night,  saw  the  moon  fall  upon  her 
head,  and  immediately  change  into 
a  beautiful  female,  holding  a  child  in 
her  arms.  The  apparition  declared 
herself  to  be  the  sovereign  of  that 
country  and  all  the  nations  dwelling 
therein,  and  "required  that  her  sover- 
eign power  should  be  acknowledged 
by  each  nation's  making  a  present 
or  offering.  The  apparition  desig, 
nated  the  offering  which  each  nation 
should  bring,  not  omitting  the  French, 
who  were  required  to  present  blue 
blankets.  The  woman  was  taken  ill, 
and  demanded  that  the  order  of  the 
divinity  should  be  complied  with  for 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


625 


her  recovery.  A  council  was  ac- 
cordingly held  at  Ossossane,  to  which 
the  missionaries  were  invited.  They 
attended,  and  were  bold  enough  to 
oppose  so  wicked  a  homage  to  a 
false  deity.  But  all  was  in  vain,  for 
the  whole  country  was  in  a  ferment 
of  excitement.  The  most  abomina- 
ble orgies  known  to  savage  life  were 
celebrated  in  honor  of  this  new  god- 
dess, and  men  were  hurrying  in  all 
directions  to  procure  the  required 
presents.  Soon  all  the  offerings  were 
collected  together,  except  the  blue 
blankets  of  the  French,  and  the  mis- 
sionaries were  called  upon  to  do 
homage  in  the  manner  required  of 
them.  They  resolutely  refused  com- 
pliance with  such  a  requisition,  and, 
as  may  be  well  imagined,  they  im- 
mediately became  the  objects  of 
general  indignation.  Amid  threats 
and  imprecations,  and  the  glare  of 
the  uplifted  tomahawk,  those  coura- 
geous priests  refused  to  let  a  blanket 
go  from  their  cabin,  except  upon 
condition  of  the  immediate  cessation 
of  all  that  was  going  on,  and  the  dis- 
missal of  the  woman.  These  terms 
were  rejected,  the  orgies  were  con- 
tinued, and  peril  surrounded  the 
fathers  at  every  step;  still  they 
could  not  be  induced  to  yield  the 
points.  Fortunately  for  the  mission- 
aries, however,  the  apparition  paid 
the  woman  another  visit,  and  releas- 
ed the  French  from  the  unholy  tri- 
bute. 

In  September,  1639,  new  mission- 
aries arrived.  Unfortunately,  an  In- 
dian in  one  of  the  canoes  of  their 
flotilla  was  infected  with  the  small- 
pox, and  that  disease  was  thus  intro- 
duced into  the  country.  The  mala- 
dy began  to  spread  with  fearful 
rapidity,  and,  as  usual,  the  origin  of 
this  evil,  as  of  all  others,  was  attri- 
buted to  the  missionaries.  Persecu- 
tion was  at  once  renewed,  the  cross 
was  violently  dragged  down  from 

VOL.  xiii. — 40. 


their  houses,  their  cabins  were  in- 
vaded, their  crucifixes  torn  from 
their  persons,  one  of  them  was  cruel- 
ly beaten,  and  all  were  threatened 
with  death.  So  great  was  their  peril 
at  one  time  that  they  calmly  pre- 
pared themselves  for  martyrdom. 
They  were  finally  ordered  peremp- 
torily from  the  town.  In  the  midst 
of  these  persecutions,  the  heart  of 
Father  Brebeuf  was  consoled  with  a 
vision:  the  Blessed  Virgin,  as  the 
Mother  of  Sorrows,  came  to  console 
her  son  and  to  confirm  his  courage  ; 
she  appeared  to  him  with  her  heart 
transfixed  with  swords.  At  once  his 
resolution  was  taken;  he  remained 
at  his  post  of  danger  and  of  care, 
and  continued  his  missionary  labors. 

In  consequence  of  these  repeated 
persecutions,  and  the  constant  expo- 
sure of  the  fathers  to  the  renewal  of 
them  by  the  malice  of  the  medicine- 
men, it  was  determined  to  erect  a 
missionary  residence  apart  from  the 
villages  and  their  vicious  population, 
which  might  prove  a  safe  retreat  for 
the  fathers  in  time  of  trouble,  and  a 
convenient  place  for  instructing  the 
catechumens  and  others  well  dispos- 
ed to  receive  the  faith.  During  the 
years  that  Father  Brebeuf  was  at 
Ossossane,  displaying  the  most  hero- 
ic zeal  and  disinterested  charity,  he 
had  met  with  the  blackest  ingratitude 
from  the  persons  whom  he  had  fed 
by  depriving  himself  of  nourishment, 
and  on  one  occasion  he  was  ignomi- 
niously  beaten  in  public.  The  other 
fathers  had  suffered  similar  indigni- 
ties and  maltreatment.  While  glory- 
ing, like  the  saints,  in  these  sufferings 
for  the  sake  of  God  and  his  church, 
he  yet  saw  the  necessity,  for  the  sake 
of  the  mission,  of  a  separate  resi- 
dence. It  was  this  necessity  that 
originated  St.  Mary's  on  the  river 
Wye. 

In  the  various  missions  whose  es- 
tablishments we  have  mentioned,  there 


626 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


had  been  baptized  up  to  the  summer 
of  1640  about  one  thousand  persons: 
of  these  two  hundred  and  sixty  were 
infants,  and  though  some  of  them 
were  restored  to  health,  by  means 
apparently  miraculous,  most  of  them 
went  in  baptismal  purity  to  swell  the 
ranks  of  the  church  triumphant  in 
heaven.  It  was  about  this  time  that 
Father  Brebeuf  ceased  to  be  superior 
of  the  mission,  and  was  succeeded 
by  Father  Jerome  Lalemant.  The 
Jesuit,  ever  true  to  his  institute,  pass- 
ed from  command  to  obedience  with 
the  gladness  and  alacrity  known  only 
to  the  humble  soldiers  of  the  cross. 
His  career  as  superior,  arduous  and 
glorious,  was  also  abundant  in  fruit 
to  the  church.  He  was  indeed  the 
father  of  the  Huron  mission.  Our 
eloquent  Bancroft,  in  speaking  of  his 
and  his  companions'  labors  to  intro- 
duce Christianity  among  the  aborigi- 
nes of  our  continent,  says  that  St. 
Joseph's  chapel,  wherein,  "  in  the 
gaze  of  thronging  crowds,  vespers 
and  matins  began  to  be  chanted,  and 
the  sacred  bread  was  consecrated  by 
solemn  Mass,  amazed  the  hereditary 
guardians  of  the  council-fires  of  the 
Huron  tribes.  Beautiful  testimony 
of  the  equality  of  the  human  race  ! 
the  sacred  wafer,  emblem  of  the  di- 
vinity in  man,  all  that  the  church  of- 
fered to  the  princes  and  nobles  of  the 
European  world,  was  shared  with 
the  humblest  of  the  savage  neophytes. 
The  hunter,  as  he  returned  from  his 
wild  roamings,  was  taught  to  hope 
for  eternal  rest;  the  braves,  as  they 
came  from  war,  were  warned  of  the 
wrath  that  kindles  against  sinners  a 
never-dying  fire,  fiercer  far  than  the 
fires  of  the  Mohawks ;  and  the  idlers 
of  the  Indian  villages  were  told  the 
exciting  tale  of  the  Saviour's  death 
for  their  redemption." 

Father  Brebeuf,  already  the  found- 
er of  so  many  missions,  now  starts 
out  with  unabated  ardor  to  open 


others.  Accompanied  by  Father 
Chaumonot,  he  advanced  into  the 
country  of  the  Neutrals,  naming  the 
first  town  he  entered  "  All  Saints." 
He  pushed  onward  to  the  Niagara, 
to  the  residence  of  Tsoharissen,  the 
chief  whom  all  the  Neuter  towns 
obeyed.  Hither  the  calumnies  of 
some  hostile  Hurons  had  preceded 
him,  and  represented  Echon  as  the 
most  terrible  of  sorcerers.  The  two 
missionaries  were  repulsed  on  all 
sides,  and  in  their  retreat  from  place 
to  place  were  pursued  by  the  arrows 
of  their  enemies.  Still  they  perse- 
vered, and  they  succeeded  in  visiting 
eighteen  towns,  preached  the  Gospel 
in  ten  of  them,  and  announced  for 
the  first  time  the  words  of  truth  to 
at  least  three  thousand  souls.  Dur- 
ing these  labors,  the  keen  eye  of 
Brebeuf  saw  the  importance  to  New 
France  of  an  occupation  of  the  Nia- 
gara by  missions  and  trading  posts ; 
the  travels  of  the  missionaries  would 
be  greatly  shortened,  the  warlike  Iro- 
quois  restrained,  the  Hurons  saved 
from  a  war  of  extermination,  and  the 
whole  interior  continent  opened  to 
European  civilization  and  the  faith 
of  Christ.  The  plan  of  Father  Bre- 
beuf received  little  attention  at  court : 
a  neglect  which  decided  the  fate  of 
empires.  We  cannot  determine  pre- 
cisely how  far  Father  Brebeuf  ad- 
vanced into  the  country;  only  one 
town  received  the  missionaries,  which 
they  called  St.  Michael's.  They, 
however,  approached  as  far  into  the 
Iroquois  country  as  was  possible ;  still 
Bancroft  says  it  is  uncertain  that  he 
ever  stood  upon  the  territory  of  our 
republic. 

But  the  hostile  Hurons,  not  con- 
tented with  the  furious  persecution 
they  had  raised  against  the  fathers  in 
their  own  country,  pursued  them  into 
their  new  mission.  Two  Huron  de- 
puties soon  arrived,  and  proclaimed 
a  tempting  reward  for  such  as  would 


Memoir  of  Father  Jo  Jin  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


627 


deliver  the  country  from  those  de- 
voted men.  While  the  council  was 
engaged  in  debating  the  question  of 
his  expulsion  or  death,  Father  Bre- 
beuf  was  making  his  examen  of  con- 
science in  the  cabin  where  he  lodged, 
and  suddenly  he  beheld  a  fearful 
spectre  :  the  figure  held  three  darts, 
which  were  successively  hurled  against 
him  and  his  companion,  but  were 
averted  by  an  unseen  hand.  Pre- 
saging evil  from  the  vision,  the  two 
fathers  made  their  confessions  to  each 
other,  and,  thus  prepared  to  die,  they 
went  to  rest.  They  afterward  learn- 
ed from  their  post,  who  returned  to 
the  cabin  late  at  night,  that  the^es- 
sion  of  the  council  was  long  and 
stormy ;  three  times  the  young  braves 
had  insisted  on  butchering  them  on 
the  spot,  but  were  restrained  by  the 
sachems.  But  now,  such  was  the 
state  of  the  feeling  aroused  against 
them,  that  they  could  not  advance  a 
step  in  safety.  Turned  from  every 
shelter,  and  encountering  death  at 
every  step,  they  wandered  as  outcasts 
over  the  country.  Believing  that 
their  longer  continuance  was  only 
calculated  to  increase  the  savage  ha- 
tred of  the  people  against  them,  and 
retard  the  introduction  of  the  faith, 
the  fathers  retreated  to  the  Neuter 
town  which  they  had  named  All 
Saints.  Here  they  wintered  and  spent 
the  time  in  instructing  the  people. 
In  the  spring,  they  advanced  as  far 
as  Teotongniatou,  or  St.  Williams, 
where  a  charitable  woman  gave  them 
a  shelter.  While  thus  lingering,  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf  arranged  his  Huron 
dictionary  to  the  Neuter  dialect,  in 
which  he  had  made  considerable  pro- 
gress in  four  months.  No  sooner 
had  the  ameliorating  influences  of 
spring  rendered  travelling  just  possi- 
ble, even  to  such  travellers  as  those 
who  had  been  accustomed  for  years 
to  brave  every  hardship,  than  Father 
Brebeuf  and  his  companions  started 


on  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
journeys  on  record.  Already  spent 
with  fatigues  and  privations,  and  pur- 
sued by  danger,  Father  Brebeuf  had 
to  remain  six  days  in  the  woods, 
sleeping  on  the  snow,  and  without  a 
covering  or  shed  over  his  head.  The 
cold  was  so  intense  that  the  trees 
themselves  did  split  with  a  noise  like 
the  crack  of  a  rifle.  A  special  Pro- 
vidence protected  him,  for  he  exhi- 
bited no  evidence  that  he  had  been 
cold  or  exposed.  Loaded  with  the  pro- 
visions which  he  was  compelled  to  car- 
ry, as  there  were  no  relays  on  the  way, 
he  travelled  two  days  across  a  lake 
of  ice ;  and  while  thus  struggling 
onward,  his  heart  and  eyes  lifted  up 
to  heaven,  he  fell  upon  the  ice.  His 
portly  frame  gave  such  violence  to 
his  fall  that  he  was  unable  to  rise 
from  the  ice.  After  a  long  time  he 
was  lifted  up  by  one  of  his  compan- 
ions, and  then  found  that  his  extre- 
mities were  palsied,  and  he  could 
not  lift  his  feet  from  the  ground.  Be- 
sides, his  collar-bone  was  broken. 
He  bore  the  last  in  silence,  as  it  was 
not  apparent.  This  fact  was  only 
discovered  two  years  later  by  the 
surgeon  who  attended  him  at  Que- 
bec. In  vain  his  companions  beg- 
ged the  privilege  of  drawing  him  the 
remaining  thirty-six  miles  of  the 
journey  in  a  sled,  and  at  other  times 
to  assist  him  on  the  way ;  he  declin- 
ed all  their  generous  offers,  and  la- 
bored onward,  scarcely  able  to  drag 
one  foot  after  the  other.  It  was  thus 
he  crossed  the  level  country,  and 
when  he  came  to  the  mountains,  he 
crept  up  on  his  hands  and  feet,  and 
allowed  himself  to  slide  down  on  the 
opposite  side,  retarding  his  too  rapid 
descent  with  his  bruised  and  aching 
hands.  Thus  he  completed  his  jour- 
ney, which  for  love  of  suffering,  pa- 
tience, and  humility  compares  with 
some  of  the  most  heroic  achievements 
recorded  of  the  saints.  His  com- 


628 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


panions  went  forward  on  other  la- 
bors, but  Father  Brebeuf,  while  wait- 
ing for  the  next  flotilla  bound  for 
Quebec,  determined  to  take  what  he 
styled  his  "  repose  " — a  repose  busily 
spent  in  making  important  arrange- 
ments for  the  missions,  which  his  su- 
perior knowledge  of  everything  re- 
lating to  them  enabled  him  alone  to 
effect. 

On  the  passage  to  Three  Rivers, 
Father  Brebeuf  was  accompanied  by 
Sondatsaa,  an  exemplary  catechu- 
men, and  a  party  chiefly  Christians 
or  catechumens.  They  arrived  at 
Three  Rivers  after  a  narrow  escape 
from  the  murderous  blades  of  the 
Mohawks,  who  were  lying  in  wait 
for  them.  Finding  it  impossible  for 
Fathers  Ragueneau  and  Menard  to 
reach  their  missions  in  Huronia  with- 
out a  strong  guard,  Father  Brebeuf 
proceeded  with  Father  Ragueneau 
and  Sondatsaa  to  Sillery,  in  order  to 
obtain  succor  for  them.  Here,  moved 
by  the  entreaties  of  all,  and  especially 
of  Sondatsaa  himself,  and  having  com- 
pleted his  instruction,  Father  Brebeuf 
consented  to  baptize  that  zealous  con- 
vert. The  ceremony  was  performed 
at  Sillery,  on  the  2yth  of  June,  with 
great  pomp,  and  in  the  presence  of  a 
concourse  of  Indians.  The  Chevalier 
de  Montmagny  was  godfather  to  the 
convert,  who  received  the  Christian 
name  of  Charles.  He  now  returned, 
a  Christian,  to  his  own  country,  bear- 
ing in  his  little  flotilla  the  two  fathers 
destined  for  the  Huron  mission.  While 
Father  Brebeuf  was  dwelling  at  Sil- 
lery, the  next  flotilla  of  Hurons  that 
came  bore  its  usual  freight  of  calum- 
nies against  Echon.  They  now  ac- 
cused him  of  being  colleagued  with 
the  Iroquois  for  the  destruction  of  the 
Hurons.  This  renewal  of  calumny 
checked,  for  a  time,  his  success ;  but 
he  continued  his  preparations  and 
arrangements  for  the  Neuter  mission 
and  his  endeavors  to  convert  his  per- 


secutors to  the  faith.  He  endeavored 
to  persuade  some  of  these  Hurons  to 
remain  and  winter  with  him,  in  order 
to  receive  instructions.  Two  of  them, 
who  were  left  behind  in  the  chase, 
were  induced  to  remain,  and  Father 
Brebeuf,  after  the  usual  instruction 
and  probation,  had  the  consolation 
of  receiving  these  into  the  one  fold 
of  the  One  Shepherd.  He  also  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  a  number  of  other 
Huron  converts.  Father  Nimont, 
struck  with  the  happy  results  of  his  la- 
bors, resolved  to  detain  him  another 
winter  at  Sillery.  It  was  during  this 
summer  that  Father  Jogues  came  to 
Sillery  for  supplies.  Here  these  future 
martyrs  met  in  the  prosecution  of  their 
noble  labors;  but  soon  the  unconquer- 
able Brebeuf  saw  his  saintly  compan- 
ion set  forth  on  his  perilous  mission 
over  the  country  infested  by  the  Iro- 
quois, to  carry  relief  to  the  Huron 
missionaries.  Himself  was  soon  to 
follow. 

In  the  spring  of  1643,  Father  Bre- 
beuf proceeded  to  Three  Rivers, 
where  he  was  cheered  by  tidings 
of  Father  Jogues.  That  holy  mis- 
sionary, in  returning  from  Sillery  to 
bring  succor  to  his  companions  in 
Huronia,  had  fallen  a  captive  into 
the  hands  of  the  fierce  Iroquois,  and 
his  fate  was  the  object  of  intense 
anxiety.  Father  Brebeuf  now  learned 
that  he  was  still  living.  The  bold 
and  generous  Brebeuf  arranged 
with  a  Huron,  who  was  going  out,  to 
wait  for  letters  to  Father  Jogues  at 
Fort  Richelieu;  the  father,  bearing 
the  letters,  penetrated  as  far  as  the 
fort,  but  the  courage  of  the  Huron 
messenger  failed;  he  had  passed  and 
was  afraid  to  return,  and  the  Jesuit 
was  compelled  to  retrace  his  steps 
without  succeeding  in  conveying  a 
word  of  comfort  and  encouragement 
to  his  captive  brother.  In  the  spring 
of  1644,  Father  Bressani  also,  in  en- 
deavoring to  reach  Huronia,  fell  into 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


629 


the  hands  of  the  Iroquois.  But  the 
Huron  missionaries  must  be  succored 
at  every  hazard,  and  Father  Brebeuf 
was  now  chosen  for  this  perilous  en- 
terprise. Setting  out  in  the  summer, 
with  an  escort  of  twenty  soldiers  given 
to  him  by  the  governor,  he  reached 
the  Huron  missions  in  safety  on  the 
7th  of  September.  The  Huron  mis- 
sion had  ever  been  the  dearest  object 
of  Father  Brebeuf 's  heart.  Restored 
now  to  his  chosen  vineyard,  he  de- 
voted himself  to  the  task  of  convert- 
ing those  tribes  with  a  zeal  and  an 
energy  worthy  of  his  former  glorious 
career.  Year  after  year  he  continued 
his  heroic  labors;  and,  though  our 
pen  cannot  follow  him,  step  by  step, 
through  the  trials,  sacrifices,  and  ex- 
ertions which  his  seraphic  love  in- 
spired him  to  encounter,  they  were 
recorded  in  minutest  detail  by  angelic 
pens  in  heaven.  Success  crowned 
the  efforts  of  Father  Brebeuf  and  his 
companions.  Persecution  ceased,  and 
the  whole  country  was  becoming  con- 
quered to  the  faith.  In  August,  1646, 
Father  Gabriel  Lalemant,  full  of  zeal 
and  courage,  was  joined  with  Father 
Brebeuf'in  the  mission  of  St.  Ignatius, 
which  embraced  the  town  of  St.  Louis 
and  some  smaller  villages.  By  this 
time,  the  horrid  superstitions  of  the 
country  had  given  way  to  the  pure 
and  holy  rites  of  Catholic  worship, 
and  the  cross,  so  lately  despised, 
feared,  and  hated,  had  now  become 
the  object  of  love  and  veneration. 
Father  Bressani  writes:  "The  faith 
had  now  made  the  conquest  of  the 
entire  country."  "  We  might  say 
they  were  now  ripe  for  heaven ;  that 
naught  was  needed  but  the  reaping- 
hook  of  death  to  lay  the  harvest  up 
in  the  safe  garner-house  of  paradise." 
"  Religion  seemed  at  last  the  peaceful 
mistress  of  the  land." 

Allusion  has  several  times  been 
made  to  the  visions  from  on  high 
which  were  mercifully  sent  to  warn 


Father  Brebeuf  of  danger  impend- 
ing, or  to  sustain  him  under  the  ex- 
traordinary afflictions,  persecutions, 
and  sufferings  which  at  times  seemed 
to  exceed  even  his  remarkable  powers 
of  endurance.  Some  of  these  have 
already  been  described.  To  the  Pro- 
testant and  non-Catholic  mind,  these 
miraculous  communications  to  the 
saints  are  but  the  imaginings  of  mor- 
bid and  diseased  intellects.  Park- 
man,  in  his  Jesuits  in  North  America^ 
relates  the  following  visions  of  Father 
Brebeuf  only  to  classify  them  as  psy- 
chological phenomena :  "  It  is,"  he 
says,  "  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that 
signs  and  voices  from  another  world, 
visitations  from  hell  and  visions 
from  heaven,  were  incidents  of  no 
rare  occurrence  in  the  lives  of  these 
ardent  apostles.  To  Brebeuf,  whose 
deep  nature,  like  a  furnace  white-hot, 
glowed  with  the  still  intensity  of  his 
enthusiasm,  they  were  especially  fre- 
quent. Demons,  in  troops,  appeared 
before  him,  sometimes  in  the  guise  of 
men,  sometimes  as  bears,  wolves,  or 
wild-cats.  He  called  on  God,  and 
the  apparitions  vanished.  Death,  like 
a  skeleton,  sometimes  menaced  him  ; 
and  once,  as  he  faced  it  with  an  un- 
quailing  eye,  it  fell  powerless  at  his 
feet.  A  demon,  in  the  form  of  a 
woman,  assailed  him  with  the  temp- 
tation which  beset  St.  Benedict  among 
the  rocks  of  Subiaco  ;  but  Brebeuf 
signed  the  cross,  and  the  infernal  siren 
melted  into  air.  He  saw  the  vision 
of  a  vast  and  gorgeous  palace,  and  a 
miraculous  voice  assured  him  that 
such  was  to  be  the  reward  of  those 
who  dwelt  in  savage  hovels  for  the 
cause  of  God.  Angels  appeared  to 
him,  and  more  than  once  St.  Joseph 
and  the  Virgin  were  visibly  present 
before  his  sight.  Once,  when  he  was 
among  the  Neutral  nation,  in  the  win- 
ter of  1640,  he  beheld  the  ominous 
apparition  of  a  great  cross  slowly  ap- 
proaching from  the  quarter  where  lay 


630 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J 


the  country  of  the  Iroquois.     He  told 
the  vision  to  his  companions. 

" '  What  was  it  like  ?  how  large  was 
it  ?'  they  eagerly  demanded. 

" '  Large  enough/  replied  the  priest, 
'  to  crucify  us  all.' 

"To  explain  such  phenomena  is 
the  province  of  psychology  and  not 
of  history.  Their  occurrence  is  no 
matter  of  surprise,  and  it  would  be 
superfluous  to  doubt  that  they  were 
recounted  in  good  faith  and  with  a 
full  belief  in  their  reality.  In  these 
enthusiasts  we  find  striking  examples 
of  one  of  the  morbid  forces  of  human 
nature ;  yet,  in  candor,  let  us  do  honor 
to  what  was  genuine  in  them — that 
principle  of  self-abnegation  which  is 
the  life  of  true  religion,  and  which  is 
vital  no  less  to  the  highest  forms  of 
heroism." 

Bancroft,  alluding  to  the  same  sub- 
ject, and  to  the  life,  austerities,  and 
self-sacrifice  of  Father  Brebeuf,  says: 
"  The  missionaries  themselves  pos- 
sessed the  weaknesses  and  the  virtues 
of  their  order.  For  fifteen  years  en- 
during the  infinite  labors  and  perils 
of  the  Huron  mission,  and  exhibiting, 
as  it  was  said,  'an  absolute  pattern 
of  every  religious  virtue,'  Jean  de 
Brebeuf,  .respecting  even  the  nod  of 
his  distant  superiors,  bowed  his  mind 
and  his  judgment  to  obedience.  Be- 
sides the  assiduous  fatigues  of  his  of- 
fice, each  day,  and  sometimes  twice 
in  the  day,  he  applied  to  himself  the 
lash ;  beneath  a  bristling  hair-shirt  he 
wore  an  iron  girdle,  armed  on  all  sides 
with  projecting  points;  his  fasts  were 
frequent;  almost  always  his  pious 
vigils  continued  deep  into  the  night. 
In  vain  did  Asmodeus  assume  for 
him  the  forms  of  earthly  beauty ;  his 
eye  rested  benignantly  on  visions  of 
divine  things.  Once,  imparadised  in 
a  trance,  he  beheld  the  Mother  of  him 
whose  cross  he  bore,  surrounded  by 
a  crowd  of  virgins,  in  the  beatitudes 
of  heaven.  Once,  as  he  himself  has 


recorded,  while  engaged  in  penance, 
he  saw  Christ  unfold  his  arms  to  em- 
brace him  with  the  utmost  love,  pro- 
mising oblivion  of  his  sins.     Once, 
late  at  night,  while  praying  in  the  si- 
lence, he  had  a  vision  of  an  infinite 
number  of  crosses,  and,  with  mighty 
heart,  he  strove,  again  and  again,  to 
grasp  them  all.     Often  he  saw  the 
shapes  of  foul  fiends,  now  appearing 
as  madmen,  now  as  raging  beasts  ; 
and  often  he  beheld  the  image  of 
death,  a  bloodless  form,  by  the  side 
of  the  stake,  struggling  with  bonds, 
and   at   last   falling,   as   a   harmless 
spectre,  at  his  feet.     Having  vowed 
to  seek  out  suffering  for  the  greater 
glory  of  God,  he  renewed  that  vow 
every  day,  at  the  moment  of  tasting 
the  sacred  wafer;  and  as  his  cupidi- 
ty for  martyrdom  grew  into  a  passion, 
he  exclaimed,  '  What  shall  I  render 
to  thee,  Jesus  my  Lord,  for  all  thy 
benefits  ?     I   will    accept   thy   cup, 
and  invoke  thy  name  :  and  in  sight 
of  the  Eternal  Father  and  the  Holy 
Spirit,  of  the  most  holy  Mother  of 
Christ  and  St.  Joseph,  before  angels, 
apostles,  and  martyrs,  before  St.  Ig- 
natius and  Francis  Xavier,  he  made 
a  vow  never  to  decline  an  opportu- 
nity of  martyrdom,  and  never  to  re- 
ceive the  death-blow  but  with  joy." 

In  the  eye  of  Catholic  faith,  these 
visions  and  special  revelations  are 
but  the  fruits  and  blessings  of  a*  re- 
vealed and  supernatural  religion. 
While  they  do  not  fall  to  the  lot  of 
us  ordinary  Christians,  nor  are  they 
necessary  helps  in  the  little  we  ac- 
complish for  God  and  his  church, 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  the 
saints  and  martyrs  could  have  per- 
formed their  sublime  actions,  or  met 
their  cruel  and  unjust  deaths  for 
God's  sake  with  a  smile — sacrifices  so 
far  above  and  even  repugnant  to  our 
nature — without  the  aid  of  these  su- 
pernatural supports.  The  dedication 
of  himself  to  martyrdom,  and  the 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


631 


heroic  courage  and  joy  with  which  he 
met  his  appalling  fate,  could  only  be 
achieved  in  the  bosom  of  a  church 
believing  in  miracles,  and  presenting 
to  her  children  the  crown  of  martyr- 
dom as  the  highest  reward  attain- 
able by  man.  The  visions  of  Father 
Brebeuf,  like  other  miracles,  depend 
wholly  upon  the  evidence  and  cir- 
cumstances by  which  they  are  suppor- 
ted to  entitle  them  to  belief.  It  was 
not  his  habit  to  disclose  them ;  it  was 
only  when  commanded  by  his  su- 
periors that  he  committed  them  to 
writing.  They  thus  rest  upon  his 
solemn  written  words,  and  upon  their 
perfect  agreement  in  many  instances 
with  contemporaneous  facts  transpir- 
ing beyond  his  sight  and  knowledge. 
To  suppose  him  to  have  been  delud- 
ed would  be  to  contradict  every 
quality  of  mind  and  character  so 
universally  attributed  to  him  by  all 
Protestant  historians. 

Father  BrebeuPs  aspirations  for 
the  crown  of  martyrdom  were  pro- 
phetic of  his  appointed  and  glorious 
end.  But  to  him  all  historians  have 
attributed  the  most  practical  views 
ill  relation  to  the  Indian  missions, 
and  the  coolest  and  wisest  manner 
of  dealing  with  them.  There  was  no 
mere  sentimentality  in  his  nature. 
He  addressed  his  powerful  energies 
and  resources  to  the  actual  conversion 
of  the  Indians  to  Christianity,  and  we 
have  seen  how  great  were  the  results 
he  achieved.  But  now,  alas  !  a  dark 
cloud  was  seen  gathering  over  the 
happy  Christian  republic  of  the  Hu- 
rons.  Already,  during  the  winter  of 
1649,  the  fierce  Iroquois  hordes,  num- 
bering upv/ards  of  one  thousand,  had 
secretly  passed  over  a  space  of  six 
hundred  miles  of  Huron  forests,  and 
on  the  sixteenth  of  March  they  appear- 
ed suddenly  before  the  town  of  St. 
Ignatius,  while  the  chiefs  and  war- 
riors were  absent  on  the  chase,  and 
the  old  men,  women,  and  children 


were  buried  in  sleep.  Strongly  as  the 
place  was  fortified,  this  overwhelm- 
ing force  carried  it  by  storm,  and 
murdered  its  unsuspecting  inhabi- 
tants. Three  only  escaped,  half-nak- 
ed, from  the  slaughter,  and  gave  the 
alarm  to  the  village  of  St.  Louis, 
where  the  fathers  were  then  laboring. 
Here  preparations  were  at  once 
made  to  offer  a  gallant  but  unequal 
resistance.  The  women  and  children 
were  sent  over  forty  miles  of  ice  and 
snow  to  seek  a  shelter  in  the  cabins 
of  the  Petuns.  The  chiefs  exhorted 
the  fathers  also  to  fly,  since  they  could 
not  go  to  the  war.  But  Father  Bre- 
beuf, with  all  the  heroism  of  his  great 
soul,  answered  that  there  was  some- 
thing more  necessary  than  fire  and 
steel  in  such  a  crisis ;  it  was  to  have 
recourse  to  God  and  the  sacraments, 
which  none  could  administer  but 
they — that  he  and  his  companion, 
the  gentle  Lalemant,  would  abandon 
them  only  in  death.  The  two  fa- 
thers, says  Father  Bressani,  "now 
hurried  from  place  to  place,  exhort- 
ing all  to  prayer,  administering  the 
sacraments  of  penance  and  baptism 
to  the  sick  and  the  catechumens,  in 
a  word,  confirming  all  in  our  holy 
faith.  The  enemy  in  fact  remained 
at  the  first  fork  only  long  enough  to 
provide  for  the  safe  keeping  of  the 
prisoners  and  the  safety  of  those  left 
as  a  garrison  to  guard  them.  After 
this  they  marched,  or  rather  rushed, 
directly  upon  St.  Louis.  Here  none 
were  now  left  but  the  old  and  sick,  the 
missionaries,  and  about  a  hundred 
braves  to  defend  the  place.  They 
held  out  for  some  time,  and  even  re- 
pulsed the  enemy  at  the  first  assault, 
with  the  loss  of  about  thirty  killed, 
but  the  number  of  the  assailants  be- 
ing incomparably  greater,  they  over- 
came all  resistance,  and,  cutting 
down  with  their  axes  the  palisades 
which  defended  the  beseiged,  were 
soon  in  possession  of  the  town.  Then 


632 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf^  S.J. 


putting  all  to  fire  and  steel,  they  con- 
sumed in  their  very  town,  in  their  very 
ca*bins,  all  the  old,  sick,  and  infirm 
who  had  been  unable  to  save  them- 
selves by  flight." 

What  contrasts  the  events  of  his- 
tory present !  While  this  relentless 
slaughter  was  at  its  height,  and  the 
worst  passions  of  the  fiercest  of  hea- 
thens were  let  loose,  the  scene  of 
blood,  fire,  and  death  was  relieved 
by  the  presence  of  Christian  heroes 
the  most  gentle,  merciful,  and  self- 
sacrificing.  They  stood  in  the  breach 
to  the  last  stroke  of  the  enemy,  en- 
couraging the  dying  Christians  to 
fortitude  and  hope,  the  wounded  to 
patience,  and  the  prisoners  to  cour- 
age and  perseverance  in  the  faith.  The 
palisades  of  St.  Louis  finally  were 
cut  away.  The  infuriate  Iroquois 
swept  in,  and  the  whole  surviving 
garrison,  warriors  and  priests,  were 
all  made  prisoners  together.  The 
savages  rejoiced  especially  at  the 
capture  of  such  a  prisoner  as  Father 
Brebeuf,  whom  they  immediately 
showed  signs  of  torturing,  when  a 
generous  Oneida  chief,  more  magna- 
nimous than  the  rest,  purchased  him 
from  his  captors  for  a  large  price  in 
wampum.  It  seemed  as  though  he 
was  about  to  be  deprived  of  his  cov- 
eted crown ;  but  no  !  the  victors  re- 
tracted their  bargain,  and  Father  Bre- 
beuf was  again  seized  by  his  enemies. 
He  and  Father  Lalemant  were  strip- 
ped, bound  fast,  and  cruelly  beaten, 
and  their  nails  were  torn  out.  But 
lest  some  change  in  the  tide  of  war 
should  deprive  them  of  their  prison- 
ers, the  latter  were  all  sent,  closely 
bound  and  tightly  secured,  to  St.  Ig- 
natius. Here,  as  they  entered  the 
town,  they  were  beaten  and  bruised 
by  the  rabble  with  sticks  and  clubs. 
The  large  and  conspicuous  frame  of 
Father  Brebeuf  attracted  a  double 
share  of  blows  on  his  already  bruised 
and  lacerated  head  and  body.  In  the 


midst  of  these  cruelties,  he  was  forgetful 
of  himself,  and  anxious  only  that  his 
Christian  Hurons,  who  were  now  his 
fellow-prisoners,  should  be  encourag- 
ed and  consoled  in  their  extreme 
danger.  From  the  stake  to  which 
he  had  been  tied,  beholding  them 
assembled  for  the  torture,  he  lost 
sight  completely  of  his  own  greater 
calamities  and  sufferings,  and  thus 
he  addressed  them :  "  My  children, 
let  us  lift  up  our  eyes  to  heaven  in 
the  worst  of  our  torments ;  let  us 
remember  that  God  beholdeth  all 
we  suffer,  and  will  soon  be  our  re- 
ward exceeding  great.  Let  us  die 
in  this  faith,  and  hope  from  his  good- 
ness the  accomplishment  of  his  pro- 
mises. I  pity  you  more  than  myself, 
but  support  manfully  the  little  tor- 
ment that  yet  remains.  It  will  end 
with  our  lives ;  the  glory  which  fol- 
lows will  have  no  end."  How  great 
must  have  been  his  consolation  when 
he  heard  their  heroic  answer,  a  con- 
vincing proof  that  Indians  may  be 
truly  converted  to  Christianity,  and 
possess  the  constancy  to  die  in  the 
faith.  "  'Tis  well,  Echon,"  they  cried, 
"  our  souls  will  be  in  heaven, 
while  our  bodies  suffer  on  earth ;  en- 
treat God  to  show  us  mercy;  we  shall 
invoke  him  to  our  latest  breath." 
Enraged  at  his  exhortations  and  un- 
flinching zeal,  even  in  death,  some 
Hurons  adopted  by  the  Iroquois 
rushed  upon  him  and  burned  his 
flesh  with  a  fire  which  they  kindled 
near  him,  they  cut  off  his  hands, 
and  while  Father  Lalemant's  flesh 
was  cut  and  punctured  with  awls 
and  other  sharp  instruments,  and  hot 
irons  placed  under  his  armpits,  they 
led  him  forth  to  torture  and  death 
before  the  eyes  of  Father  Brebeuf, 
in  order  to  add  to  the  agonies  of  the 
latter.  As  Father  Brebeuf  continued 
to  speak  and  to  exhort  his  Christians, 
and  to  threaten  the  vengeance  of 
heaven  upon  their  persecutors,  thev 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


633 


cut  off  his  lower  lip  and  nose,  and 
thrust  a  red-hot  iron  down  his  throat. 
Even  after  this,  when  he  saw  his  su- 
perior, the  gentle  Lalemant,  led  out 
to  death,  he  called  out  to  him  with 
a  broken  voice  in  the  words  of  St. 
Paul,  "  We  are  made  a  spectacle  to 
the  world,  to  angels,  and  to  men." 
Throwing  himself  at  Father  Brebeuf  s 
feet,  Father  Lalemant  was  ruthlessly 
torn  away,  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
was  enveloped  in  flames  at  the  stake, 
and  his  gentle  soul  preceded  that  of 
the  intrepid  Brebeuf  to  heaven.  Turn- 
ing next  upon  Father  Brebeuf,  they 
threw  a  collar  of  red-hot  axes  around 
his  neck,  which  seethed  and  burned 
their  way  into  his  flesh;  he  stood, 
in  the  midst  of  such  agonies,  erect 
and  motionless,  apparently  insensible 
to  pain,  intent  only  on  vindicating 
the  faith  he  had  so  long  and  faithful- 
ly announced.  His  tormentors  were 
awed  by  his  constancy,  which  seem- 
ed to  them  a  proof  that  he  was  more 
than  man.  But  they  again  taxed 
their  ingenuity  for  new  tortures.  An 
apostate  Huron,  who  had  been  a 
convert  of  Father  Brebeuf  in  the 
Huron  mission,  and  had  since  been 
adopted  by  the  Iroquois,  was  the 
first  to  signalize  the  zeal  of  the  rene- 
gade. He  proposed  to  pour  hot 
water  on  the  head  of  Father  Brebeuf, 
in  return  for  the  quantities  of  cold 
water  he  had  poured  on  the  heads 
of  others  in  baptism.  The  sugges- 
tion was  received  with  fiendish  joy, 
and  soon  the  kettle  was  swung. 
While  the  water  was  boiling,  they 
added  fresh  cruelties  to  their  victim's 
sufferings.  They  crushed  his  mouth 
and  jaw  with  huge  stones,  thrust  heat- 
ed iron  and  stones  into  his  wounds, 
and  with  his  own  eyes  he  beheld 
them  devour  the  slices  of  flesh  which 
they  cut  from  his  legs  and  arms. 
Let  us  not  cut  short  the  appalling 
story ;  for  surely,  what  a  martyr  bore 
a  Christian  may  have  courage  to 
Three.'  and  bringing  the  scalding 


water  from  the  caldron,  they  poured 
it  over  his  bruised  head  and  lacerat- 
ed body  amidst  shouts  and  impreca- 
tions, and,  as  they  did  so,  the  high- 
priests   of   the    occasion   mockingly 
said  to  him :  "  We  baptize  you  that 
you  may  be  happy  in  heaven ;  for 
nobody  can  be  saved  without  a  good 
baptism."     By  this  time  Father  Bre- 
beut's  mouth  and  tongue  could  no 
longer   articulate,  but  even   yet  by 
his  erect  posture,  the  struggling  and 
brave  expression  of  his  almost  expir- 
ing eye,  and  even  by  his  half-formed 
words,  he  encouraged  the  Christian 
captives  to  perseverance,  and  endea- 
vored to  deter  the  savages  from  tor- 
turing them  by  threats  of  heaven's 
vengeance.       Again    cutting    slices 
from  his  body  and  devouring  them 
before  his  eyes,  they  told  him  that 
his  flesh  was  good.     Some   of   the 
renegade  Hurons,  more  fiendish  than 
even  the  Iroquois,  again  mocked  him 
by  saying :    "  You  told  us  that  the 
more  one  suffers  on  earth,  the  hap- 
pier he  is  in  heaven.     We  wish  to 
make  you  happy ;  we  torment  you, 
because  we  love  you;  and  you  ought 
to  thank  us  for  it."     They  next  scalp- 
ed  him,   and   even   after   this   they 
poured  the   boiling   water   over  his 
head,   repeating    the    torture    three 
times;    they   cut   off   his   feet,    and 
splitting  open  his  stalworth  and  gen- 
erous  chest,   they   crowded   around 
and  drank  with  exultation  the  warm 
blood   of   the   expiring   hero.      His 
eye,  firm  and  expressive  to  the  last, 
was  now  dimmed  in  death,  and  at 
last  a  chief  tore  out  his  noble  and 
brave  heart,  cut  it  into   a  thousand 
pieces,  and  distributed  it  to  the  sa- 
vage cannibals  that  crowded  around 
to  receive  a  share  of  so  exalted  and 
unconquerable  a  victim.     Thus  per- 
ished of   earth,   while   crowned   of 
heaven,  the  illustrious  Brebeuf,  "  the 
founder    of   the    Huron    mission — 
its  truest  hero,  its  greatest   martyr." 
The   Iroquois,   now  glutted  with 


634 


Memoir  of  Father  John  de  Brebeuf,  S.J. 


carnage,  and  apprehensive  of  the 
approach  of  a  superior  force,  retired 
to  their  own  country.  The  fathers 
from  St.  Mary's  came  to  St.  Ignatius 
to  bestow  the  last  honors  upon  the 
earthly  remains  of  their  martyred 
companions.  It  was  with  difficulty 
they  discovered  their  burned  and 
mangled  bodies  among  the  mass  of 
slain  the  victorious  Iroquois  had  left. 
Their  precious  remains  were  solemn- 
ly and  sorrowfully  carried  to  St. 
Mary's,  and  affectionately  and  reli- 
giously interred.  A  portion  of  Fa- 
ther Brebeuf's  relics-  were  subse- 
quently carried  to  Quebec.  A  silver 
bust,  containing  the  head  of  the 
martyr,  was  presented  by  his  family 
to  the  Canadian  mission,  and  is  still 
reverently  preserved  by  the  convent 
of  hospital  nuns  in  that  city.  So 
great  was  his  reputation  for  sanctity 
that  it  became  a  familiar  and  pious 
practice  in  Canada  to  invoke  his  in- 
tercession. There  are  well-attested 
cases  recorded  of  the  wonderful  in- 
tervention of  heaven  in  favor  of 
those  who  invoked  his  aid  as  a  saint 
in  heaven. 

Among  the  many  virtues  which 
adorned  the  life  and  character  of 
Father  Brebeuf  may  be  particularly 
mentioned  his  ardent  love  of  holy 
poverty  and  suffering,  his  purity  of 
soul,  his  singleness  of  purpose,  his 
profound  obedience  and  humility, 
his  zeal  and  courage,  his  love  of 
prayer  and  penitential  austerities,  and 
his  generous  longing  for  the  salvation 
of  souls.  "  The  character  of  Bre- 
beuf," says  Bancroft,  "was  firm  be- 
yond every  trial :  his  virtue  had  been 
nursed  in  the  familiar  sight  of  death. 
Disciplined  by  twenty  years'  service 
in  the  wilderness  work,  he  wept  bit- 
terly for  the  sufferings  of  his  con- 
verts, but  for  himself  he  exulted  in 
the  prospect  of  martyrdom."  "Thus," 
writes  Mr.  J.  G.  Shea  in  his  History 
of  ihe  Catholic  Missions,  "about  four 


o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  after  three 
hours  of  frightful  torture,  expired 
John  de  Brebeuf,  the  real  founder 
of  the  [Huron]  mission,  a  man  such 
as  the  Catholic  Church  alone  can 
produce ;  as  a  missionary,  unequalled 
for  his  zeal,  ability,  untiring  exer- 
tion, and  steady  perseverance;  as  a 
servant  of  God,  one  whose  virtues 
the  Rota  would  pronounce  heroic; 
patient  in  toil,  hardship,  suffering, 
and  privation ;  a  man  of  prayer,  of 
deep  and  tender  piety,  of  inflamed 
love  of  God,  in  whom  and  for  whom 
he  did  and  suffered  all;  as  a  martyr, 
one  of  the  most  glorious  in  our  an- 
nals for  the  variety  and  atrocity  of 
his  torments."  "  He  came  of  a  noble 
race,"  says  Parkman,  "  the  same,  it 
is  said,  from  which  sprang  the  Eng- 
lish Earls  of  Arundel ;  but  never  had 
the  mailed  barons  of  his  line  con- 
fronted a  fate  so  appalling  with  so 
prodigious  a  constancy.  To  the  last 
he  refused  to  flinch,  and  his  death 
was  the  astonishment  of  his  murder- 
ers." 

Praise  has  become  exhausted  on 
such  a  subject.  Would  that  we  might 
hope  for  some  national  good  from 
the  sublime  lesson  he  has  taught  us  ! 
The  red  men  are  our  brothers.  The 
most  precious  blood  of  a  God-man 
was  poured  out  for  them  as  for  us ; 
and  God's  martyrs  have  joyfully 
given  their  noble  lives  for  their  sal- 
vation. Might  not  a  Christian  na- 
tion, in  its  power  and  goodness,  yea, 
in  its  justice,  save  at  least  the  poor 
remnant  of  them  from  further  slaugh- 
ter; and  say  to  the  ever-ready  and 
zealous  missionaries  of  the  Catholic 
Church :  "  Go,  christianize  and  save 
our  brothers ;  we  will  not  slay  them 
more;  there  is  land  enough  for  us 
and  for  them ;  we  confide  them  to 
your  heroic  charity.  We  will  protect 
you  and  them  in  the  peace  and  good- 
will of  the  Gospel.  Go,  save  our 
brothers  "  ? 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


635 


THE  ANCIENT   LAWS   OF    IRELAND. 


NEXT  to  written  and  well-authen- 
ticated historical  annals,  the  clearest 
insight  that  can  be  afforded  us  of  the 
civilization,  polity,  and  social  condi- 
tion of  the  nations  of  antiquity  is  de- 
rived from  the  study  of  ancient  laws 
and  customs,  when  their  authenticity 
is  guaranteed  by  existing  contempo- 
rary authorities,  and  they  bear  in  them- 
selves the  intrinsic  evidence  of  adap- 
tability to  time,  place,  and  circum- 
stance, so  easily  recognized  by  the  anti- 
quarian and  the  philologist.  Were  it 
possible  to  conceive  the  total  destruc- 
tion of  this  republic  with  all  its  ma- 
terial monuments  and  historical  lit- 
erature, nothing  being  left  for  poste- 
rity but  our  books  of  law,  the  phi- 
losophical student  a  thousand  years 
hence  would  be  able  to  form  a  pret- 
ty correct  and  comprehensive  idea 
of  the  state  of  society  at  present  ex- 
isting and  of  the  nature  of  the  insti- 
tutions under  which  we  have  the 
good  fortune  to  live.  From  the 
large  number  of  statutes  regulating 
the  intercourse  of  man  and  man,  he 
would  deduce  the  fact  that  we  were 
a  commercial  and  ingenious  people ; 
from  our  laws  relating  to  real  estate, 
he  would  "necessarily  argue  that  its 
ownership  was  general  and  its  trans- 
mission from  one  to  another  a  mat- 
ter of  everyday  occurrence;  and 
from  the  few  restrictions  imposed  on 
its  possession  or  sale,  that  the  facilities 
for  its  acquisition  were  comparatively 
easy  and  unrestricted;  while  from 
the  care  that  has  been  taken  by  our 
national  and  local  legislatures  to 
guard  the  life,  liberty,  and  prosperity 
of  the  citizen,  he  would  naturally  con- 
clude that  our  right  to  the  enjoyment 


of  these  inalienable  rights  formed  the 
corner-stone  of  the  edifice  of  our  gov- 
ernment. 

In  the  same  manner,  we  of  this 
century,  looking  back  to  a  country 
so  old  as  Ireland,  one  of  the  most 
antique  of  the  family  of  European 
nations,  by  examining  the  laws  fram- 
ed in  the  early  days  of  her  dawning 
civilization,  can  picture  to  ourselves, 
even  without  the  aid  of  history,  the 
genius  of  her  inhabitants,  and  form 
comparatively  accurate  opinions  of 
how  much  or  how  little  intelligence 
and  natural  sense  of  justice  and  the 
"  eternal  fitness  of  things  "  were  ex- 
hibited by  them  in  their  efforts  to  re- 
gulate and  organize  society.  Strange 
to  say,  we  are  partly  indebted  for 
this  opportunity  to  the  English  gov- 
ernment, never  very  generous  in  its 
patronage  of  Irish  interests,  though 
of  course  the  principal  credit  is  due 
to  that  noble  band  of  Irish  scholars, 
formerly  headed  by  the  late  lament- 
ed O'Curry,  Petrie,  and  O'Donovan, 
who  by  their  antiquarian  lore,  pro- 
found knowledge  of  their  vernacular, 
and  untiring  industry,  have  recon- 
structed from  the  scattered  and  al- 
most illegible  manuscripts  deposited 
in  various  libraries  the  body  of  the 
laws  of  ancient  Ireland,  and  have 
presented  them  to  the  world  in  the 
language  in  which  they  were  origi- 
nally Avritten,  with  the  elaborate 
glosses  of  after-years,  accompanied 
by  an  accurate  English  translation. 
This  long-desired  work  bears  the  ap- 
propriate and  principal  title  of  Sen- 
chus  Mor,  or  great  law,  and  contains 
all  the  laws  that  were  enforced  in 
Ireland  from  the  fifth  to  the  seven- 


636 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


teenth  centuries,  if  we  except  a  small 
portion  of  the  island  which  was 
occupied  by  the  Anglo-Norman  co- 
lony from  the  invasion  till  the  reign 
of  James  I.  That  it  was  admirably 
adapted  to  the  wants  and  disposi- 
tions- of  the  people,  we  can  judge 
by  the  affection  and  tenacity  with 
which  the  natives  so  long  clung  to 
it,  in  despite  of  all  the  efforts  of  the 
invaders  to  induce  them  by  force  or 
fraud  to  adopt  that  of  the  conquer- 
ors, and  that  it  was  more  liberal  and 
equitable  than  the  harsh  restrictions 
of  the  feudal  system  is  proved  from 
the  alacrity  of  the  Anglo-Norman 
lords  who  resided  without  the 
"  pale  "  in  conforming  to  it  in  prefer- 
ence to  their  own  enactments. 

Like  most  of  her  other  blessings, 
Ireland  owed  the  possession  of  this 
excellent  and  merciful  code  to  the 
Catholic  Church,  for  it  was  in  the 
eighth  or  ninth  year  of  the  ministra- 
tion of  her  great  apostle  and  at  his 
instance  that  it  was  framed  as  we  at 
present  find  it,  purified  from  all  the 
grossness  of  paganism,  and  freed 
from  the  uncertainty  and  doubt 
which  always  attach  to  mere  tradi- 
tion. Up  to  his  time,  law  in  Ireland 
had  been  administered  at  the  dis- 
cretion of  Brehons  or  judges,  and, 
being  preserved  only  in  the  poems 
of  the  bards  and  ollamhs  (professors), 
was  deficient  in  those  essential  quali- 
ties of  all  human  legislation,  exact- 
ness and  uniformity.  That  there 
were  learned  and  wise  lawgivers  in 
Ireland  before  the  introduction  of 
Christianity,  we  know  from  history 
and  from  the  introduction  to  and 
the  text  of  the  Senchus  itself,  in 
which  frequent  mention  is  made  of 
decisions  and  writings,  but  they  were 
necessarily  the  exponents  of  that 
limited  sense  of  justice  which  the 
human  mind,  unaided  by  religion, 
is  capable  of  comprehending.  The 
propagation  of  the  faith  in  Europe 


created  a  complete  and  permanent 
revolution  in  the  laws  cf  each  coun- 
try successively  visited  with  the  light 
of  the  gospel,  and  while  the  darkness 
of  paganism  vanished  before  it,  the 
municipal  laws  which  upheld  idola- 
try were  either  totally  abrogated  or 
modified  so  as  to  conform,  as  much 
as  possible,  to  the  benign  spirit  of  the 
church.  The  immediate  occasion  of 
the  revision  of  the  Irish  laws  is  stat- 
ed to  have  been  the  deliberate  mur- 
der of  one  of  St.  Patrick's  servants 
by  a  relative  of  the  reigning  sover- 
eign, but  the  real  cause,  no  doubr, 
was  the  desire  of  the  saint  to  root  out 
of  the  judicature  of  the  people  all 
traces  of  paganism  as  effectually  as 
he  had  erased  it  from  their  hearts. 

Accordingly,  by  virtue  of  his  high 
office,  he  summoned  a  convention 
of  the  learned  men  of  the  country,  a 
few  years  after  his  arrival,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  his  important  re- 
forms. His  principal  assistants,  we 
are  informed,  were  Laeghaire,  mo- 
narch of  all  Ireland,  Core,  and  Dai- 
ri,  two  subordinate  kings,  whom  we 
may  suppose  represented  the  tempo- 
ral authority  of  the  nation,  and  with- 
out whose  countenance  and  support 
it  would  have  been  difficult,  if  not 
impossible,  to  enforce  the  new  code ; 
Rossa,  Dubhtach,  and  Fergus,  those 
poets  and  professors  whose  duty  it 
had  been  to  preserve  and  perpetuate 
the  legal  traditions  of  their  race  and 
the  decisions  of  the  Brehons;  and 
two  ecclesiastics,  Saints  Benen  and 
Cairnech.  The  former  of  these  bi- 
shops, afterward  known  by  the  name 
of  Benignus,  was  one  of  St.  Patrick's 
earliest  and  favorite  converts,  and 
eventually  his  successor  in  the  pri- 
matial  see  of  Armagh,  and  the  latter, 
a  Briton  from  Wales,  was  remarka- 
ble alike  for  his  piety  and  extensive 
learning.  Thus  sustained  by  the 
civil  arm,  and  assisted  by  the  advice 
and  knowledge  of  men  well  versed 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


637 


in  the  common  and  canon  law, 
the  saint,  in  addition  to  his  other 
apostolic  labors,  succeeded  in  leav- 
ing to  the  people  he  loved  so  well  a 
harmonious  and  Christian  code,  the 
spirit  of  which,  like  that  of  all  his 
teachings,  sank  deep  in  the  popular 
heart,  and  defied  the  efforts  of  time 
and  the  ruthlessness  of  man  to  era- 
dicate it. 

While  this  code  remained  the  rule 
of  guidance  for  the  mass  of  the  peo  • 
pie,  it  was  sacredly  preserved  by  the 
Brehons,  who,  though  not  empowered 
to  alter  it  in  any  respect,  added  ela- 
borate commentaries  explanatory  of 
its  general  or  obscure  provisions ;  but 
when  the  country  was  divided  into 
counties  by  the  conquerors,  and  their 
system  took  the  place  of  the  nation- 
al one,  the  manuscripts  of  the  an- 
cient laws  were  scattered  through 
the  country,  in  England  and  on  the 
Continent,  whither  they  were  brought 
by  the  exiles. 

As  early  as  1783,  Edmund  Burke, 
ever  mindful  of  the  fame  of  his 
native  country,  suggested  the  pro- 
priety of  collecting  and  publish- 
ing in  English  or  Latin  those  re- 
markable remnants  of  former  great- 
ness and  wisdom,  but  it  was  not  till 
the  year  1852  that  the  English  gov- 
ernment, at  the  repeated  solicitation 
of  several  distinguished  and  influen- 
tial Irish  gentlemen,  consented  to 
lend  its  aid  to  the  great  work,  which 
from  its  very  magnitude  was  beyond 
the  ability  of  any  individual  or  vo- 
luntary association  to  accomplish. 
In  that  year,  at  the  special  instance 
of  Doctors  Todd  and  Greaves,  both 
eminent  Protestant  clergymen,  a 
commission  was  issued  appointing 
them  and  several  other  well-known 
scholars  "  to  direct,  superintend,  and 
carry  into  effect  the  transcription  and 
translation  of  the  ancient  laws  of 
Ireland,  and  the  preparation  of  the 
same  for  publication,"  etc.,  with  pow- 


er to  employ  proper  persons  to  exe- 
cute the  work.  The  persons  select- 
ed by  the  commissioners  were  Dr. 
O'Donovan  and  Professor  O'Curry, 
both  thoroughly  qualified  to  perform 
so  momentous  and  laborious  a  labor, 
and  whose  conscientious  discharge 
of  the  duties  so  assigned  them  ended 
only  at  their  much  lamented  deaths. 
With  the  patience  and  zeal  of  true 
antiquarians,  they  set  about  tran- 
scribing the  various  MSS.  relating  to 
the  old  laws,  deciphering  the  half- 
obliterated  characters  of  the  earlier 
centuries,  and  rendering  the  peculiar 
phraseology  of  the  Gaelic  into  mo- 
dern English.  They  were  succeeded 
by  W.  N.  Hancock,  LL.D.,  professor 
of  jurisprudence  in  Queen's  College, 
Belfast,  and  the  Rev.  Thaddeus  O'Ma- 
hony,  professor  of  Irish  in  the  Dublin 
University,  under  whose  auspices  the 
two  volumes  already  in  print  were  pre- 
pared for  publication,  having  first  re- 
ceived the  sanction  and  approval  of 
the  commission. .  With  such  endorse- 
ment, we  do  not  wonder  that,  speak- 
ing of  the  authenticity  of  the  Senchus 
Mar,  O'Curry  should  have  said  in 
one  of  his  admirable  lectures  on  Irish 
history,  "  I  believe  it  will  show  that 
the  recorded  account  of  this  great 
revision  of  the  body  of  the  laws  of 
Erin  is  as  fully  entitled  to  confidence 
as  any  other  well-authenticated  fact 
in  ancient  history." 

The  principal  materials  used  by 
the  distinguished  translators  are  thus 
described  in  the  preface  to  the  first 
volume : 


"  I.  A  comparatively  full  copy  among 
the  manuscripts  of  Trinity  College,  Dub- 
lin. H.  3,  17. 

"  II.  An  extensive  fragment  of  the  first 
part,  432,  of  the  Harleian  manuscripts  in 
the  British  Museum. 

"  III.  A  large  fragment  of  the  latter 
part  among  the  manuscripts  of  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  H.  2, 15. 

"  IV.  A    fragment  among  the  manu- 


638 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


scripts  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  H.  3, 

1 8." 

Of  the  capacity  of  the  gentlemen 
above-mentioned  to  faithfully  tran- 
scribe and  translate  these  valuable  re- 
lics of  past  legislation  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  nor  of  the  genuineness  and 
authenticity  of  the  records  them- 
selves. They  are  not,  of  course,  the 
originals  as  written  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, but  are  accurate  copies,  as  far 
as  they  have  been  saved  from  de- 
struction, made  centuries  ago  by  the 
Brehons  and  ollamhs,  and  handed 
down  by  them  from  father  to  son, 
for  the  Brehon  order  was  hereditary, 
and  from  generation  to  generation, 
until  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  Besides  this,  by  their  pecu- 
liar wording  and  reference  to  con- 
temporaneous events  and  opinions, 
they  bear  the  undoubted  impress  of 
great  antiquity,  and  of  having  been 
intended  for  the  government  of  a 
primitive  people,  who  had  little  or  no 
intercourse  with  the  outside  world. 
We  have  thus  before  us 'for  the  first 
time  a  complete  body  of  written  fun- 
damental laws,  collected  and  per- 
fected over  fourteen  hundred  years 
ago  by  a  segregated  and  peculiar 
race,  occupying  a  remote  part  of  Eu- 
rope, the  only  part,  in  fact,  of  the 
civilized  portion  of  that  continent 
that  never  echoed  to  the  tread  of  a 
Roman  soldier,  or  bowed  before  the 
edicts  of  an  imperial  Caesar.  In 
reading  over  the  laws  of  that  unique 
and  ancient  people,  so  unlike  all  we 
know  of  the  Roman  and  Anglo-Sax- 
on jurisprudence,  we  find,  not  with- 
out some  regret,  we  must  confess, 
that  the  halo  of  exalted  virtue  and 
unsullied  purity  with  which  the  poet- 
ic fancy  of  subsequent  historians  and 
poets  led  them  to  surround  their  pa- 
gan ancestors,  vanishes  like  the  mists 
of  a  summer  morning,  but  we  dis- 
cover also  that  the  epithets,  barbar- 


ous, ignorant,  and  unlettered,  so  free- 
ly bestowed  on  them  by  the  venal 
scribes  of  the  dominant  race,  rest  on 
no  foundation  whatever  save  on  the 
malice  or  deficiency  of  knowledge 
of  the  Anglo-Norman  authors.  In 
truth,  the  Irish  of  the  pagan  era 
seem  to  have  had  nearly  all  the  vir- 
tues and  failings  of  their  posterity  of 
to-day,  the  former  being  brought 
more  actively  into  play  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Christianity,  and  the  lat- 
ter repressed  by  the  unlimited  autho- 
rity of  the  Catholic  Church  and  the 
judicious  regulations  of  the  Senchus. 
We  find  this  more  particularly  the 
case  in  studying  the  laws  regulating 
the  domestic  relations  of  the  family, 
which,  being  the  unit  of  which  socie- 
ty is  but  an  aggregate,  is  the  most 
vital  and  important  part  of  all  human 
enactments.  Ample  provision  is  made 
for  the  mutual  protection  of  husband 
and  wife,  and  the  reciprocal  rights 
and  duties  of  parent  and  child  are 
clearly  and  minutely  defined ;  but 
we  observe  with  regret  that  much  of 
this  portion  of  the  code  is  occupied 
with  provisions  for  the  distribution  of 
property  on  the  disagreement  or  se- 
paration of  married  people,  and  for 
other  domestic  infelicities  of  a  more 
criminal  nature.  The  prohibition  of 
an  offence  in  a  statute  does  not  ne- 
cessarily imply  the  frequency  of  the 
commission  of  the  crime  itself;  but 
so  much  pains  are  taken  to  point  out 
the  rights  and  disabilities  of  persons 
cohabiting  without  the  sanction  of 
lawful  wedlock  that  the  conviction 
is  forced  upon  us  that  they  were  not 
by  any  means  unnecessary.  As  an 
offset  to  this,  however,  we  find  that 
a  lawful  wife  was  treated  with  the 
greatest  indulgence,  being  in  many 
ways  the  equal  of  her  husband,  and 
in  this  respect  the  Senchus  presents  a 
marked  contrast  to  all  the  other  Eu- 
ropean legislation  of  that  time,  by 
which  woman  was  held  little  better 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


639 


than  a  slave,  and  generally  at  the 
mercy  of  her  father  or  husband,  even 
in  some  instances  to  the  taking  of 
her  life.  We  feel  certain  that  our 
strong-minded  sisterhood  who  are 
so  manfully  battling  for  social  and 
political  equality  will  be  gratified  to 
learn  that  a  portion  of  their  princi- 
ples, at  least,  were  fully  recognized 
fourteen  centuries  ago,  and  for  their 
edification  we  quote  the  following 
passage  from  the  expressed  wisdom 
of  our  ancestors  : 

"  In  the  connection  of  equal  property, 
if  with  equal  land  and  cattle  and  house- 
hold stuff,  and  if  their  marriage  state  be 
equally  free  and  lawful,  the  wife  in  this 
case  is  called  the  wife  of  equal  rank. 
The  contract  made  by  either  party  is  not 
a  lawful  contract  without  the  consent  of 
the  other,  except  in  cases  of  contracts 
tending  equally  to  the  welfare  of  both; 
such  as  the  alliance  of  co-tillage  with  a 
lawful  tribe  when  they  (the  couple)  have 
not  the  means  themselves  of  doing  the 
work  of  ploughing  ;  the  taking  of  land  ; 
the  collection  of  food  ;  the  gathering 
for  the  festivals  ;  the  buying  of  breed- 
ing -  cattle  ;  the  collecting  of  house- 
furniture  ;  the  collecting  of  litters  of 
pigs  ;  the  buying  of  stacks  and  other  ne- 
cessaries. .  .  .  Each  of  the  two  par- 
ties has  the  power  to  give  refection  and 
feast  according  to  their  respective  digni- 
ty-" 

In  case  of  separation,  adequate 
protection  was  thrown  around  the 
wife's  rights  of  property.  If  her  pro- 
perty were  equal  to  that  of  her  hus- 
band at  the  time  of  marriage,  she  took 
an  equal  moiety  of  the  collective 
lands,  goods,  and  chattels,  and,  in 
case  of  dairy  produce  and  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  loom,  two-thirds.  If 
the  property  had  originally  belonged 
wholly  to  the  husband,  the  wife  was 
entitled  to  one-third  on  her  separa- 
tion, and  if  it  had  been  her  own  be- 
fore marriage,  to  two-thirds.  Whe- 
ther these  provisions  extended  to 
their  mutual  claims  after  death,  we 
are  not  informed  by  the  glossators, 


but  it  is  not  improbable  that  they 
were,  thus  creating  estates  not  un- 
like the  more  modern  dower  and 
courtesy  of  the  English  law.  This 
equality  of  married  persons  was  still 
further  extended  in  the  right  of  each 
to  the  disposal  or  guardianship  of 
their  offspring,  and  in  their  authority 
to  demand  in  return  the  assistance 
of  their  children  in  poverty  or  de- 
crepitude. 

The  relations  between  parent  and 
child  were  the  subjects  of  careful 
and  minute  legislation.  The  father 
was  obliged  to  see  that  his  daughter 
was  educated  in  a  manner  becoming 
her  rank,  and,  when  at  a  marriage- 
able age,  to  procure  her  a  husband  of 
suitable  means  and  family.  In  return, 
she  was  to  give  him  one-third  of  her 
first  marriage  gift  (coibhche},  and  a 
certain  proportion  of  other  gifts  re- 
ceived after  her  nuptials.  Should  the 
father  be  dead,  his  son,  succeeding 
him  as  heir,  was  also  obliged  to  as- 
sume the  same  responsibility,  and  re- 
ceived from  his  sister  a  proper  equiva- 
lent at  her  marriage.  The  mother's 
duty  to  her  son  was  similar  to  that 
of  the  father  to  his  daughter,  he  be- 
ing required  to  assist  her  in  her  pov- 
erty or  old  age,  and  in  conjunction 
with  the  daughter  to  provide,  if  nec- 
essary, for  both  his  parents,  an  obli- 
gation imposed  even  on  grandchil- 
dren. That  the  father  should  espe- 
cially have  care  of  the  daughter  and 
the  mother  of  the  son  is  something 
very  contrary  to  the  modern  ideas  of 
domestic  discipline,  but  it  doubtless, 
in  a  primitive  state  of  society,  had 
the  advantage  of  equalizing  the 
stronger  and  weaker  elements  of  the 
family,  giving  to  the  woman  the  be- 
nefit of  manly  protection,  and  to  the 
rougher  masculine  nature  a  gentler 
and  more  humanizing  influence. 

Fosterage,  though  not  unknown 
in  other  countries,  was  so  general  in 
ancient  and  mediaeval  Ireland  as  to 


640 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


give  it  a  character  almost  peculiar  to 
that  island. 

It  is  known  to  have  been  of  very 
ancient  origin,  and  to  have  originat- 
ed in  the  natural  relations  that  ex- 
isted between  the  sept  or  tribe  and 
its  chief,  which  was  one  of  mutual 
rights  and  duties;  for,  observes  the 
Senchus,  "  every  head  defends  its 
members,  if  it  be  a  goodly  head,  of 
good  deeds,  of  good  morals,  exempt, 
affluent,  capable.  The  body  of 
every  head  is  his  tribe,  for  there  is 
no  body  without  a  head.  The  head 
of  every  tribe,  according  to  the  peo- 
ple, should  be  the  man  of  the  tribe 
who  is  most  experienced,  the  most 
noble,  the  most  wealthy,  the  wisest, 
the  most  learned,  the  most  truly 
popular,  the  most  powerful  to  oppose, 
the  most  steadfast  to  sue  for  profits 
and  be  sued  for  losses."  It  will  thus 
be  easily  understood,  particularly  by 
the  citizens  of  a  republic,  that  the 
authority  of  a  chief,  thus  qualified, 
depended  to  a  great  extent  on  the 
affection  and  good-will  of  his  consti- 
tuents ;  and,  in  order  to  create  more 
close  relations  between  himself  and 
them,  it  was  customary  for  him  to 
send  his  children  at  an  early  age  to 
be  nursed  and  trained  by  some  fa- 
mily of  his  sept.  The  children  thus 
placed  under  tutelage  were  regarded 
with  equal,  if  not  greater,  affection 
by  the  foster-parents  than  their  own. 
The  existence  of  this  custom  may 
still  be  traced  in  Ireland,  and  well- 
authenticated  instances  of  the  most 
self-sacrificing  devotion  on  .the  part 
of  the  natural  child  of  the  foster- 
parent  to  his  foster-brother  or  sister 
form  the  theme  of  many  of  our  best 
Irish  stories  and  historical  romances. 
The  foster-parent  for  the  time  being 
stood  in  the  place  of  the  actual  pa- 
rent, and  was  obliged  to  feed,  clothe, 
and  educate  the  foster-child  for  a 
certain  number  of  years,  males  till 
they  had  attained  the  age  of  seven- 


teen, and  females  fourteen  years, 
and  the  children  were  expected  in 
return  to  compensate,  succor,  and  in 
some  cases  support  their  foster-pa- 
rents, as  if  they  were  their  actual  pro- 
genitors. 

The  statutes  regulating  fosterage 
occupy  a  large  portion  of  the  Sen- 
chus,  so  far  as  published,  and  affords 
us  a  fuller  and  more  accurate  know- 
ledge of  the  social  habits  and  condi- 
tion of  the  Gaelic  people  in  and  be- 
fore the  fifth  century  than  any  other 
portion  of  the  collection,  or  even  all 
the  histories  of  Ireland  extant  which 
profess  to  treat  of  that  remote  epoch. 
Fosterage,  we  are  told,  was  of  two 
sorts,  for  affection  and  compensation. 
When  the  latter,  the  fosterage  price 
was  regulated  according  to  the  rank 
of  the  chief,  and  varied  from  three 
cows  in  the  case  of  the  son  of  an 
Og-Aire,  or  lowest  chief,  to  thirty 
cows  for  the  son  of  a  king.  The 
services  to  be  rendered  for  their  pay- 
ments, being  food,  raiment,  and  edu- 
cation, were  proportioned  to  the 
amount,  and  seem  to  have  been  the 
subject  of  much  elaborate  legislation, 
not  easily  reconcilable  to  our  modern 
notions.  For  instance,  in  the  matter 
of  food,  Dr.  O'Donovan  renders  a 
very  ancient  commentary  on  the  first 
clause  of  the  law  of  fosterage  as  fol- 
lows : 

"What  are  their  victuals?  They  are 
all  fed  on  stirabout ;  but  the  materials  of 
which  it  is  made,  and  the  flavoring  with 
it,  vary  according  to  the  rank  of  the  par- 
ents of  the  children.  The  children  of 
the  inferior  grades  are  fed  to  bare  suffi- 
ciency on  stirabout  made  of  oatmeal  on 
buttermilk  or  water,  and  it  is  taken  with 
stale  (salt)  butter.  The  sons  of  the  chief- 
tain grades  are  fed  to  satiety  on  stirabout 
made  of  barley-meal  upon  new  milk, 
taken  with  fresh  butter.  The  sons  of 
kings  are  fed  on  stirabout  made  of  wheat- 
en  meal  upon  new  milk,  taken  with  ho- 
ney." 

According  to  one  authority,  every 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


641 


foster-child  should  be  provided  with 
t\vo  suits  of  clothing,  in  color  and 
quality  according  to  the  rank  of 
his  father — blay,  yellow,  black,  and 
white  colored  clothes  for  the  inferior 
grades,  red,  green,  and  brown  for 
the  sons  of  chieftains,  and  purple 
and  blue  for  princes.  According  to 
another,  the  distinction  of  rank  was 
indicated  in  the  following  manner  : 

"  Satin  and  scarlet  are  for  the  son  of 
the  king  of  Erin,  and  silver  on  his  scab- 
bards, and  brass  rings  on  his  hurling- 
sticks  ;  and  tin  upon  the  scabbards  of 
the  sons  of  chieftains  of  the  lower  rank, 
and  brass  rings  upon  their  hurling  sticks. 
.  .  .  And  brooches  of  gold  having 
crystal  inserted  in  them  with  the  sons  of 
the  king  of  Erin  and  of  the  king  of  a 
province,  and  brooches  of  silver  with  the 
sons  of  the  king  of  a  territory." 

The  course  of  instruction  to  be 
pursued  by  the  foster-children  was 
likewise  regulated  by  the  degree  of 
the  dignity  of  their  parents.  The 
sons  of  the  "  lower  classes  "  were  to 
be  employed  in  "  the  herding  of 
lambs,  and  calves,  and  kids,  and 
pigs,  and  kiln-drying  and  combing, 
and  wood-cutting,"  while  the  girls 
were  expected  to  learn  the  use  of  the 
guern,  or  hand-mill  for  grinding  grain, 
the  useful  household  art  of  making 
bread,  and  winnowing  corn,  etc. ;  the 
young  chieftains  were  to  be  taught 
horsemanship,  shooting,  swimming, 
and  chess-playing,  and  their  sisters, 
sewing,  cutting-out,  and  embroidery. 
We  have  thus  placed  before  us  in  all 
its  simplicity,  and  upon  the  best  au- 
thority, the  modes  of  living  prescrib- 
ed for  the  youth  of  both  sexes  in 
Ireland  at  the  time  of  its  conversion 
to  Christianity — a  record  valuable  to 
the  historian  and  the  antiquarian,  dis- 
sipating alike  the  poetic  imaginings 
of  too  partial  Celtic  chroniclers  and 
the  voluntary  misrepresentations  of 
the  Anglo-Norman  writers.  It  may 
be  objected  that  such  limited  views 
VOL.  xm. — 41 


of  education  argued  little  for  the 
civilization  of  the  race  who  entertain- 
ed them ;  but  when  we  recall  the  con- 
dition of  Western  Europe  at  the  time 
the  Senchus  was  composed,  we  may 
well  be  surprised  at  the  sound  sense 
and  practical  wisdom  so  often  found 
in  its  pages.  Nor  must  it  be  suppos- 
ed that  the  labors  of  the  child  end- 
ed with  the  performance  of  the  tasks 
thus  assigned  him.  There  existed 
another  and  correlative  species  of  tu- 
telage called  literary  fosterage,  which 
is  thus  denned  in  the  "  law  of  social 
connections  " : 

"The  social  connection  that  is  consid- 
ered between  the  foster-pupil  and  the  li- 
terary foster-father  is,  that  the  latter  is  to 
instruct  him  without  reserve,  and  to  pre- 
pare him  for  his  degree,  and  to  chastise 
him  without  severity,  and  to  feed  and 
clothe  him  while  he  is  learning  his  pro- 
fession, unless  he  obtains  it  from  another 
person,  and  from  the  school  of  Fenius 
Forsaidh  onward  this  custom  prevails  ; 
and  the  foster-pupil  is  to  assist  his  tutor 
in  poverty  and  to  assist  him  in  his  old 
age,  and  the  honor  price  of  the  degree 
for  which  he  prepares  him  and  all  the 
gains  of  his  art  while  he  is  learning  it, 
and  the  first  earnings  of  his  art  after 
leaving  the  house  of  his  tutor,  are  to  be 
given  to  the  tutor." 

In  addition  to  this  excellent  and 
equitable  plan  of  intellectual  culture, 
we  also  find  in  the  law  of  tenures 
that  the  sons  of  tenants  holding 
church  lands  were  entitled  to  receive 
instruction  from  the  holders  of  the 
benefices,  which,  we  may  presume, 
were  not  necessarily  altogether  of  a 
spiritual  nature.  We  thus  find  that 
fosterage  constituted  one  of  the  most 
important  elements  of  society,  and, 
though  much  condemned  by  subse- 
quent and  partial  writers,  contained 
within  itself  most  of  the  duties  and 
responsibilities  which  we  now  divide 
among  corporations  and  individu- 
als under  different  names.  The 
importance  which  ancient  Irish  law- 


642 


The  Ancient  Laws  of  Ireland. 


givers  seemed  to  attach  to  this  crude 
but  not  altogether  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  define  the  relations  of  pa- 
rent and  child,  employer  and  em- 
ployed, master  and  scholar — ques- 
tions still  raised  in  this  enlightened 
age — is  shown  in  the  number  of  the 
statutory  enactments  originally  made, 
and  the  elaborate  and  critical  glosses 
afterward  appended  to  them,  the  whole 
not  unworthy  the  notice  of  the  mo- 
dern legislator. 

The  land  tenure  has  always  been 
a  subject  of  doubt  and  difficulty  in 
Ireland,  and  the  laws  of  the  Senchus 
appear  to  us  as  little  satisfactory  and 
as  hard  to  be  understood  as  that  re- 
cently passed  in  the  British  Parlia- 
ment under  the  supervision  of  Mr. 
Gladstone.  It  seems  to  us,  from  the 
careful  examination  of  the  different 
statutes  relating  to  it,  that  each  chief 
held  the  whole  of  the  land  of  his 
tribe  in  his  own  name,  not,  however, 
in  his  own  right  altogether,  but  partly 
as  trustee  of  his  tribe,  and  in  this 
respect  the  Irish  system  differs  ma- 
terially from  the  feudal,  which  for 
centuries  prevailed  in  all  parts  of 
Europe,  except  in  the  country  of 
which  we  are  writing.  The  tenants 
were  divided  into  two  classes,  those 
who  held  by  saerrath  or  daerrath, 
terms  for  which  we  can  find  no  equi- 
valents in  the  English  language.  The 
first  class  received  from  their  chief, 
upon  taking  the  land,  and  without 
security,  sufficient  cattle  to  stock  the 
same,  for  which  they  were  obliged  to 
return  an  annual  rental  in  kind,  or,  at 
the  chiefs  option,  its  value  in  personal 
service  and  labor,  such  as  working  on 
his  dun  or  rath,  and  following  him  in 
his  wars.  This  species  of  tenure, 
except  in  the  case  of  those  who  held 
immediately  from  the  king,  could  at 
pleasure  be  turned  into  holding  by 
daerrath,  by  which  the  tenant  gave 
security  for  the  stock  received,  and 
was  exempt  from  personal  and  mili- 


tary service.  The  rents  and  their 
manner  and  time  of  payment  varied 
according  to  circumstances,  but  al- 
ways subject  to  the  above  restrictions, 
and  were,  of  course,  the  exclusive  pro- 
perty of  the  landlord  or  chief  for 
the  time  being.  The  restrictions  on 
the  alienation  of  land,  or  rather  of 
the  good-will  of  it — for  in  fact  the 
fee  did  not  rest  in  the  individual,  but 
in  the  tribe  as  represented  by  its 
chief — were  many  and  onerous,  in- 
cluding forfeiture  and  other  penalties, 
and  were  generally  directed  to  the 
exclusion  of  members  of  neighboring 
or  hostile  tribes.  The  agrarian  por- 
tion of  the  ancient  code,  in  fact,  while 
far  superior  in  point  of  liberality  to 
that  of  many  of  the  then  existing 
nations,  resembled  more  the  laws 
that  govern  our  Indian  reservations 
than  those  of  any  enlightened  country 
of  the  present  day.  It  was  full  of 
fatal  and  mischievous  errors,  and  to 
its  baleful  operation  have  been  ascrib- 
ed many  of  the  evils  which  centuries 
before  and  after  the  Anglo-Norman 
invasion  afflicted  Ireland.  By  jeal- 
ously confining  the  occupancy  of  a 
certain  district  to  one  particular  tribe 
or  family,  it  engendered  a  feeling  of 
faction,  and  what  might  be  called 
parish  patriotism,  which  unfortunately 
have  outlived  the  cause  that  gave 
them  birth,  and,  by  persisting  in  con- 
sidering the  tribal  land  as  indivisible, 
it  destroyed  that  high  sense  of  in- 
dependence and  spirit  of  enterprise 
which  can  only  be  felt  and  maintain- 
ed by  him  who  owns  his  own  farm 
and  calls  no  fellow-man  master. 

The  laws  relating  to  distress,  or 
the  form  of  collecting  claims,  such 
as  debts,  tributes,  forfeitures,  etc., 
are  the  least  attractive  and  instruc- 
tive portion  of  the  work,  and  for 
dense  obscurity  and  incomprehen- 
sibleness  can  only  be  compared  to 
our  own  Code  of  procedure.  We 
gather,  however,  from  them  that  all 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket, 


643 


civil  claims  and  damages  for  injuries 
Avere  collectable  by  a  short  process 
of  the  seizure  of  the  goods  and  chat- 
tels of  the  defendant,  and  the  reten- 
tion of  the  same  on  the  premises  of 
the  plaintiff,  or,  as  in  the  case  of 
cattle,  in  the  public  pound.  After 
the  expiration  of  a  certain  number 
of  days,  if  the  defendant  did  not 
replevin  his  property  or  disprove  his 
opponent's  claim,  the  goods  became 
the  absolute  property  of  the  creditor. 
With  a  humanity,  however,  which 
many  suppose  to  be  the  growth  of 
our  century,  the  plaintiff  should  ex- 
haust first  the  property  upon  the 
possession  of  which  the  subsistence 
of  the  defendant's  family  did  not 
immediately  depend,  and  even  some 
articles  of  primary  necessity  were  al- 
together exempt  from  seizure.  Im- 
prisonment for  debt,  however,  par- 
tially existed,  and.  when  the  debtor 
had  no  goods  and  did  not  belong  to 
the  class  of  freemen,  he  was  arrested 
and  compelled  to  labor  for  the  cre- 
ditor until  the  demands  of  the  latter 
were  fully  satisfied. 


Such,  in  brief,  is  a  resume  of  the 
laws  contained  in  the  two  volumes 
of  the  Senchus  Mor  already  publish- 
ed, and  which  we  hope  soon  to  hear 
of  occupying  a  position  on  the 
shelves  of  every  library  of  reference 
in  the  country.  Much  yet  remains 
of  the  ancient  Code  of  St.  Patrick  * 
to  be  given  to  the  world  before  the 
entire  work  is  completed,  and  we  are 
assured  that  this  will  be  done  at  an 
early  day,  and  in  as  scholarly  a  man- 
ner as  the  portion  before  us.  We 
shall  look  eagerly  for  its  appearance, 
not  for  its  practical  value  as  a  legal 
study,  but  as  a  picture  of  a  remote 
but  interesting  era  and  race,  and  as 
an  additional  evidence  of  how  much 
the  world  owes  to  the  Catholic  Church 
even  in  the  civil  and  political  affairs 
of  life.  The  science  of  true  govern- 
ment has  been  a  plant  of  slow  but 
sure  growth,  and,  while  we  enjoy  so 
many  of  its  fruits  in  our  favored  land, 
we  must  not  forget  that  the  seeds 
were  planted  with  so  much  suffering 
and  labor  by  the  apostolic  men  who 
have  gone  to  their  rest  centuries  ago. 


THE   STORY  OF  AN  ALGERINE   LOCKET. 


IN  the  sunshine  of  a  May  morning 
stood  an  old  gray  house,  with  a  porch 
draped  in  woodbine  and  sweetbrier. 
A  mass  of  wisteria  climbed  to  the 
very  chimneys,  and  on  the  lawn  a  bed 
of  red  and  golden  tulips  swayed  with 
the  soft  breeze.  A  wren  was  build- 
ing in  an  acacia  and  singing,  while 
a  young  girl  watched  his  work  and 
sang  also,  trying  with  her  fresh  sopra- 
no voice  to  catch  his  melody. 


The  old  house  was  the  homestead 
of  Holly  Farm,  and  the  young  girl 
was  Sybil  Vaughan,  the  heroine  of  a 
very  short  story. 

"  Sybil  looks  charming  in  white," 
thought  Miss  Mildred,  sitting  at  the 
window  of  the  green  parlor  with  her 
mending-basket  beside  her ;  "  and  the 
locket  is  quite  becoming." 

It  was  before  the  day  when  every 

*  The  Sent  A  us  H  for  was  sometimes  known  as 
Cain  Patraic^  or  Patrick's  La-w. 


644 


Story  of  an  Algcrine  Locket. 


one  began  to  wear  medallions,  and 
the  one  that  hung  by  a  quaint  twist- 
ed chain  from  Sybil's  neck  was  a 
locket  of  rich  enamel,  brought  to  her 
from  Algeria  by  a  midshipman  cou- 
sin, and  quite  unlike  our  gewgaw 
from  the  Palais  Royal. 

As  we  have  said,  Miss  Mildred  sat 
at  the  window  of  the  green  parlor, 
raising  her  eyes  now  and  then  from 
her  work  to  watch  her  pretty  niece, 
her  adopted  daughter.  During  the 
seventy  years  of  her  life,  she  had  sat 
at  that  same  window  almost  every 
morning  since  she  was  old  enough 
to  work  a  sampler,  or  to  read  a  paper 
in  the  Spectator  or  a  chapter  of 
Evelina  to  her  mother  and  younger 
sisters. 

In  her  girlhood,  Holly  Farm  had 
been  a  lonely  place,  remote  from 
town  and  village.  The  trees,  now 
rising  luxuriantly  around  the  house, 
were  then,  like  her,  in  their  youth, 
and  revealed  whatever  might  be 
passing  in  the  lane  below  the  lawn. 
At  a  period  of  life  when  young  peo- 
ple gaze  abroad  in  vague  expectation 
of  some  wonderful  arrival  or  event 
that  shall  alter  the  current  of  exis- 
tence. Mildred  Vaughan  had  turned 
longing  eyes  toward  this  lawn  hour 
after  hour,  and  she  had  thought  her 
morning's  watch  well  rewarded  if  the 
old  doctor  had  trundled  by  in  his 
high-topped  chaise  and  nodded  to 
her  in  friendly  greeting. 

With  a  capacity  for  painting  that 
in  these  days  of  potichomania,  decal- 
comania,  and  the  rest  would  have 
passed  for  originality,  if  not  genius, 
she  had  received  one  quarter's  lessons 
in  oil-painting,  and  by  dint  of  study- 
ing a  few  beautiful  family  portraits 
had  acquired  a  keenness  of  perception 
that  made  her  hunger  for  the  world 
of  art.  With  an  earnest  love  for 
books,  she  had  been  obliged  to 
devote  her  time  to  the  care  of  her 
younger  brothers  and  sisters.  And 


so,  out  of  her  monotonous  life,  she 
had  brought  into  old  age  an  exagge- 
rated idea  of  the  value  of  learning 
and  luxury,  with  a  belief  in  possibili- 
ties and  a  regret  for  what  might  have 
been  generally  supposed  to  belong 
exclusively  to  youth. 

This  sounds  more  melancholy  than 
it  really  was.  Miss  Mildred  had 
kept  her  ideal  of  happiness  fresh  and 
vivid,  and  that  is  in  itself  a  source 
of  keen  enjoyment.  And,  being  a 
devout  and  trusting  soul,  she  had 
framed  for  herself  a  prayer  out  of 
the  thwarted  aspiration  of  her  heart 
and  mind :  "  I  thank  thee,  Lord, 
that  there  are  joys  so  beautiful  on 
earth,  and  I  thank  thee  that  they  are 
not  for  me.  Thy  will  is  dearer  to 
me  than  the  realization  of  any  dream." 

Every  one  loved  to  come  to  Miss 
Mildred  for  sympathy.  She  believ- 
ed in  the  reality  and  the  durability 
of  their  joy,  in  the  depth  and  in  the 
cause  of  their  grief.  She  did  not  say 
to  the  mother  who  had  lost  her  little 
baby,  "  He  is  saved  from  sorrow 
and  sin."  She  did  not  say  to  the 
young  widow,  "  You  have  had  the 
best  part  of  life  ;  later  come  trial  and 
vexation  of  spirit."  She  knew  that 
in  bereavement  the  balm  often  en- 
ters with  the  sting ;  that  the  stainless 
beauty  of  the  thing  we  lose  is  our 
only  earthly  consolation  for  its  loss. 

A  great  change  had  come  to  Holly 
Farm  since  the  time  when  the 'doc- 
tor's visit  was  an  important  event. 
The  sweep  of  meadow-land  west  of 
the  house  now  served  as  camping- 
ground  for  the  — th  Regiment,  Mas- 
sachusetts Volunteers,  in  which 
young  Henry  Vaughan  held  a  second 
lieutenancy.  Drumming  and  fifing, 
the  arrival  of  carriages  full  of  gayly 
dressed  people  to  visit  the  camp, 
the  music  of  the  regimental  band  on 
moonlight  evenings,  such  was  the 
course  of  daily  life  on  green  slopes 
which  cattle  and  sheep  had  once 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket. 


645 


possessed  without  dispute,  nibbling 
the  grass  and  drinking  from  the  river 
in  all  contentment. 

Indeed,  Miss  Mildred's  standard 
of  events  had  so  naturally  changed 
in  that  course  of  seventy  years  that, 
when  the  little  white  gate  swung 
open,  and  a  young  man  in  uniform 
walked  across  the  lawn,  she  merely 
said  to  herself:  "That  must  be  Cap- 
tain Adair  coming  to  see  Harry.  He 
walks  better  than  any  man  I  ever 
saw.  The  maid's  hanging  out 
clothes;  I  do  hope  Sybil  will  have 
sense  enough  to  come  and  speak  to 
him  instead  of  letting  him  knock." 

Sybil  had  the  amount  of  sense  re- 
quisite for  the  emergency.  She  led 
the  way  into  the  green  parlor,  and, 
leaving  Captain  Adair  with  her  aunt, 
went  to  announce  the  arrival  to  her 
brother,  who  was  trying  on  his  new 
uniform,  and  blushed  to  be  caught 
admiring  the  epaulettes  before  a 
mirror  in  the  library.  There  was  no 
need  of  apology.  Sybil  was  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  occasion,  and 
returned  to  the  parlor  feeling  as 
proud  of  her  brother's  military  outfit 
as  he  of  the  beauty  of  the  sister  lean- 
ing on  his  arm. 

It  was  a  pleasant  meeting.  Adair's 
frank  and  sympathetic  manner  had 
won  its  way  through  Miss  Mildred's 
reserve ;  and  his  familiarity  with  the 
world  and  its  ways  secured  him  an 
easy  victory  over  his  young  lieuten- 
ant. Sybil  was  less  impressionable 
than  the  other  two.  Her  manners 
were  gentle  and  courteous  to  all,  but 
it  was  not  easy  to  penetrate  her  likes 
and  dislikes,  or  to  find  out  their 
cause.  Just  a  trifle  uninteresting,  she 
was,  poor  Sybil,  like  many  nicely 
poised  young  persons  before  they 
have  enjoyed  or  suffered  keenly. 
The  very  finish  of  her  beauty,  of  her 
lovely  manners,  of  her  pleasant  voice 
and  accent,  left  nothing  to  be  desir- 
ed— no  suggestion  of  anything  be- 


yond. But  a  soul  so  brave,  so  pure 
and  honest  as  hers  deserved  to  be 
developed,  and  the  occasion  for  de- 
velopment came. 

II. 
ADAIR'S  LETTERS  TO  HENRY 

ALLEYNE. 

CAMP  EVERETT,  May,  1861. 

I  HAD  an  adventure  yesterday  that 
should  have  fallen  to  your  lot,  my 
dear  Alleyne,  not  to  that  of  a  prosaic 
dog  like  me. 

Hearing  that  my  second  lieuten- 
ant lived  near  the  camp,  and  that  he 
could  not  enter  upon  his  duties  for 
a  day  or  two,  I  took  it  into  my  head 
to  go  and  see  what  stuff  he  was  made 
of,  for,  Alleyne,  I  am  awfully  inte- 
rested in  Company  B,  and  in  every 
creature  connected  with  it.  How 
could  I  ever  have  lived  in  that  bore  of 
a  city,  or  slept  within  four  walls,  or 
used  a  silver  fork !  "  Going  off  at 
half-cock,  as  usual,"  you  say  ?  Well, 
perhaps  that  is  better  than  never  go- 
ing off  at  all.  But  to  return  to  my 
story. 

I  went  through  a  shady  lane,  lead- 
ing from  the  camp  to  Vaughan's 
house.  (Vaughan  is  the  second  lieu- 
tenant and  owner  of  the  camping- 
ground.)  As  I  drew  near  the  gate,  I 
heard  a  woman's  voice  singing.  A  lit- 
tle further  on  came  a  gap  in  the  trees, 
and  I  took  a  reconnoissance — such 
another  I  can  never  hope  for  during 
my  military  career.  A  low- spreading 
stone  house,  covered  with  vines,  stood 
among  fine  old  trees.  Great  bunch- 
es of  blue  blossoms  draped  the  walls, 
and  on  the  velvety  lawn  were  clus- 
ters of  brilliant  flowers.  Beneath  a 
tree,  honor  bright,  Alleyne,  if  ever 
angels  do  appear  in  white  gowns  with 
broad  rose-colored  sashes,  it  was  an 
angel  that  stood  beneath  that  tree, 
answering  a  bird  with  a  voice  as 


646 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket. 


fresh,  an  expression  as  natural  as  his 
own.  I  stood  there  looking  and  lis- 
tening— it  was  really  very  fascinating 
— until  I  suddenly  remembered  ray 
errand.  Then  I  pushed  open  the 
gate,  and,  walking  across  to  the  porch, 
lifted  the  bright  brass  knocker.  But 
the  rival  of  the  wren,  without  letting 
me  wait  the  coming  of  some  crea- 
ture of  baser  clay,  came  from  among 
the  trees,  and  asked  if  I  wished  to 
see  Mr.  Vaughan. 

Now,  J  had  wished  to  see  Mr.  Vau- 
ghan, and  as  it  would  not  do  to  say 
on  so  short  an  acquaintance  that  my 
wishes  were  too  completely  satisfied 
by  the  vision  before  me  to  leave  any 
want  unfulfilled,  I  stoutly  declared 
that  I  did  wish  to  see  Mr.  Vaughan, 
and  that  I  was  Captain  Adair. 

And  then  she  showed  your  too  sus- 
ceptible friend  into  a  summer  parlor, 
where  the  general  effect  was  white 
and  sea-green,  and  where  there  were 
hanging-baskets  of  flowers  surround- 
ed by  vines  and  soft  moss,  and  where 
an  elderly  lady  in  a  lavender  dress, 
with  white  lawn  apron  and  kerchief, 
sat  sewing,  and  where  portraits  of 
rosy-fingered  dames  and  periwigged 
gentlemen  gazed  on  us  from  the 
walls  and  read  our  destinies — mine 
must  have  been  too  plainly  legible 
on  my  ingenuous  countenance.  And 
the  old  lady  received  me  very  cour- 
teously, and  -the  maiden  went  to  find 
her  brother,  and,  when  the  brother 
came,  he  looked  like  his  sister,  and 
surely  never  before  was  lieutenant 
greeted  by  his  superior  officer  with 
such  ineffable  tenderness.  And  we 
dined,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  off 
dishes  of  topaz  and  crystal,  heaped 
high  with  ambrosia,  and  soon  after 
dinner  I  returned  to  Camp  Everett, 
and  met  the  colonel  going  his  rounds. 

"  You  come  from  young  Vaughan's, 
I  see,"  he  said.  "  What  impression 
did  he  make  upon  you  ?" 

"  Charming,  highly  delightful,  very 


promising,"  I  replied,  with  a  happy 
combination  of  diffidence  and  child- 
like openness  of  manner. 

He  gave  me  a  look  out  of  his 
shrewd  old  eyes.  "  So  attractive  a 
person  will  be  an  acquisition  to  the 
regiment,"  he  remarked,  and  let  me 
pass  on  to  my  tent. 

I  am  half-asleep.     Good-night ! 
ROBERT  ADAIR. 

CAMP  EVERETT,  June,  1861. 

THINGS  go  on  grandly  at  the  camp, 
and  between  ourselves  the  colonel 
has  just  said  that  Company  B  is  bet- 
ter disciplined  than  any  other  in  the 
regiment — a  compliment  I'm  very 
proud  of,  coming,  as  it  does,  from  an 
old  West  Point  martinet. 

And  now  for  the  second  part  of 
my  idyl.  Every  afternoon,  Vaughan 
and  I  go  up  to  his  place  and  smoke 
awhile  in  the  orchard.  Then,  by 
accident — it  is  wonderful,  the  unerr- 
ing accuracy  of  accident  at  times — 
we  appear  at  the  east  window  of  the 
green  parlor,  and  there  are  Miss 
Vaughan  and  her  niece,  sewing  or 
drawing,  and  sometimes  Miss  Sybil 
sings,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
charming  Pleyel  piano,  canzonets  of 
Haydn  in  a  style  as  fine,  as  pure,  as 
exquisite  as  the  composition.  She 
— Sybil,  I  mean — has  never  danced  a 
German  or  heard  Faust.'  Duly 
shielded  by  the  presence  of  aunt  or 
brother,  she  is  sometimes  taken  to 
hear  the  Nozze  di  Figaro  or  to  see 
Hamlet,  or  to  some  other  unexcep- 
tionable afternoon  entertainment.  I 
smile  sometimes  to  see  her  absolute 
ignorance  of  life,  and,  wonder  that, 
in  a  village  not  twenty  miles  distant 
from  a  city  where  the  world  runs 
riot,  this  being  has  sprung  into  wo- 
manhood, unconscious  of  the  exis- 
tence of  anything  less  spotl-ess  than 
herself. 

This  guarded  life  has  given  to  her 
manners  a  certain  high  breeding  that 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket. 


647 


would  keep  one  at  a  distance  but  for 
her  kind,  frank  nature.  No  one  can 
venture  to  fancy  himself  distinguished 
above  others. 

Do  you  know  what  this  makes  me 
feel  ?  That  hitherto,  and  I  am  near- 
ly twenty-five  years  old,  I  have  look- 
ed at  women  with  a  coxcomb's  eyes. 
Any  day,  any  hour,  I  feel  ready  to 
throw  myself  on  her  mercy,  but  an 
instinct  tells  me  that  her  love  must 
be  won  by  something  better  than  pro- 
fessions. When  I  have  suffered  in 
the  cause  she  loves  well  enough  to 
give  her  only  brother  to  defend  it, 
then  I  will  speak. 

Noblesse  oblige — I  see  that  in  a  cer- 
tain lofty  sense  this  is  the  motto  of 
her  life,  and  it  shall  be  mine.  Do 
you  remember  what  our  dear  old 
philosopher  used  to  say  in  the  scien- 
tific school  ?  "  The  better  you  be- 
gin, the  harder  is  the  work  before 
you."  And  when  we  asked  what  he 
meant,  he  only  said,  "  Noblesse  ob- 
lige." It  is  true,  whether  the  noblesse 
acts  upon  us  in  the  form  of  intellec- 
tual strength  or  of  spiritual  gifts,  or 
in  the  old  material  sense  of  inherited 
rank. 

Except  the  hour  spent  at  Vaughan's 
each  day,  and  an  occasional  visit  to 
my  mother  in  town,  I  am  wrapped 
up  in  the  affairs  of  Company  B.  The 
life  here  is  to  me  most  fascinating. 
You  would  laugh  to  see  me  with  a 
set  of  wooden  soldiers  before  me  on 
the  little  table  in  my  tent,  studying 
manoeuvres,  extricating  my  company 
from  the  most  astounding  and  un- 
heard-of perplexities.  The  progress 
of  my  lieutenants;  the  health,  mo- 
rals, and  immorals  of  the  company ; 
the  incapacity  of  our  bugler  to  draw 
the  faintest  sound  from  his  instru- 
ment— in  short,  everything  that  indi- 
cates growth  or  decay  of  discipline 
in  Company  B,  seems  to  me  a  matter 
of  national  importance. 

One  Word  more  about  Miss  Sybil 


Vaughan.  My  mother  has  seen  her, 
and  sympathizes  with  me.  When  she 
came  to  visit  the  camp,  I  took  her 
to  Vaughan's  house  to  rest.  As  we 
left  Holly  Farm,  she  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief,  and  said  :  "  Robert,  I  feel  as 
though  I  had  stepped  back  half  a 
century.  When  I  was  a  girl,  young 
ladies  were  like  Miss  Sybil  Vaughan." 

One  more  last  word.  .  In  your  let- 
ter you  said,  with  an  air  of  superior 
wisdom,  plainly  expressed  in  the  tails 
of  your  letters  :  "  You  are  in  love." 

Of  course  I  am,  and  I  should  be 
a  fool  if  I  were  not. 

Your  friend, 

ROBERT  ADAIR. 

in. 

IT  was  June  still.  The  laburnum 
path  was  all  aglow  with  blossoms, 
and  the  grape- walk,  just  beyond, 
made  a  shadowy  retreat  toward  eve- 
ning. Sybil  was  sitting  there  with 
her  work  lying  on'  her  lap.  She  had 
not  sewed  three  stitches.  Why  had 
not  Harry  come  as  usual  that  after- 
noon to  the  east  window  to  get  his 
cup  of  black  coffee  ?  Why — O 
dear !  there  are  so  many  whys  in  the 
case,  and  never  an  answer  anywhere. 
Why  was  there  an  indefinite  air  of 
bustle  in  the  camp  as  she  looked 
down  on  it  from  her  bower?  Why 
was  there  an  undefined  sense  of  stir 
in  everything  ? 

She  watched  the  sun  drop  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  distant  hills.  The 
air  was  full  of  saffron  light,  and  hea- 
vy with  the  perfume  of  flowers.  Na- 
ture was  so  new  and  fresh  in  her 
June  loveliness ;  and  life  was  full  of 
a  promise  of  coming  beauty,  as  it  had 
never  been  before  to  Sybil  in  any 
other  of  her  nineteen  Junes.  That 
sense  of  stir  was  in  her  own  soul  no 
less  than  in  external  nature. 

There  came  the  click  of  an  iron 
heel  upon  the  gravelled  path.  Sybil 


648 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket. 


half-rose  from  the  bench,  and  then 
sank  back  again.  Adair  stood  before 
her.  "  We  are  ordered  off"  he  said. 
"  We  go  in  an  hour.  I've  but  one 
moment  to  stay,  for  I  promised  Har- 
ry to  leave  him  time  to  come  and 
say  good-by." 

In  the  white,  scared  look  on  Sybil's 
face  he  read  the  right  to  speak. 

But  it  had  all  been  so  hurried,  she 
thought,  when  he  was  gone.  Oh  !  for 
one  of  those  minutes  to  return,  that 
she  might  express  to  him  a  tenth 
part  of  the  joy  and  pain,  the  hope 
and  terror,  that  filled  her  heart.  She 
could  remember  nothing  clearly  or 
in  order,  and  yet  she  would  have 
given  all  the  other  memories  of  her 
happy  life  to  recall  each  word  as  it 
was  spoken.  He  had  asked  her  to 
give  him  something  of  her  own,  a 
ring,  a  glove,  a  ribbon,  no  matter 
what.  And  she  had  taken  from  her 
neck  the  medallion,  and  laid  in  it  a 
little  curl  of  her  hair,  and  given  it  to 
him  ;  and  she  had  felt  his  hand  upon 
her  head,  and  heard  him  say,  "  God 
keep  my  sweet,  innocent  love  !"  And 
when  she  lifted  her  head  he  was 
gone,  and  she  had  told  him  nothing. 
It  could  not  be  a  dream,  for  on  her 
left  hand  was  the  ring  he  placed 
there — one  that  she  had  seen  him 
wear,  and  thought  too  beautiful  a 
jewel  for  a  man  to  have,  but  now  she 
felt  so  glad  that  he  had  worn  it.  He 
had  said  this  was  to  be  the  guard  of 
the  wedding-ring  that  he  would  place 
there  as  soon  as  he  could  get  a  fur- 
lough to  come  home;  and  she  had 
said — yes,  thank  God!  she  did  re- 
member saying  that,  at  least — she 
had  said  that  no  one  but  himself 
should  take  off  this  ring  or  put  an- 
other in  its  place ;  yes,  thank  God  ! 
she  had  said  it. 

Then  Harry  had  come,  too  over- 
joyed at  the  news  of  her  engagement 
to  feel  the  pain  of  parting.  That 
memory  was  full  of  turmoil ;  mixed, 


too,  with  self-reproach  that  all  other 
emotion  was  so  lost  in  her  new  joy 
or  pain,  whichever  it  might  be  call- 
ed, that  Harry's  going  gave  her  no 
uneasiness. 

The  sun  dropped  behind  the  hills ; 
star  after  star  pierced  through  the 
darkening  blue.  Stillness  lay  on  the 
valley  below,  so  lately  full  of  tramp- 
ing horses,  and  shouting  men,  and 
shifting  lights. 

At  last  she  heard  her  aunt's  voice 
calling  her,  and  roused  herself  to  go 
and  tell  her  beautiful  story,  old  as 
the  human  race,  new  as  that  very 
June  evening.  She  wondered  that 
Aunt  Mildred  understood  it  all  so 
well.  Short-sighted  Sybil !  it  was 
you  who  were  beginning  to  under- 
stand Miss  Mildred. 

One  August  day,  when  a  sultry 
fog  held  the  earth  in  bondage,  and 
scarlet  geraniums  blazed  like  red 
pools  among  the  wilted  grass,  Miss 
Mildred  pushed  open  the  little  white 
gate,  and,  with  that  hurried  step  that 
in  old  age  so  poorly  simulates  speed, 
hastened  across  the  lawn.  She  gave 
a  quick  glance  into  the  two  parlors 
which  were  vacant,  and  then  went 
up-stairs,  grasping  nervously  the  low 
hand-rail.  In  the  upper  hall  she 
stopped,  and  leaned  against  the  ba- 
lustrade to  take  breath,  and  courage, 
too.  Then,  opening  the  door  of  Sy- 
bil's room,  she  stopped  on  the  thres- 
hold to  see  her  lying  on  the  floor 
with  a  newspaper  crushed  in  her 
hand.  A  bulletin  in  the  village  post- 
office  had  told  her  all :  "  Found  dead 
on  the  field,  Captain  Robert  Adair, 
— th  Regt.  Mass.  Vols."  They  lifted 
Sybil  up  and  laid  her  on  her  bed. 
She  did  not  "  strive  nor  cry,"  but  in 
that  first  grief  it  pleased  God  to 
measure  her  power  of  endurance. 

It  was  not  in  victory  that  Adair 
had  fallen,  but  in  one  of  those  en- 
gagements where,  humanly  speak- 
ing, life  seems  thrown  away.  But 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket. 


649 


such  thoughts  should  not  disturb  the 
mourners  cradled  in  the  providence 
of  God.  He  chooses  the  time  and 
the  occasion,  and  what  is  lost  in  the 
current  of  human  events  he  gathers 
up  and  cherishes. 

Weeks  passed  away.  Letters  came 
—precious  in  their  recognition  of 
Adair's  high  integrity,  his  courage, 
his  compassion;  letters,  too,  from 
his  mother,  far  away  in  her  summer 
home,  acknowledging  Sybil  as  one 
with  her  in  love  and  bereavement. 
But  she  lay,  white  and  listless,  on  her 
bed,  taking  little  notice  of  anything 
except  in  the  expression  of  gratitude. 
Harder  than  anything  else  for  her 
aunt  to  bear  was  the  pathos  of  Sy- 
bil's resignation. 

There  came  a  soft  afternoon,  early 
in  September,  when  for  the  first  time 
Sybil's  easy-chair  was  placed  in  the 
open  air,  under  a  striped  awning  that 
made  an  out-door  room  on  the  west 
side  of  Holly  Farmhouse.  Here  she 
could  be  sheltered  from  the  direct 
rays  of  the  sun,  and  yet  enjoy  the 
trees  and  flowers. 

Great  velvet  bees  hid  their  heads 
buzzing  in  the  freshly-opened  cups 
of  the  day-lilies ;  a  humming-bird 
dipped  his  dainty  beak  into  the 
sweet-peas,  and  then  flashed  away 
to  hide  himself  among  the  nastur- 
tiums pouring  in  a  golden  stream 
over  a  broken  tree-trunk  on  the 
lawn. 

Amid  the  glow  of  nature,  Sybil 
looked  very  wan  and  frail.  She  had 
begun  to  think  a  little  now,  and  her 
thoughts  ran  thus :  "  I  am  resigned 
to  God's  will.  I've  not  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt  that  this  is  all  right.  I 
am  more  than  willing  to  die;  I  am 
willing  to  live,  if  only  there  is  a  thread 
to  hold  by — a  stone,  a  stick,  a  straw 
to  begin  to  build  my  life  upon.  Other 
women  have  borne  this  and  lived. 
I've  seen  them  going  about  among 
their  fellow- creatures,  talking,  smil- 


ing, laughing,  when  others  talked, 
and  smiled,  and  laughed.  I  have 
no  more  sensibility  than  they.  What 
I  have  lost  was  perfect;  but  what 
they  had  lost  was  perfect,  perhaps, 
to  them.  I  don't  rebel,  but  I  am 
dying  of  pain.  It  goes  on,  and  on, 
and  on ;  if  it  would  stop  but  for  ten 
minutes  and  let  me  take  breath,  I 
think  I  could  catch  hold  of  something 
on  earth  and  begin  to  live  again. 
There's  that  dear  Aunt  Mildred  com- 
ing through  the  hall.  Now,  I  will 
give  her  a  free,  happy  smile,  and 
lighten  her  burden  if  I  cannot  lighten 
my  own." 

Miss  Mildred  held  in  her  two  hands 
a  great  vase  of  spreading  golden-rod, 
which  she  set  down  on  the  little  gar- 
den -table.  Just  where  she  had  placed 
it,  against  a  background  of  dark- green 
leaves,  it  made  so  beautiful  a  picture 
that  Sybil  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  pleasure.  There  was  a 
delighted  look  on  her  aunt's  sweet 
old  face  that  made  her  think :  "  Here 
is  something  to  hold  on  by ;  here  is 
something  to  build  on,  if  only  I  am 
generous  enough  to  try." 

Miss  Mildred  arranged  the  cushions 
in  Sybil's  chair,  and  then  took  her 
hand  very  gently. 

"  There  is  a  man  in  the  hall,  dear, 
who  brings  you  a  little  packet  from 
Virginia.  Can  you  see  him  ?" 

"Yes;  at  once,  if  you  like.  Please 
let  him  come  out  here.  I  can  talk 
to  him  better  in  the  open  air." 

He  came — a  shy,  elderly  man, 
whom  Sybil  remembered  seeing 
once  at  the  camp.  He  stood  awk- 
wardly, shifting  his  military  hat  from 
hand  to  hand,  till  she  asked  him  to 
sit  down  near  her,  and  said  a  few  re- 
assuring words.  Then,  seeing  that 
he  was  struggling  to  conquer  his 
emotion,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
vase  of  flowers,  trying  to  keep  down 
the  impatience  struggling  within 
her. 


650 


The  Story  of  an  Algerine  Locket. 


"  My  name  is  Abel,  lady,"  he  said, 
at  length.  "  May  be  you've  heard 
the  cap'n  say  as  how  I  couldn't  play 
the  bugle,  at  the  camp  below  there. 
The  folks  all  said  I  couldn't  learn,  I 
was  so  old  and  dull ;  but  he  allus  be- 
lieved everybody  was  good  for  some- 
thing, he  did." 

Sybil  was  leaning  forward,  breath- 
less to  hear  more. 

"  I  remember  you,"  she  said.  "  Oh  ! 
do  go  on.  Tell  me  everything — every 
little  thing  about  it  all." 

"  Wall,  you  see,  lady,  my  two  boys 
they  was  all  I  had,  and  they  jined  the 
regiment,  and  I  couldn't  live  without 
'em ;  and  I  was  hale  and  strong,  and  so 
I  made  bold  for  to  jine,  too.  There 
was  one  place  left  in  the  regiment 
then — the  bugler's  place,  in  Com- 
pany B— and  I  pled  so  hard,  the 
cap'n  he  said  I  might  try.  And, 
lady,  the  plaguy  thing  used  to  seem 
to  shut  right  up  when  I  wanted  to 
make  it  blow,  and  the  men  used  to 
laugh  at  me,  right  out  afore  my  boys. 
And  Abner  and  John  Henry  they 
felt  kind  o'  cheap,  and  they  kept  say- 
in'  to  me,  'Father,'  they  says,  'it 
makes  us  feel  kind  o'  bad  to  hear 
you  tryin'  so  hard  and  not  learnin' ; 
don't  you  think  you'd  better  give  it 
up  ?'  And  says  I,  '  No,  boys,'  says 
I,  'while  there's  breath  in  my 
body,  I  won't  give  it  up  till  I've 
conquered  that  crittur.'  And,  lady, 
when  the  cap'n  see  me  tryin'  so 
hard  and  allus  comin'  to  grief,  what 
does  he  do  but  he  takes  hold  him- 
self, and  he  learns  all  them  signals, 
and  he  teaches  on  'em  to  me.  And 
so  I  went  to  the  war  with  my  boys, 
and  I  nursed  John  Henry  through  a 
fever,  and  I  kept  Abner  from  fallin' 
into  bad  company;  and,  lady,  if  I 
could  have  saved  the  cap'n's  life  by 
givin'  my  skin  inch  by  inch,  I'd  have 
done  it;  but  I  couldn't.  So  I  just 
held  his  head  against  this  old  heart, 
and  let  him  breathe  his  life  away. 


And  I  laid  him  down  on  the  sod  as 
tender  as  if  I'd  been  his  mother." 

"  May  God  reward  you !  Did  he 
suffer  much  ?" 

Tears,  such  as  she  had  longed  for, 
were  pouring  from  her  eyes. 

"  No,  lady ;  he  was  gone  before 
the  surgeons  came  on  to  the  field. 
He  lay  quite  still,  without  a  moan  or 
sigh ;  and,  now  and  then,  he'd  say  a 
word  to  me.  I  was  wounded,  too, 
just  below  the  knee.  I  dropped 
down  about  six  feet  off  from  him; 
and  when  the  retreat  came,  and  I 
saw  as  how  I  was  left  behind  with 
the  cap'n,  didn't  I  praise  the  Lord !" 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

Abel  took  a  little  packet  from  his 
breast,  and  laid  it  in  Sybil's  hand. 
"He  says  to  me,  'Abel,'  says  he, 
'  when  you  can  get  a  furlough  honor- 
able] says  he — '  for  you  mustn't  go 
when  the  country  needs  you  bad — 
you  take  this  locket '  (a-unhookin' 
it  from  his  neck)  'to  Miss  Sybil 
Vaughan — her  that  lives  in  the  stone 
farmhouse  above  our  old  camp  at 
Holly  Farm — and  you  tell  her  as 
how  the  poor  thing  tried  to  save  my 
life;  and  she'll  see  it  by  the  great 
dent  in  the  gold  made  by  a  bullet. 
And  you  tell  her  as  how  she's  to 
open  it  herself,  and  see  what  I  put 
there.  And  you  tell  her' — I'm  a 
Methodist,  lady,  but  I'll  tell  you 
word  for  word  what  he  said." 

"  Yes,  word  for  word." 

'"You  tell  her,'  says  he,  'how  I 
pray  that  Christ  and  his  Blessed 
Mother  may  be  her  comfort  as  they 
are  mine ;  and  tell  her  as  how  I've 
never  let  a  thought  enter  my  mind, 
since  we  parted,  that  she  wouldn't 
have  approved.  And  tell  her,'  says 
he,  a-raisin'  himself  half-way  up 
from  the  ground,  'you  tell  her  I 
love  her  fond  and  true,  and  that  we 
shall  meet  in  heaven  when  she's 
done  the  work  on  earth  she  is  so 
fit  to  do.  And  tell  her  to  comfort 


The  Story  of  an  Algcrinc  Locket. 


65i 


my  mother.  Poor  mother!'  And 
then  he  put  his  arm  round  my  neck, 
and  kind  o'  stroked  my  cheek,  and 
he  says,  soft  and  low,  a  few  words, 
and  all  I  heard  was,  '  Receive  my 
soul,'  and  then  I  kissed  him,  and  laid 
him  down  on  the  turf,  and  his  face 
was  like  as  I  think  it  will  be  in  hea- 
ven at  the  great  day.  And  now  I'm 
goin'  to  leave  you,  lady,  'cos  I  know 
as  how  you  want  to  be  alone.  And, 
with  your  leave,  I'll  come  again,  and 
tell  you  how  we  loved  him,  and  how 
we  cried  like  babies  round  the  ambu- 
lance that  brought  him  to  the  camp ; 
and  how  there  was  scarce  anything 
left  to  send  home  to  his  mother,  'cos 
he  used  to  give  his  things  away  to 
the  sick  boys — blankets,  and  money, 
and  shirts,  and  all." 

Then  Abel  took  Sybil's  delicate 
hand  reverently  on  his  broad,  brown 
palm,  and  kissed  it. 

"Lady,"  he  said,  "you're  the  only 
thing  ever  I  see  that  was  fit  to  mate 
with  him." 

"  You  will  come  again,"  she  said. 
"  As  you  have  no  daughter,  and  there 
must  be  many  things  needed  to  make 
you  comfortable  during  your  conva- 
lescence, you  will  let  me  see  to  all 
that.  And  you  will  let  me  replace 
the  many  things  you  must  have  lost 
or  worn  out  during  these  hard  three 
months  ?" 


She  spoke  beseechingly,  looking 
up  into  his  face  like  a  child  plead- 
ing for  a  toy. 

"You  shall  just  wind  me  round 
your  finger  like  he  did,"  said  Abel. 
"  I  allus  thought  I'd  got  grit  in  me 
till  I  seen  him,  and  then  it  seemed  as 
though  I  hadn't  no  will  but  his'n." 

Sybil  was  alone  with  the  little 
packet.  With  trembling  fingers  she 
untied  the  string  and  removed  the 
wrappings  of  paper.  There  lay  the 
medallion*"  with  its  twisted  chain. 
She  passionately  kissed  the  battered 
enamel  that  had  stood  between  him 
and  death.  Then  she  opened  the 
locket.  With  the  silky,  yellow  curl 
lay  a  little  lock  of  dark-brown  hair. 
She  was  touching  it  tenderly,  won- 
dering when  he  had  placed  it  there 
for  her  consolation — whether  just  be- 
fore the  skirmish  or  soon  after  he  left 
her — when  a  turn  of  the  locket  in  the 
level  rays  of  the  sun  showed  two 
words  scratched  oh  the  inner  side  with 
some  rude  instrument.  She  looked 
closer,  and  read :  "  Noblesse  Oblige." 

When  Miss  Mildred  came  to  lead 
her  into  the  house,  there  was  a  change 
in  her  face  that  filled  the  gentle  lady's 
heart  with  gratitude.  It  was  the  look 
of  courage  that  comes  to  those  who 
recognize  the  claim  of  their  high  birth 
as  the  children  of  God. 


6$  2 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


THE  SPIRIT   OF   CATHOLIC  ASSOCIATIONS. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    CIVILTA    CATTOLICA. 


ALL  societies  have  aims,  more  or 
less  remote,  which  they  aspire  to  rea- 
lize. Catholic  societies  have  an  ob- 
ject which  they  also  strive  to  accom- 
plish. Theirs  is  the  victory  of  the 
church  over  the  modern  Islamism,  the 
enemy  of  all  religion  and  civiliza- 
tion, commonly  called  the  Revolution. 
This  monster,  once  obtaining  control 
of  the  state,  fills  nations  with  ruins, 
and  in  its  proud  ferocity  ever  threat- 
ens new  disorders  and  fresh  streams 
of  blood.  Catholic  associations,  in 
order  to  be  victorious,  must  pass  over 
the  dead  body  of  this  powerful  ene- 
my. There  is  no  other  way.  The 
enterprise  is  difficult,  requires  great 
courage,  absolute  generosity,  and  en- 
durance capable  of  every  trial.  But 
they  will  win  the  day ;  they  will  yet 
sing  the  hymn  of  triumph ;  for  they 
march  to  the  battle  and  fight  it  in 
the  proper  spirit :  that  is,  the  Catho- 
lic spirit.  The  victory  will  be  theirs ; 
but  only  on  conditions. 

Reason  proves  it.  The  labor  of  a 
society  must  be  proportioned  to  the 
end  proposed,  as  the  force  must  be 
adequate  to  the  effect  intended.  It  is 
impossible  that  an  army  can  win  a 
battle  if  the  necessary  discipline,  obe- 
dience to  officers,  and  courage  be 
wanting.  So  with  Catholic  associa- 
tions. Their  object,  being  a  religious 
one,  a  crusade  which  purposes  to  as- 
sure the  triumph  of  Catholic  doctrines 
and  institutions,  it  is  impossible  for 
them  to  act  with  vigor,  to  bear  the 
fatigue,  stand  the  brunt  of  their  ad- 
versaries' onslaught,  conquer  their 
errors,  and  subdue  their  forces,  unless 
they  are  moved,  animated,  and  forti- 


fied by  the  spirit  which  is  peculiar 
to  Catholic  associations.  If  they 
march  to  the  combat  with  inade- 
quate forces  or  lax  discipline,  they 
will  only  become  objects  of  derision 
to  their  enemies. 

What  is  the  spirit  of  Catholic  so- 
cieties ?  It  is  the  spirit  of  faith.  Sa- 
cred phalanxes  of  a  religion  whose 
foundation  is  faith ;  restorers  of  prin- 
ciples that  are  derived  from  faith; 
protectors  of  institutions  based  on 
faith — how  can  they  do  battle  if  their 
minds  be  not  animated  with  the  spi- 
rit of  faith,  if  their  deliberations  be 
not  inspired  with  it;  if  their  works 
be  not  its  visible  effects  ?  Yes  ;  the 
spirit  of  faith  is  the  peculiar  spirit  of 
Catholic  associations;  it  is  their  es- 
sence, their  qualifying  property,  and 
the  secret  power  which  impels  the 
Catholic  onward  to  the  heroism  of 
virtue.  Give  us  Catholic  associa- 
tions animated  by  a  spirit  of  living, 
fervid  faith,  and  great  acts  will  not 
be  slow  in  production.  Examples 
of  it  may  be  seen  in  the  immense 
and  sublime  temples  erected  when 
the  spirit  of  faith  burned  in  the 
breasts  of  our  forefathers,  to  whom 
it  was  only  necessary  to  propose  the 
plan  in  order  to  have  it  carried  out ; 
and  in  those  chivalrous  bands  of 
knights  who  armed  themselves 
against  Mohammedan  fury,  and  fell 
pierced  by  numberless  wounds  on 
the  ground  given  them  to  defend,  but 
never  yielding  an  inch  to  the  foe. 

Catholic  associations  imbued  by  a 
spirit  like  this  need  not  fear  the  pow- 
er of  their  adversaries,  nor  heed  their 
numbers.  Faith  in  the  conflict  is  the 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


653 


buckler  which  cannot  be  broken,  the 
shield  which  cannot  be  pierced,  the 
flag  which  counts  as  many  victories 
as  the  battles  fought  under  its  folds. 
Let  all  the  members  of  Catholic  as- 
sociations march  to  the  contest  cloth- 
ed in  this  armor,  and  they  will  be 
invincible.  St.  Paul  advised  this  to 
the  Thessalonians  and  to  the  Ephe- 
sians.  This  also  was  the  counsel  of 
St.  John.*  What  more  do  we  want  ? 
Does  not  St.  John  tell  us  that  faith 
and  victory  are  synonymous  terms  ? 
"  For  whatsoever  is  born  of  God  over- 
cometh  the  world :  and  this  is  the  vic- 
tory which  overcometh  the  world,  our 
faith."  \ 

II. 

IT  must  be  remembered,  however, 
that  this  spirit  of  faith  must  not  be  a 
blind  spirit,  or  march  to  battle  with 
uncertain  steps.  Associations  actu- 
ated by  such  a  spirit  prosper  slowly ; 
without  purpose,  and  consequently 
without  success.  The  reason  is 
plain,  for  it  is  certain  that  the 
more  thoroughly  influenced  is  a 
human  mind  by  a  motive,  the  more 
earnestly  will  it  strive  to  obtain  an 
object.  It  is,  therefore,  evident  that 
the  spirit  of  Catholic  associations 
must  be  an  enlightened  spirit,  tho- 
roughly knowing  what  it  wants. 
The  Revolution — great  mistress  in 
the  arts  of  hypocrisy,  great  employer 
of  every  species  of  argument  in  its 
favor  through  the  license  of  the  press, 
great  seducer  by  the  advantages 
which  it  proposes — if  it  does  not 
always  succeed  in  catching  real  Ca- 
tholics in  its  net,  at  least  sows  such 
prejudices  in  the  ininds  of  some  as 
will  make  them  less  hostile  to  its 
work  or  less  earnest  in  the  defence 
of  Catholicism,  which  is  another 
name  for  truth  and  justice.  This 

*  i  Thess.  v.  8 ;  Ephes.  vi.  n,  17. 
1 1  John  v.  4. 


is  the  first  danger  to  be  shunned 
by  Catholic  associations.  The  Ca- 
tholic societies  must  not  let  them- 
selves be  seduced  by  the  seductive 
monsters  of  the  revolution.  The 
quality  and  natural  goodness  of  the 
tree  is  not  known  so  well  by  its  leaves 
as  by  its  fruit.  It  is,  therefore,  ne- 
cessary to  go  deeper  than  the  mere 
extrinsic  forms  to  penetrate  the  sub- 
stance of  the  work  done  by  the  re- 
volution. Oh!  how  many  motives 
to  spur  on  to  action  would  Catholics 
find  in  such  an  investigation !  A 
rapid  glance  will  convince  them  of 
this  fact. 

Observe  the  religious  order.  Let 
the  Catholic  associate  consider,  in 
this  regard,  a  country  in  which  the 
revolution  has  made  progress.  He 
witnesses  the  most  impious  and  most 
lamentable  scenes;  the  church  de- 
prived or  curtailed  of  liberty,  insulted 
in  her  ministers,  attacked  by  literary 
barbarians,  by  trammelling  laws,  or 
infamous  writings;  her  destruction 
sworn,  Christ  impugned  in  his  doc- 
trines, derided  in  his  sacraments,  his 
divinity  denied ;  God  excluded  from 
laws,  banished  from  the  school ;  men 
grouped  in  hostility  to  him,  shouting, 
in  full  daylight  under  the  banner  of 
the  free-thinkers,  like  a  horde  of  sav- 
ages, "  There  is  no  God !" 

Pass  to  the  social  order.  Here  a 
new  spectacle  of  grief  is  presented. 
Every  effort  is  used  to  take  away 
from  the  community  its  common  be- 
lief and  to  plunge  individuals  into  the 
vortex  of  incredulity ;  a  black  cloud 
of  practical  errors,  moving  over  the 
nations,  abolishing  the  restraint  of 
conscience,  rendering  the  populace 
the  slaves  of  the  vilest  and  most 
truculent  passions;  the  basis  of  all 
authority,  human  and  divine,  sapped ; 
the  most  powerful  governments 
crumbling  to  dust,  and  threatening 
to  fall  a  prey  either  to  perpetual 
anarchy  or  brutal  tyranny. 


654 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


Consider  the  nature  of  the  means 
employed.  What  a  sad  view !  Per- 
petual conspiracies,  shameless  trea- 
sons, frauds  and  deceptions,  lies  and 
calumnies,  unmitigated  oppression 
and  violence.  Furnished  with  these 
weapons,  the  revolutionary  bands 
war  on  God,  on  Christ,  and  on  his 
church.  The  revolution,  like  a 
shameless  woman,  blushes  not  at 
its  crimes,  but  glories  in  its  success. 

Consider  the  results.  Every  reli- 
gious conviction  blotted  out,  the  prin- 
ciples of  morality  annihilated  or  ob- 
scured, authority  destroyed,  and  con- 
sequently a  society  springing  up  com- 
posed of  men  without  certainty  in 
regard  to  their  end,  without  any 
immutable  law  to  restrain  them, 
without  any  bond  of  affection  to 
unite  them.  Hence,  we  have  the 
unrestrained  indulgence  of  the  pas- 
sions, egotism  the  universal  law, 
force  and  cunning  the  only  arms, 
and  mutual  demolition  the  conse- 
quence. The  old  French  revolu- 
tion proves  it;  the  modern  one  of 
Paris  confirms  it.  The  revolutionary 
Gueroult  himself  attests  it  in  stat- 
ing that  the  Parisian  insurrection  "  is 
disorder,  destruction,  self-abandon- 
ment, the  putrid  decomposition  of  a 
society  without  belief,  without  com- 
pass Or  ideal."*  The  results  of  the 
revolution  may  be  summed  up  in  one 
phrase:  it  makes  men  beasts,  and 
society  bestial. 

A  Catholic  association  which  con- 
siders these  effects  of  the  revolution 
in  the  light  of  faith,  appreciating  the 
means  employed  and  the  sad  results, 
cannot  act  remissly.  It  is  not  possi- 
ble ;  it  must  rise  in  the  name  of  the 
rights  of  God,  of  Christ,  of  the  church; 
in  the  name  of  that  religious  belief 
vdiich  is  attempted  to  be  taken 
from  the  people,  and  the  principles 
of  moral  reason ;  it  must  rise  full  of 

*  Bien  Public,  n.  82. 


shame  for  society,  which  tolerates 
such  horrible  abuses  and  crimes.  It 
will  rise  to  repair  these  defects  with 
gladness.  The  spirit  of  faith,  strength- 
ened by  the  motives  proposed,  will 
spur  it  on  in  its  efforts.  The  Catho- 
lic associations  of  Germany  are  un- 
doubtedly energetic ;  so  are  those  of 
Austria ;  but  the  secret  of  their  force 
is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  men  who 
lead  them  are  men  of  strong  faith  and 
of  great  prudence  and  intelligence. 
This  is  evident  from  their  congresses, 
in  their  speeches  and  newspapers. 
Catholic  associations  in  other  lands 
would  do  well  to  imitate  them. 

in. 

THE  motives  just  proposed  are 
powerful,  but  their  source  is  dis- 
agreeable. There  are  others  more 
pleasant  to  consider.  Among  these 
latter  is  the  nobility  of  the  end  pro- 
posed by  Catholic  associations.  This 
is  not,  as  has  been  calumniously 
stated,  to  revenge  the  defeat  of  a 
certain  political  order,  or  to  satisfy 
natural  restlessness.  Catholic  asso- 
ciations, vivified  by  the  true  spirit  of 
faith,  do  not  stoop  so  low.  They 
aim  at  things  far  higher.  The  name 
which  they  bear,  the  rules  which  they 
profess  to  follow,  the  works  already 
accomplished  where  they  have  been 
established,  attest  it.  Their  particular 
object  is  to  drag  men,  made  slaves  by 
the  revolution,  out  of  the  mire  of  in- 
credulity and  immorality  into  which 
false  principles  have  plunged  them. 
They  strive  to  re-establish  society  on 
the  true  bases  of  truth  and  justice, 
to  restore  tranquillity  to  peoples  dis- 
turbed by  the  passions  of  party  and 
the  fury  of  false  teachers.  They  aim 
to  reclaim  for  God  the  obedience 
which  is  his  due,  the  honor  which 
belongs  to  Christ,  the  rights  taken 
from  the  church ;  to  give  true  liberty 
— the  liberty  of  the  Gospel — to  all; 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


655 


to  draw  men  away  from  the  carnal 
happiness  proposed  to  them  by  the 
revolution;  and  to  make  them  seek 
that  beatitude  which  every  rational 
Christian  should  desire.  The  revo- 
lution threatens  everything — religion 
in  society  and  among  individuals ; 
the  Catholic  associate  declares  him- 
self their  champion. 

Such  is  the  noble  aim  of  Catholic 
associations ;  hence  the  nobleness 
of  the  conflict  in  which  they  are  en- 
gaged. What  is  this  conflict  ?  It  is 
die  struggle  of  truth  against  error, 
of  right  against  might,  of  civilization 
against  barbarism,  of  duty  to  God, 
Christ,  and  his  church  against  im- 
piety, blasphemy,  and  injustice.  The 
revolution  means  the  renewal  among 
men  of  the  revolt  of  Lucifer  and  his 
angels  ;  the  Catholic  associations  are 
the  faithful  cohorts  of  God  and  his 
Christ.  Their  war-cry  is  that  of  St. 
Michael :  Quis  ut  Deus  et  Christus 
ejus  ?  Who  is  like  to  God  and  his 
Christ  ? 

This  war-cry  has  been  explicitly 
recommended  in  the  New  Testament. 
The  words  are  given  by  St.  Matthew, 
St.  Mark,  St.  Luke,  and  plainly  re- 
ferred to  by  St.  Paul.  "  Whoever,"  says 
Christ,  "  confesses  me  in  the  midst  of 
this  sinful  and  adulterous  race,  who- 
ever makes  public  profession  of  my 
doctrine,  will  be  recognized  by  me 
before  the  angels,  before  the  tribunal 
of  my  Father  in  heaven."  *  Does 
not  the  present  generation  publicly 
boast  of  making  a  divorce  between 
itself  and  God  and  Christ  ?  Giving 
loose  rein  to  passion  under  the  spe- 
cious names  of  liberty  of  conscience 
and  the  preaching  of  licentious  doc- 
trines, modern  society  is  plunging  in- 
to the  abyss  of  iniquity.  Hence,  the 
Catholic  associates  must  rise  coura- 
geously in  the  midst  of  this  genera- 


*  Matt.  x.  32,  33 ;  Mark  viii.  38  ;  Luke  xii.  8  ; 
Tim.  ii.  ia. 


tion,  confess  Christ  openly,  publicly 
affirm  his  doctrines,  and  defend  them 
in  the  face  of  his  enemies.  The  Ca- 
tholic associates  must  revive  the 
praises  of  Christ ;  to  them  are  his 
divine  promises  addressed,  to  them 
belong  the  irrevocable  guarantees  of 
being  placed  near  the  throne  of  his 
Father.  Combating  bravely  and  bear- 
ing themselves  like  true  champions 
of  the  religion  of  Christ,  their  fate  is 
not  and  cannot  be  doubtful. 

Let  the  Catholic  associations,  there- 
fore, advance  courageously  to  the 
fight,  bearing  the  banner  of  Christ 
against  the  standard  of  the  revolu- 
tion. Humanity,  liberty,  progress, 
light,  are  written  on  the  adverse  flag, 
but  they  are  stolen  words.  In  the 
mouths  of  the  revolutionists  they  are 
lies.  The  flag  of  humanity  is  not 
that  which  destroys  its  rights,  but 
that  which  defends  them ;  nor  of  li- 
berty, that  which  makes  men  slaves  of 
their  passions  instead  of  freeing  them  ; 
nor  ol  progress,  that  which  has  no  aim, 
but  that  which  leads  to  something  de- 
finite ;  nor  of  light,  that  which  begets 
obscurity  in  the  intellect,  destroying 
its  most  obvious  principles,  but  that 
which  illuminates  intelligence  with 
divine  revelation.  This  latter  is  the 
banner  of  Catholic  associations,  con- 
sequently it  is  the  flag  of  humanity, 
of  liberty,  of  progress,  the  standard 
of  light. 

IV. 

THE  forces  of  Catholic  associations 
must  act  in  concert.  It  is  not  enough 
that  their  members  be  vigorous  and 
animated  with  an  ardent  faith.  There 
must  be  harmony  of  intelligence 
among  them.  Woe  to  the  society 
whose  members  have  different  princi- 
ples or  contradictory  plans !  Like  a 
machine  whose  wheels  do  not  move 
harmoniously,  ruin  will  result.  There 
must  be  uniformity  of  principles  and 


656 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


thorough  harmony  of  intelligence  if 
the  Catholic  associates  hope  to  ob- 
tain great  successes. 

Harmony  in  generalities  is  easy; 
but  not  so  in  particulars.  If  you  ask 
a  Catholic  assembly  what  it  wants, 
all  the  members  will  reply,  "  The  pro- 
pagation and  triumph  of  Catholic 
principles."  But  if  you  descend  to 
particular  enquiries,  you  may  meet 
difficulties  that  close  the  way  to  suc- 
cess; disputes  about  fixed  principles 
must  therefore  be  eliminated  from  Ca- 
tholic associations. 

These  associations  are  in  the  first 
place  essentially  laic,  therefore  it  is 
not  their  business  to  decide  questions 
of  principle.  Their  aim  is  a  practi- 
cal one,  namely,  to  annul  the  efforts 
of  the  revolution,  to  introduce  the 
principles  of  Catholicity  where  they 
do  not  exist,  and  strengthen  them 
where  they  do.  It  is  not  of  their 
competence  to  determine  them.  They 
are  called  Catholic,  therefore,  in  case 
of  doubt,  they  must  recur  to  the 
teaching  church  and  accept  her  deci- 
sions. We  repeat :  the  Catholic  as- 
sociations must  keep  within  the  bounds 
imposed  by  their  very  nature  and  ti- 
tle, and  then  there  will  be  no  colli- 
sion of  views,  no  wasting  of  precious 
time  in  useless  disputes,  no  schisms 
and  separations ;  but,  with  all  the 
force  of  a  strong  faith,  they  will  ad- 
vance with  dignity,  security,  and  suc- 
cess in  their  undertakings. 

In  confirmation  of  this,  we  quote 
an  apposite  passage  from  the  dis- 
course pronounced  by  his  eminence, 
Cardinal  Schwarzenberg,  in  the  gen- 
eral congress  of  the  Catholic  associa- 
tions held  at  Prague  in  1860.  "  The 
object  of  Catholic  associations,"  says 
the  eminent  prelate,  "  is  to  take  mea- 
sures to  introduce  and  assist  the 
teaching,  the  principles,  the  precepts, 
and  the  desires  of  the  church  in  the 
schools,  in  the  life  of  the  citizen  and 
of  the  family,  among  merchants  and 


men  of  business.  Their  duty  is  to 
support  the  teaching  church  by  coun- 
sel and  co-operation.  Their  duty  is 
also  to  acknowledge  with  joyful  mind 
the  doctrines  of  the  church,  to  follow 
them,  defend  and  sustain  them." 

Who  does  not  admit  the  great 
good  performed  by  the  Catholic  as- 
sociations of  Germany  in  the  course 
of  the  few  years  during  which  they 
have  been  established  ?  And  if  we 
study  the  reason  of  their  success,  we 
shall  find  it  in  the  undisturbed  har- 
mony of  their  views.  The  spirit  of 
"  liberal  Catholicism  "  tried  to  influ- 
ence them,  but  in  vain.  Their  asso- 
ciates, mindful  of  their  title  and  of 
their  duty  to  the  pastors  of  the 
church,  and  especially  to  the  Roman 
Pontiff,  obey  his  instructions  without 
subtle  distinctions  and  commentaries, 
and  employ  their  talents  properly  in 
securing  their  prosperity. 

An  instance  of  their  Catholic  zeal 
is  found  in  the  letter  sent  to  the 
Pope  by  the  assembly  held  at  Inns- 
bruck preparatory  to  the  general  con- 
gress of  the  German  Catholic  socie- 
ties in  1867.  In  that  letter  we  read  as 
follows:  "  On  the  gth,  loth,  and  nth 
of  September,  with  the  consent  and  ap- 
proval of  the  most  reverend  Bishop 
of  Brixen,  the  Catholics  of  Inns- 
bruck, the  capital  of  the  Tyrol,  will  be 
gathered  together  in  order  to  defend 
courageously  their  religion  as  far  as 
God  and  their  strength  will  allow ;  and, 
the  errors  and  lies  of  vain  men  being 
rejected,  such  errors  as  your  holiness 
has  pointed  out  and  condemned  with 
fulness  of  authority  in  your  encyc- 
lical letters,  in  order  also  to  take 
salutary  counsel  required  by  the 
character  of  the  times  and  circum- 
stances, so  as  to  promote  the  growth 
of  Catholic  life  and  charity,  under 
the  patronage  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary.  An  immense  war,  as  you,  Ho- 
ly Father,  have  expressed  it,  is  waged 
against  divine  revelation,  against  the 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


657 


Catholic  Church,  against  the  aposto- 
lic see,  against  good  morals  and 
Christian  charity,  the  queen  of  all  the 
virtues.  While  this  war  rages,  every 
Catholic  becomes  a  soldier  of  Christ ; 
but  we  cannot  carry  on  a  good  and 
just  war  if  we  do  not  cling  with  all  the 
ardor  of  our  so:; I  to  the  apostolic  see, 
fastened  to  that  rock  which  God  has 
placed  in  Rome  ;  and  if  we  are  not 
helped  and  sustained  by  your  supreme 
authority  and  your  efficacious  blessing; 
wherefore,  we  earnestly  desire  from  our 
very  inmost  hearts  to  venerate,  follow, 
and  obey  you,  the  Vicar  of  Christ, 
you,  the  chief  pastor  of  the  whole 
flock  of  the  Lord,  you,  father  of  all 
the  faithful.  This  is  the  unanimous 
feeling  of  all  those  who  will  be  as- 
sembled in  September  at  Innsbruck ; 
this  is  the  universal  desire;  and,  all 
animated  by  this  thought,  God  will 
defend  the  Christian  doctrine  and 
Christian  charity."" 

Let  these  be  the  sentiments  of  all 
Catholic  associations  that  may  spring 
up ;  let  this  be  their  programme  and 
the  foundation  of  their  constitution. 
The  spirit  of  prompt  submission  to 
the  teaching  of  the  church  should 
animate  them.  This  is  a  simple  con- 
sequence of  the  first  element  of  Ca- 
tholic life.  Christ  never  said  to  any 
theologian,  erudite  man,  learned  his- 
torian, or  particular  society,  "  Be  ye 
masters  of  the  church,  and  let  her 
hear  you;"  but  he  did  say  so  to  the 
bishops  and  to  the  pope  in  the  per- 
son of  the  apostles  and  of  Peter. 
Only  one  blinded  by  his  own  pride  can 
deny  this  fundamental  principle  of 
the  Catholic  religion.  The  spirit  of 
prompt  obedience  to  lawful  authori- 
ty is  the  secret  which  alone  will  ren- 
der Catholic  societies  capable  of  suc- 
cess. 

But  harmony  of  intelligence  is  not 

the  only  means  by  which  Catholic 

associations  can  manifest  their  spirit. 

There  must  be  unity  of  feeling  and 

VOL.  xiii. — 42. 


co-ordination  of  will,  elements  essen- 
tial to  every  society. 


v. 


A  CATHOLIC  association  which 
possesses  the  spirit  of  submission  to 
the  teaching  church,  and  possesses 
harmony  of  intelligence,  is  on  the  right 
road,  and  may  hope  to  prosper  in  its 
undertakings.  But  how  often  does 
it  happen  that  a  serious  impediment, 
an  insurmountable  barrier,  stops  the 
progress  of  a  brave  legion  and  disap- 
points the  well-founded  hopes  of  vic- 
tory! Here  is  a  danger  which  the 
best-intentioned  Catholic  association 
may  encounter;  an  obstruction,  an 
invincible  barrier,  which  may  arise 
from  the  unexpected  disagreement 
of  wills.  Agreement  of  wills  is  es- 
sential as  well  as  harmony  of  intelli- 
gence. 

It  is  evident  that,  in  order  to  main- 
tain this  agreement,  we  must  remove 
the  causes  which  might  disturb  it. 
There  are  two  sources  of  discord;  one 
arising  from  the  internal  relations  of 
a  society.  The  intellects  may  agree 
on  the  principles  to  be  sustained, 
and  the  wills  consent  as  to  the  end 
proposed;  but  the  task  is  for  the 
members  to  choose  the  same  means 
and  put  them  in  practice.  Here 
may  arise  the  discord.  Some  project 
or  design  is  proposed.  It  is  debated. 
The  dispute  waxes  warm.  Hard 
words  are  interchanged.  The  majori- 
ty, of  course,  carry  the  project;  but 
the  minority  may  disagree  and  re- 
fuse to  co-operate  in  its  execution. 
Hence  disaffection,  schisms,  and  se- 
cessions in  the  association.  What  is 
the  root  of  all  these  troubles  ?  It  is, 
in  one  wofd,  pride,  the  root  of  all 
schisms.  One  thinks  himself  more 
learned,  of  greater  rank  or  of  more  ex- 
perience than  the  others,  therefore  he 
will  not  be  led  by  their  judgment 
but  by  his  own  self-conceit.  The 


658 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


trouble  is  small  in  the  beginning,  but 
it  may  produce  disastrous  results. 
What  is  the  remedy  ?  It  is  to  bring 
to  every  discussion  the  true  Catholic 
spirit  of  abnegation  and  of  sacrifice. 
Whims  and  prejudices  must  be  laid 
aside  for  the  sake  of  harmony  and 
the  noble  cause  to  be  defended.  Our 
God  is  a  God  of  peace,  not  of  com- 
motion and  disturbance.  The  best 
plan  is  not  always  that  suggested  by 
our  weak  judgment.  Provided  the 
plan  of  the  majority  be  a  good  one, 
though  it  may  not  be  the  most  per- 
fect, still,  for  peace  sake,  let  us  adopt 
it,  according  to  the  advice  of  Xavier, 
that  it  is  better  to  accept  a  unani- 
mous plan,  though  not  the  best,  rath- 
er than  a  perfect  one  which  would 
cause  dissensions  among  our  breth- 
ren. 

The  second  cause  of  dissensions 
may  be  in  the  external  relations  of 
the  associates.  This  would  be  the 
more  dangerous,  because  the  occasion 
of  it  might  be  an  apparent  external 
good  to  be  effected.  The  will  of  the 
bishop  or  of  the  pastor  may  not 
agree  with  the  desire  of  the  society. 
In  a  case  of  this  kind,  if  the  society 
should  act  in  spite  of  the  episcopal 
will  or  opposed  to  it  publicly,  a  great 
scandal  would  happen  in  the  diocese, 
and  the  society  would  fall  to  pieces. 
What  is  the  remedy  for  such  calami- 
ties ?  The  associates  must  have  fil- 
ial reverence  and  obedience  for  the 
pastors  of  the  church.  Then  all  dif- 
ficulties will  cease.  This  is  required 
by  the  very  object  of  the  association, 
which  is  to  aid  the  bishops  in  reli- 
gious matters ;  it  is  also  required  by 
the  dignity  of  the  bishops,  since  the 
Holy  Ghost  has  called  them  to  be 
rulers  in  the  church.  His  holiness 
Pius  IX.  clearly  teaches  that  this 
should  be  the  bearing  of  Catholic  so- 
cieties toward  their  pastors,  in  his  an- 
swer to  the  Catholics  of  Innsbruck. 

Here  we  may  quote  what  a  bishop 


said  in  the  general  congress  held  to 
condemn  the  proceedings  of  the  so- 
called  German  Catholic  liberals. 
These  gentlemen,  under  the  appear- 
ance of  doing  good,  had  expressed 
their  usual  lamentations  about  the 
storms  that  threatened  the  church, 
the  danger  to  her  future  freedom,  un- 
less the  laity  were  allowed  a  greater 
influence  in  religious  matters ;  to  de- 
ny them  this  influence,  as  had  been 
done  so  far,  would  be  to  render  them 
inert  and  careless  about  church  mat- 
ters. Such  were  the  complaints — com- 
plaints of  the  discontented  son  who 
is  trying  to  deprive  his  mother  of 
complete  control  of  the  house — sub- 
tle revolutionary  complaints  against 
the  authority  of  the  hierarchy.  The 
Bishop  of  Brixen,  answering  them, 
said,  "  What  kind  of  influence  do  lay- 
men want  in  the  church  ?  To  con- 
trol dogma  ?  They  cannot.  Disci- 
pline ?  They  cannot.  Influence  of 
the  laity  is  too  vague  a  conception, 
and,  besides,  a  useless  one.  In  order 
that  it  should  produce  benefits,  its 
limits  should  be  determined,  its  con- 
ditions explained.  But  it  is  well 
known  that  the  chief  among  them  is 
faithful  dependence  on  the  teachings 
and  authority  of  the  church,  since 
the  words  of  the  apostle  suit  indivi- 
duals as  well  as  the  whole  church : 
'The  just  man  lives  by  faith.'  The 
life  of  the  church  requires  nothing 
but  what  comes  from  faith.  Hence, 
when  the  church  finds  a  layman  who 
manifests  his  faith  in  his  words  and 
actions,  she  honors  him,  salutes  him 
with  joy  as  a  co-operator  not  having 
belied  the  words  of  the  apostle  of 
love  :  Let  us  be  co-workers  of  truth, 
co-operators  in  propagating  and 
strengthening  it,  and  in  assuring  its 
triumph.  In  every  age  there  have 
been  many  such  men,  like  our  modern 
Catholic  associations,  and  for  this  rea- 
son we  protect  them,  salute,  esteem 
them ;  and  the  best  proof  of  our  love 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


659 


for  them  is  that  we  have  hastened  to 
come  to  this  solemn  congress  of  lay 
associations,  assembled  to  defend 
Catholic  interests."  Thus  spoke  the 
learned  prelate.  In  conclusion,  a 
Catholic  society  must  not  touch  on 
dogmatic  subjects,  nor  interfere  in 
affairs  pertaining  to  ecclesiastical  dis- 
cipline :  it  should  observe  proper  re- 
spect and  obedience  toward  its  bi- 
shops, and  then  the  bishops  will  aid, 
bless  and  sustain  it. 

VI. 

THE  parts  of  a  machine,  in  order 
to  act  in  concert,  must  be  united  ac- 
cording to  mechanical  laws  :  so  asso- 
ciations must  obey  the  laws  of  order. 
They  must  have  co-ordination  of 
forces.  In  this  consists  the  peculiar 
advantage  of  association.  Each  one 
has  its  constitution  and  by-laws.  Let 
it  observe  them,  adapting  them  to 
the  wants  and  peculiarities  of  each 
nation.  The  difficulty  is  really  not 
in  enacting  laws  for  it,  but  to  keep 
them  in  vigor. 

The  associates  must  have  the  spi- 
rit of  order.  Then  the  execution  of 
laws  will  be  easy.  Such  a  spirit  will 
make  each  member  mind  his  own  po- 
sition; each  officer  act  in  his  own 
sphere  without  infringing  on  the  rights 
of  others.  The  object  of  the  associa- 
tion being  to  act  with  united  forces, 
this  purpose  cannot  be  effected  by  a 
disorderly  mass  of  individuals,  ac- 
knowledging no  obedience  to  a  local 
or  general  superior.  Each  particular 
society  will  become  jealous  of  its 
neighbor,  unless  all  agree  to  obey 
implicitly  a  central  committee.  Pri- 
vate utility  and  individuality  must 
be  sacrificed  to  the  public  good ;  jea- 
lousy, self-love,  personal  advantage, 
these  three  causes  that  tend  to  dis- 
rupt the  co-ordination  of  the  com- 
mon forces,  must  be  sacrificed  to  the 
common  welfare,  and  to  the  end  for 


which  the  association  was  establish- 
ed, as  it  is  an  elementary  rule  of  or- 
der that  the  private  must  be  sacrific- 
ed for  the  public  good.  For  this 
reason  we  consider  that  society  best 
in  which  the  strictest  bonds  are  main- 
tained between  the  members  and  the 
centre  or  head.  Does  not  union 
make  strength  ?  A  necessary  con- 
sequence is  that  the  force  is  propor- 
tioned to  the  union.  Baron  Stillfried, 
a  name  dear  to  Catholics  by  reason 
of  his  fervid  zeal  for  religion,  render- 
ing an  account  of  what  the  Confra- 
ternity of  the  Archangel  St.  Michael, 
founded  in  Vienna  in  1860,  had  done, 
confessed  that,  owing  to  dissensions 
among  the  members,  and  the  conse- 
quent lack  of  union  of  forces,  the  re- 
sults had  been  relatively  few.  On 
the  contrary,  who  does  not  admire 
the  wonderful  success  obtained  by 
the  Catholic  Casini  of  Austria  in  fa- 
vor of  the  pontifical  cause,  owing  to 
their  unity  of  purpose  and  union  of 
forces  ?  They  obliged  the  president 
of  the  council  to  receive  their  com- 
plaints; they  obliged  the  chancellor 
of  the  empire  to  excuse  himself;  they 
moved  all  the  Catholic  populations 
to  such  a  spirit  of  action  in  favor  of 
religion,  tied  down  by  the  iniquitous 
laws  of  the  revolution,  that  all  the 
journals  of  the  secret  societies  bel- 
lowed and  blasphemed  like  lunatics, 
fearing  the  destruction  of  their  nefa- 
rious designs. 

The  multiplicity  of  Catholic  inter- 
ests gives  rise  to  many  associations 
differing  according  to  the  difference 
of  their  aims.  Should  this  diversity 
have  no  common  bond  of  union  ?  By 
no  means.  Some  have  for  object 
matters  of  essential  importance,  as, 
for  instance,  the  freedom  of  the 
church,  her  right  to  educate,  and  the1 
independence  of  her  head.  In  re- 
gard to  these  subjects,  all  the  asso- 
ciations should  unite.  Is  it  necessa- 
ry to  prove  this  ?  Is  it  not  self-evi- 


66o 


The  Spirit  of  CatJiolic  Associations. 


dent  ?  Associations  that  would  act 
differently  would  resemble  those  Chi- 
nese troops  which  neglected  the  de- 
fence of  the  most  important  posts, 
contenting  themselves  with  guarding 
places  of  secondary  importance. 

Catholic  societies  are  not  bands  of 
conspirators,  they  do  not  excite  re- 
bellions, nor  use  violence  or  deceit 
to  gain  their  purpose.  These  arts 
are  left  to  the  revolutionists.  Catho- 
lics need  no  weapons  but  truth  and 
justice.  They  must  be  ready  to  die 
for  both.  But  they  must  act  legally, 
they  must  not  violate  the  civil  order. 
Consequently,  they  should  never  un- 
dertake a  work  without  first  being 
satisfied  of  its  lawfulness. 

In  this  way  success  is  certain ;  for 
in  modern  civil  society  public  opin- 
ion rules.  If  Catholic  societies  de- 
fend religion,  who  can  object  ?  For 
public  opinion  must  admit  their  right 
to  do  so,  provided  they  violate  no  laws 
of  the  state. 


VII. 

BUT  although  legality  is  required 
for  Catholic  associations,  they  must 
not  be  timid  or  cowardly.  They 
must  be  brave  and  magnanimous. 
Christ  teaches  us  to  be  magnanimous, 
for  he  gave  his  blood  and  life  for  the 
love  of  truth  and  justice ;  the  mar- 
tyrs in  millions  died  for  the  same 
cause.  We  must  imitate  them.  No 
difficulty  or  obstacle  must  balk  the 
zeal  of  a  Catholic  association.  No 
fatigue  or  danger  or  sacrifice  must 
be  too  great  for  the  Catholic  asso- 
ciate. The  soldier  of  Christ  must 
conquer  difficulties.  The  present 
conflict,  said  Monsignor  de  Ketteler, 
in  the  congress  of  the  Catholic  asso- 
ciations of  Treves,  needs  champions 
•who,  for  the  love  of  Christ,  dare  ex- 
pose themselves  to  the  attacks  of 
newspapers  and  demagogues,  to  ca- 


lumny and  terms  of  contempt  in  par- 
liament and  from  the  rostrum.  The 
Catholic  spirit  must  be  a  self-sacrific- 
ing and  a  magnanimous  one.  Every 
associate  must  be  a  Catholic  before  be- 
ing a  politician,  a  Catholic  before  being 
a  man  of  letters,  a  Catholic  above 
all  things.  He  must  never  be  dis- 
couraged, but  persevere  with  gene- 
rous constancy,  in  spite  of  the  attacks 
of  enemies,  or  the  seeming  want  of 
success  of  many  of  his  efforts.  Let 
the  Catholic  associates  remember 
that  they  are  fighting  under  the  very 
eyes  of  God  ;  and  that  their  struggles, 
even  though  not  always  successful,  are 
a  manifestation  of  their  faith  before 
men  which  will  be  rewarded  in  hea- 
ven. 

VIII. 

WE  say  this  on  the  supposition  that 
the  combined  forces  of  the  associa- 
tion should  produce  no  result.  But 
this  supposition  is  unfounded.  Let 
the  Catholic  association  remain  con- 
stant in  its  enterprise,  and  it  will 
make  a  new  step  to  victory  every 
day.  It  may  fail  in  this  or  that  par- 
ticular measure,  but  the  general 
cause  will  prosper.  We  know  that 
the  heads  of  the  secret  societies  speak 
in  this  way,  but  they  do  so  to  de- 
ceive. We  do  not,  for  our  words  are 
founded  on  solid  reasons. 

The  first  is  drawn  from  the  nature 
of  the  two  causes  in  conflict.  The 
revolution  is  the  cause  of  error  and 
injustice;  Catholicism  is  the  cause 
of  truth  and  justice,  consequently 
the  cause  of  Catholicism  is  conform- 
able to  the  nature  of  man,  formed  for 
the  true  and  the  good,  while  the 
cause  of  the  revolution  is  in  contra- 
diction with  man's  nature.  How 
can  any  nature  remain  long  in  a 
state  of  contradiction  with  itself? 
Passion  or  ignorance  may  obscure 
for  a  time  the  human  intelligence, 


The  Spirit  of  Catholic  Associations. 


661 


but  when  the  contradiction  is  felt 
and  known,  nature  revolts  against  it 
with  all  its  power,  and  frees  itself. 
Now,  as  the  associations  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  Catholic  faith  are  striv- 
ing to  enlighten  our  intellect  with  the 
light  of  truth,  and  to  repress  the 
force  of  passions  by  inculcating  the 
love  of  virtue,  the  necessary  effect  of 
such  labor  must  be  that  the  cause  of 
the  revolution  will  daily  lose  ground 
as  the  light  of  truth,  becoming  more 
apparent,  shows  the  falsity  of  certain 
principles.  The  more  the  Catholic 
associations  combine  in  illuminating 
the  human  intelligence  and  correct- 
ing the  dormant  moral  sense  of  so- 
ciety, the  more  will  the  Catholic 
cause  hasten  towards  triumph. 

Reason  teaches  this.  But  revela- 
tion offers  other  proofs,  for  it  gives 
us  the  promises  of  Christ.  These 
are  expressed  in  those  passages  in 
which  our  Lord  likens  his  doctrines 
to  the  little  leaven  which  leavens  the 
whole  mass;  and  when  he  tells  his 
apostles  to  trust  in  him,  the  con- 
queror of  the  world.*  Let  the  Ca- 
tholic associations,  therefore,  advance 
in  their  work  with  confidence.  They 
have  divine  promises  in  their  favor. 
The  false  and  iniquitous  doctrines  of 
the  revolution  will  fall  to  the  ground. 
Its  efforts  will  be  in  vain,  its  success 
only  local  or  temporary;  for  the 

*  John  xvi.  33  ;  Matt.  xiii.  33  ;  John  xvii.  20-23. 


friends  of  truth  and  of  human  rights 
will  finally  conquer.  The  best  in- 
stincts of  human  nature  and  the  pro- 
mises of  faith  are  with  them. 

The  Holy  Ghost  tells  us  by  the 
pen  of  St.  Paul  that  truth  must  con- 
quer in  the  end,  speaking  of  the 
saints  "  who  triumphed  over  the 
powers  of  earth,  closed  the  mouths 
of  lions,  were  invincible  in  the  com- 
bat, and  conquered  their  enemies."  * 
The  children  of  the  revolution,  hav- 
ing a  presentiment  of  their  defeat  by 
the  new  Catholic  associations,  have 
already  cried  To  arms !  and  in  a 
thousand  ways  manifested  their  fear. 
Yes,  the  victorious  future  belongs  to 
the  Catholic  associations.  Let  them, 
therefore,  arise  with  courage  ground- 
ed on  the  principles  of  faith,  strength- 
ened by  the  noble  motives  of  their 
enterprise.  Harmony  of  intelligence, 
the  spirit  of  submission  to  the 
church,  agreement  of  wills,  with  the 
spirit  of  sacrifice,  and  of  reverence  for 
their  pastors,  will-  make  them  serried 
battalions,  moving  according  to  law, 
with  magnanimity,  constancy,  and 
confidence  in  God,  irresistible  in  their 
attacks.  Let  them  fight  on  the  bat- 
tle-field of  faith,  and  the  world  will 
soon  know  that  the  proud  pomp  of 
the  revolution  and  its  thousand  war- 
cries  are  founded  only  on  falsehood 
and  deceit. 

*  Heb.  xi.  33,  34. 


662 


Qur  Lady  cf  Lourdes. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH. 


OUR    LADY   OF   LOURDES, 


BY     HENRI    LASSERRE. 


PART     NINTH. 


BY  reason  of  the  events  which  we 
have  narrated,  M.  Massy  no  longer 
felt  at  home  in  this  part  of  the  earth. 
The  emperor  did  not  fail  to  send 
him  to  the  first  prefecture  which  be- 
came vacant  in  the  empire.  By  a 
remarkable  coincidence,  this  prefec- 
ture proved  to  be  that  of  Grenoble. 
Baron  Massy  left  Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes  only  to  meet  Our  Lady  of 
La  Salette. 

Jacomet  also  left  the  department, 
and  was  appointed  chief  of  police 
elsewhere.  Re-established  upon  his 
chosen  ground,  he  contributed  with 
great  sagacity  to  the  detection  of 
some  dangerous  criminals  who  had 
baffled  the  efforts  of  his  predecessor 
and  the  active  search  of  the  police. 
The  crime  was  a  great  robbery  com- 
mitted upon  a  railroad  company,  and 
amounting  to  several  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  This  was  the  point  of 
departure  in  his  fortunes  as  a  police 
agent,  his  true  vocation.  His  remark- 
able ability,  appreciated  by  his  supe- 
riors, raised  him  to  a  higher  place. 

The  procureur  imperial,  M.  Dutour, 
was  also  speedily  called  to  other 
functions.  M.  Lacade  still  remained 
mayor,  and  his  shadow  will  yet  ap- 
pear once  or  twice  in  the  latter  pages 
of  our  story. 

II. 

ALTHOUGH  he  had  instituted  the 
tribunal  of  examination  towards  the 


end  of  July,  still,  before  permitting  it 
to  begin  its  work,  Mgr.  Laurence 
desired  a  more  peaceful  state  of  the 
public  mind.  "  To  wait,"  he  thought, 
"  will  not  compromise  God's  work, 
since  he  holds  all  time  in  his  hands." 
The  issue  proved  that  he  was  right. 
For  after  the  stormy  discussions  of  the 
French  press  and  the  violent  pro- 
ceedings of  Baron  Massy,  the  grotto 
finally  became  free,  and  there  was 
no  longer  fear  of  the  scandal  of  see- 
ing police  agents  arresting  the  epis- 
copal commission  on  its  way  to  the 
Massabielle  rocks  in  order  to  fulfil  its 
duty,  and  examine  the  traces  of 
God's  finger  at  the  very  place  of  the 
apparition. 

On  the  1 7th  of  November,  the 
commission  went  to  Lourdes.  They 
examined  the  seer.  "  Bernadette," 
says  the  proces-verbal  of  the  secretary, 
"presented  herself  before  us  with 
great  modesty,  and,  nevertheless,  with 
remarkable  confidence.  She  appeared 
calm  and  unembarrassed  in  the  midst 
of  the  numerous  assembly,  in  pres- 
ence of  distinguished  ecclesiastics, 
whom  she  had  never  seen,  but  of 
whose  mission  she  had  been  made 
aware." 

She  described  the  apparitions,  the 
words  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  or- 
der given  by  Mary  to  build  a  chapel 
in  her  honor,  the  sudden  breaking 
out  of  the  fountain,  the  name,  "  Im- 
maculate Conception,"  which  the  vis- 
ion had  given  to  itself.  She  set  forth 
all  that  was  personal  to  herself  in 
this  supernatural  drama  with  the 
grave  certainty  of  a  witness  fully  con- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


663 


vinced,  and  the  humble  candor  of  a 
child.  She  answered  every  question, 
and  left  no  obscurity  in  the  mind  of 
those  who  interrogated  her,  no  longer 
in  the  name  of  man,  as  Jacomet  had 
done,  but  in  the  name  of  the  Catho- 
lic Church.  Our  readers  are  already 
aware  of  the  substance  of  her  testi- 
mony. We  have,  in  former  pages,  nar- 
rated events  in  the  order  of  their  date. 
The  commission  visited  the  Massa- 
bielle  rocks.  It  beheld  the  great 
volume  of  the  miraculous  fountain. 
It  established,  by  the  testimony  of 
the  neighboring  inhabitants,  that  no 
spring  existed  there  before  the  time 
when  it  broke  forth  in  the  presence  of 
the  multitudes  under  the  hand  of  the 
ecstatic  seer. 

At  Lourdes  and  in  other  places 
they  made  studious  inquiry  into  the 
miraculous  cures  worked  by  the 
water  of  the  grotto. 

In  this  delicate  task  there  were  two 
parts,  entirely  distinct.  Human  tes- 
timony determined  the  facts  them- 
selves ;  but  their  natural  or  supernatu- 
ral character  depended,  for  the  most 
part,  on  the  verdict  of  medical  sci- 
ence. The  method  followed  by  the 
tribunal  was  inspired  by  this  twofold 
thought. 

Throughout  the  dioceses  of  Lourdes, 
Auch,  and  Bayonne,  the  commission 
summoned  before  it  the  subjects  of 
these  singular  cures.  It  cross-exam- 
ined the  minutest  details  of  their  sick- 
ness, and  their  sudden  or  gradual 
restoration  to  health.  It  brought  in 
human  science  to  put  those  technical 
questions  of  which  theologians,  per- 
haps, would  not  have  thought.  It 
summoned  the  relations,  friends, 
neighbors,  and  other  witnesses  of  the 
different  phases  of  the  event,  to  con- 
firm evidence.  Having  once  come 
to  a  certainty  of  all  details,  it  sub- 
mitted facts  to  the  judgment  of  two 
eminent  physicians  admitted  as  col- 
leagues. These  physicians  were  Dr. 


Verges,  superintendent  of  the  baths 
at  Bareges,  Fellow  of  the  Medical 
Faculty  of  Montpellier,  and  Dr. 
Dozous,  who  had  already,  out  of 
private  interest,  given  his  attention 
to  several  of  these  strange  incidents. 
Each  physician  gave  in  his  report  his 
personal  opinion  regarding  the  nature 
of  the  cure,  sometimes  rejecting  the 
miracle,  and  attributing  the  cessation 
of  disease  to  certain  natural  causes; 
at  other  times  declaring  its  utter  in- 
explicability  without  the  action  of  a 
supernatural  power;  and,  lastly,  some- 
times not  arriving  at  any  conclusion, 
but  remaining  in  doubt  as  to  the  true 
explanation.  Thus  prepared  by  the 
double  knowledge  of  facts  and  the 
conclusion  of  science  with  respect  to 
them,  the  commission  deliberated, 
and  finally  pronounced  its  judgment 
to  the  bishop,  and  submitted  the 
evidence. 

The  commission  had  not  and 
could  not  have  any  preconceived 
opinions.  Believing  on  principle  in 
the»  supernatural,  which  is  always  to 
be  met  with  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  it  knew,  also,  that  nothing  so 
tends  to  discredit  the  true  miracles 
of  God  as  false  prodigies  worked  by 
men.  Equally  indisposed  to  deny 
or  affirm  anything  prematurely,  hav- 
ing no  brief  to  sustain  either  for  or 
against  the  miracle,  it  was  confined 
strictly  to  the  task  of  examination 
and  sought  only  the  truth.  It  ap- 
pealed to  every  source  of  light  and 
information,  and  acted  in  full  view  of 
the  public. 

It  was  as  open  to  unbelievers  as 
to  those  who  believed.  Resolved  to 
discard  remorselessly  all  that  was 
vague  or  uncertain,  and  to  accept 
only  incontestable  facts,  it  rejected 
every  declaration  based  upon  hear- 
say. 

It  imposed  two  conditions  upon 
every  witness:  first,  to  testify  only 
to  what  came  under  personal  know- 


664 


Our  Lady  of  Lonrdes. 


ledge  and  observation;  secondly,  to 
state  under  oath  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth. 

With  such  precautions  and  an  or- 
ganization so  prudent  and  wise,  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  a 
false  miracle  to  deceive  the  judg- 
ment of  the  commission.  It  would 
have  been  impossible,  in  the  face  of 
the  hostile  criticism  of  those  who 
were  bent  upon  combating  and 
overthrowing  every  error  and  even 
the  least  exaggeration,  to  sustain 
any  doubtful  assertion  or  the  miracu- 
lous character  of  any  doubtful  fact. 

If,  then,  true  miracles,  imperfectly 
proved,  failed  in  obtaining  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  commission,  it  is  abso- 
lutely certain  that  no  false  prodigy 
could  stand  before  its  searching  ex- 
amination. 

Whoever  had  the  means  of  con- 
testing any  one  of  the  miracles — not 
by  vague  and  general  theories,  but 
by  facts  and  personal  knowledge — 
was  thereby  summoned  to  appear 
against  it.  Not  to  do  so  was^to 
give  up  the  case,  and  acknowledge 
that  no  formal  or  intelligible  counter- 
evidence  could  be  sustained.  When 
passions  run  high  in  the  ardor  of  a 
long  struggle,  parties  do  not  let  judg- 
ment go  by  default.  To  refuse  the 
combat  is  to  accept  defeat. 

in. 

DURING  several  months,  the  epis- 
copal commission  visited  the  houses 
of  those  whom  public  notoriety  de- 
signated as  objects  of  the  miraculous 
cures  subjected  to  its  examination. 
It  established  the  truth  of  many 
miracles.  Several  of  them  have  al- 
ready found  a  place  in  our  history. 
Two  were  quite  recent.  They  had 
taken  place  shortly  after  the  prefect 
had  withdrawn  his  prohibition  and 
the  grotto  had  been  reopened.  One 
was  at  Nay,  the  other  at  Tartas.  Al- 


though the  recipients  of  these  hea- 
venly favors  were  mutually  unac- 
quainted, a  mysterious  bond  seemed 
to  connect  both  events.  Let  us  re- 
late them  in  order  as  we  have  per- 
sonally studied  them,  and  written 
down  what  we  have  heard  under  the 
impressions  produced  by  the  living 
testimony. 

IV. 

IN  the  town  of  Nay,  where  young 
Henry  Busquet  had  been  miraculous- 
ly cured  a  few  months  before,  a  cer- 
tain widow,  named  Madeleine  Rizan, 
was  at  the  point  of  death.  Her  life 
had  for  twenty-four  or  twenty-five 
years  been  an  unbroken  series  of 
pain  and  sorrow.  Having  been  at- 
tacked by  the  cholera  in  1832,  her 
left  side  had  remained  almost  entire- 
ly paralyzed.  She  was  quite  lame, 
and  could  only  move  a  few  steps  in- 
side her  house,  and  that  only  by  sup- 
porting herself  against  the  walls  or 
furniture.  Two  or  three  times  a  year, 
in  warm  weather,  she  was  able  to  go 
to  Mass  at  the  parish  church  of  Nay, 
not  far  from  her  dwelling.  She  was 
unable,  without  assistance,  either  to 
kneel  or  to  rise.  One  of  her  hands 
was  totally  palsied.  Her  general 
health  had  suffered  no  less  than  her 
limbs  from  this  terrible  scourge.  She 
frequently  vomited  blood,  and  her 
stomach  was  unable  to  bear  solid 
food. 

Beef-tea,  soup,  and  coffee  had, 
however,  sufficed  to  keep  up  the 
flame  of  life,  ever  flickering  and  un- 
able to  warm  her  feeble  body.  She 
often  suffered  from  icy  chills.  The 
poor  woman  was  always  cold.  Even 
in  the  heats  of  July  and  August,  she 
always  wished  to  see  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  to  have  her  arm-chair  wheeled 
close  to  the  hearth. 

For  the  last  sixteen  or  eighteen 
months,  her  state  had  been  much 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


665 


aggravated ;  the  paralysis  of  the  left 
side  had  become  total.  The  same 
infirmity  had  begun  to  attack  the 
right  leg.  Her  paralyzed  limbs  were 
greatly  swollen,  as  happens  in  the 
case  of  dropsy. 

Madame  Rizan  left  her  chair  to 
take  to  her  bed.  She  could  not 
move,  such  was  her  weakness,  and 
they  were  obliged  to  turn  her,  from 
time  to  time,  in  her  bed.  She  was 
almost  an  inert  mass.  Sensibility 
was  gone  as  well  as  motion. 

"  Where  are  my  legs  ?"  she  used  to 
inquire,  when  any  one  came  to  move 
her.  Her  limbs  were  drawn  together, 
and  she  lay  continually  on  one  side 
in  the  form  of  a  Z. 

Two  physicians  had  successively 
attended  her.  Doctor  Talamon  had 
long  since  given  her  up  as  incura- 
ble, and,  although  he  continued  to 
visit  her,  it  was  only  as  a  friend.  He 
refused  to  prescribe  any  remedies,  say- 
ing that  drugs  and  medicines  would 
prove  fatal,  or,  at  best,  only  enfeeble 
her  system. 

Doctor  Subervielle,  at  the  repeated 
instance  of  Madame  Rizan,  had  pre- 
scribed some  medicines,  and,  soon 
finding  them  utterly  useless,  had  also 
given  up  all  hope.  Although  her 
paralyzed  limbs  had  become  insensi- 
ble, the  sufferings  which  this  unfortu- 
nate woman  experienced  from  her 
stomach  and  head  were  terrible. 
Owing  to  her  constantly  cramped 
position,  she  was  afflicted  by  two 
painful  sores — one  in  the  hollow  of 
her  chest,  and  the  other  on  the  back. 
On  her  side,  in  several  places,  her 
skin,  chafed  by  the  bed-clothes,  ex- 
posed the  flesh,  naked  and  bleeding. 
Her  death  was  at  hand. 

Madame  Rizan  had  two  children. 
Her  daughter,  Lubine,  lived  with  and 
took  care  of  her  with  the  greatest  de- 
votion. Her  son,  Romain  Rizan,  had 
a  situation  in  a  business-house  at  Bor- 
deaux. 


When  the  last  hope  was  gone,  and 
Doctor  Subervielle  declared  that  she 
had  only  a  few  hours  to  live,  they 
sent  in  haste  for  her  son,  Romain 
Rizan.  He  came,  embraced  his  mo- 
ther, and  received  her  last  blessing 
and  farewell.  Then,  obliged  to  leave 
by  a  message  peremptorily  recalling 
him — torn  by  the  cruel  tyranny  of 
business  from  his  mother's  death-bed 
— he  left  her  with  the  bitter  convic- 
tion that  he  should  never  see  her 
more.  The  dying  woman  received 
extreme  unction.  Her  agony  went 
on  amid  excruciating  sufferings. 

"  My  God !"  she  often  murmured, 
"I  pray  thee  to  end  my  torments. 
Grant  me  to  be  healed  or  to 
die." 

She  sent  to  ask  the  Sisters  of  the 
Cross,  at  Igon,  where  her  own  sister- 
in-law  was  superior,  to  make  a  no- 
vena  to  Our  Lady  for  her  cure  or 
death.  The  sick  woman  also  evinced 
a  desire  to  drink  some  of  the  water 
of  the  grotto.  One  of  her  neighbors, 
Madame  Nessans,  who  was  going  to 
Lourdes,  promised  to  fetch  some  of 
the  water  when  she  returned.  For 
some  time  past,  she  had  been  watch- 
ed day  and  night.  On  Saturday,  Oc- 
tober 1 6,  a  violent  crisis  heralded  the 
near  approach  of  her  last  moment. 
She  was  continually  spitting  blood. 
A  livid  hue  spread  over  her  worn  fea- 
tures ;  her  eyes  became  glassy.  She 
no  longer  spoke,  except  when  forced 
by  excessive  pain. 

"O  my  God!  how  I  suffer!  O 
Lord !  would  that  I  might  die !" 

"  Her  prayer  will  soon  be  grant- 
ed," said  Doctor  Subervielle  as  he 
left  her.  "  She  will  die  to-night,  or 
at  least  before  the  sun  is  fairly  up. 
There  is  only  a  little  oil  left  in  the 
lamp  !" 

From  time  to  time  the  door  of 
her  chamber  opened.  Friends,  neigh- 
bors, and  priests,  the  Abbe  Dupont 
and  the  Abbe  Sanareus,  vicar  of  Nay, 


666 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


entered  and  softly  inquired  if  she 
were  still  alive. 

Her  friend  and  consoler,  the  Abbe 
Dupont,  could  not  restrain  his  tears 
as  he  left  her.  "  Before  morning  she 
will  be  dead,  and  I  shall  see  her  again 
only  in  paradise,"  he  said. 

Night  fell,  and  solitude  gradually 
took  possession  of  the  house.  Kneel- 
ing before  a  statue  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  Lubine  prayed  without  any 
earthly  hope.  The  silence  was  pro- 
found, and  broken  only  by  the  diffi- 
cult breathing  of  the  invalid. 

It  was  nearly  midnight.  "  My 
daughter !"  cried  the  dying  woman. 

Lubine  arose  and  approached  the 
bed. 

"What  do  you  wish,  mother?" 
she  asked,  taking  her  hand.  "  My 
dear  child,"  answered  the  dying  mo- 
ther, in  a  strange  voice  that  seemed 
to  come  from  a  heavy  dream,  "  go  to 
our  friend  Madame  Nessans,  who 
was  to  have  returned  from  Lourdes, 
this  evening.  Ask  her  for  a  glassful 
of  the  water  from  the  grotto.  This 
water  will  cure  me.  The  Blessed 
Virgin  wishes  it." 

"  Dear  mother,"  answered  Lubine, 
"  it  is  too  late  to  go  there.  I  cannot 
leave  you  alone.  Besides,  everybo- 
dy is  asleep  at  the  house  of  Madame 
Nessans.  But  I  will  go  early  in  the 
morning." 

"  Let  us  wait,  then."  The  invalid 
relapsed  into  silence.  The  long 
night  finally  passed. 

The  joyous  bells  at  last  announced 
the  day.  The  morning  Angelus  as  it 
rose  carried  up  to  the  Virgin  Mother 
the  prayers  of  earth,  and  celebrated 
the  eternal  memory  of  her  all-power- 
ful maternity.  Lubine  hastened  to 
Madame  Nessans's,  and  soon  return- 
ed with  a  bottle  of  water  from  the 
grotto. 

"  Here,  mother !  Drink  !  and  may 
the  Blessed  Virgin  come  to  your 
help!"  Madame  Rizan  raised  the 


glass  to  her   lips,  and  swallowed   a 
few  mouthfuls. 

"O  my  daughter!  my  daughter! 
It  is  life  that  I  am  drinking  !  Here 
is  life  in  this  water  !  Bathe  my  face 
with  it !  Bathe  my  arms !  Bathe 
my  whole  body  with  it !" 

Trembling  and  almost  beside  her- 
self, Lirbine  moistened  a  piece  of 
linen  with  the  miraculous  water,  and 
bathed  her  mother's  face. 

"  I  feel  that  I  am  cured !"  she 
cried  in  a  voice  now  clear  and  strong. 
"  I  feel  that  I  am  cured  !" 

Lubine  meanwhile  bathed  with 
the  wet  linen  the  paralyzed  and 
swollen  limbs  of  the  invalid.  Trem- 
bling with  mingled  joy  and  terror,  she 
saw  the  enormous  swelling  disappear 
under  the  rapid  movement  of  her 
hand,  and  the  stretched  and  shining 
skin  reassume  its  natural  appear- 
ance. 

Suddenly,  completely,  and  without 
transition,  health  and  life  revived 
beneath  her  touch. 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  burning 
pimples  were  breaking  out  all  over 
me."  It  was,  doubtless,  the  princi- 
ple of  disease  leaving  for  ever  under 
the  influence  of  a  superhuman  will. 
All  this  was  over  in  a  moment.  In  a 
couple  of  minutes  the  body  of  Ma- 
dame Rizan,  apparently  in  her  agony, 
bathed  by  her  daughter,  recovered 
the  fulness  of  strength. 

"  I  am  cured  !  perfectly  cured !" 
cried  the  happy  woman.  "  Oh  !  how 
good  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  !  Oh  ! 
how  powerful  she  is  !" 

After  the  first  burst  of  gratitude 
toward  heaven,  the  material  appetites 
of  earth  made  themselves  keenly  felt. 

"  Lubine,  dear  Lubine,  I  am  hun- 
gry. I  must  have  something  to  eat !" 

"  Will  you  have  some  coffee,  some 
wine,  or  some  milk  !"  stammered  her 
daughter,  confused  by  the  suddenness 
and  astounding  character  of  the  mi- 
racle. 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


667 


"  I  want  to  have  meat  and  bread, 
my  daughter.  I  have  not  tasted  any 
for  twenty-four  years."  There  hap- 
pened to  be  some  cold  meat  and 
some  wine  near  at  hand ;  Madame 
Rizan  partook  of  both.  "  And  now," 
said  she,  "  I  want  to  get  up." 

"  It  is  impossible,  mother,"  said 
Lubine,  hesitating  to  believe  her 
eyes,  and  fancying,  perhaps,  that 
cures  which  come  directly  from  God 
are  subject,  like  other  cures,  to  the  de- 
grees and  dangers  of  convalescence. 
She  feared  to  see  the  miracle  vanish 
as  suddenly  as  it  had  come. 

Madame  Rizan  insisted  and  de- 
manded her  clothes.  They  had  been 
for  many  months  carefully  folded  and 
packed  in  the  wardrobe  never  to  be 
worn  again.  Lubine  left  the  room 
to  find  them.  Soon  she  re-entered. 
But  as  she  crossed  the  threshold,  she 
uttered  a  loud  cry,  and  dropped  the 
garment  which  she  was  bringing. 
Her  mother  had  sprung  out  of  bed, 
during  her  absence,  and  there  she 
was,  before  the  mantel-piece,  where 
she  kept  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin, with  clasped  hands  returning 
thanks  to  her  all-powerful  deliverer. 

Lubine,  as  frightened  as  if  she  had 
beheld  one  risen  from  the  dead,  was 
unable  to  help  her  mother  to  dress. 
The  latter,  however,  put  on  her 
clothes  in  an  instant  without  any  as- 
sistance, and  again  knelt  down  before 
the  sacred  image. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  the  people  were  going 
to  the  early  Mass.  Lubine's  cry  was 
heard  in  the  street  by  the  groups 
who  were  passing  under  the  win- 
dows. 

"  Poor  girl !"  they  said,  "  her  mo- 
ther is  dead  at  last.  It  was  impos- 
sible for  her  to  survive  the  night." 
Several  entered  the  house  to  console 
and  support  Lubine  in  this  unspeak- 
able affliction,  among  others  two 
sisters  of  the  Holy  Cross. 


"  Ah  !  poor  child,  your  good  mo- 
ther is  dead  !  But  you  will  certainly 
see  her  again  in  heaven !"  They 
approached  the  young  girl,  whom 
they  beheld  leaning  against  the  half- 
opened  door,  her  face  wearing  a 
stupefied  look.  She  could  scarcely 
answer  them. 

"  My  mother  is  risen  from  the 
dead  !"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  chok- 
ed by  strong  emotion. 

"  She  is  raving,"  thought  the  sisters, 
as  they  passed  by  and  entered  the 
room,  followed  by  some  persons  who 
had  come  up-stairs  with  them. 

Lubine  had  spoken  the  truth.  Ma- 
dame Rizan  had  left  her  bed.  There 
she  was,  dressed  and  prostrated  be- 
fore the  image  of  Mary.  She  arose, 
and  said :  "  I  am  cured  !  Let  us  all 
kneel  down,  and  thank  the  Blessed 
Virgin." 

The  news  of  this  extraordinary 
event  spread  like  lightning  through 
the  city.  All  that  day  and  the  day 
after  the  house  was  full  of  people. 
The  crowd,  agitated  and  yet  recol- 
lected, pressed  to  visit  the  room  into 
which  a  ray  of  the  all-powerful  good- 
ness of  God  had  penetrated. 

Everybody  wished  to  see  Madame 
Rizan,  to  touch  the  body  restored  to 
life,  to  convince  his  own  eyes,  and 
grave  upon  his  memory  the  details 
of  this  supernatural  drama. 

Doctor  Subervielle  acknowledged, 
without  hesitation,  the  supernatural 
and  divine  character  of  this  cure. 

At  Bordeaux,  meanwhile,  Remain 
Rizan  awaited  in  despair  and  an- 
guish the  fatal  missive  a/mouncing 
his  mother's  death.  It  was  a  great 
shock  to  him  when,  one  morning, 
the  postman  brought  him  a  letter 
addressed  in  the  well-known  hand  of 
Abbe  Dupont. 

"  I  have  lost  my  poor  mother !" 
he  said  to  a  friend  who  had  just  come 
to  visit  him.  He  burst  into  tears, 
and  dared  not  break  the  seal. 


668 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


"  Take  courage  in  your  misfortune. 
Have  faith  !"  said  his  friend. 

Finally,  he  opened  the  letter.  The 
first  words  which  met  his  eyes  were : 

"  Deo  gratias !     Alleluia  ! 

"  Rejoice,  my  dear  friend.  Your 
mother  is  cured  —  completely  cured. 
The  Blessed  Virgin  has  restored  her 
miraculously  to  health."  The  Abbe 
Dupont  then  went  on  to  relate  the 
divine  manner  in  which  Madame  Ri- 
zan  had  found  at  the  end  of  her  ago- 
ny life  instead  of  death. 

We  may  easily  fancy  the  joy  of  the 
son  and  of  his  friend.  The  latter 
was  employed  in  a  printing-house  at 
Bordeaux,  where  was  published  the 
Messages  Catholique.  "  Give  me  that 
letter,"  said  he  to  Romain.  "The 
works  of  God  ought  to  be  made 
known,  and  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes 
glorified." 

Partly  by  force,  and  partly  by  en- 
treaty, he  obtained  the  letter.  It 
was  published  a  few  days  afterward 
in  the  Messager  Catholique. 

The  happy  son  hastened  to  Nay 
at  the  earliest  moment.  As  he  ar- 
rived in  the  diligence,  a  woman  was 
waiting  to  greet  him.  She  ran  swift- 
ly to  meet  him,  and,  when  he  de- 
scended from  the  coach,  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms,  weeping  with  ten- 
derness and  joy.  It  was  his  mo- 
ther. 

A  few  years  afterward,  the  author, 
while  searching  out  the  details  of  his 
history,  went  in  person  to  verify  the 
report  of  the  episcopal  commission. 
He  visited  Madame  Rizan,  whose 
perfect  health  and  green  old  age  ex- 
cited his  admiration.  Although  in 
her  seventy-first  year,  she  has  none 
of  the  infirmities  which  that  age  usu- 
ally brings.  Of  her  illness  and  terri- 
ble sufferings  there  remains  not  a 
trace ;  and  all  who  had  formerly 
known  her,  and  whose  testimony  we 
gathered,  were  yet  stupefied  at  her 


extraordinary  cure.*  We  wished  to 
see  Doctor  Subervielle.  He  had  been 
dead  some  years. 

"  But,"  we  asked  a  clergyman  of 
Nay,  who  acted  as  our  guide,  "  the 
invalid  was  attended  by  another  phy- 
sician, Doctor  Talamon,  was  she 
not?" 

"  He  is  a  very  distinguished  man," 
replied  our  companion.  "  He  was 
in  the  habit  of  visiting  Madame  Ri- 
zan, not  professionally,  but  as  a  friend 
and  neighbor.  But  after  her  mira- 
culous cure  he  ceased  his  visits,  and 
did  not  make  his  appearance  for 
eight  or  ten  months." 

"  Perhaps,"  we  rejoined,  "  he  wish- 
ed to  avoid  being  questioned  on  the 
subject,  and  being  obliged  to  explain 
this  extraordinary  phenomenon,  which 
would  certainly  have  been  out  of 
accord  with  his  principles  of  medical 
philosophy  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  that  may 
have  been." 

"  No  matter;  I  want  to  see  him." 

We  knocked  at  his  door. 

Doctor  Talamon  is  a  tall  and  hand- 
some old  man,  with  an  expressive 
and  intelligent  countenance.  A  re- 
markable forehead,  a  crown  of  white 
locks,  a  glance  which  betokens  posi- 
tive adherence  to  opinions,  a  mouth 
varied  in  expression,  and  on  which 
a  sceptical  smile  often  plays — these 
are  the  features  which  strike  one  who 
approaches  him. 

*  "  All  the  circumstances  connected  with  this 
fact,"  says  the  report  of  the  physicians,  "  stamp 
it  with  a  supernatural  character.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  escape  from  this  conviction,  if  one  consi- 
ders, on  one  hand,  the  chronic  nature  of  the 
complaint  which  began  in  1834  ;  the  force  of  its 
engendering  cause,  namely,  the  cholera ;  the 
permanence  of  some  of  its  symptoms  in  a  most 
important  organ  of  life,  the  stomach  ;  the  fruit- 
lessness  of  remedies  applied  by  a  competent  phy- 
sician, M.  Subervielle,  the  gradual  prostration 
of  strength,  followed  inevitably  by  dyspepsia, 
and  the  enervation  resulting  from  continual  pain  ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  one  will  couple  with 
these  circumstances  the  effect  produced  by  na- 
tural water,  only  once  applied,  and  the  instanta- 
neous character  of  the  result." 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


669 


We  stated  the  object  of  our  visit. 

"  It  is  a  long  time,"  he  answered, 
"  since  all  that  happened,  and,  at  the 
distance  of  ten  or  twelve  years,  my 
memory  supplies  but  a  dim  recollec- 
tion of  the  matter  about  which  you 
inquire;  besides,  I  was  not  an  eye- 
witness of  it.  I  did  not  see  Madame 
Rizan  for  several  months,  and,  con- 
sequently, do  not  know  by  what  con- 
ditions or  agents,  or  with  what  de- 
gree of  speed  or  slowness,  her  recov- 
ery was  effected." 

"  But,  doctor,  did  you  not  have 
curiosity  enough  to  investigate  such 
an  extraordinary  event,  of  which  ru- 
mor must  have  instantly  informed 
you,  especially  in  this  place  ?" 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  answered,  "  I  am 
an  old  physician.  I  know  that  the 
laws  of  nature  are  never  reversed, 
and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  not 
believe  the  least  bit  in  miracles." 

"  Ah  !  doctor,  you  sin  against  the 
faith,"  cried  the  abbe  who  had  ac- 
companied me. 

"And  I,  doctor,  do  not  accuse 
you  of  sinning  against  faith,  but  I 
accuse  you  of  sinning  against  the 
very  principles  of  the  science  which 
you  profess." 

"  How,  pray,  and  in  what  ?  " 

"  Medicine  is  not  a  speculative,  but 
an  empirical  science.  Experience  is 
its  law.  The  observation  of  facts  is 
its  first  and  fundamental  principle. 
If  you  had  been  told  that  Madame 
Rizan  had  cured  herself  by  washing 
with  a  decoction  from  some  plant 
recently  discovered  on  yonder  moun- 
tain, you  would  not  have  failed  to 
ascertain  the  cure  and  to  examine 
the  plant,  and  put  the  discovery  on 
record.  It  might  have  been  as  im- 
portant as  that  of  quinine  in  the  last 
century.  You  would  have  done  the 
same  if  the  cure  had  been  produced 
by  some  new  sulphurous  or  alkaline 
substance.  But,  now,  everybody  is 
talking  about  a  fountain  of  miracu- 


lous water,  and  you  have  never  yet 
been  to  see  it.  Forgetting  that  you 
are  a  physician,  that  is  to  say,  a 
humble  observer  of  facts,  you  have 
refused  to  notice  this,  as  did  the  sci- 
entific academies  which  rejected 
steam  and  proscribed  quinine  on 
some  quack  principles  of  their  own. 
In  medicine,  when  fact  contradicts  a 
principle,  it  means  that  the  principle 
is  wrong.  Experience  is  the  su- 
preme judge.  And  here,  doctor,  al- 
low me  to  say  that,  if  you  had  not 
had  some  vague  consciousness  that 
what  I  am  telling  you  is  true,  you 
would  have  rushed  to  find  out  the 
truth,  and  would  have  given  yourself 
the  pleasure  of  showing  up  the  im- 
posture of  a  miracle  which  was  set- 
ting the  whole  neighborhood  wild 
with  excitement.  But  this  would 
have  exposed  you  to  the  danger  of 
being  forced  to  surrender ;  and  you 
have  acted  like  those  party-slaves 
who  will  not  listen  to  the  arguments 
of  their  opponents.  You  have  lis- 
tened to  your  philosophical  preju- 
dices, and  you  have  been  false  to  the 
first  law  of  medicine,  which  is  to  face 
the  study  of  facts — no  matter  of 
what  nature — in  order  to  derive  in- 
struction from  them.  I  speak  freely, 
doctor,  because  I  am  aware  of  your 
great  merits,  and  that  your  keen  in- 
tellect is  capable  of  hearing  the 
truth.  Many  physicians  have  re- 
fused to  certify  to  facts  of  this  na- 
ture, for  fear  of  having  to  brave  the 
resentment  of  the  faculty  and  the 
raillery  of  friends  of  their  profession. 
With  regard  to  yourself  doctor,  al- 
though your  philosophy  may  have 
deceived  you,  human  respect  has  had 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  your  keep- 
ing aloof." 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  replied,  "  but, 
perhaps,  if  I  had  placed  myself  at 
the  point  of  view  which  you  have 
indicated,  I  might  have  done  better 
by  examining  the  matter." 


6;o 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


v. 


LONG  before  the  occurrences  at 
Lourdes,  at  an  epoch  when  Berna- 
dette  was  not  yet  in  the  world,  in 
1843,  during  the  month  of  April,  an 
honorable  family  of  Tartas  in  the 
Landes  was  in  a  state  of  great  anx- 
iety. The  year  before,  Mile.  Adele 
de  Chariton  had  been  married  to  M. 
Moreau  de  Sazenay,  and  now  ap- 
proached the  term  of  her  pregnancy. 
The  crisis  of  a  first  maternity  is  al- 
ways alarming.  The  medical  men, 
summoned  in  haste  on  the  prelimi- 
nary symptoms,  declared  that  the 
birth  would  be  very  difficult,  and  did 
not  conceal  their  fear  of  some  dan- 
ger. No  one  is  ignorant  of  the  cruel 
anxiety  of  such  a  juncture.  The 
most  poignant  anguish  is  not  for  the 
poor  wife  who  is  prostrated  upon 
her  bed  of  pain,  and  entirely  absorb- 
ed in  her  physical  sufferings.  It  is 
the  husband  whose  heart  is  now  the 
prey  of  indescribable  tortures.  They 
are  of  the  age  of  vivid  impressions ; 
they  have  entered  upon  a  new  life, 
and  begun  to  taste  the  joys  of  a 
union  which  God  seems  to  have 
blessed ;  they  have  passed  a  few 
months  full  of  anticipations  of  the 
future.  The  young  couple  have  set 
them  down,  so  to  speak,  side  by  side 
in  a  fairy  pleasure-boat.  The  river 
of  life  has  carried  them  softly  on 
amid  banks  of  flowers.  Suddenly, 
without  warning,  the  shadow  of 
death  rises  before  them.  The  heart 
of  the  husband,  expanded  with  hope 
for  the  child  so  soon  to  be  born,  is 
crushed  by  terror  for  his  wife,  who 
may  be  about  to  perish.  He  hears 
her  accents  of  pain.  How  will  the 
crisis  end  ?  Is  it  to  be  in  joy  or  be- 
reavement ?  What  is  about  to  issue 
from  that  chamber  ?  Will  it  be  life 
or  death  ?  What  must  we  send  for 
— a  cradle  or  a  coffin  ?  Or — horrible 
contrast  —  will  both  be  necessary  ? 


Or,  worse  still,  shall  two  coffins  be 
necessary  ?  Human  science  is  si- 
lent, and  hesitates  to  pronounce. 

This  anguish  is  frightful,  but  es- 
pecially for  those  who  do  not  seek 
from  God  their  strength  and  consola- 
tion. But  M.  Moreau  was  a  Chris- 
tian. He  knew  that  the  thread  of 
our  existence  is  in  the  hands  of  a 
supreme  Master,  to  whom  we  can 
always  appeal  from  the  doctors  of 
science.  When  man  has  passed  sen- 
tence, the  King  of  heaven,  as  well 
as  other  sovereigns,  holds  the  right 
of  pardon. 

"  The  Blessed  Virgin  will,  perhaps, 
vouchsafe  to  hear  me,"  thought  the 
afflicted  husband.  He  addressed 
himself  with  confidence  to  the  Mo- 
ther of  Christ. 

The  danger  which  had  appeared 
so  threatening  disappeared  as  a 
cloud  upon  the  horizon.  A  little 
girl  had  just  been  born. 

Assuredly  there  was  nothing  ex- 
traordinary about  this  deliverance. 
However  alarming  the  danger  might 
have  appeared  to  M.  Moreau  him- 
self, the  physicians  had  never  given 
up  hope.  The  favorable  issue  of  the 
crisis  may  have  been  something 
purely  natural. 

The  heart  of  the  husband  and  fa- 
ther, however,  felt  itself  penetrated 
with  gratitude  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
His  was  not  one  of  those  rebellious 
souls  which  demands  freedom  from 
all  doubt  in  order  to  escape  acknow- 
ledging a  favor. 

"  What  name  are  you  going  to 
give  to  your  little  girl  ? "  he  was 
asked. 

"  She  shall  be  called  Marie." 

"  Marie  ?  Why,  that  is  the  com- 
monest name  in  the  whole  country. 
The  children  of  the  laboring  people, 
the  servants,  are  all  named  Marie. 
Besides,  Marie  Moreau  is  out  of  all 
euphony.  The  two  m's  and  two  r's 
would  be  intolerable  !  "  A  thousand 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


6/1 


reasons  of  equal  validity  were  urged 
against  him.  There  was  a  general 
protest. 

M.  Moreau  was  very  accessible, 
and  easily  moved  by  others;  but  in 
this  instance  he  resisted  all  counsel 
and  entreaty ;  he  braved  all  discon- 
tent, and  his  tenacity  was  really  ex- 
traordinary. He  did  not  allow  him- 
self to  forget  that,  in  his  distress,  he 
had  invoked  this  sacred  name,  or 
that  it  belonged  to  the  Queen  of 
heaven. 

"  She  shall  be  called  Marie,  and  I 
wish  her  to  take  the  Blessed  Virgin 
for  a  patroness.  And  I  tell  you  the 
truth,  this  name  will  some  day  bring 
her  a  blessing." 

Everybody  was  astonished  at  this 
apparent  obstinacy,  but  it  remained 
unshaken  as  that  of  Zachary  when 
he  gave  his  son  the  name  John. 
Vainly  did  they  apply  every  means 
of  attack ;  there  was  no  getting  by 
this  inflexible  will.  The  first-born  of 
the  family,  therefore,  took  the  name 
of  Marie.  The  father,  moreover, 
desired  that  she  should  be  vowed  for 
three  years  to  dress  in  white,  the 
color  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  This, 
too,  was  done. 

More  than  sixteen  years  had  now 
passed  since  this  episode.  A  second 
daughter  had  been  born,  she  was 
called  Marthe.  Mile.  Marie  Moreau 
was  being  educated  at  the  Convent 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  at  Bordeaux. 
About  the  commencement  of  January, 
1858,  she  was  attacked  by  a  disease 
of  the  eyes,  which  shortly  obliged  her 
to  give  up  her  studies.  She  supposed 
at  first  that  it  was  only  a  cold  which 
would  pass  off  as  it  had  come ;  but 
her  hopes  were  deceived,  and  her 
complaint  assumed  a  most  alarming 
character.  The  physician  in  atten- 
dance judged  it  necessary  to  consult 
a  distinguished  oculist  of  Bordeaux, 
M.  Bermont.  It  was  not  a  cold  ;  it 
svas  amaurosis. 


"  Her  case  is  a  very  serious  one," 
said  M.  Bermont;  "one  of  the  eyes 
is  entirely  gone,  and  the  other  in  a  very 
dangerous  condition." 

The  parents  were  immediately 
notified.  Her  mother  hastened  to 
Bordeaux,  and  brought  back  her 
daughter,  in  order  that  she  might 
have  at  home  that  care,  treatment, 
and  perfect  attention  which  the  ocu- 
list had  prescribed  in  order  to  save 
the  eye  which  yet  remained,  and 
which  was  so  gravely  affected  that  it 
could  perceive  objects  only  as  through 
a  mist. 

The  medicines,  baths,  and  all  the 
prescriptions  of  science  proved  use- 
less. Spring  and  autumn  passed 
without  any  change  for  the  better. 
Indeed,  the  deplorable  condition  of 
the  invalid  was  daily  aggravated. 
Total  blindness  was  approaching. 
M.  and  Madame  Moreau  decided  to 
take  their  child  to  Paris,  in  order  to 
consult  the  great  medical  lights. 

While  engaged  -in  hasty  prepara- 
tions for  their  journey,  fearing  lest  it 
might  be  too  slow  to  escape  the  danger 
which  threatened  their  child,  the  post- 
man brought  them  the  weekly  num- 
ber of  the  Messager  Catholique,  It 
was  about  the  first  of  November,  and 
this  number  of  the  Messager  Catho- 
liquc  happened  to  be  precisely  the  one 
which  contained  the  letter  of  Abbe 
Dupont,  and  the  story  of  the  miracu- 
lous cure  of  Madame  Rizan,  of  Nay, 
by  means  of  water  from  the  grotto. 

M.  Moreau  opened  it  mechanically, 
and  his  glance  fell  upon  that  divine 
history.  He  turned  pale  as  he  read, 
hope  began  to  awaken  in  the  heart 
of  the  desolate  father,  and  that  soul, 
or  rather  that  heart,  was  touched  by 
a  gleam  of  light. 

"  There,"  said  he — "  there  is  the 
door  at  which  we  must  knock.  It  is 
evident,"  he  added,  with  a  simplicity 
whose  actual,  words  we  delight  to  re- 
peat, "  that,  if  the  Blessed  Virgin  has 


672 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


really  appeared  at  Lourdes,  she  must 
be  interested  in  working  miraculous 
cures  to  prove  the  truth  of  her  ap- 
paritions. And  this  is  especially  true 
at  first  before  the  event  is  not  gen- 
erally believed  .  .  .  Let  us  be  in  a 
hurry,  then,  since  in  this  case  the  first 
come  are  to  be  the  first  served.  My 
dearest  wife  and  daughter,  we  must 
address  ourselves  at  once  to  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes."  Sixteen  years 
had  not  worn  out  the  faith  of  M. 
Moreau. 

A  novena  was  resolved  upon,  in 
which  all  the  neighboring  friends  of 
the  young  girl  were  to  be  asked  to 
join.  By  a  providential  circumstance, 
a  priest  of  the  city  had  in  his  posses- 
sion a  bottle  of  the  water,  so  that  the 
novena  could  be  commenced  at  once. 

The  parents,  in  case  of  a  cure, 
bound  themselves  to  make  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Lourdes,  and  to  devote  their 
daughter  for  a  year  to  the  colors  of 
white  and  blue,  the  colors  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  which  she  had  already 
worn  for  three  years  during  her  in- 
fancy. 

The  novena  commenced  on  Sun- 
day evening,  the  8th  of  November. 

Must  it  be  acknowledged?  The 
invalid  had  but  little  faith.  Her 
mother  dared  not  hope.  Her  father 
alone  had  that  tranquil  faith  which 
the  kind  powers  of  heaven  never 
resist. 

All  said  the  prayers  together  in 
M.  Moreau's  room,  before  an  image 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  The  mother 
and  her  two  daughters  rose  one  after 
another  to  retire,  but  the  father  re- 
mained on  his  knees. 

He  thought  he  was  alone,  and  his 
voice  broke  forth  with  a  fervor  which 
recalled  his  family,  who  have  given 
us  the  account,  and  who  never  can 
forget  that  solemn  moment  without 
a  tremor. 

"  Blessed  Virgin  !  "  said  the  father 
— "  most  blessed  Virgin  Mary !  you 


must  cure  my  child.  Yes,  indeed,  you 
are  bound  to  do  it.  It  is  an  obliga- 
tion which  you  cannot  refuse  to 
acknowledge.  Remember,  O  Mary  ! 
how,  in  spite  of  everybody  and 
against  everybody,  I  chose  you  for 
her  patron.  Remember  what  ctrug- 
gles  I  had  to  give  her  your  sacred 
name.  Can  you,  Holy  Virgin,  forget 
all  this  ?  Can  you  forget  how  J  de- 
fended your  glory  and  power  against 
the  vain  reasons  with  which  they  sur- 
rounded me  ?  Can  you  forget  that  I 
publicly  placed  this  child  under  your 
protection,  telling  everybody  and  re- 
peating that  your  name  would  some 
day  bring  a  blessing  upon  her  ?  Can 
you  be  unmindful  of  all  this  ?  Are 
you  not  bound  in  honor — now  that  I 
am  in  misfortune,  now  when  I  pray 
you  for  our  child  and  yours — to  come 
to  our  help  and  heal  her  malady  ? 
Are  you  going  to  allow  her  to  be- 
come blind,  after  the  faith  I  have 
shown  in  you  ?  No !  no  !  impossible  ! 
You  will  cure  her." 

Such  were  the  sentiments  which 
escaped  in  loud  tones  from  the  un- 
happy father,  as  he  appealed  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and,  as  it  were,  pre- 
senting a  claim  against  her,  demand- 
ed payment. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night. 

The  young  girl,  before  retiring, 
dipped  a  linen  bandage  in  the  water 
of  Lourdes,  and,  placing  it  upon  her 
eyes,  tied  it  behind  her  head. 

Her  soul  was  agitated.  Without 
having  her  father's  faith,  she  said  to 
herself  that,  after  all,  the  Blessed 
Virgin  was  perfectly  able  to  cure  her, 
and  that,  perhaps,  at  the  end  of  the 
novena  she  might  recover  her  sight. 
Then  doubt  returned,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  a  miracle  ought  not  to  be  work- 
ed for  her.  With  all  these  thoughts 
revolving  in  her  mind,  she  could 
hardly  lie  still,  and  it  was  very  late 
before  she  fell  asleep. 

When  morning  came,  as  soon  as 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


673 


she  awoke,  her  first  movement  of 
hope  and  uneasy  curiosity  was  to 
remove  the  bandage  which  covered 
her  eyes.  She  uttered  a  loud  cry. 

The  room  about  her  was  filled 
with  the  light  of  the  rising  day.  She 
saw  clearly,  exactly,  and  distinctly. 
The  diseased  eye  had  recovered  its 
health,  and  the  eye  which  before 
was  blind  had  been  restored  to 
sight. 

"  Marthe  !  Marthe  !"  she  cried,  "  I 
see  perfectly.  I  am  cured  !" 

Little  Marthe,  who  slept  in  the 
same  room,  sprang  out  of  bed  and 
ran  to  her  sister.  She  saw  her  eyes, 
stripped  of  their  bloody  veil,  black 
and  brilliant,  and  sparkling  with  life 
and  strength.  The  little  girl's  heart 
at  once  turned  toward  her  father  and 
mother,  who  had  not  yet  shared  in 
this  joy. 

"  Papa !  mamma  !"  she  cried. 

Marie  beckoned  her  not  to  call 
them  yet. 

"  Wait !  wait !"  said  she,  "  until  I 
have  tried  if  I  can  read.  Give  me 
a  book." 

The  child  took  one  from  the  table. 
"  There  !"  said  she. 

Marie  opened  the  book,  and  read 
with  perfect  ease  as  freely  as  any 
one  ever  has  read.  The  cure  was 
complete,  radical,  absolute,  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin  had  not  left  her  work 
half-done. 

The  father  and  mother  hastened  to 
the  room. 

"  Papa,  mamma,  I  can  see — I  can 
read — I  am  cured  !" 

How  can  we  describe  the  scene 
which  followed  ?  Our  readers  can 
understand  it,  each  for  himself,  by 
entering  into  his  own  imagination. 
The  door  of  the  house  had  not  yet 
been  opened.  The  windows  were 
closed,  and  their  transparent  panes 
admitted  only  the  early  light  of  morn- 
ing. Who,  then,  could  have  entered 
to  join  this  family  in  the  happiness 

VOL.  XIII. — 43 


of  this  sudden  blessing  ?  And  yet 
these  Christians  felt  instinctively  that 
they  were  not  alone,  and  that  a  pow- 
erful being  was  invisibly  in  the  midst 
of  them.  The  father  and  mother, 
and  little  Marthe,  fell  on  their  knees  ; 
Marie,  who  had  not  yet  arisen,  clasp- 
ed her  hands;  and  from  these  four 
breasts,  oppressed  with  gratitude  and 
emotion,  went  forth,  as  a  prayer  of 
thanks,  the  holy  name  of  the  Mother 
of  God  :  "  O  holy  Virgin  Mary !  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes !" 

What  their  other  words  were,  we 
know  not ;  but  what  their  sentiments 
must  have  been,  any  one  can  imag- 
ine by  placing  himself  before  this 
miraculous  event,  which,  like  a  flash 
from  the  power  of  God,  had  turned 
the  affliction  of  a  family  into  joy  and 
happiness. 

Is  it  necessary  to  add  that,  short- 
ly afterward,  Mile.  Marie  Moreau 
went  with  her  parents  to  thank  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes  in  the  place  of  her 
apparition  ?  She  •  left  her  colored 
dresses  upon  the  altar,  and  went 
away  happy  and  proud  of  wearing 
the  colors  of  the  Queen  of  virgins. 

M.-  Moreau,  whose  faith  had  for- 
merly been  so  strong,  was  wholly 
stupefied.  "  I  thought,"  said  he, 
"  that  such  favors  were  only  granted 
to  the  saints;  how  is  it,  then,  that 
they  descend  upon  miserable  sinners 
like  us  ?" 

These  facts  were  witnessed  by  the 
entire  population  of  Tartas,  who 
shared  in  the  affliction  of  one  of  their 
most  respected  families.  Everybody 
in  the  city  saw  and  can  testify  that 
the  malady,  which  had  been  consi- 
dered desperate,  was  completely  heal- 
ed at  the  beginning  of  the  novena. 
The  superior  of  the  Convent  of  the  Sa- 
cred Heart  at  Bordeaux,  the  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pupils  who  were  school- 
mates of  Mile.  Marie  Moreau,  the  phy- 
sicians of  that  institution,  have  estab- 
lished her  serious  condition  before  the 


674 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


events  which  we  have  related,  and  her 
total  cure  immediately  afterward.  She 
returned  to  Bordeaux,  where  she  re- 
mained two  years  to  complete  her 
studies. 

The  oculist  Bermont  could  not 
recover  from  his  surprise  at  an  event 
so  entirely  beyond  his  science.  We 
have  read  his  declaration  certifying 
to  the  state  of  the  invalid,  and  ac- 
knowledging the  inability  of  medical 
treatment  to  produce  such  a  cure, 
"  which,"  he  observes,  "  has  persist- 
ed and  still  holds.  As  to  the  instan- 
taneousness  with  which  this  cure  has 
been  wrought,"  he  adds,  "  it  is  a  fact 
which  incomparably  surpasses  the 
power  of  medical  science.  In  testi- 
mony of  which  I  attach  my  signa- 
ture. BERMONT." 

This  declaration,  dated  February 
8th,  1859,  is  preserved  at  the  bishop's 
residence  at  Tarbes,  together  with  a 
great  number  of  letters  and  testimo- 
nials from  citizens  of  Tartas,  among 
others  that  of  the  mayor  of  that  city, 
M.  Desbord. 

Mile.  Marie  continued  to  wear  the 
colors  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  up  to 
the  day  of  her  marriage,  which -took 
place  after  she  had  finished  her  stu- 
dies and  left  the  Sacred  Heart.  On 
that  day  she  went  to  Lourdes  and 
laid  aside  her  maiden  attire  to  put 
on  her  bridal  robes.  She  wished  to 
give  this  dress  of  blue  and  white  to 
another  young  girl,  also  beloved  by 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  Bernadette. 

This  was  the  only  present  which 
Bernadette  ever  accepted.  She  wore 
for  several  years,  indeed  until  it  was 
worn  out,  this  dress  which  recalled 
the  loving  power  of  the  divine  appa- 
rition at  the  grotto. 

Eleven  years  have  since  elapsed. 
The  favor  accorded  by  the  Blessed 
Virgin  has  not  been  withdrawn.  Mile. 
Moreau  has  always  had  most  excel- 
lent and  perfect  sight;  never  any  re- 
lapse, never  the  slightest  indisposition. 


Excepting  by  suicide,  ingratitude,  or 
abuse  of  grace,  that  which  God  has 
restored  can  never  die.  Resurgent 
jam  non  moritur. 

Mile.  Marie  Moreau  is  now  called 
Madame  dTzaru  de  Villefort,  and  is 
the  mother  of  three  delightful  chil- 
dren, who  have  the  finest  eyes  in  the 
world.  Although  they  are  boys, 
each  bears  in  his  baptismal  name 
first  the  name  of  Mary. 

VI. 

MIRACULOUS  cures  were  counted 
by  hundreds.  It  was  impossible  to 
verify  them  all.  The  episcopal  com- 
mission submitted  thirty  of  them  to 
most  rigorous  scrutiny.  The  most 
severe  strictness  was  shown  in  this 
examination,  and  nothing  was  ad- 
mitted as  supernatural,  until  it  was 
absolutely  impossible  to  call  it  any- 
thing else.  All  cures  which  had  not 
been  almost  instantaneous,  or  which 
had  been  occupied  by  successive 
stages,  all  these  were  rejected;  as 
also  were  all  which  had  been  obtain- 
ed in  conjunction  with  medical  treat- 
ment, however  unavailing  the  latter 
might  have  been.  "Although  the 
inefficacy  of  the  remedies  prescribed 
by  science  has  been  sufficiently  de- 
monstrated, we  cannot  in  this  case 
in  an  exclusive  manner  attribute  the 
cure  to  a  supernatural  virtue  in  the 
water  of  the  grotto  which  was  used 
at  the  same  time."  So  runs  the  re- 
port of  the  secretary  of  the  commis- 
sion. 

Moreover,  numerous  spiritual  fa- 
vors, singular  graces,  unlooked-for 
conversions,  had  been  reported  to  the 
commission.  It  is  difficult  to  estab- 
lish juridically  events  which  have 
taken  place  in  the  closed  recesses  of 
the  human  soul  and  which  escape 
the  observation  of  all  without.  Al- 
though such  facts,  such  changes,  are 
often  more  wonderful  than  the  resto- 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


675 


ration  of  a  member  or  the  healing 
of  a  physical  disease,  the  commis- 
sion judged  rightly  when  it  decided 
that  it  ought  not  to  include  them  in 
the  solemn  and  public  inquiry  with 
which  it  had  been  charged  by  the  bi- 
shop. 

In  the  report  to  his  grace,  the 
committee,  by  agreement  with  the 
physicians,  divided  the  cures  which 
had  been  examined  into  three  cate- 
gories, with  all  the  carefully  gather- 
ed details  and  proces-verbaux,  signed 
by  the  persons  cured  and  by  numer- 
ous witnesses. 

The  first  category  included  those 
cures  which,  despite  their  striking 
and  astonishing  appearance,  were 
susceptible  of  a  natural  explanation. 
These  were  six  in  number ;  namely, 
those  of  Jeanne-Marie  Arque,  the 
widow  Crozat,  Blaise  Maumus,  a 
child  of  the  Lasbareilles  of  Gez, 
Jeanne  Crassus,  Arcizan-Avant,  Je- 
anne Pomies  of  Loubajac. 

The  second  list  comprised  cures 
which  the  commission  felt  inclined 
to  attribute  a  supernatural  charac- 
ter. Of  this  number  were  Jean- 
Pierre  Malou,  Jeanne-Marie  Dauber, 
wife  of  a  certain  Vendome,  Bernarde 
Soubies  and  Pauline  Bordeaux  of 
Lourdes,  Jean-Marie  Amare  of  Beau- 
cens,  Marcelle  Peyregue  of  Agos, 
Jeanne-Marie  Massot  Bordenave  of 
Arras,  Jeanne  Gezma  and  Auguste 
Bordes  of  Pontacq.  "The  greater 
number  of  these  facts,"  says  the  me- 
dical report,  "  possess  all  the  con- 
ditions to  cause  them  be  admitted  as 
supernatural.  It  will,  perhaps,  be 
found  that  in  excluding  them  we 
have  acted  with  too  much  reserve 
and  scrupulousness. 

"  But  far  from  complaining  of  this 
reproach,  we  shall  congratulate  our- 
selves upon  it,  since  in  these  matters 
we  are  convinced  that  prudence  de- 
mands severity." 

Under  such  circumstances,  a  na- 


tural explanation,  although  in  itself 
utterly  improbable,  seemed  rigorous- 
ly possible,  and  this  was  sufficient  to 
prevent  the  examiners  from  declar- 
ing a  miracle. 

The  third  class  contained  cures 
which  presented  an  undeniable  and 
evident  supernatural  character,  fif- 
teen in  number.  Those  of:  Blaisette 
Soupenne,  Benoite  Cazeaux,  Jeanne 
Grassus  married  to  Crozat,  Louis 
Bourriette,  little  Justin  Bouhohorts, 
Fabian  and  Suzanne  Baron  of  Lour- 
des, Madame  Rizanand  Henry  Bus- 
quet  of  Nay,  Catherine  Latapie  of 
Loubajac,  Madame  Lanou  of  Bor- 
deres,  Marianne  Garrot  and  Denys 
Bouchet  of  Lamarque,  Jean-Marie 
Tambourne  of  St.-Justin,  Mile.  Marie 
Moreau  de  Sazenay  of  Tartas,  Pas- 
chaline  Abbadie  of  Rabasteins,  all 
these  were  incontestably  miraculous 

"  The  maladies  to  which  those  fa- 
vored by  such  sudden  and  startling 
cures  were  subject  were  of  entirely 
different  natures" — we  quote  from  the 
report  of  the  commission.  "  They  pos- 
sessed the  greatest  variety  of  charac- 
ter. Some  were  the  subjects  of  ex- 
ternal, others  of  internal  pathology. 
Nevertheless,  these  various  diseases 
were  all  cured  by  a  single  simple  ele- 
ment, used  either  as  a  lotion  or  drink, 
or  sometimes  in  both  ways. 

' '  In  the  natural  and  scientific 
order,  furthermore,  each  remedy  is 
used  in  a  fixed  and  regular  manner  ; 
it  has  its  special  virtue  proper  to 
a  given  malady,  but  is  either  ineffi- 
cacious or  hurtful  in  other  cases. 

"  It  is  not,  then,  by  any  property 
inherent  in  its  composition  that  the 
Massabielle  water  has  been  able  to 
produce  such  numerous,  diverse,  and 
extraordinary  cures,  and  to  extin- 
guish at  once  diseases  of  different 
and  opposite  characters.  Further- 
more, science  has  authoritatively  de- 
clared, after  analysis,  that  this  water 
has  no  mineral  or  therapeutic  quali- 


6/6 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


ties,  and  chemically  does  not  differ 
from  other  pure  waters.  Medical 
science,  having  been  consulted,  after 
mature  and  conscientious  examina- 
tion, is  not  less  decisive  in  its  con- 
clusions." 

"  In  glancing  at  the  general  ap- 
pearance of  these  cures,"  says  the 
medical  report,  "  one  cannot  fail  to 
be  struck  by  the  ease,  the  prompti- 
tude, and  instantaneous  rapidity  with 
which  they  spring  from  their  pro- 
ducing cause;  from  the  violation 
and  overthrow  of  all  therapeutic 
laws  and  methods  which  takes  place 
in  their  accomplishment;  from  the 
contradictions  offered  by  them  to  all 
the  accepted  axioms  and  cautions  of 
science;  from  that  kind  of  disdain 
which  sports  with  the  chronic  nature 
and  long  resistance  of  the  disease; 
from  the  concealed  but  real  care 
with  which  all  the  circumstances  are 
arranged  and  combined :  everything, 
in  short,  shows  that  the  cures  wrought 
belong  to  an  order  apart  from  the 
habitual  course  of  nature. 

"  Such  phenomena  surpass  the 
limits  of  the  human  intellect.  How, 
indeed,  can  it  comprehend  the  oppo- 
sition which  exists : 

"  Between  the  simplicity  of  the 
means  and  the  greatness  of  the  re- 
sult ? 

"  Between  the  unity  of  the  remedy 
and  the  variety  of  the  diseases  ? 

"  Between  the  short  time  employ- 
ed in  the  use  of  this  remedy  and  the 
lengthy  treatment  indicated  by  sci- 
ence? 

"  Between  the  sudden  efficacy  of 


the    former   and    the   long-acknow- 
ledged inutility  of  the  latter  ? 

"  Between  the  chronic  nature  of 
the  diseases  and  the  instantaneous 
character  of  the  cure  ? 

*'  There  is  in  all  this  a  contingent 
force,  superior  to  any  that  spring 
from  natural  causes,  and,  conse- 
quently, foreign  to  the  water  of  which 
it  has  made  use  to  show  forth  its 
power  ?  " 

In  view  of  so  many  carefully-col- 
lected and  publicly-certified  facts, 
so  striking  in  their  nature;  in  view, 
moreover,  of  the  conscientious  and 
thorough  inquiry  made  by  the  com- 
mission, together  with  the  formal 
and  united  declarations  of  medicine 
and  chemistry,  the  bishop  could  no 
longer  remain  unconvinced. 

Nevertheless,  on  account  of  that 
spirit  of  extreme  prudence  which  we 
have  before  remarked,  Monseigneur 
Laurence,  before  giving  the  solemn 
episcopal  verdict  in  this  matter,  de- 
manded a  still  further  guaranty  of 
these  miraculous  cures — the  proof 
of  time.  He  allowed  three  years  to 
pass.  A  second  examination  was 
then  made.  The  miraculous  cures 
still  held  good.  No  one  appeared 
to  retract  former  testimony  or  to 
contest  any  of  the  facts.  The  works 
of  him  who  rules  over  eternity  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  test  of  time. 

After  this  overwhelming  series  of 
proofs  and  certainty,  Monseigneur 
Laurence  at  length  pronounced  the 
judgment  which  all  had  been  await- 
ing. We  give  below  its  general 
features. 


TO   BE   CONTINUED 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


677 


PERE  JACQUES  AND  MADEMOISELLE  ADRIENNE. 


A  SKETCH  AFTER  THE  BLOCUS. 


IT  was  just  five  months  since  I  had 
left  it,  the  bright,  proud  Babylon, 
beautiful  and  brave  and  wicked, 
clothed  in  scarlet  and  feasting  sump- 
tuously. King  Chanticleer,  strutting 
on  the  Boulevards,  was  crowing 
loudly,  and  the  myriad  tribe  of  the 
Coq  Gaulois,  strutting  up  and  down 
the  city,  crowed  loud  and  shrill  in 
responsive  chorus — petits  creves,  and 
petits  mouchards,  and  petits  gamins, 
and  all  that  was  petit  in  that  grand, 
foolish  cityful  of  humanity.  Bedlam 
was  abroad,  singing  and  crowing 
and  barking  itself  rabid,  and  scaring 
away  from  Babylon  all  that  was  not 
bedlam.  But  there  were  many  in 
Babylon  who  were  not  afraid  of  the 
bedlam,  who  believed  that  crowing 
would  by-and-by  translate  itself  into 
action,  into  those  seeds  of  desperate 
daring  that  none  but  madmen  can 
accomplish,  and  that,  when  the  bugle 
sounded,  these  bragging,  swaggering 
maniacs  would  shoulder  the  musket, 
and,  rushing  to  the  fore,  save  France 
or  die  for  her.  No  one  saved  her, 
but  many  did  rush  to  the  fore,  and 
die  for  her.  They  were  not  lunatics, 
though,  at  least  not  many  of  them. 
The  lunatics  showed,  as  they  have 
often  done  before,  that  there  was 
method  in  their  madness.  They 
cheered  on  the  sane,  phlegmatic 
brethren  to  death  and  glory,  while 
they  stayed  prudently  at  home  to 
keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  capital; 
they  were  the  spirit  and  soul  of  the 
defence,  the  others  were  but  the  bone 
and  muscle  of  it.  What  is  a  body 
without  a  soul  ?  The  frail  arm  of  the 


flesh  without  the  nerve  and  strength 
of  the  spirit  ?  Pshaw !  If  it  were 
not  for  the  crowing  of  King  Chanti- 
cleer, there  would  have  been  no  siege 
at  all ;  the  whole  concern  would  have 
collapsed  in  its  cradle. 

The  story  of  that  Blocus  has  yet 
to  be  written.  Of  its  outward  and 
visible  story,  many  volumes,  and 
scores  of  volumes,  good  and  bad, 
true  and  false,  have  been  already 
written.  But  the  inward  story,  the 
arcana  of  the  defence,  the  exposition 
of  that  huge,  blundering  machine 
that,  with  its  springs  and  levers,  and 
wheels  within  wheels,  snapped  and 
broke  and  collapsed  in  the  driver's 
hand,  all  this  is  still  untold.  The 
great  Pourquoi?  is  still  unanswered. 
History  will  solve  the  riddle  some 
day,  no  doubt,  as  it  solves  most 
riddles,  but  before  that  time  comes, 
other,  grander  problems  of  greater 
import  to  us  will  have  been  solved 
too,  and  we  shall  care  but  little  for 
the  true  story  of  the  Blocus. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  said  my  concierge, 
when  we  met  and  talked  over  the 
events  that  had  passed  since  the  first 
of  September,  when  I  fled  and  left  my 
goods  and  chattels  to  her  care  and 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  Prussians 
and  the  Reds — "  yes,  monsieur,  it  is 
very  wonderful  that  one  doesn't  hear 
of  anybody  having  died  of  cold, 
though  the  winter  was  so  terrible, 
and  the  fuel  so  scarce.  It  ran  short 
almost  from  the  beginning.  We  had 
nothing  but  green  sticks  that  couldn't 
be  persuaded  to  burn  and  do  our 
best.  I  used  to  sit  shivering  in  my 


6;3 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


bed,  while  the  petiots  tried  to  warm 
themselves  skipping  in  the  porte- 
cochere,  or  running  up  and  down 
from  the  cintieme  till  their  little  legs 
were  dead  beat.  O  Mon  Dieu !  je 
me  rapellerai  de  cette  guerre  en  tous 
les  sens,  monsieur." 

"  Did  many  die  from  starvation,"  I 
asked — "  many  in  this  neighborhood 
that  you  knew  ?  " 

"  Not  one,  monsieur !  Not  one  of 
actual  hunger,  though  my  belief  is, 
plenty  of  folks  died  of  poison.  The 
bread  we  ate  was  worse  than  the  want 
of  it.  Such  an  abomination,  made  out 
of  hay  and  bran  and  oats ;  why,  mon- 
sieur, a  chiffonier's  dog  wouldn't  have 
touched  it  in  Christian  times.  How  it 
kept  body  and  soul  together  for  any 
of  us  is  more  than  I  can  under- 
stand." 

"  And  yet  nobody  died  of  want  ?" 
I  repeated. 

"  Not  that  I  heard  of,  monsieur ; 
unless  you  count  Pere  -Jacques  as 
dead  from  starvation.  He  disap- 
peared one  morning  soon  after  he 
told  Mile.  Adrienne,  and  nobody 
ever  knew  what  became  of  him. 
They  said  in  the  quartier  that  he 
went  over  to  the  Prussians;  but 
they  said  that  of  better  men  than 
Pere  Jacques,  and  besides,  what 
would  the  Prussians  do  with  a  poor 
old  toque"  like  Pere  Jacques,  I  ask 
it  of  monsieur  ?" 

I  was  going  to  say  that  I  fully 
agreed  with  her,  when  we  were  both 
startled  by  a  sudden  uproar  in  the 
street  round  the  corner.  We  rushed 
out  simultaneously  from  the  porte- 
cochere,  where  we  were  holding  our 
confabulation,  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  A  crowd  was  collected  in 
the  middle  of  the  Rue  Billault,  and 
was  vociferously  cheering  somebody 
or  something.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
the  assembly  being  French,  there 
were  counter-cheers  ;  hisses  and  cries 
of  "  renegat !  Vendu  aux  Prussiens ! 


drole,"  etc.,  intermingling  with  more 
friendly  exclamations. 

"  Bon  Dieu !  ce  n'est  done  pas 
fini !  Is  the  war  going  to  begin 
again  ?  Are  we  going  to  have  a  re- 
volution ?"  demanded  my  concierge, 
throwing  up  her  hands  to  heaven 
and  then  wringing  them  in  despair. 
"  Will  the  petiots  never  be  able  to  eat 
their  panade  and  build  their  little 
mud-pies  in  peace  !  Oh  !  monsieur, 
monsieur,  you  are  happy  not  to  be  a 
Frenchman !" 

Without  in  the  least  degree  demur- 
ring to  this  last  proposition,  I  suggest- 
ed that  before  giving  up  France  as 
an  utterly  hopeless  case,  we  would 
do  well  to  see  what  the  row  was 
about ;  if  indeed  it  were  a  row,  for 
the  cheering,  as  the  crowd  grew, 
seemed  to  rise  predominant  above 
the  hissing.  Already  reassured,  I  ad- 
vanced boldly  toward  the  centre  of 
disturbance,  my  concierge  following, 
and  keeping  a  tight  grip  of  the  skirts 
of  my  coat  for  greater  security. 

"  Vive  Mile.  Adrienne !  Donne  la 
patte  Mile.  Adrienne  !  Vive  le  Pere 
Jacques !"  The  cries,  capped  by 
peals  of  laughter  which  were  sud- 
denly drowned  in  the  uproarious 
braying  of  a  donkey,  reverberated 
through  the  street  and  deafened  us 
as  we  drew  near. 

With  a  shout  of  laughter,  my  con- 
cierge dropped  my  skirts,  and  clap- 
ping her  hands : 

"  Comment !"  she  cried,  "  she  is 
alive,  then  !  He  did  not  eat  her ! 
He  did  not  sell  her !  Vive  le  Pere 
Jacques !  Vive  Mile.  Adrienne  !" 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have 
lived  any  time  in  the  quartier  of  the 
Champs  Elysees  will  recognize  Mile. 
Adrienne  as  an  old  friend,  and  re- 
joice to  learn  that,  thanks  to  the  in- 
telligent devotion  of  Pere  Jacques, 
she  did  not  share  the  fate  of  her  asi- 
nine sisterhood,  but  has  actually  gone 
through  the  horrors  of  the  siege  of 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


679 


Paris  and  lived  to  tell  the  tale.  Those 
who  have  not  the  pleasure  of  her  ac- 
quaintance will  perhaps  be  glad  to 
make  it,  and  to  hear  something  of  so 
remarkable  a  personage. 

For  years — I  am  afraid  to  say  how 
many,  but  ten  is  certainly  within  the 
mark — Pere  Jacques's  donkey  has 
been  a  familiar  object  in  the  Rue 
Biliault  and  the  Rue  de  Berri,  and 
that  part  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Ho- 
nore  and  the  Champs  Elysees  which 
includes  those  streets.  Why  Pere 
Jacques  christened  his  ass  Mile.  Ad- 
rienne nobody  knows.  Some  say,  out 
of  vengeance  against  a  certain  blue- 
eyed  Adrienne  who  won  his  heart  and 
broke  it ;  others  say,  only  love  for  a 
faithful  Adrienne  who  broke  his 
heart  by  dying ;  but  this  is  pure 
conjecture ;  Pere  Jacques  himself  is 
reticent  on  the  subject,  and,  when 
questioned  once  by  a  curious,  imper- 
tinent man,  he  refused  to  explain 
himself  further  than  by  remarking, 
"  Que  chacun  avait  son  idee,  et  que 
son  idee  a  lui,  c'etait  Mile.  Ad- 
rienne," and  having  said  this  he  took 
a  lump  of  sugar  from  his  pocket  and 
presented  it  affectionately  to  his  idee, 
who  munched  it  with  evident  satis- 
faction, and  acknowledged  her  sense 
of  the  attention  by  a  long  and  uproar- 
ious bray. 

"  Voyons,  Mile.  Adrienne  !  Cal- 
mons-nous!"  said  Pere  Jacques  in  a 
tone  of  persuasive  authority.  "  Cal- 
mons-nous,  ma  cherie !" — the  braying 
grew  louder  and  louder — "  wilt  thou 
be  silent  ?  Upla,  Mile.  Adrienne  !  Ah, 
les  femmes,  les  femmes  !  Toujours  ba- 
vardes!  La-a-a-a,  Mile.  Adrienne!" 

This  was  the  usual  style  of  conver- 
sation between  the  two.  Pere  Jacques 
presented  lumps  of  sugar  which  were 
invariably  recognized  by  a  bray,  or, 
more  properly,  a  series  of  brays,  such 
as  no  other  donkey  in  France  or  Na- 
varre but  herself  could  send  forth; 
and  while  it  lasted  Pere  Jacques  kept 


up  a  running  commentary  of  remon- 
strance. 

"  Voyons,  Mile.  Adrienne !  Sapris- 
ti,  veux-tu  te  taire  ?  A-t-on  jamais 
vu !  Lotte,  veux-tu  en  fini-i-i-r !" 

Though  it  was  an  old  novelty  in 
the  quartier,  it  seemed  never  to  have 
lost  its  savor,  and  as  soon  as  Pere 
Jacques  and  his  little  cart,  full  of 
apples,  or  oranges,  or  cauliflowers, 
as  the  case  might  .be,  were  seen  or 
heard  at  the  further  end  of  the  street, 
the  gamins  left  off  marbles  and  pitch- 
and-toss  to  bully  and  chaff  Pere 
Jacques  and  greet  his  idee  with  a 
jocular  "  Bonjour,  Mile.  Adrienne." 
The  tradesmen  looked  up  from  their 
weights  and  measures,  laughing,  as 
the  pair  went  by. 

When  provisions  began  to  run  short 
during  the  Blocus,  Pere  Jacques  grew 
uneasy,  not  for  himself,  but  for  Mile. 
Adrienne.  Hard-hearted  jesters  ad- 
vised him  to  fatten  her  up  for  the 
market;  ass-flesh  was  delicate  and 
rarer  than  horse-flesh,  and  fetched 
six  francs  a  pound ;  it  was  no  small 
matter  to  turn  six  francs  in  these 
famine  times,  when  there  were  no 
more  apples  or  cauliflowers  to  sell ; 
Mile.  Adrienne  was  a  burden  now 
instead  of  a  help  to  her  master ;  the 
little  cart  stood  idle  in  the  corner; 
there  was  nothing  to  trundle,  and  it 
was  breaking  his  heart  to  see  her 
growing  thin  for  want  of  rations,  and 
to  watch  her  spirits  drooping  for  want 
of  exercise  and  lumps  of  sugar.  For 
moie  than  a  fortnight  Pere  Jacques 
deprived  himself  of  a  morsel  of  the 
favorite  dainty,  and  doled  out  his  last 
demikilog  to  her  with  miserly  eco- 
nomy, hoping  always  that  the  gates 
would  be  opened  before  she  came  to 
the  last  lump. 

"  Voyons,  ma  fille !"  Pere  Jacques 
would  say,  as  she  munched  a  bit  half 
the  usual  size  of  the  now  precious 
bonbon,  "  Cheer  np,  ma  bouri- 
que'ite!  Be  reasonable,  Mile.  Adri- 


68o 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


enne,  be  reasonable,  and  bear  thy 
trials  like  an  ass,  patiently  and  brave- 
ly, not  like  a  man,  grumbling  and 
despairing.  Paperlotte,  Mile.  Adri- 
enne !  if  it  were  not  for  thee  I  should 
be  out  on  the  ramparts,  and  send 
those  coquins  to  the  right-abouts  my- 
self. Les  gredins !  they  are  not  con- 
tent with  drilling  our  soldiers  and 
starving  our  citizens,  but  they  must 
rob  thee  of  thy  bit  of  sugar,  my  pretty 
one.  Mille  tonnerres!  if  I  had  but 
their  necks  under  my  arm  for  one 
squeeze !" 

And,  entering  into  the  grief  and 
indignation  of  her  master,  Mile.  Adri- 
enne would  set  up  an  agonized  bray. 

Thus  comforting  one  another,  the 
pair  bore  up  through  their  trials.  But 
at  last  came  the  days  of  eating  mice 
and  rats,  and  bread  that  a  dog  in 
good  circumstances  would  have  turn- 
ed up  its  nose  at  a  month  ago,  and 
then  Pere  Jacques  shook  in  his  sabots. 
He  dared  not  show  himself  abroad 
with  Mile.  Adrienne,  and  not  only 
that,  but  he  lived  in  chronic  terror 
of  a  raid  being  made  on  her  at  home. 
The  mischievous  urchins  who  had 
amused  themselves  at  the  expense  of 
his  paternal  feelings  in  days  of  com- 
parative plenty,  gave  him  no  peace 
or  rest  now  that  the  wolf  was  really 
at  the  door.  Requisitions  were  be- 
ing made  in  private  houses  to  see 
that  no  stores  were  hoarded  up  while 
the  people  outside  were  .famishing. 
One  rich  family,  who  had  prudently 
bought  a  couple  of  cows  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Blocus,  after  vainly 
endeavoring  to  keep  the  fact  a  secret, 
and  surrounding  the  precious  beasts 
with  as  much  mystery  and  care  as 
ever  Egyptian  worshippers  bestowed 
on  the  sacred  Isis,  were  forced  to 
give  them  up  to  the  commonwealth. 
This  caused  a  great  sensation  in  the 
quartier.  Pere  Jacques  was  the  first 
to  hear  it,  and  the  gamins  improved 
the  opportunity  by  declaring  to  him 


that  the  republic  had  issued  a  decree 
that  all  asses  were  to  be  seized  next 
day,  all  such  as  could  not  speak, 
they  added  facetiously,  and  there  was 
to  be  a  general  slaughter  of  them,  a 
massacre  des  innocents,  the  little  brutes 
called  it,  at  the  abattoir  of  the  Rue 
Valois.  The  fact  of  its  being  at  the 
Rue  Valois  was  a  small  mercy  for 
which  they  reminded  Pere  Jacques 
to  be  duly  grateful,  inasmuch  as,  it 
being  close  at  hand,  he  might  accom- 
pany Mile.  Adrienne  to  the  place  of 
execution,  give  her  a  parting  kiss, 
and  hear  her  last  bray  of  adieu.  At 
this  cynical  climax,  Pere  Jacques 
started  up  in  a  rage,  and  seizing  his 
stick,  set  to  vigorously  belaboring  the 
diabolical  young  torturers,  who  took 
to  their  heels,  yelling  and  screaming 
like  .frightened  guinea-pigs,  while 
Mile.  Adrienne,  who  stood  ruminat- 
ing in  a  corner  of  the  room,  opened 
a  rattling  volley  of  brays  on  the  fu- 
gitives. 

All  that  night  Pere  Jacques  lay 
awake  in  terror.  Every  whistle  of 
the  wind,  every  creak  in  the  door, 
every  stir  and  sound,  set  his  heart 
thumping  violently  against  his  ribs; 
every  moment  he  was  expecting  the 
dreaded  domiciliary  visit.  What  was 
he  to  do  ?  Where  was  he  to  fly  ? 
How  was  he  to  cheat  the  brigands 
and  save  Mile.  Adrienne  ?  The 
night  wore  out,  and  the  dawn  broke, 
and  the  raid  was  still  unaccomplish- 
ed. As  soon  as  it  was  light,  Pere 
Jacques  rose  and  dressed  himself, 
and  sat  down  on  a  wooden  stool 
close  by  Mile-  Adrienne,  and  pon- 
dered. Since  her  life  had  been  in 
jeopardy,  he  had  removed  her  from 
her  out-house  in  the  court  to  his 
own  private  room  on  the  ground- 
floor  close  by. 

"  Que  me  conseilles-tu,  Mile.  Ad- 
rienne ?"  murmured  the  distracted 
parent,  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  im- 
pelled by  the  instinct  that  drives  hu 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


68 1 


man  beings  to  seek  sympathy  some- 
where, from  a  cat  or  a  dog  if  they 
have  no  fellow-creature  to  appeal  to, 
Pere  Jacques  had  contracted  a  habit 
of  talking  out  loud  to  his  dumb  com- 
panion when  they  were  alone,  and 
consulting  her  on  any  perplexing 
point.  Suddenly  a  bright  idea  struck 
Pere  Jacques ;  he  would  go  and  con- 
sult Mere  Richard. 

Mere  Richard  lived  in  a  neighbor- 
ing court  amidst  a  numerous  family 
of  birds  of  many  species,  bullfinches, 
canaries,  and  linnets.  She  had  often 
suggested  to  Pere  Jacques  to  adopt 
a  little  songster  by  way  of  cheering 
his  lonely  den,  and  had  once  offered 
him  a  young  German  canary  of  her 
own  bringing  up. 

"It's  as  good  as  a  baby  for  tricks 
and  company,  and  nothing  so  dear 
to  keep,"  urged  Mere  Richard. 

But  Pere  Jacques  had  gratefully  de- 
clined. "  Mile.  Adrienne  is  company 
enough  for  me,"  he  said,  "and  it 
might  hurt  her  feelings  if  I  took  up 
with  a  bird  now,  thanks  to  you  all 
the  same,  voisine." 

To-day,  as  he  neared  the  house, 
he  looked  in  vain  for  the  red  and 
green  cages  that  used  to  hang  out  au 
troisieme  on  either  side  of  Mere  Ri- 
chard's windows.  The  birds  were 
gone.  Where  ?  Pere  Jacques  felt  a 
sympathetic  thrill  of  horror,  and 
with  a  heavy  heart  mounted  the  dark 
little  stairs,  no  longer  merry  with  the 
sound  of  chirping  from  the  tidy  little 
room  au  troisieme.  He  refrained, 
through  delicate  consideration  for 
Mere  Richard's  feelings,  from  ask- 
ing questions,  but,  casting  his  eyes 
round  the  room,  he  beheld  the 
empty  cages  ranged  in  a  row  behind 
the  door. 

But  Mere  Richard  had  a  donkey. 
There  was  no  comparison  to  be  to- 
lerated for  a  moment  between  it  and 
Mile.  Adrienne,  still  their  positions 
were  identical,  and  Mere  Richard, 


who  was  a  wise  woman,  would  help 
him  in  his  present  difficulty,  and  if 
she  could  not  help  him  she  would, 
at  any  rate,  sympathize  with  him, 
which  was  the  next  best  thing  to 
helping  him.  But  Mere  Richard,  to 
his  surprise,  had  heard  nothing  of 
the  impending  raid  on  donkeys. 
When  he  explained  to  her  how  the 
case  stood,  instead  of  breaking  out 
into  lamentations,  she  burst  into  a 
chuckling  laugh. 

"  Pas  possible  !  Bouriquette  good 
to  be  eaten,  and  the  republic  go- 
ing to  buy  her,  and  pay  me  six 
francs  a  pound  for  her !  Pere  Jaques, 
it's  too  good  to  be  true,"  declared 
the  unnatural  old  Harpagon. 

Pere  Jacques  was  unable  to  contain 
his  indignation.  He  vowed  that  ra- 
ther than  let  her  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  cannibals,  he  would  destroy 
Mile.  Adrienne  with  his  own  hand ; 
he  would  kill  any  man  in  the  repub- 
lic, from  Favre  to  Gambetta,  who 
dared  to  lay  a  finger  on  her;  aye, 
that  he  would,  if  he  were  to  swing 
for  it  the  next  hour ! 

"  Pere  Jacques,  you  are  an  imbe- 
cile," observed  Mere  Richard,  taking 
a  pinch  of  snuff;  "  you  remind  me  of 
a  story  my  bonhomme  used  to  tell 
of  two  camarades  of  his  that  he  met 
on  their  way  to  be  hanged ;  one  of 
them  didn't  mind  it,  and  walked  on 
quietly,  holding  his  tongue ;  but  the 
other  didn't  like  it  at  all,  and  kept 
howling  and  whining,  and  making  a 
tapage  de  diable.  At  last  the  quiet 
one  lost  patience,  and  turning  round 
on  the  other,  '  Eh  grand  betat,'  he 
cried,  '  si  tu  n'en  veux  pas,  n'en  de- 
goute  pas  les  autres ! '  " 

Pere  Jaques  saw  the  point  of  the 
story,  and,  taking  the  hint,  stood  up 
to  go. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  birds  ?" 
he  demanded  sternly,  as  he  was 
leaving  the  room. 

"  Sold  four  of  them  for  three  francs 


682 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


apiece,  and  ate  three  of  them,  and 
uncommonly  good  they  were,"  said 
the  wretched  woman,  with  unblush- 
ing heartlessness. 

"  Monster ! "  groaned  Pere  Jacques, 
and  hurried  from  her  presence. 

All  that  day  he  and  Mile.  Adrienne 
stayed  at  home  with  their  door  and 
window  barred  and  bolted;  but 
night  came,  and  the  domiciliary  visit 
was  still  a  threat.  Next  day,  how- 
ever, the  little  door  stood  open  as 
usual,  and  Pere  Jacques  was  to  be 
seen  hammering  away  at  the  dilapi- 
dated legs  of  a  table  that  he  was 
mending  for  a  neighbor  at  the  rate  of 
twenty-five  centimes  a  leg;  but  Mile. 
Adrienne  was  not  there.  Had  Pere 
Jacques  put  an  end  to  his  agony  by 
actually  killing  her,  as  he  had  threat- 
ened, and  so  saved  her  from  the  ig- 
noble fate  of  the  shambles?  Or 
had  he,  haunted  by  the  phantom  of 
hunger  which  was  now  staring  at  him 
with  its  pale  spectral  eyes  from  the 
near  background,  yielded  to  the  old 
man's  love  of  life,  and  sold  his  friend 
to  prolong  it  and  escape  himself  from 
a  ghastly  death  ?  Most  people  be- 
lieved the  latter  alternative,  but 
nobody  knew  for  certain.  When  Mile. 
Adrienne's  name  was  mentioned, 
Pere  Jacques  would  frown,  and  give 
unmistakable  signs  of  displeasure. 
If  the  subject  was  pressed,  he  would 
seize  his  stick,  and,  making  a  moulinet 
over  his  head  with  it,  prepare  an  ex- 
pletive that  the  boldest  never  waited 
to  receive.  One  day  he  was  caught 
crying  bitterly  in  his  now  solitary 
home,  and  muttering  to  himself  be- 
tween the  sobs,  "  Ma  pauvre  fille ! 
Mile.  Adrienne  !  Je  le  suivrai  bien- 
t6t — ah  les  coquins,  les  brigands,  les 
monstres  !  "  This  was  looked  upon 
as  conclusive.  The  monsters  in 
question  could  only  be  the  Shylocks 
of  the  abattoir  who  had  tempted  him 
with  blood-money  for  Mile.  Adrienne. 
When  curiosity  was  thus  far  satisfied, 


the  gamins  ceased  to  worry  Pere 
Jacques ;  the  lonely  old  man  became 
an  object  of  pity  to  everybody,  even 
to  the  gamins  themselves ;  when  they 
met  him  now  they  touched  their  caps, 
with  "  Bonjour,  Pere  Jacques  !  "  and 
spared  him  the  cruel  jeer  that  had 
been  their  customary  salutation  of 
late :  "  Mile.  Adrienne  a  la  cas- 
serole !  Bon  appetit,  Pere  Jacques !  " 

The  days  wore  on,  and  the  weeks, 
and  the  months.  Paris,  wan  and 
pale  and  hunger-stricken,  still  held 
out.  Winter  had  come,  and  thrown 
its  icy  pall  upon  the  city,  hiding  her 
guilty  front  "  under  innocent  snow ;  " 
the  nights  were  long  and  cold,  the  dawn 
was  desolate,  the  tepid  noon  brought 
no  warmth  to  the  perishing,  fire-bound 
multitude.  No  sign  of  succor  came 
to  them  from  without.  In  vain  they 
watched  and  waited,  persecuting  time 
with  hope.  The  cannon  kept  up  its 
sobbing  recitative  through  the  black 
silence  of  the  night ;  through  the 
white  stillness  of  the  day.  Hunger 
gnawed  into  their  vitals,  till  even 
hope,  weary  with  disappointment, 
grew  sick  and  died. 

One  morning,  the  neighbors  no- 
ticed Pere  Jacques's  door  and  window 
closed  long  after  the  hour  when  he 
was  wont  to  be  up  and  busy.  They 
knocked,  and,  getting  no  answer, 
turned  the  handle  of  the  door;  it 
was  neither  locked  nor  barred,  merely 
closed,  as  if  the  master  were  within ; 
but  he  was  not ;  the  little  room  was 
tenantless,  and  almost  entirely  strip- 
ped ;  the  mattress  and  the  scanty 
store  of  bed-clothes  were  gone ;  the 
iron  bedstead,  a  table,  a  stool,  and 
two  cane  chairs,  were  the  only  sticks 
of  furniture  that  remained;  the 
shelves  were  bare  of  the  bright  pew- 
ter tankards  and  platters  that  used  to 
adorn  them  ;  the  gilt  clock  with  its 
abortion  of  a  Pegasus  bestrid  by  a 
grenadier,  which  had  been  the  glory 
of  the  chimney-piece,  had  disappeared. 


Pere  Jacques  and  Mademoiselle  Adrienne. 


683 


What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Had  the 
enemy  made  a  raid  on  Pere  Jacques 
and  his  property  during  the  night, 
and  carried  away  the  lot  in  a  balloon  ? 
Great  was  the  consternation,  and 
greater  still  the  gossip  of  the  little 
community,  when  the  mysterious 
event  became  known  through  the 
quartier.  What  had  become  of  Pere 
Jacques  ?  Had  he  been  kidnapped, 
or  had  he  been  murdered,  or  had  he 
taken  flight  of  his  own  accord,  and 
whither,  and  why?  Nothing  tran- 
spired to  throw  any  light  on  the 
mystery,  and  the  gossips,  tired  of 
guessing,  soon  ceased  to  think  about 
it,  and,  like  many  another  nine  days' 
wonder,  Pere  Jacques's  disappearance 
died  a  natural  death. 

A  day  came  at  last  when  the  mi- 
trailleuse hushed  its  hideous  shriek, 
the  cannon  left  off  booming,  the  wild 
beasts  of  war  were  silent.  Paris  cried, 
"  Merci!"  and  the  gates  were  opened. 
The  city,  like  a  sick  man  healed  of  a 
palsy,  rose  up,  and  shook  herself  and 
rubbed  her  eyes,  and  ate  plentifully 
after  her  long  fast.  Many  came  back 
from  the  outposts  who  were  wept 
over  as  dead.  There  were  strange 
meetings  in  many  quartiers  during 
those  first  days  that  followed  the 
capitulation.  But  no  one  brought 
any  news  of  Pere  Jacques.  There 
were  too  many  interests  nearer  and 
dearer  to  think  of,  and,  in  the  uni- 
versal excitement  of  shame  and  ven- 
geance and  rare  flashes  of  joy,  he  and 
Mile.  Adrienne  were  forgotten  as  if 
they  had  never  been.  But  when,  on 
the  day  of  my  return  to  Paris,  my 
conversation  with  my  concierge  was 
interrupted  by  the  cheering  of  the 
crowd  in  the  Rue  Billault,  and  when 
the  cause  of  the  hubbub  was  made 
known,  the  fact  that  both  Pere 
Jacques  and  his  idee  were  well  re- 
membered and,  as  the  newspapers 
put  it,  universally  esteemed  by  a 
large  circle  of  friends  and  admirers, 


was  most  emphatically  attested.    No- 
thing, indeed,  could  be  more  gratify- 
ing than  the  manner  in  which  their 
resurrection  was  received.     The  pair 
looked  very  much  the  worse  for  their 
sojourn  in  the  other  world,  wherever 
it  was,  to  which  they  had  emigrated. 
Mile.  Adrienne's  appearance  was  par- 
ticularly affecting.     She  was  worn  to 
skin   and   bone;    and   certainly,   if 
Pere  Jacques,  yielding  to  the  pangs 
of  hunger,  had  sacrificed  his  ide"e  to 
his  life,  and  taken  her  to  the  sham- 
bles,  she   would   not   have   fetched 
more  than  a  brace  of  good  rats,  or, 
at  best,  some  ten  francs,  from  the  in- 
human butchers  of  the  Rue  Valois. 
She  dragged  her  legs,  and  shook  and 
stumbled  as  if  the  weight  of  her  atten- 
uated person  were  too  much  for  them. 
Even  her  old  enemies,  the  gamins, 
were    moved    to    pity,   while    Pere 
Jacques,   laughing   and   crying  and 
apostrophizing  Mile.  Adrienne  in  his 
old  familiar  way,  cheered  her  on  to 
their  old  home.     How  she  ever  got 
there  is  as  great  a  marvel  as  how  she 
lived  to  be  led   there  to-day;    for, 
what   between   physical    exhaustion 
and  mental  anxiety — for  the  crowd 
kept  overpowering  her  with  questions 
and  caresses — and  what  between  the 
well-meant  but  injudicious  attentions 
of  sundry  little  boys  who  kept  stuff- 
ing unintermitting  bits  of  straw  and 
lumps  of  sugar  into  her  mouth,  it  is 
little  short  of  a  miracle  that  she  did 
not  choke  and  expire  on  the  maca- 
dam of  the  Rue  Billault. 

Many  an  ass  has  been  lionized  be- 
fore, and  many  a  one  will  be  so  again. 
It  is  a  common  enough  sight  in  these 
days,  but  never  did  hero  or  heroine 
of  the  tribe  bear  herself  more  be- 
comingly on  the  trying  occasion  than 
Mile.  Adrienne.  As  to  Pere  Jacques, 
he  bore  himself  as  well  as  he  could, 
trying  hard  to  look  dignified  and  un- 
conscious, while  in  his  inmost  heart 
he  was  bursting  with  pride.  While 


684 


A  Pie  IX. 


he  and  Mile.  Adrienne  ambled  on 
side  by  side,  some  facetious  person 
remarked  that  Pere  Jacques  looked 
quite  beside  himself.  This,  indeed, 
was  a  great  day  for  him  and  his  ass. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  that  his  heart 
was  moved  within  him  and  softened 
towards  all  men — nay,  towards  all 
boys — he  could  not  be  induced  to  say 
a  word  as  to  where  he  had  been,  or 
what  he  had  done,  or  how  he  and 
Mile.  Adrienne  had  fared  in  the  wil- 
derness, or  what  manner  of  wilder- 
ness it  was,  or  anything  that  could 
furnish  the  remotest  clue  to  their  ex- 
istence since  the  day  when  they  had 
separately  disappeared  off  the  horizon 
of  the  Rue  Billault.  Provisions  were 
still  too  dear,  during  the  first  fort- 
night after  the  capitulation,  to  allow 


of  Pere  Jacques  resuming  his  old 
trade  of  apples  or  cauliflowers;  be- 
sides, Mademoiselle  Adrienne  wanted 
rest. 

"Pauvre  cherie!  il  faut  qu'elle  se 
remette  un  peu  de  la  vache  enragee," 
he  remarked  tenderly,  when  his  friends 
condoled  with  him  on  her  forced  in- 
activity. He  would  not  hear  of  hir- 
ing her  out  for  work,  as  some  of  them 
proposed.  Mere  Richard  came  and 
offered  a  fabulous  price  for  the  loan 
of  her  for  three  days,  with  a  view  to 
a  stroke  of  business  at  the  railway 
station,  where  food  was  pouring  in 
from  London.  Pere  Jacques  shook 
his  fist  at  the  carnivorous  old  woman, 
and  warned  her  never  to  show  her 
unnatural  old  face  in  his  house  again, 
or  it  might  be  worse  for  her. 


A   PIE   IX. 

LE  Verbe  createur  en  paraissant  sur  terre 
Erigea  son  eglise,  auguste  monument. 
II  appela  Simon  du  fameux  nom  de  Pierre 
Et  de  son  edifice  en  fit  le  fondement : 

Des  volontes  du  Christ  sacre  depositaire, 
Interprete  et  gardien  du  dernier  Testament 
Pie  inspire  d'en  haut  et  par  1'eglise  entiere 
En  acheve  le  dome  et  le  couronnement. 

Pie  obtient  en  ce  jour  (glorieux  privilege !) 
De  regner  a  1'egal  du  chef  du  saint  college. 

Des  droits  de  1'Eternal  et  de  1'humanite 
Contre  1'erreur  du  jour  defenseur  intrepide, 
Calme  au  sein  des  perils,  d'une  main  sure  il  guide 
La  barque  de  Cephas  au  port  de  Verite. 


NEW  YORK,  June  17,  1871. 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


685 


THE   SECULAR   NOT   SUPREME.* 


DR.  BELLOWS  is  the  well-known  pas- 
tor of  All  Souls'  Church,  and  editor 
of  the  Liberal  Christian  in  this  city, 
a  distinguished  Unitarian  minister, 
with  some  religious  instincts  and  re- 
spectable literary  pretensions.  As  a 
student  in  college  and  the  Divinity 
School,  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  he 
was  full  of  promise,  and  a  great  fa- 
vorite of  the  late  Hon.  Edward  Eve- 
rett, himself  originally  a  Unitarian 
minister  and  pastor  of  Brattle  Street 
Church,  Boston.  The  Hon.  E.  P. 
Hurlbut  was  formerly  one  of  the 
judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  this 
state,  a  lawyer  by  profession,  with  a 
passably  clear  head  and  a  logical 
mind,  who  knows,  if  not  the  truth,  at 
least  what  he  means,  and  neither 
fears  nor  hesitates  to  say  it.  His 
pamphlet,  as  far  as  it  goes,  ex- 
presses, we  doubt  not,  his  honest 
thought,  but  his  thought  is  the 
thought  of  a  secularist,  who  admits 
no  order  above  the  secular,  and  holds 
that  no  religion  not  subordinate  to  and 
under  the  control  of  the  civil  power, 
should  be  tolerated.  Both  he  and  Dr. 
Bellows  are  from  instinct  and  edu- 
cation hearty  haters  of  the  Catholic 
Church ;  but  while  he  is  content  to 
war  against  her  from  the  point  of 
view  of  pure  secularism  or  no-religion, 
that  is,  atheism,  the  reverend  doctor 
seeks  to  clothe  his  hatred  in  a 
Christian  garb  and  to  war  against 
Christ  in  the  name  of  Christ. 

*  i.  Churck  andState  in  America.  A  Discourse 
given  at  Washington,  D.  C.,  at  the  installation 
of  Rev.  Frederic  Hinckley  as  Pastor  of  the  Uni- 
tarian Church,  January  25,  1871.  By  Rev.  Hen- 
ry W.  Bellows,  D.D.  Washington,  D.  C. :  Philp 
&  Solomon:;.  1871.  8vo,  pp.  22. 

2.  A  Secular  View ef  Religion  in  the  State,  and 
of  the  Bible  in  the  Public  Schools.  By  E.  P. 
.Hurlbut.  Albany:  Munsell.  1870.  8vo,  pp.  55. 


Dr.  Bellows,  as  a  Liberal  Chris- 
tian, and  though  a  Protestant  hard- 
ly allowed  by  his  more  rigid  Protes- 
tant countrymen  to  bear  the  Chris- 
tian name,  has  a  double  battle  to 
fight:  one,  against  the  Evangelical 
movement,  at  the  head  of  which  is 
Mr.  Justice  Strong,  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  to  amend  the  constitution  of 
the  United  States  so  as  to  make  or- 
thodox Protestantism  the  official  re- 
ligion of  the  republic,  which  would 
exclude  him  and  his  Unitarian,  Uni- 
versalist,  and  Quaker  brethren  ;  a 
the  other,  against  the  admission  of  t 
equal  rights  of  Catholics  with  Pro- 
testants before  the  American  state. 
Catholics  greatly  trouble  him,  and 
he  hardly  knows  what  to  do  with 
them.  According  to  the  letter  of 
the  constitution  of  the  Union  and  of 
the  several  states,  unless  New  Hamp- 
shire be  an  exception,  they  are  Ame- 
rican citizens,  standing  in  all  respects 
on  a  footing  of  perfect  equality  with 
any  other  class  of  citizens,  and  have 
as  much  right  to  take  part  in  public 
affairs,  and  to  seek  to  manage  them 
in  the  interests  of  their  religion,  as 
Protestants  have  to  take  part  in  them 
in  the  interests  of  Protestantism ;  but 
this  is  very  wrong,  and  against  the 
spirit  of  the  constitution ;  for  the  na- 
tion is  a  Protestant  nation,  the  coun- 
try was  originally  settled  by  and  be- 
longs to  Protestantism,  and  Catho- 
lics ought  to  understand  that  they 
are  really  here  only  by  sufferance, 
that  they  do  not  in  reality  stand  in 
relation  to  public  questions  on  a  foot- 
ing of  equality  with  Protestants,  and 
have  really  no  right  to  exert  any  in- 
fluence in  regard  to  the  public  policy 
of  the  country  not  in  accordance  with 


ni- 

i 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


the  convictions  of  the  Protestant  ma- 
jority. He  tells  us,  in  the  discourse 
before  us  and  more  distinctly  still  in 
the  columns  of  the  Liberal  Christian, 
not  to  aspire  as  citizens  to  equality 
with  Protestants  as  if  we  had  as  much 
right  to  the  government  as  they 
have,  and  warns  us  that  if  we  do  we 
shall  be  resisted  even  unto  blood. 

The  occasion  of  his  outpouring  of 
wrath  against  Catholics  is  that  they 
have  protested  against  being  taxed  for 
the  support  of  a  system  of  sectarian 
or  godless  schools,  to  which  they  are 
forbidden  in  conscience  to  send  their 
children,  and  have  demanded  as  their 
right  either  that  the  tax  be  remitted, 
or  that  their  proportion  of  the  public 
schools  be  set  off  to  them,  to  be,  as 
to  education  and  discipline,  under 
Catholic  control.  Dr.  Bellows  allows 
that  the  Catholic  demand  is  just,  and 
that  by  making  it  a  question  at  the 
polls  they  may  finally  obtain  it ;  but 
this  is  not  to  his  mind,  for  it  would 
defeat  the  pet  scheme  of  Protestants 
for  preventing  the  growth  of  Catho- 
licity in  the  country,  by  detaching,  . 
through  the  influence  of  the  public 
schools,  their  children  from  the  faith 
ot  their  parents.  Yet  as  long  as  any 
religion,  even  the  reading  of  the  Bible, 
is  insisted  on  in  the  public  schools, 
what  'solid  argument  can  be  urged 
against  the  demand  of  Catholics,  or 
what  is  to  prevent  Catholic  citizens 
from  making  it  a  political  question 
and  withholding  their  votes  from  the 
party  that  refuses  to  respect  their 
rights  of  conscience  and  to  do  them 
justice  ?  Dr.  Bellows  says  that  we 
cannot  legally  be  prevented  from  do- 
ing so,  but,  if  we  do  so,  it  will  be  the 
worse  for  us  ;  for  if  we  carry  our  reli- 
gion to  the  polls  the  Protestant  peo- 
ple will,  as  they  should,  rise  up  against 
us  and  overwhelm  us  by  their  im- 
mense majority,  perhaps  even  exter- 
minate us. 

To  prevent  the  possibility  of  col- 


lision, the  reverend  doctor  proposes 
a  complete  divorce  of  church  and 
state.  He  proposes  to  defeat  the 
Evangelicals  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  Catholics  on  the  other,  by  sepa- 
rating totally  religion  and  politics. 
Thus  he  says  : 

"  It  is  the  vast  importance  of  keeping  the 
political  and  the  religious  movements  and 
action  of  the  people  apart,  and  in  their 
own  independent  spheres,  that  makes 
wise  citizens,  alike  on  religious  and  on 
civil  grounds,  look  with  alarm  and  jea- 
lousy on  any  endeavors,  on  the  part  eith- 
er of  Protestants  or  Catholics,  to  secure 
any  special  attention  or  support,  any  par- 
tial or  separate  legislation  or  subsidies, 
from  either  the  national  or  the  state  gov- 
ernments. I  have  already  told  you  that 
Protestants,  representing  the  great  sects 
in  this  country,  are  now  laboring,  by 
movable  conventions,  to  mould  public 
opinion  in  a  way  to  give  finally  a  theolo- 
gical character  to  the  constitution.  In  a 
much  more  pardonable  spirit,  because  in 
accordance  with  their  historical  antece- 
dents, their  hereditary  temper,  and  their 
ecclesiastical  logic,  the  Roman  Catholics 
in  this  country  are,  in  many  states,  and 
every  great  city  of  the  Union,  using  the 
tremendous  power  they  possess  as  the 
make-weight  of  parties,  to  turn  the  pub- 
lic treasure  in  a  strong  current  into  their 
own  channels,  and  thus  secure  an  illegiti- 
mate support  as  a  religious  body.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  guess  that  more  than 
half  of  the  ecclesiastical  wealth  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  in  America, 
against  the  wishes  and  convictions  of  a 
Protestant  country,  has  been  voted  to  it 
in  lands  and  grants  by  municipalities  and 
legislatures  trading  for  Irish  votes.  The 
Catholic  Church  thus  has  a  factitious 
prosperity  and  progress.  It  is  largely 
sustained  by  Protestants — not  on  grounds 
of  charity  and  toleration,  or  from  a  sense 
of  its  usefulness  (that  were  we!l  private- 
ly done),  but  from  low  and  unworthy  po- 
litical motives  in  both  the  great  parties 
of  the  country.  Now  that  Roman  Ca- 
tholics themselves  should  take  advan- 
tage of  their  solidarity  as  a  people 
and  a  church,  and  of  the  power  of 
their  priesthood,  with  all  uninformed 
and  some  enlightened  communicants,  to 
turn  the  political  will  into  a  machine  for 
grinding  their  ecclesiastical  grist,  is  not 
unnatural,  nor  wholly  unpardonable.  But 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


687 


it  is  fearfully  dangerous  to  them  and  to 
us.  Their  success — due  to  the  sense  of 
the  Protestant  strength  which  thinks  it 
can  afford  to  blink  their  machinations,  or 
to  the  preoccupation  of  the  public  mind 
with  the  emulative  business  pursuits  of 
the  time,  or  to  the  confidence  which  the 
American  people  seem  to  feel  in  the  final 
and  secure  divorce  of  church  and  state — 
their  unchecked  success  encourages  them 
to  bolder  and  more  bold  demands,  and 
accustoms  the  people  to  more  careless 
and  more  perilous  acquiescence  in  their 
claims.  The  principle  of  authority  in  re- 
ligion, which  has  so  many  temperamental 
adherents  in  all  countries  ;  the  inherent 
love  of  pomp  and  show  in  worship,  strong- 
est in  the  least  educated  ;  a  natural  wea- 
riness of  sectarian  divisions,  commonest 
among  lazy  thinkers  and  stupid  conscien- 
ces— all  these  play  into  the  hands  of  the 
Romanists,  and  they  are  making  hay 
while  the  sun  shines. 

"  There  are  no  reviews,  no  newspapers 
in  this  country,  so  bold  and  unqualified  ; 
none  so  unscrupulous  and  so  intensely 
zealous  and  partisan  ;  none  so  fearless 
and  outspoken  as  the  Catholic  journals. 
They  profess  to  despise  Protestant  oppo- 
sition ;  they  deride  the  feeble  tactics  of 
other  Christian  sects ;  they  are  more  ul- 
tramontane, more  Roman,  more  Papal, 
than  French,  German,  Austrian,  Bavarian, 
Italian  believers  ;  they  avow  their  pur- 
pose to  make  this  a  Roman  Catholic 
country,  and  they  hope  to  live  on  the 
Protestant  enemy  while  they  are  convert- 
ing him.  They  cften  put  their  religious 
faith  above  their  political  obligation,  and, 
as  bishops  and  priests,  make  it  a  duty  to 
the  church  for  their  members  to  vote  as 
Catholics  rather  than  as  American  citi- 
zens. Not  what  favors  the  peace,  pros- 
perity, and  union  of  the  nation,  but  what 
favors  their  church,  is  the  supreme  ques- 
tion for  them  at  every  election  ;  and  Ame- 
rican politicians,  for  their  predatory  pur- 
poses, have  taught  them  this,  and  are 
their  leaders  in  it. 

"  Now,  as  an  American  citizen,  I  say 
•  nothing  against  the  equality  of  the  rights 
of  the  Roman  Catholics  and  the  Protes- 
tants ;  both  may  lawfully  strive,  in  their 
unpolitical  spheres,  for  the  mastery,  and 
the  law  may  not  favor  or  disfavor  either  ; 
nor  can  anything  be  done  to  prevent  Ro- 
man Catholics  from  using  their  votes  as 
Roman  Catholics,  if  they  please.  It  is 
against  the  spirit,  but  not  against  the  let- 
ter of  the  constitution.  At  any  rate,  it 


cannot  be  helped  ;  only,  it  may  compel 
Protestants  to  form  parties  and  vote  as 
Protestants  against  Roman  Catholic  in- 
terests, which  would  be  a  deplorable  ne- 
cessity, and  lead,  sooner  or  later,  through 
religious  parties  in  politics,  to  religious 
wars.  The  way  to  avoid  such  a  horrible 
possibility — alas,  such  a  threatening  pro- 
bability for  the  next  generation — is  at 
once  to  look  with  the  utmost  carefulness 
and  the  utmost  disfavor  upon  every  ef- 
fort on  the  part  of  either  Protestants  cr 
Catholics  to  mix  up  sectarian  or  theolo- 
gical or  religious  questions  with  nation- 
al and  state  and  city  politics. 

"Every  appeal  of  a  sect,  a  denomina- 
tional church,  or  sectarian  chanty  of  any 
description,  to  the  general  government, 
•or  state  or  city  governments,  for  subsidies 
or  favors,  should  be  at  once  discounte- 
nanced and  forbidden  by  public  opinion, 
and  made  impossible  by  positive  statute. 
The  Protestant  sects  in  this  country 
should  hasten  to  remove  from  their  re- 
cord any  advantages  whatsoever  guaran- 
teed to  them  by  civil  law  to  any  partiality 
or  sectarian  distinction.  The  most  im- 
portant privilege  they  enjoy  by  law  in 
most  of  the  states  is  the  right  of  keeping 
the  Bible  in  the  public  schools.  It  is  a 
privilege  associated '  with  the  tenderest 
and  most  sacred  symbol  of  the  Protestant 
faith — the  Bible.  To  exclude  it  from  the 
public  schools  is  to  the  religious  affec- 
tions of  Protestants  like  Abraham's  sa- 
crifice of  his  only  son.  When  it  was  first 
proposed,  I  felt  horror-stricken,  and  in- 
stinctively opposed  it  ;  but  I  have  thought 
long  and  anxiously  upon  the  subject,  and 
have,  from  pure  logical  necessity  and 
consistency,  been  obliged  to  change — 
nay,  reverse  rny  opinion.  Duty  to  the 
unsectarian  character  of  our  civil  institu- 
tions demands  that  this  exclusion  should 
be  made.  It  will  not  be  any  disclaimer 
of  the  importance  of  the  Bible  in  the  ed- 
ucation of  American  youth,  but  only  a 
concession  that  we  cannot  carry  on  the 
religious  with  the  secular  education  of 
American  children,  at  the  public  expense 
and  in  the  public  schools.  So  long  as 
Protestant  Christians  insist,  merely  in 
the  strength  of  their  great  majority,  upon 
maintaining  the  Bible  in  the  public 
schools,  they  justify  Roman  Catholics  in 
demanding  that  the  public  money  for  ed- 
ucation shall  be  distributed  to  sects  in 
proportion  to  the  number  of  children 
they  educate.  This  goes  far  to  break  up 
the  common-school  system  of  this  countn', 


688 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


and,  if  carried  out,  must  ultimately  tend 
to  dissolve  the  Union,  which  morally  de- 
pends upon  the  community  of  feeling 
and  the  homogeneity  of  culture  produc- 
ed by  an  unsectarian  system  of  common 
schools." — Church  and  Slate,  pp.  1 6-19. 

But  this  proposed  remedy  will 
prove  worse  than  the  disease.  The 
state  divorced  from  the  church,  whol- 
ly separated  from  religion,  is  separat- 
ed from  morality ;  and  the  state  sepa- 
rated from  morality,  that  is,  from  the 
moral  order,  from  natural  justice  in- 
separable from  religion,  cannot  stand, 
and  ought  not  to  stand,  for  it  is  in- 
capable of  performing  a  single  one 
of  its  proper  functions.  The  church, 
representing  the  spiritual,  and  there- 
fore the  superior,  order,  is  by  its  own 
nature  and  constitution  as  indepen- 
dent of  the  state  as  the  soul  is  of  the 
body;  and  the  state  separated  from 
the  church,  or  from  religion  and  mo- 
rality, is  like  the  body  separated  from 
the  soul,  dead,  a  putrid  or  putrefying 
corpse.  Exclude  your  Protestant  Bi- 
ble and  all  direct  and  indirect  reli- 
gious instruction  from  your  public 
schools,  and  you  would  not  render 
them  a  whit  less  objectionable  to  us 
than  they  are  now,  for  we  object  not 
less  to  purely  secular  schools  than 
we  do  to  sectarian  schools.  We  hold 
that  children  should  be  trained  up  in 
the  way  they  should  go,  so  that  when 
old  they  will  not  depart  from  it ;  and 
the  way  in  which  they  should  go  is 
not  the  way  of  pure  secularism,  but 
the  way  enjoined  by  God  our  Maker 
through  his  church.  God  has  in  this 
life  joined  soul  and  body,  the  spiritual 
and  the  secular,  together,  and  what 
God  has  joined  together  we  dare 
not  put  asunder.  There  is  only  one 
of  two  things  that  can  satisfy  us  : 
either  cease  to  tax  us  for  the  support 
of  the  public  schools,  and  leave  the 
education  of  our  children  to  us,  or 
give  us  our  proportion  of  the  public 
schools  in  which  to  educate  them 


in  our  own  religion.  We  protest 
against  the  gross  injustice  of  being 
taxed  to  educate  the  children  of  non- 
Catholics,  and  being  obliged  in  ad- 
dition to  support  schools  for  our  own 
children  at  our  own  expense,  or  peril 
their  souls. 

We  do  not  think  Dr.  Bellows 
is  aware  of  what  he  demands  when 
he  demands  the  complete  divorce  of 
church  and  state,  or  the  total  sepa- 
ration of  religion  and  politics.  The 
state  divorced  from  the  church  is  a 
godless  state,  and  politics  totally  se- 
parated from  religion  is  simply  poli- 
tical atheism,  and  political  atheism 
is  simply  power  without  justice, 
force  Avithout  law;  for  there  is  no 
law  without  God,  the  supreme  and 
universal  Lawgiver.  Man  has  no  ori- 
ginal and  underived  legislative  pow- 
er, and  one  man  has  in  and  of  him- 
self no  authority  over  another ;  for 
all  men  by  the  law  of  nature  are 
equal,  and  have  equal  rights,  and 
among  equals  no  one  has  the  right 
to  govern.  All  governments  based 
on  political  atheism,  or  the  assump- 
tion that  politics  are  independent  of 
religion,  rest  on  no  foundation,  are 
usurpations,  tyrannies,  without  right, 
and  can  govern,  if  at  all,  only  by 
might  or  sheer  force.  To  declare 
the  government  divorced  from  reli- 
gion is  to  declare  it  emancipated 
from  the  law  of  God,  from  all  moral 
obligation,  and  free  to  do  whatever 
it  pleases.  It  has  no  duties,  and  un- 
der it  there  are  and  can  be  no  rights ; 
for  rights  and  duties  are  in  the  moral 
order  and  inseparable  from  religion, 
since  the  law  of  God  is  the  basis  of 
all  rights  and  duties,  the  foundation 
and  guarantee  of  all  morality.  The 
state,  divorced  from  religion,  would 
be  bound  to  recognize  and  protect 
no  rights  of  God  or  man,  not  even 
those  natural  and  inalienable  rights 
of  all  men,  "life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness."  This  is  going 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


689 


further  in  the  direction  of  absolutism 
than  go  the  doctor's  dear  friends  the 
Turks,  whom  he  so  warmly  eulogizes 
in  his  letters  from  the  East,  for  even 
they  hold  the  sultan  is  bound  by  the 
Koran,  and  forbidden  to  do  anything 
it  prohibits. 

Dr.  Bellows,  doubtless,  has  no  in- 
tention of  divorcing  the  state  from 
morality,  and  does  not  see  that  his 
proposition  implies  it.  He  probably 
holds  that  morality  is  separable  from 
religion,  for  with  him  religion  is  sim- 
ply sentiment  or  opinion;  but  in  this 
he  falls  into  the  common  mistake  of 
all  Liberal  Christians,  and  of  many 
Protestants  who  regard  Liberal  Chris- 
tians as  no  Christians  at  all.  Morali- 
ty and  religion  are  inseparable,  for 
morality  is  only  the  practical  applica- 
tion in  the  several  departments  of  life 
of  the  principles  of  religion.  Without 
religion  morality  has  no  foundation, 
nothing  on  which  to  rest,  is  a  baseless 
fabric,  an  unreality.  Deny  God,  and 
you  deny  the  moral  law  and  the  whole 
moral  order,  all  right,  all  duty,  all  hu- 
man accountability.  The  separation  of 
all  political  questions  from  all  religious 
questions,  which  the  reverend  doctor 
demands,  is  their  separation  from 
all  moral  questions,  and  is  the  eman- 
cipation of  the  state  from  all  right 
and  all  duty,  or  the  assertion  of  its 
unrestricted  power  to  do  whatever 
it  pleases,  in  total  disregard  of  all 
moral  and  religious  considerations. 
Is  this  the  doctrine  of  a  Christian  ? 

This  surely  is  not  the  relation  of 
church  and  state  in  America,  and 
derives  no  support  from  the  Ameri- 
can order  of  thought.  With  us,  the 
state  is  instituted  chiefly  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  natural  rights  of  man,  as 
we  call  them,  but  really  the  rights 
of  God,  since  they  are  anterior  to 
civil  society,  are  superior  to  it,  and 
not  derived  or  derivable  from  it. 
These  rights  it  is  the  duty  of  civil  so- 
ciety to  protect  and  defend.  Any 
.  VOL.  xin. — 44 


acts  of  the  political  sovereign,  be 
that  sovereign  king  or  kaiser,  nobility 
or  people,  contrary  to  these  antece- 
dent and  superior  rights  are  tyranni- 
cal and  unjust,  are  violences,  not  laws, 
and  the  common-law  courts  will  not 
enforce  them,  because  contrary  to  the 
law  of  justice  and  forbidden  by  it. 
The  American  state  disclaims  all  au- 
thority over  the  religion  of  its  citi- 
zens, but  at  the  same  time  acknow- 
ledges its  obligation  to  respect  in  its 
own  action,  and  to  protect  and  de- 
fend from  external  violence,  the  reli- 
gion which  its  citizens  or  any  class 
of  its  citizens  choose  to  adopt  or 
adhere  to  for  themselves.  It  by  no 
means  asserts  its  independence  of  re- 
ligion or  its  right  to  treat  it  with  in- 
difference, but  acknowledges  its  ob- 
ligation to  protect  its  citizens  in  the 
free  and  peaceable  possession  and 
enjoyment  of  the  religion  they  prefer. 
It  goes  further,  and  affords  religion 
the  protection  and  assistance  of  the 
law  in  the  possession  and  manage- 
ment of  her  temporalities,  her  church- 
es and  temples,  lands  and  tenements, 
funds  and  revenues  for  the  support 
of  public  worship,  and  various  chari- 
table or  eleemosynary  institutions.  All 
the  protection  and  assistance  the  be- 
nefit of  which  every  Protestant  de- 
nomination fully  enjoys,  and  even 
the  Catholic  Church  in  principle, 
though  not  always  in  fact,  would  be 
denied,  if  the  divorce  Dr.  Bellows 
demands  were  granted,  and  religion, 
having  no  rights  politicians  are 
bound  to  respect,  would  become  the 
prey  of  lawless  and  godless  power, 
and  religious  liberty  would  be  utter- 
ly annihilated,  as  well  as  civil  liber- 
ty itself,  which  depends  on  it. 

The  chief  pretence  with  Dr.  Bel- 
lows for  urging  the  complete  divorce 
of  church  and  state,  is  that  Catho- 
lics demand  and  receive  subsidies 
from  the  state  and  city  for  their 
schools  and  several  charitable  insti- 


690 


The  Secular  not  Supreme, 


tutions.  Some  such  subsidies  have 
been  granted,  we  admit,  but  in  far 
less  proportion  to  Catholics  than  they 
to  Protestants  or  non-Catholics.  The 
public  schools  are  supported  at  the 
public  expense,  by  the  school  fund, 
and  a  public  tax,  of  which  Catholics 
pay  their  share,  and  these  schools 
are  simply  sectarian  or  godless 
schools,  for  the  sole  benefit  of  non- 
Catholics.  The  subsidies  conceded 
to  a  few  of  our  schools  do  by  no 
means  place  them  on  an  equality 
with  those  of  non-Catholics.  We 
by  no  means  receive  our  share  of  the 
subsidies  conceded.  The  aids  grant- 
ed to  our  hospitals,  orphan  asylums, 
and  reformatories  are  less  liberal 
than  those  to  similar  non-Catho- 
lic institutions.  So  long  as  the  state 
subsidizes  any  institutions  of  the 
sort,  we  claim  to  receive  our  propor- 
tion of  them  as  our  right.  If  the 
state  grant  none  to  non- Catholics, 
we  shall  demand  none  for  ourselves. 
We  demand  equality,  but  we  ask  no 
special  privileges  or  favors.  The  out- 
cry of  the  sectarian  and  secular  press 
against  us  on  this  score  is  wholly  un- 
authorized, is  cruel,  false,  and  unjust. 
It  is  part  and  parcel  of  that  general 
sytem  of  falsification  by  which  it  is 
hoped  to  inflame  popular  passion 
and  prejudice  against  Catholics  and 
their  church. 

Underlying  the  whole  of  the  doc- 
trine of  this  discourse  is  the  assump- 
tion of  the  supremacy  of  the  secular 
order,  or  that  every  American  citizen 
is  bound  to  subordinate  his  religion 
to  his  politics,  or  divest  himself  of  it 
whenever  he  acts  on  a  political  ques- 
tion. This,  which  is  assumed  and  par- 
tially disguised  in  Dr.  Bellows,  is  open- 
ly and  frankly  asserted  and  boldly 
maintained  in  Judge  Hurlbut's  pam- 
phlet. The  judge  talks  much  about 
theology,  theocracy,  etc.,  subjects  of 
which  he  knows  less  than  he  supposes, 
and  of  course  talks  a  great  deal  of 


nonsense,  as  unbelievers  generally 
do  ;  but  lie  is  quite  clear  and  decided 
that  the  state  should  have  the  power 
to  suppress  any  church  or  religious 
institution  that  is  based  on  a  theory 
or  principle  different  from  its  own. 
The  theory  of  the  American  govern- 
ment is  democratic,  and  the  govern- 
ment ought  to  have  the  power  to 
suppress  or  exclude  every  church 
that  is  not  democratically  constitut- 
ed. Religion  should  conform  to  po- 
litics, not  politics  to  religion.  The 
political  law  is  above  the  religious, 
and,  of  course,  man  is  above  God. 
In  order  to  be  able  to  carry  out  this 
theory,  the  learned  judge  proposes 
an  important  amendment  to  the  con- 
stitution of  the  United  States,  which 
shall  on  the  one  hand  prohibit  the 
several  states  from  ever  establishing 
any  religion  by  law ;  and,  on  the  oth- 
er, shall  authorize  Congress  to  enact 
such  laws  as  it  may  deem  necessary 
to  control  or  prevent  the  establishment 
Or  continuance  of  any  foreign  hier- 
archical power  in  this  country  found- 
ed on  principles  or  dogmas  antago- 
nistic to  republican  institutions.  He 
says : 

"  The  following  amendment  is  propos- 
ed to  Article  I.  of  the  amendments  to  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States.  The 
words  in  italics  are  proposed  to  be  add- 
ed to  the  present  article  : 

"  ART.  I.  Neither  Congress  nor  any 
state  shall  make  any  laws  respecting  an 
establishment  of  religion,  or  prohibiting 
the  free  exercise  thereof;  or  abridging 
the  freedom  of  speech,  or  of  the  press  ; 
or  the  right  of  the  people  peaceably  to 
assemble  and  to  petition  the  government 
for  a  redress  of  grievances.  But  Congress 
may  enact  sut/i  laws  as  it  shall  deem  neces- 
sary to  control  or  prevent  the  establishment 
or  continuance  of  any  foreign  hierarchical 
power  in  this  country  founded  on  principles 
or  dogmas  antagonistic  to  republican  institu- 
tions. 

"  It  is  assumed  that  there  is  nothing 
in  the  constitution,  as  it  stands,  which 
forbids  a  state  from  establishing  a  reli- 
gion, and  that  no  power  is  conferred  on 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


691 


Congress  by  the  constitution  to  forbid  a 
foreign  hierarchical  establishment  in  the 
United  States.  If  such  a  power  be  need- 
ed, then  the  proposed  amendment  is  also 
necessary." — Secular  View,  p.  5. 

This  proposed  amendment,  like 
iniquity,  lies  unto  itself,  for  while  it 
prohibits  Congress  and  the  several 
states  from  making  any  law  respecting 
an  establishment  of  religion  or  prohi- 
biting the  free  exercise  thereof,  it 
gives  to  Congress  full  power  to  control 
or  prevent  the  establishment  or  the 
continuance — that  is,  to  prohibit — the 
free  exercise  by  Catholics  of  their 
religion,  under  the  flimsy  pretence 
that  it  is  a  foreign  hierarchy  founded 
on  anti-republican  principles.  The 
hierarchy  is  an  essential  part  of  our 
religion,  and  any  denial  of  its  free- 
dom is  the  denial  of  the  free  exercise 
of  his  religion  to  every  Catholic,  and 
of  the  very  principle  of  religious  lib- 
erty itself,  which  the  constitution 
guarantees. 

We  of  course  deny  that  the  Catho- 
lic hierarchy  is  a  foreign  hierarchy 
or  anti-republican,  for  what  is  Catho- 
lic is  universal,  and  what  is  universal 
is  never  and  nowhere  a  foreigner ;  but 
yet,  because  its  Supreme  Pontiff  does 
not  reside  personally  in  America, 
and  its  power  does  not  emanate  from 
the  American  people,  Protestants, 
Jews,  and  infidels  will  hold  that  it  is 
a  foreign  power,  and  anti-republican. 
The  carnal  Jews  held  the  Hebrew 
religion  to  be  a  national  religion,  and 
because  the  promised  Messiah  came 
as  a  spiritual,  not  as  a  temporal  and 
national  prince,  they  rejected  him. 
Infidels  believe  in  no  spiritual  order, 
and  consequently  in  no  Catholic 
principle  or  authority;  Protestants 
believe  in  no  Catholic  hierarchy,  and 
hold  that  all  authority  in  religious 
matters  comes  from  God,  not  through 
the  hierarchy,  but  through  the  faith- 
ful or  the  people,  and  hence  their 
ministers  are  called,  not  sent.  It 


would  be  useless,  therefore,  to  under- 
take to  prove  to  one  or  another  of 
these  three  classes  that  the  Catholic 
hierarchy  is  at  home  here,  in  Ameri- 
ca, as  much  so  as  at  Rome,  and, 
since  it  holds  not  from  the  people, 
that  it  is  not  founded  on  anti-republi- 
can or  anti-democratic  principles. 
The  only  arguments  we  could  use  to 
prove  it  lie  in  an  order  of  thought  with 
which  they  are  not  familiar,  do  not 
even  recognize,  and  to  be  appreciat- 
ed demand  a  spiritual  apprehension 
which,  though  not  above  natural  rea- 
son, is  quite  too  high  for  such  con- 
firmed secularists  as  ex-Judge  Hurl- 
but  and  his  rationalistic  brethren, 
who  have  lost  all  conception,  not 
only  of  the  supernatural  order,  but 
of  the  supersensible,  the  intelligible, 
the  universal  reality  above  individual 
or  particular  existences. 

For  Catholics  there  are  two  orders, 
the  secular  and  the  spiritual.  The  secu- 
lar is  bound  by  the  limitations  and  con- 
ditions of  time  and  place ;  the  spirit- 
ual is  above  and  independent  of  all 
such  conditions  and  limitations,  and 
is  universal,  always  and  everywhere 
the  same.  The  Catholic  hierarchy 
represents  in  the  secular  and  visible 
world,  in  the  affairs  of  individuals  and 
nations,  this  spiritual  order,  on  which 
the  whole  secular  order  depe'nds,  and 
which,  therefore,  is  an  alien  nowhere 
and  at  home  everywhere.  The  Ca- 
tholic hierarchy  is  supernatural,  not 
natural,  and,  therefore,  no  more  a 
foreigner  in  one  nation  than  in  anoth- 
er. But  it  is  only  the  Catholic  that  can 
see  and  understand  this;  it  is  too 
high  and  too  intellectual  for  non- 
Catholics,  whose  minds  are  turned 
earthward,  and  have  lost  the  habit 
of  looking  upward,  and  to  recover  it 
must  be  touched  by  the  quickening 
and  elevating  power  of  grace.  We 
must  expect  them,  therefore,  to  vote 
the  Catholic  hierarchy  to  be  in  this 
country  a  foreign  hierarchy,  although 


692 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


it  is  nowhere  national,  and  is  no  more 
foreign  here  than  is  God  himself. 

The  Catholic  hierarchy  is  not 
founded  on  democratic  principles, 
we  grant,  but  there  is  nothing  in 
its  principles  or  dogmas  antagonis- 
tical  to  republican  government,  if 
government  at  all;  but  since  it 
holds  not  from  the  people,  nor  in 
any  sense  depends  on  them  for  its 
authority,  non-Catholics,  who  recog- 
nize no  power  above  the  people,  will 
vote  it  anti-republican,  undemocratic, 
antagonistical  to  the  American  system 
of  government.  It  is  of  no  use  to  try 
to  persuade  them  to  the  contrary,  or 
to  allege  that  it  is  of  the  very  essence 
and  design  of  religion  to  assert  the 
supremacy  of  an  order  which  does 
not  hold  from  the  people,  and  is  above 
them  both  individually  and  collective- 
ly, or  to  maintain  in  the  direction  and 
government  of  human  affairs  the  su- 
premacy of  the  law  of  God,  which 
all  men  and  nations,  in  both  public 
and  private  matters,  are  bound  to  obey, 
and  which  none  can  disobey  with 
impunity.  They  will  only  reply  that 
this  is  repugnant  to  the  democratic 
tendencies  of  the  age,  is  contrary  to 
the  free  and  enlightened  spirit  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  denies  the  origi- 
nal, absolute,  and  underived  sove- 
reignty of  the  people,  and  is  mani- 
festly a  return  to  the  theocratic  prin- 
ciple which  humanity  rejects  with 
horror.  To  an  argument  of  this 
sort  there,  of  course,  is  no  available 
answer.  The  men  who  use  it  are 
impervious  to  logic  or  common 
sense,  for  they  either  believe  in  no 
God,  or  that  God  is  altogether  like 
one  of  themselves;  therefore,  in  no 
respect  above  themselves. 

It  is  very  clear,  then,  if  Judge 
Hurlbut's  proposed  amendment  to 
the  constitution  were  adopted,  it 
would  be  interpreted  as  giving  to 
Congress,  as  the  Judge  intends  it 
should,  the  power  to  suppress,  ac- 


cording to  its  discretion,  the  Catho- 
lic hierarchy,  and,  therefore,  the  Ca- 
tholic Church  in  the  United  States, 
and  that,  too,  notwithstanding  the 
very  amendment  denies  to  Congress 
the  power  to  prohibit  to  any  one  the 
free  exercise  of  his  religion !  How 
true  it  is,  as  the  Psalmist  says,  "  Ini- 
quity hath  lied  to  itself."  The  ene- 
mies of  the  church,  who  are  necessa- 
rily the  enemies  of  God,  and,  there- 
fore, of  the  truth,  are  no.t  able  to 
frame  an  argument  or  a  law  against 
the  church  that  does  not  contradict 
or  belie  itself;  yet  are  they,  in  their 
own  estimation,  the  enlightened  por- 
tion of  mankind,  and  Catholics  are 
weak,  besotted,  grovelling  in  ignor- 
ance and  superstition. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  the  am- 
endment proposed  by  Judge  Hurl- 
but  would,  if  adopted,  effect  the 
object  the  Evangelical  sects  are  con- 
spiring with  Jews  and  infidels  to 
effect,  so  far  as  human  power  can 
effect  it — that  is,  the  suppression  of 
the  Catholic  Church  in  the  United 
States,  and  it  is  a  bolder,  more  direct, 
and  honester  way  of  coming  at  it  than 
the  fair-seeming  but  insidious  amend- 
ment proposed  by  Mr.  Justice  Strong, 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States,  and  his  Evangelical  allies.  It 
is  now  well  understood  by  non-Ca- 
tholic leaders  that  the  growth  of  the 
church  cannot  be  prevented  or  re- 
tarded by  arguments  drawn  from 
Scripture  or  reason,  for  both  Scrip- 
ture and  reason  are  found  to  be  on 
her  side,  and  dead  against  them. 
They  see  very  clearly  that  if  she  is 
left  free  with  "  an  open  field  and  fair 
play,"  it  is  all  over  with  her  oppon- 
ents. They  must  then  contrive  in 
some  way,  by  some  means  or  other, 
to  suppress  the  religious  freedom  and 
equality  now  guaranteed  by  our  con- 
stitution and  laws,  and  bring  the 
civil  law  or  the  physical  power  of 
the  state  to  bear  against  the  church 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


693 


and  the  freedom  of  Catholics. 
That  it  is  a  settled  design  on  the 
part  of  the  leading  Protestant  sects 
to  do  this — and  that  they  are  aided 
by  Unitarians  and  Universalists,  be- 
cause they  know  that  Protestant 
orthodoxy  would  soon  go  by  the 
board  if  the  Catholic  Church  were 
suppressed;  by  the  Jews,  because 
they  hate  Christianity,  and  know 
well  that  Christianity  and  the  Catho- 
lic Church  stand  or  fall  together; 
and  by  unbelievers  and  secularists, 
because  they  would  abolish  all  re- 
ligion, and  they  feel  that  they  cannot 
effect  their  purpose  if  the  Catholic 
Church  stands  in  their  way — no  one 
can  seriously  doubt.  We  include  the 
Jews  in  this  conspiracy,  for  we  have 
before  us  the  report  of  a  remarkable 
discourse  delivered  lately  in  the  He- 
brew synagogue  at  Washington,  D.  C., 
by  the  Rabbi  Lilienthal,  of  Cincin- 
nati, entitled  "  First  the  State,  then 
the  Church,"  which  is  directed  al- 
most wholly  against  the  Catholic 
Church.  We  make  an  extract  from 
this  discourse,  longer  than  we  can 
well  afford  room  for,  but  our  readers 
will  thank  us  for  it : 

"Of  all  the  questions  which  demand 
our  serious  consideration,  none  is  of  more 
importance  than  the  one,  '  Shall  the 
state  or  the  church  rule  supreme  ?'  All 
over  Europe,  this  question  is  mooted  at 
present,  and  threatens  to  assume  quite 
formidable  proportions.  There  is  but 
one  empire  across  the  ocean  in  which 
this  problem,  so  far,  has  been  definitely 
settled  by  virtue  of  autocratic  might  and 
power.  It  is  Russia.  When,  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  the  Patriarch  of 
Moscow  had  died,  and  the  metropolitans 
and  archbishops  of  the  Greek  Church 
met  for  the  purpose  of  filling  the  vacancy, 
Peter  the  Great  rushed  with  drawn  sword 
into  their  meeting,  and,  throwing  the 
same  on  the  table,  exclaimed,  '  Here  is 
your  patriarch.'  Since  that  time  the 
Czar  is  emperor  and  pope  at  once  ;  and, 
very  significantly,  the  '  Holy  Synod,"  or 
the  supreme  ecclesiastical  court  of  Rus- 
sia, is  presided  over  by  a  general,  the 


representative  of  the  Czar.  And  hence 
the  Emperor  Nicholas  used  to  say :  State 
and  church  are  represented  in  me  ;  and 
the  motto  ruling  the  Russian  government 
was  autocracy,  Russian  nationality,  and 
the  Greek  Church. 

"  But  everywhere  else  in  Europe  this 
question  agitates  the  old  continent.  In 
Great  Britain,  Gladstone  works  for  the 
enfranchisement  of  the  church  ;  the 
Thirty  nine  Articles,  so  renowned  at  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge,  are  going  to  be 
abolished,  and  High  Churchmen  and 
Dissenters  prepare  themselves  for  the 
final  struggle.  Italy,  so  long  priest- 
ridden,  has  inscribed  on  her  national 
banner  the  glorious  words,  '  Religious 
liberty,'  and  means  to  carry  them  out  to 
the  fullest  extent,  in  spite  of  all  anathe- 
mas and  excommunications.  Spain, 
though  still  timid  and  wavering,  has 
adopted  the  same  policy.  Austria  has 
thrown  off  her  concordat,  and  inserted 
in  her  new  constitution  the  same  modern 
principle  ;  and  the  German  Empire  has 
fully  recognized  the  equality  of  all  citi- 
zens, without  difference  of  creed  or  deno- 
mination, before  the  courts  and  tribunals 
of  resurrected  and  united  Germany. 

"  But  daily  we  hear  of  the  demands  of 
the  clergy,  made  in  the  interests  of  their 
church.  Since  the  last  CEcumenical 
Council  has  proclaimed  the  new  dogma 
of  Papal  infallibility,  the  bishops  want 
to  discharge  all  teachers  and  professors, 
both  at  the  theological  seminaries  and 
universities,  who  are  unwilling  to  sub- 
scribe to  this  new  tenet  of  the  Roman 
Church.  The  Archbishop  of  Gnesen  and 
Posen  even  asked  for  the  names  of  all 
those  men  who  at  the  last  election  of 
members  for  the  German  Parliament  did 
not  vote  for  those  men  he  had  proposed 
as  candidates.  The  government  is  now 
bound  to  interfere,  but  nobody  can  tell 
how  this  coming  conflict  between  church 
and  state  will  be  decided. 

"  This  is  the  aspect  of  the  old  conti- 
nent. What  is  the  prospect  in  America, 
in  our  glorious  and  God-blessed  coun- 
try? Of  course,  religious  liberty,  in  the 
fullest  sense  of  the  word,  is  the  supreme 
law  of  the  land.  It  is  the  most  precious 
gem  in  the  diadem  of  our  republic,  it 
is  warranted  and  secured  by  our  con- 
stitution. 

"The  immortal  signers  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence ;  those  modern 
prophets  and  apostles  of  humanity  ;  those 
statesmen  who  thoroughly  appreciated 


694 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


the  bloody  lessons  of  past  history,  knew 
but  too  well  what  they  were  doing  when 
they  entirely  separated  church  and 
state,  and  ignored  all  sectarian  senti- 
ments in  the  inspired  documents  they 
bequeathed  to  their  descendants.  The 
denominational  peace  that  heretofore 
characterized  the  mighty  and  unequalled 
growth  of  the  young  republic  bears  tes- 
timony to  their  wisdom,  foresight,  and 
statesmanship. 

"  But,  alas  !  our  horizon,  too,  begins  to 
be  clouded.  The  harmony  that  hereto- 
fore prevailed  between  the  various 
churches  and  denominations  begins  to 
be  disturbed.  Then  we  had  in  the  last 
two  years  the  conventions  at  Pittsburg 
and  Philadelphia.  The  men  united  there 
meant  to  insert  God  in  our  constitution, 
as  we  have  him  already  on  our  coins, 
by  the  inscription,  '  In  God  we  trust.' 
They  intend  to  christianize  our  country, 
against  the  clear  and  emphatic  spirit  and 
letter  of  the  constitution.  And  I  must 
leave  it  to  the  learned  judge  of  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  the  United  States  who 
presided  over  those  meetings,  to  decide 
whether  this  future  Christian  country 
hereafter  shall  be  a  Catholic  or  a  Pro- 
testant country. 

"The  Rt>man  Catholic  press  and  pulpit 
are  not  slow  in  answering  this  question. 
With  praiseworthy  frankness  and  man- 
liness they  declare  the  intentions  of  their 
church.  Father  Hecker  says  :  '  In  fifteen 
years  we  will  take  this  country  and  build 
our  institutions  over  the  grave  of  Protes- 
tantism. .  .  .  There  is,  erelong,  to  be 
a  state  religion  in  this  country,  and  that 
state  religion  is  to  be  Roman  Catholic.' 
Bishop  O'Connor,  of  Pittsburg,  says : 
'  Religious  liberty  is  merely  endured 
until  the  opposite  can  be  carried  into 
effect  without  peril  to  the  Catholic  world.' 
The  Archbishop  of  St.  Louis  says:  'If 
the  Catholics  ever  gain,  which  they  surely 
will,  an  immense  numerical  majority, 
religious  freedom  in  this  country  will  be 
at  an  end.'  And  the  Pope  speaks  of  the 
'delirium  of  toleration,  and  asserts  the 
right  to  punish  criminals  in  the  order  of 
ideas.' 

"This  language  is  plain,  unequivocal, 
and  cannot  be  misinterpreted.  Still,  I 
am  not  an  alarmist.  I  have  too  much 
faith  in  the  sound  common  sense  of  the 
American  people  that  they  should  barter 
away  their  political  birthright  for  any 
theological  or  clerical  controversy.  They 
are  too  much  addicted  to  the  policy  of 


'  a  second  sober  thought,'  that,  after 
having  first  of  all  taught  the  human  race 
the  invaluable  blessings  of  religious  liber- 
ty, they  should  discard  them  just  now, 
when  the  whole  civilized  world  is  imi- 
tating the  glorious  example  set  by  our 
great  and  noble  sires. 

"But,  'vigilance  being  the  price  of 
liberty,'  in  the  face  of  this  assertion  it  is 
not  only  right,  but  an  imperative  duty,  to 
enlighten  ourselves  on  this  all-important 
subject,  so  that  we  may  take  our  choice, 
and  perform  our  duties  as  true,  loyal 
citizens  and  true,  loyal  Americans." 

This  is  very  much  to  the  purpose, 
and  if  it  shows  that  the  rabbi  is  no 
friend  of  Protestant  Christianity,  it 
shows  that  his  principal  hostility  is  to 
the  Catholic  Church,  as  the  body 
and  support  of  Christianity.  He  ex- 
ults, as  well  he  may,  over  the  falling 
away  from  the  church  of  the  old 
Catholic  governments  of  Europe,  for 
one  of  the  chief  instruments  in  ef- 
fecting that  apostasy  has  been  pre- 
cisely his  Hebrew  brethren,  the 
great  supporters  of  the  anti-Catholic 
revolution  of  modern  times ;  and  his 
slanders  on  the  Catholic  Church  are 
in  the  very  spirit  of  the  Evangelical 
Alliance,  even  to  the  false  charges  he 
brings  against  distinguished  indivi- 
dual Catholics.  The  assertion  that 
"  Father  Hecker  says,  '  In  fifteen 
years  we  will  take  this  country  and 
build  our  institutions  over  the  grave 
of  Protestantism,' "  as  that  other  as- 
sertion, "  There  is  or  ought  to  be  a 
state  religion  in  this  country,  and 
that  state  religion  is  to  be  Roman 
Catholic,' "  Father  Hecker  himself 
assures  us,  is  false.  He  never  did, 
nor  with  his  views  ever  could,  say 
anything  of  the  sort.  Bishop  O'Con- 
nor, late  of  Pittsburg,  never  did  and 
never  could  have  said,  "Religious 
liberty  is  merely  endured  until  the 
opposite  can  be  carried  into  effect 
without  peril  to  the  Catholic  world." 
We  happen  to  know  that  his  views 
were  and  are  very  different ;  and  if 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


695 


they  were  not,  he  is  too  shrewd  to 
commit  the  blunder  of  saying  any- 
thing like  what  is  falsely  attributed 
to  him,  or  to  disclose  such  an  ulterior 
purpose.  We  may  say  as  much  of 
the  sentiment  attributed  to  the  Arch- 
bishop of  St.  Louis.  The  arch- 
bishop never  uttered  or  entertained 
it.  Something  like  what  is  ascribed  to 
him  was  said,  many  years  ago,  by 
Mr.  Bakewell,  in  The  Shepherd  of  the 
Valley,  a  paper  published  at  St. 
Louis,  but  he  was  assailed  by  the 
Catholic  press  all  over  the  country, 
and,  if  he  did  not  retract  it,  at  least 
endeavored  to  explain  it  away,  and 
to  show  that  he  meant  no  such  thing. 
The  archbishop  never  said  it,  and 
was  no  more  responsible  for  it  than 
was  the  Rabbi  Lilienthal  himself. 
No  Catholic  prelate  and  no  distin- 
guished Catholic  layman  even  has 
ever  proposed  any  amendment  to 
the  constitution  in  regard  to  the  re- 
lations of  church  and  state  in  this 
country,  or  has  expressed  any  wish  to 
have  the  existing  constitutional  re- 
lations changed,  or  in  any  respect 
modified.  The  church  is  satisfied 
with  them,  and  only  asks  that  they 
be  faithfully  observed.  She  opposes 
the  separation  of  church  and  state 
in  the  sense  of  releasing  the  state 
from  all  moral  and  religious  obliga- 
tions, for  that  would  imply  the  sub- 
jection of  the  church  to  the  state, 
and  prove  the  grave  of  religious  free- 
dom and  independence,  which  she 
always  and  everywhere  asserts  with 
all  her  energy  against  kings,  empe- 
rors, nobilities,  and  peoples — against 
Jew,  Pagan,  Mussulman,  schismatic, 
and  heretic,  and  it  is  for  this  that 
they  conspire  against  her  and  seek 
her  destruction. 

The  rabbi  says,  "First  the  state, 
then  the  church,"  which  is  as  absurd 
as  to  say,  "  First  man,  then  God." 
The  state  represents  simply  a  human 
authority,  while  the  church,  or  the 


synagogue  even,  represents — the 
first  for  the  Catholic,  the  second 
for  the  Jew — the  sovereignty  of  God, 
or  the  divine  authority  in  human 
affairs,  and  the  rabbi  in  his  doctrine 
is  false  alike  to  Moses  and  to  Christ, 
and  as  little  of  an  orthodox  Jew  as  he 
is  of  a  Christian  believer.  Yet  he 
agrees  perfectly  with  Judge  Hurlbut 
and  Dr.  Bellows  in  asserting  the  su- 
premacy of  the  state  or  secular  order, 
and  the  subordination  of  the  spiritual 
order.  We  do  not  know  whether  the 
rabbi  means  to  approve  or  censure 
the  assumption,  by  Peter  the  Great, 
of  the  headship  of  the  Russian  Church 
and  his  government  of  it  by  the  sword ; 
but  Peter  only  acted  on  the  principle, 
"  First  the  state,  then  the  church," 
and  the  slavery  of  the  Russian  Church 
to  the  state  is  only  an  inevitable  con- 
sequence of  that  principle  or  maxim. 
The  Russian  Church,  governed  by 
the  Holy  Synod,  itself  governed  by 
the  Czar,  presents  a  lively  image  of 
the  abject  position  religion  would  be 
compelled  to  hold  in  every  country 
if  the  doctrine  of  the  total  separation 
of  church  and  state,  and  the  inde- 
pendence and  supremacy  of  the  state, 
advocated  by  one  or  another  of  the 
three  men  we  are  criticising,  were  to 
prevail  and  to  be  embodied  in  the 
civil  code. 

But  let  this  pass.  It  is  clear  that 
the  rabbi,  and  therefore  the  Jews,  so 
far  as  he  represents  them,  are  to 
be  included  in  the  great  conspiracy 
against  the  liberty  and  equality  of 
Catholics,  or  religious  liberty  recog- 
nized and  guaranteed  by  the  Ameri- 
can states.  Catholics  are  to  be  put 
down  and  their  church  suppressed  by 
the  strong  arm  of  power.  To  pre- 
pare the  American  people  for  this 
proposed  revolution  in  the  American 
system,  this  suppression  of  religious 
liberty,  a  system  of  gross  misrepre- 
sentation of  Catholic  faith  and  prac- 
tice, of  misstatements,  calumnious 


696 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


charges,  and  downright  lying  re- 
specting the  church,  is  resorted  to  and 
persisted  in  as  it  was  by  the  reform- 
ers in  the  sixteenth  century.  "  Lie, 
lie  stoutly,"  Voltaire  said,  though  it 
was  said  long  before  him;  "some- 
thing will  stick."  We  do  not  like  to 
say  this,  but  truth  will  not  permit  us 
to  soften  our  statement  or  to  use 
milder  terms.  There  is  nothing  too 
harsh  or  too  false  for  the  anti-Catho- 
lic press  and  the  anti-Catholic  preach- 
ers and  lecturers  to  say  of  our  holy 
religion,  and  nothing  can  be  more 
unlike  the  Catholic  Church  than  their 
pretended  representations  of  her — too 
unlike,  indeed,  even  to  be  called  cari- 
catures, for  they  catch  not  one  of  her 
features.  Even  when  the  anti-Catho- 
lic writers  and  speakers  tell  facts  about 
Catholics  or  in  the  history  of  the 
church,  they  so  tell  them  as  to  dis- 
tort the  truth  and  to  produce  the 
effect  of  falsehood,  or  draw  infer- 
ences from  them  wholly  unwarranted. 
We  must,  then,  be  excused  if  we 
sometimes  call  the  systematic  misre- 
presentation of  our  religion,  our 
church,  and  ourselves  by  its  true 
and  expressive  name,  even  though 
it  may  seem  harsh  and  impolite. 
The  batteries  they  discharge  against 
the  church  are  not  to  be  silenced 
by  bouquets  of  roses. 

The  public  has  become  too  well 
informed  as  to  Catholic  doctrines 
and  usages  to  permit  the  repetition, 
with  much  effect,  of  many  of  the  old 
charges  and  calumnies.  Only  the 
very  ignorant  can  be  made  to  be- 
lieve that  the  church  is  the  Baby- 
lonian sorceress  who  makes  the  na- 
tions drunk  with  the  wine  of  her  for- 
nications ;  that  she  is  "  the  mystery 
of  iniquity ";  that  the  Pope  is  "  the 
man  of  sin,"  or  Antichrist ;  that  our 
nunneries  are  brothels,  and  their 
vaults  are  filled  with  the  skeletons 
of  murdered  infants,  of  which  Luther 
.  discoursed  to  his  friends  with  so  much 


unction  in  his  Tischreden  over 
his  pot  of  beer.  These  things  are  a 
little  out  of  date,  and  do  not  gain 
the  ready  credence  they  once  did. 
The  age  is  all  for  liberty,  for  progress, 
for  enlightenment;  so  the  anti-Catho- 
lic tactics  change  to  suit  the  times. 
James  I.  of  England,  as  did  the  politi- 
cians of  France  opposed  to  the  Ligue, 
charged  the  church  with  being  hostile 
to  monarchy  and  the  divine  right  of 
kings.  The  charge  now  is  that  she 
is  opposed  to  republicanism,  and  de- 
nies the  divine  right  of  the  people, 
or,  more  strictly,  of  the  demagogues. 
She  is  said  to  be  a  spiritual  despotism, 
the  foster-mother  of  ignorance  and 
superstition,  the  enemy  of  science 
and  of  progress,  of  intelligence  and 
liberty,  individual  and  social,  civil 
and  religious.  Her  religious  houses 
are  dens  of  cruelty  and  tyranny,  and 
if  she  is  permitted  to  continue  and 
spread  her  peculiar  institutions  over 
this  country,  American  democracy 
will  be  destroyed,  and  American  lib- 
erty be  but  a  memory,  etc.,  etc. 

The  cry  is  not  now,  the  truth  is  in 
danger,  the  Gospel  is  in  danger,  reli- 
gion is  in  danger,  but  the  republic  is 
in  danger,  democracy  is  in  danger, 
liberty  is  in  danger.  The  church, 
the  moment  she  gets  the  power,  will, 
it  is  argued,  abolish  our  political  sys- 
tem, establish  a  monarchy,  abolish 
religious  liberty,  and  cut  the  throats 
of  all  heretics  and  infidels,  or  send 
them  to  the  stake  to  be  consumed  in 
a  fire  of  green  wood,  as  Calvin  did 
Michael  Servetus.  And  there  are  not 
wanting  fools  enough  to  believe  it  or 
dishonest  men  enough  to  pretend  to 
believe  it  when  they  do  not,  though  it 
is  evident  that  the  republic  is  likely 
to  pass  away,  if  things  go  on  in  the 
political  world  as  they  are  now  going, 
and  be  succeeded  by  anarchy  or  a 
military  despotism  long  before  the 
majority  of  the  people  will  cease  to 
war  against  the  church  as  anti-demo- 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


697 


cratic.  But  the  point  to  be  noted 
here  is  that  all  these  charges  assume 
the  supremacy  of  the  secular  order, 
and  allege  not  that  the  church  is  false, 
is  not  the  church  of  God,  but  that 
she  is  hostile  to  democracy  or  demo- 
cratic institutions;  in  other  words, 
that  she  does  not  conform  to  popu- 
lar opinion,  for  democracy  is  nothing 
but  popular  opinion  erected  into  law. 
Now,  as  we  do  not  believe  that  popu- 
lar opinion,  inconstant  as  the  wind, 
is  infallible,  or  that  the  secular  order 
is  supreme,  we  are  not  sure  that  it 
would  be  a  fatal  objection  to  the 
church  even  if  what  is  alleged  against 
her  were  well  founded.  The  argu- 
ments against  the  church  of  this  sort 
are  drawn  from  too  low  a  level  to 
command  any  intelligent  respect,  and 
they  are  all  based  on  a  false  assump- 
tion. Politics  are  not  higher  than 
religion;  the  state  is  not  above  the 
church ;  the  secular  order  is  not  above 
the  spiritual;  and  it  is  only  atheism 
that  can  assert  the  contrary.  To  a 
terrible  extent,  the  supremacy  of  the 
secular  is  the  doctrine  of  our  age  and 
country ;  but  Catholics  hold  it  to  be 
both  false  and  dangerous,  as  incom- 
patible with  the  liberty  and  indepen- 
dence of  religion,  with  natural  morali- 
ty, and  even  with  the  existence  of 
natural  society,  as  it  is  with  the  sove- 
reignty of  God.  It  is  the  doctrine 
of  the  European  revolutionists  and 
communists,  and  is  sapping  the  life 
and  threatening  the  very  existence 
of  our  American  republicanism — 
has  already  reduced  our  government 
to  be  little  else  than  an  agency  for 
promoting  the  private  interests  of 
business  men,  bankers,  manufactur- 
ers, and  railroad  corporations.  Our 
elections  are  becoming  a  wretched 
farce,  for  the  monopolists  govern 
the  government,  let  what  party  may 
succeed  at  the  polls.  The  State  gov- 
ernments cannot  control  them,  and 
the  General  Government  just  as  little. 


We  will  not  so  dishonor  the  church 
or  insult  religion  as  to  undertake  to 
refute  these  popular  charges  against 
her,  and  to  prove  that  her  authority 
is  not  incompatible  with  the  existence 
and  salutary  working  of  republican 
government.  The  charges  are  ad- 
dressed to  ignorance  and  prejudice  ; 
we  take  higher  ground,  and  maintain 
that  civil  society  can  no  more  dis- 
pense with  the  church,  than  the  body 
with  the  soul.  The  secular  is  insuffi- 
cient for  itself,  and  needs  the  inform- 
ing life  and  vigor  of  the  spiritual. 
The  political  history  of  France  since 
1682,  especially  since  1789,  proves 
it  to  all  men  who  are  capable  of  trac- 
ing effects  to  their  causes.  There  is 
no  form  of  government  more  in  need 
of  the  church  than  the  republican, 
founded  on  the  modern  doctrine  of 
popular  sovereignty,  and  the  maxim, 
the  majority  must  rule.  The  habit 
of  regarding  power  as  emanating  from 
the  mass,  as  derived  from  low  to 
high,  tends  itself  to  debase  the  mind, 
to  destroy  that  respect  for  law,  and 
that  reverence  for  authority,  without 
which  no  government  performs  in  a 
peaceable  and  orderly  way  its  legiti- 
mate functions.  The  American  peo- 
ple see  nothing  divine,  nothing  sa- 
cred and  inviolable,  in  their  govern- 
ment ;  they  regard  law  as  an  emana- 
tion of  their  own  will,  as  their  own 
creation,  and  what  creator  can  feel 
himself  bound  to  reverence  and  obey 
his  own  creature  ?  We  need  the 
church  to  consecrate  the  government, 
to  give  the  law  a  spiritual  sanction, 
to  create  in  us  habits  of  reverence, 
of  submission,  and  docility,  and  to 
impress  us  with  the  conviction  that 
civil  obedience  is  a  moral  duty,  and 
that  we  must  be  loyal  to  legitimate 
authority  for  conscience'  sake.  We 
need  the  church  to  teach  us  that  in 
obeying  the  laws  not  repugnant  to 
the  divine  law,  we  are  obeying  not 
men,  which  is  slavery,  but  God,  which 


698 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


is  freedom,  and  the  very  principle  of 
all  freedom.  We  need  her  to  create 
in  us  high  and  holy  aspirations,  to  pro- 
duce in  us  those  high  and  disinterest- 
ed virtues,  without  which  civil  gov- 
ernment is  impotent  for  good,  and 
powerful  only  for  evil.  No  man  who 
believes  not  in  the  sovereignty  of  truth, 
in  the  supremacy  of  right,  and  feels  it 
not  his  duty  to  obey  it  at  all  hazards, 
has  the  temper  demanded  in  a  repub- 
lic, and  only  the  church  can  create  it. 

A  government  built  on  interest, 
however  enlightened,  on  sentiment, 
however  charming,  or  public  opinion, 
however  just,  is  a  house  built  on  the 
sand.  It  rests  on  nothing  fixed  and 
permanent,  is  without  stability  or- ef- 
ficiency, and  tends  always  to  fall  and 
bury  the  people  in  its  ruins.  We  see 
this  in  our  own  political  history.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  find  a  govern- 
ment more  corrupt  than  ours,  that 
taxes  the  people  more  heavily,  or  that 
does  less  for  the  public  good,  the  ad- 
vantages we  had  at  the  start  being 
taken  into  the  account.  The  good 
that  has  been  done,  the  great  things  ac- 
complished, have  been  accomplished 
by  the  people  in  spite  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  our  record  as  a  nation  can 
hardly  put  that  of  Prussia  or  Russia 
to  shame. 

We  do  not  choose  to  dwell  on  this 
aspect  of  the  case,  although  much 
more  might  be  said.  We  love  our 
country,  have  been  bred  to  love  repub- 
licanism, and  have  the  success  of  the 
American  experiment  at  heart.  The 
evils  which  the  liberals  charge  to  the 
union  of  church  and  state,  and  hold 
the  church  responsible  for,  spring,  as 
every  impartial  and  intelligent  student 
of  history  knows,  not  from  the  union 
but  from  the  separation  of  church  and 
state,  and  the  unremitting  efforts  of  the 
civil  power  to  usurp  the  functions 
of  the  spiritual  power,  and  to  make 
the  church  the  accomplice  of  its  po- 
licy. The  terrible  struggles  of  the 


pope  and  emperor  in  the  middle 
ages  had  this  cause  and  no  other. 
The  pope  simply  sought  to  maintain 
against  the  emperor  the  freedom  and 
independence  of  the  church,  the 
kingdom  of  God  on  earth,  that  is, 
true  religious  liberty.  It  is  to  the 
partial,  in  some  countries  the  com- 
plete, triumph  of  the  secular  over  the 
spiritual,  that  we  must  attribute  the 
unsettled,  disorderly,  and  revolution- 
ary state  of  contemporary  society 
throughout  the  civilized  world,  the 
hatred  or  contempt  of  authority  both 
divine  and  human,  the  depression  of 
religion,  the  decline  of  intellectual 
greatness,  the  substitution  of  opinion 
for  faith,  a  sickly  sentimentalism  for 
a  manly  and  robust  piety,  free-love- 
ism  or  divorce  ad  libitum  for  Chris- 
tian marriage,  and  the  general  abase- 
ment of  character. 

The  evils  are  very  real,  but  the 
more  perfect  divorce  of  the  state 
from  the  church  would  not  cure  or 
lessen,  but  only  aggravate  and  intensi- 
fy them;  nay,  would  to  all  human 
foresight  render  them  incurable.  The 
state  without  religion  or  moral  obli- 
gation is  impotent  to  redress  social 
evils  or  to  elevate  society,  and  Pro- 
testantism, which  holds  from  the 
people,  and  depends  for  its  very 
breath  of  life  on  popular  opinion,  is 
no  less  impotent  than  the  state.  Pro- 
testantism, having  retained  some  ele- 
ments of  religion  from  the  church, 
may,  we  readily  concede,  do  some- 
thing to  retard  the  fall  of  a  nation 
that  accepts  it,  but  when  a  Protes- 
tant nation  has  once  fallen,  become 
morally  and  politically  corrupt,  rot- 
ten to  the  core,  it  has  no  power  to 
restore  it ;  for  it  has  no  principle  of 
life  to  infuse  into  it  above  and  be- 
yond that  which  it  already  has.  Rest- 
ing on  human  authority,  holding  from 
the  nation  or  people,  its  life  is  only 
the  national  life  itself;  and,  of  course, 
when  the  national  life  grows  weak, 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


699 


its  own  life  grows  weak,  and  when 
the  national  life  is  extinct,  its  own 
life  becomes  extinct  with  it.  Cut 
off  from  the  church  of  God,  and 
therefore  from  Him  who  is  "  the  way, 
the  truth,  and  the  life,"  it  cannot 
draw  new  supplies  of  life  from  the 
fountain  of  Life  itself,  with  which 
to  revive  and  reinvigorate  the  fallen 
nation. 

This  is  wherefore  there  is  no  hope 
for  our  republic  under  Protestantism. 
There  has  been  a  sad  falling-off  in 
the  virtue,  the  honesty,  the  integrity, 
the  chastity,  and  public  spirit  of  our 
people  in  the  last  fifty  years.  The 
old  habits  formed  under  Catholic  dis- 
cipline and  influences  are  wearing  out, 
if  not  worn  out ;  intellectual  culture 
may  be  more  general,  though  even 
that  may  be  questioned,  but  it  is  less 
generous,  thorough,  and  profound; 
meeting-houses  may  be  increased  in 
greater  proportion  than  the  popula- 
tion itself,  but  theology  is  less  studi- 
ed— is  less  intellectual,  less  scientific, 
and  is  more  superficial ;  and  religion 
has  less  hold  on  the  conscience,  and 
less  influence  on  life,  public,  private,  or 
domestic ;  and  we  may  say,  generally, 
that  in  all  save  what  belongs  to  the 
material  order,  our  republic  has  a 
downward  tendency.  Now,  since 
Protestantism  has  nothing  more  or 
higher  than  the  republic,  and  no  re- 
cuperative power,  how,  then,  can  it 
possibly  arrest  this  downward  ten- 
dency and  turn  it  upward,  and  save 
the  nation?  Archimedes  wanted 
something  whereon  to  stand  out- 
side of  the  world  in  order  to  move  it. 
This  Protestantism  has  not,  for  it 
rests  on  the  world,  and  has  nothing 
above  the  world  or  outside  of  it,  and  in 
fact  is  only  the  world  itself.  To  eve- 
ry one  who  udnerstands  the  great 
law  of  mechanic  force,  which  has  its 
analogue  in  the  great  principle  of 
moral  or  spiritual  dynamics,  it  is 
clear  that  the  hope  of  the  republic  is 


not  and  cannot  be  in  Protestantism, 
and  there  is  just  as  little  in  the  civil 
order,  for  that,  divorced  from  the 
church  and  without  any  moral  obli- 
gation, is  precisely  that  which  needs 
saving.  The  union  of  the  various 
Protestant  sects  in  one  organic  body, 
if  it  were  possible,  would  avail  no- 
thing ;  for  the  whole  would  be  only 
the  sum  of  the  parts,  and  the  parts 
having  no  supermundane  life,  the 
whole  could  have  none. 

Hence  we  say  that  whatever  hope 
there  is  for  our  republic  is  in  the 
growth  and  predominance  of  the  Ca- 
tholic Church  in  the  minds  and  hearts 
of  the  American  people ;  and  there  is 
a  well-grounded  hope  for  it  only  in 
the  prospect  that  she  may  before  it 
is  too  late  become  the  church  of  the 
great  majority.  The  church  has 
what  Archimedes  wanted,  and  Pro- 
testantism has  not — the  whereon  to 
stand  outside  and  above  the  world. 
She  lives  a  life  which  is  not  deriv- 
ed from  the  life  of  the  world,  and  is 
in  communion  with  the  Source  of 
life  itself,  whence  she  may  be  con- 
stantly drawing  fresh  supplies,  and 
infusing  into  the  nation  a  life  above 
the  national  life  in  its  best  estate, 
and  which,  infused  into  the  nation, 
becomes  for  it  a  recuperative  energy, 
and  enables  it  to  arrest  its  downward 
tendency,  and  to  ascend  to  a  new 
and  higher  life.  It  is  not  without  a 
reason,  then,  founded  in  the  nature  of 
things,  that  we  tell  our  countrymen 
that  Protestantism  may  ruin  the  re- 
public, but  cannot  save  it,  any  more 
than  it  can  the  soul  of  the  individual ; 
and  that,  instead  of  crying  out  against 
the  church  like  madmen,  as  hostile 
to  the  republic,  they  should  rather  turn 
their  eyes  toward  her  as  their  only 
source  of  help,  and  learn  that  she 
can  and  will  save  the  republic,  if 
they  will  only  allow  her  to  do  it. 

Yet  we  urge  not  this  as  the  motive 
for  accepting  the  teaching  of  the 


7oo 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


church  and  submitting  to  her  autho- 
rity and  discipline.  Our  Lord  says 
to  us,  "  Seek  first  the  kingdom  of 
God  and  his  justice,  and  all  these 
things  shall  be  added  unto  you,"  but 
he  does  not  bid  us  or  permit  us  to 
seek  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his 
justice  for  the  sake  of  "  these  things," 
or  the  adjicienda  ;  he  forbids  us  to 
be  solicitous  for  them,  since  it  is  for 
them  that  the  heathen  are  solicitous. 
The  only  motive  for  a  man  to  be- 
come a  Catholic,  to  believe  what  she 
teaches  and  to  do  what  she  com- 
mands, is  that  she  is  the  kingdom  of 
God  on  earth,  and  that  it  is  only  in  so 
doing  that  he  can  possess  "his  justice," 
please  God,  or  attain  to  eternal  life. 
Christ  did  not  come,  as  a  temporal 
prince,  to  found — as  the  carnal  Jews, 
misinterpreting  the  prophecies,  expect- 
ed— an  earthly  kingdom,  or  to  create 
an  earthly  paradise;  but  he  came  as 
a  spiritual  prince  to  establish  the  reign 
of  his  Father  on  earth  in  all  human 
affairs,  and  over  all  men  and  nations, 
and  whatever  temporal  good  is  se- 
cured is  not  the  end  or  reason  of  his 
kingdom,  but  is  simply  incidental  to 
it.  It  is  no  reason  why  I  should  or 
should  not  be  a  Catholic  because  the 
church  favors  or  does  not  favor  one 
or  another  particular  theory  or  con- 
stitution of  civil  government,  but  the 
fact  that  she  does  not  favor  a  parti- 
cular form  of  civil  polity,  if  it  be  a  fact, 
is  sufficient  reason  why  I  should  not 
favor  it,  for  it  proves  that  such  form 
is  repugnant  to  the  sovereignty  of 
God  and  the  supremacy  of  his  law. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  the 
church  has  never  condemned  any  par- 
ticular form  of  civil  polity  or  erected 
one  form  or  another  into  a  Catholic 
dogma,  and  a  man  may  be  a  mo- 
narchist, a  republican,  or  a  democrat, 
as  he  pleases,  and  at  the  same  time 
be  a  good  and  irreproachable  Catho- 
lic, if  he  hold  the  political  power 
subordinate  to  the  divine  sovereignty. 


The  church  is  necessary  to  sustain 
a  republican  form  of  government, 
but  it  is  also  necessary  to  sustain  any 
other  form,  as  a  wise,  just,  and  effi- 
cient civil  government.  The  error  of 
those  we  are  combating  is  not  in 
that  they  are  democrats  or  anti-de- 
mocrats, but  in  holding  that  the  state 
or  secular  order  is  sufficient  for  itself, 
can  stand  of  itself  without  the  aid 
of  religion  or  the  church,  has  no  need 
of  the  spiritual,  and  has  in  fact  the  right 
to  brush  religion  aside  as  an  imperti- 
nent intermeddler  whenever  it  comes 
in  its  way,  or  seeks  to  dictate  or 
influence  its  policy.  This  is  a  gross 
error,  condemned  by  all  religion, 
all  philosophy,  and  all  experience. 
It  is  the  old  epicurean  error  that  ex- 
cludes the  divine  authority  from  the 
direction  or  control  of  human  affairs, 
and  in  its  delirium  sings, 

"  Let  the  gods  go  to  sleep  up  above  us." 

It  is  at  bottom  pure  atheism,  no- 
thing more,  nothing  less.  It  is  a 
pure  absurdity.  Can  the  creation 
stand  without  the  creator  ?  Can  the 
contingent  subsist  without  the  neces- 
sary ?  Can  the  body  live  and  per- 
form its  functions  without  the  soul 
which  is  its  principle  of  life ;  the  de- 
pendent without  that  on  which  it  de- 
pends ?  In  the  whole  history  of  the 
world,  you  will  not  find  an  instance 
of  a  purely  atheistical  state,  or  a 
state  held  to  be  completely  divorced 
from  the  spiritual  order.  There  is 
no  instance  in  all  history  of  a  state 
without  some  sort  of  religion,  even 
an  established  religion,  or  religion 
which  the  state  recognizes  as  its  su- 
preme law,  and  does  its  best  or  worst 
to  enforce.  We  here,  as  well  as  in 
England,  as  well  as  at  any  time  in 
any  European  country,  have  an  es- 
tablished religion  which  the  law  pro- 
tects and  enforces  on  all  its  citizens, 
only  it  is  a  mutilated  religion,  a  reli- 
gion without  dogmas,  and  called  mo- 


The  Secular  not  Supreme. 


701 


rality.  If  not  so,  whence  is  it  the  law 
punishes  murder  or  arson,  and  forbids 
polygamy,  or  the  promiscuous  inter- 
course of  the  sexes  ?  Even  Jacobins 
erect  their  jacobinism  into  a  religion, 
and  make  it  obligatory  on  the  state 
to  persecute,  to  exterminate  all  who 
dare  oppose  it.  Have  we  not  seen 
it  despoil  the  Holy  See  of  its  inde- 
pendence and  possessions,  confiscate 
the  goods  of  the  church,  exile  holy 
bishops  from  their  sees  and  their 
country  in  Italy,  and  within  a  few 
weeks  shoot  down  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris  and  a  large  number  of  priests 
and  religious,  suspend  public  wor-' 
ship,  desecrate  and  plunder  the 
churches,  and  banish  all  religion  but 
their  jacobinism  from  the  schools  ? 
No  state  tolerates  any  religion  hos- 
tile to  its  own  established  religion, 
and  the  most  intolerant  and  cruel 
persecutors  in  the  world  are  precise- 
ly those  who  clamor  loudest  for  re- 
ligious liberty. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  com- 
plete divorce  of  church  and  state 
practicable  in  any  country  on  earth. 
The  only  question  is,  Shall  the  state 
be  informed  and  directed  by  the  in- 
fallible and  holy  church  of  God,  or 
by  the  synagogue  of  Satan  ?  No 
man  who  is  at  all  competent  to  pass 


a  judgment  on  the  question  but  agrees 
with  the  Syllabus  in  condemning  not 
the  distinction,  but  the  separation  of 
church  and  state ;  but  the  forms  of 
the  union  of  the  two  powers,  whose 
harmonious  action  is  necessary  to  the 
normal  state  of  society,  may  vary 
according  to  circumstances.  In  coun- 
tries where  the  state  refuses  to  recog- 
nize frankly  and  fully  the  freedom 
and  independence  of  the  spiritual 
order,  it  may  be  necessary  to  regulate 
the  relation  of  church  and  state  by 
concordats;  in  others,  where  the 
state  recognizes  the  independence  of 
the  spiritual  order,  and  holds  itself 
bound  to  protect  the  rights  of  the 
religion  adopted  by  its  citizens,  as  hith- 
erto with  us,  no  concordats  are  ne- 
cessary, for  the  state  does  not  claim 
any  competence  in  spirituals.  In 
this  country  the  relation  between  the 
two  powers  has,  with  a  few  excep- 
tions, been  satisfactory,  and  the 
church  has  been  free.  But  there  is 
on  foot  a  formidable  conspiracy  against 
her  freedom,  and  it  is  beginning  to 
be  maintained  pretty  determinedly 
that  the  majority  of  the  people,  being 
Protestant,  and  the  people  being  the 
state,  have  the  right  and  the  duty  as 
the  state  to  sustain  Protestantism, 
and  outlaw  and  suppress  the  church. 


702 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  SpanisJi  America. 


DRAMATIC   MORALISTS   IN   SPANISH   AMERICA. 


THE  truth  is  slowly  dawning,  at 
least  to  curious  minds,  that  the  peo- 
ple of  the  southern  half  of  our  New 
World  have  tastes  not  dissimilar  to 
our  own.  Indeed,  they  seek  other 
arts  than  those  of  revolution,  and, 
here  and  there,  have  other  stages 
and  actors  than  those  which  repre- 
sent the  pronunciamiento,  with  all  its 
malicious  bombast  and  insignificant 
"  sound  and  fury."  We  can  count 
poets,  novelists,  painters,  sculptors, 
scientists  in  the  ranks  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  of  our  nearest  sis- 
ter republic.  Cuba,  too,  rejoices  in 
the  genius  of  her  philosophic  scholar, 
Caballero  de  la  Luz,  and  of  her  po- 
ets, Heredia  and  Gertrudiz  de  Avel- 
laneda,  with  the  same  spirit  which 
Mexico  brings  to  her  admiration  of 
the  scientific  versatility  of  Siguenza, 
the  quaint  ideality  of  Sor  Juana  Inez, 
and  the  literary  culture  of  Carpio 
and  Pesado.  Nevertheless,  such  facts 
as  these  have  aided  but  little  in  form- 
ing the  common  estimate  of  Spanish- 
American  peoples,  who  are  to  some 
of  us  scarcely  more  than  a  Bedouin 
rabble  fighting  problematic  wild- 
beasts  in  the  shape  of  pronouncers, 
and  struggling  through  clouds  of  de- 
sert-dust and  battle-smoke  to  the 
light  of  freedom.  That  great  rude 
reserve  of  race,  the  Indians,  without 
which  the  business  of  one-half  the 
continent  could  not  be  carried  on, 
seems  to  be  swept  out  of  our  moral 
consideration  as  with  a  broom ;  yet 
we  must  think  hopefully  of  a  race 
which  has  produced  an  artist  so  ex- 
traordinary as  Cabrera  and  a  ruler 
so  enduring  and  persistent  as  Juarez 
—hopefully,  at  all  events,  of  their 
mere  abilities,  if  mother  church  does 


not  teach  us  to  look  with  a  shrewder 
and  kindlier  eye  upon  their  moral 
capabilities.  In  more  than  one  coun- 
try of  Spanish  America  we  find  In- 
dians among  presidents,  judges,  gov- 
ernors, congressmen,  writers,  artists; 
and  this  being  the  case,  historically 
or  actually,  why  should  it  be  a 
matter  of  surprise  that  Spanish  Ame- 
rica, with  whatever  Old  World  cul- 
ture she  may  possess  in  union  with 
native  aptitude,  should  have  some 
claims  upon  our  attention  on  the 
score  of  taste  and  intelligence  ?  Part 
of  these  claims  we  propose  to  set 
forth. 

The  present  writer  has  sat  in  the 
orderly  theatres  of  Vera  Cruz  and 
Mexico,  and  seen  performances  sub- 
stantially as  good  as  those  of  our 
northern  capitals.  The  Zarztielas,  or 
operettas,  of  Barbieriand  Gatzambide 
were  as  pleasant  in  1868-69  to  their 
hearers  in  the  southern  republic  as 
the  French  comic  opera  to  New 
Yorkers,  and  nevertheless  seemed  de- 
cent and  spirited ;  besides,  the  Mexi- 
cans had  the  good  fortune  to  enjoy 
Gatzambide's  personal  direction  of 
his  Zarzuelas,  and  Gatzambide  (now 
deceased)  was  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar musicians  of  Spain.  Another  ce- 
lebrity the  Mexicans  honored  in  the 
person  of  Jose  Valero,  a  gentleman- 
like Spanish  actor,  whose  superior  in 
versatile  genius  as  tragedian  and  co- 
median it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
anywhere.  Entertainments  were 
plentiful  in  Moctezuma's  city,  though 
subsisting,  so  to  speak,  upon  dimin- 
ished rations.  Round  about  all  these 
flickering  pleasures  flowed  the  strange 
dark  tide  of  Mexican  life — its  ragged 
multitude,  its  concealed  miseries,  its 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


703 


settled  and  common  melancholy,  not 
to  be  dissipated  by  any  class  of  illu- 
sions, not  to  be  shaken  off  in  a  day, 
or  a  year,  or  any  brief  term  of  years. 
Nevertheless,  the  misfortunes  of  a 
war-worn  people  found  as  tasteful 
and  respectable  a  solace  as  their 
theatres  could  afford.  Their  scholars 
were  even  encouraged  to  revive  and 
celebrate  some  ancient  glories  of  the 
Mexican  stage;  and  at  the  opening 
of  a  season  they  crowned  the  bust 
of  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  Spanish 
drama,  whom  with  reason  they  re- 
gard as  among  the  greatest  of  the 
small  band  of  very  eminent  Mexi- 
cans. This  laurelled  bust  was  but 
one  of  a  number  to  be  seen  in  the 
various  theatres,  in  several  instances 
perpetuating  the  memory  of  Mexico's 
own  dramatic  authors.  On  the  oc- 
casion referred  to,  poems  by  well- 
known  poets — and,  among  the  rest, 
if  the  writer  remembers  correctly, 
an  eloquent  composition  by  the  high- 
ly-esteemed blind  poet,  Juan  Valle 
— preluded  the  revival  of  that  cele- 
brated comedy,  La  Verdad  Sospecho- 
sa,  or,  The  Truth  Suspected. 

JUAN   RUIZ   DE   ALARCON. 

The  author  of  this  play  was  Alar- 
con,  that  thoughtful  writer  who, 
on  the  Spanish  stage,  ranks  with 
Lope,  Calderon,  Moreto,  and  Tirso. 
Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  those 
who  doubt  whether  any  good  can 
come  out  of  Mexico,  he  was  born 
and  bred  in  that  mysterious  country. 
What  his  countrymen  do  not  know 
of  their  great  artist,  Cabrera,  they 
are  able  to  tell  of  their  chief  literary 
glory — namely,  the  place  and  date 
of  his  baptism.  Documents  found 
in  the  royal  university  of  Mexico 
established  the  several  facts  that  Juan 
Ruiz  de  Alarcon  y  Mendoza  was 
baptized  in  that  city  on  the  2d  day 
of  October,  1572,  and  received  the 


grade  of  licentiate  or  lawyer  from 
the  university.  It  was  for  some  time 
asserted  that  he  was  born  at  Tasco 
(for  whose  church  Cabrera  is  said  to 
have  painted  extraordinary  works) ; 
but  Chalco,  not  far  from  the  capi- 
tal, has  also  laid  claim  to  the  honor 
of  his  birth.  He  is  represented  as 
short,  ugly,  and  humpbacked.  To 
improve  his  fortunes,  he  sought  the 
literary  life  of  Madrid,  but  his  first 
efforts  were  deemed  of  little  import- 
ance. By  the  year  1621  he  had 
written  eight  acted  comedies,  of 
which  Las  Paredes  Oyen  (The  Walls 
Hear)  is  esteemed  the  best,  as  also 
one  of  the  finest  in  any  language. 
In  spite  of  his  physical  imperfections 
his  genius  won  him  admirers,  socially 
as  well  as  otherwise.  In  1628,  he 
became  clerk  to  the  Council  of  the 
Indies,  and  held  his  office  till  his 
death  in  1639;  so  that  it  seems  our 
author  was  a  contemporary  of  Shake- 
speare, Webster,  Jonson,  and  other 
great  lights  of  the  English  drama. 
His  comedies  are  lauded  as  forming 
a  system  of  practical  philosophy,  inas- 
much as  they  give  a  delightful  veri- 
fication of  the  proverbial  wisdom  of 
his  time,  and  preach  capital  sermons 
from  common  texts.  "  Luck  and 
Labor,"  "  The  World's  Favors,"  «  No 
Evil  that  does  not  come  for  Good," 
"  Before  you  Marry  see  what  you 
are  about,"  "  The  Truth  made  Sus- 
picious," are  the  suggestive  titles  of 
some  of  his  dramas,  which  appear 
to  have  lost  nothing  of  thejr  pecu- 
liar excellence  by  pointing  morals. 
It  was  Alarcon  who  said : 

To  kill  an  enemy  is  argument 

Of  fearing  him  ;  but  to  despise  and  spare  him 

Is  greater  chastisement,  for  while  he  lives 

He  is  a  witness  of  his  own  dcfr at. 

He  that  kills,  victory  abbreviates, 

And  he  that  pardons  makes  it  the  more  great, 

As  meanwhile  that  the  conquered  lives 

The  conqueror  goes  on  conquering. 

To  give  to  comedy  a  conscience 
and  a  purpose  is  the  distinguishing 


704 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


design  of  Alarcon ;  but,  while  the 
public  of  Madrid  never  failed  to  per- 
ceive the  moral  of  his  humor,  they 
could  yet  heartily  laugh  at  the  wit 
of  his  dialogues  and  the  genuine 
comicality  of  his  situations.  In  his 
plays  cool  reason  walked  hand  in 
hand  with  sentiment  and  pleasantry, 
as  they  do  in  some  of  the  most  ad- 
mired comedies  of  our  own  stage. 
The  delight  with  which  the  Mexi- 
cans witnessed  La  Verdad  Sospechosa 
proved  that  to  Alarcon  belonged 
not  merely  the  ingenuity  by  which 
men  are  amused,  but  something  of 
that  magic  by  which  their  own  wit 
and  humor  are  excited.  Alarcon 
could  give  logic  to  a  whim,  a  fancy, 
or  a  passion.  In  the  Prueba  de  las 
Promcsas  his  lover  expostulates  : 


If  Beauty's  faithful  lover  I  have  been, 
Esteeming  though  despised  ;  loving,  abhorred  ; 
What  law  allows  to  thee.  what  text  approves 
That  thou  shouldst  hate  me  because  I  do  love 
thee? 


An  apology  for  woman  made  by 
a  servant  in  Todo  es  Ventura  (Luck 
is  Everything)  may  be  translated 
thus : 


What  is  it  that  we  most  condemn  in  maids  ? 
Inconstancy  of  mind  ?     We  taught  them  so. 
The  love  of  money  ?    It's  a  thing  in  taste — 
Or  let  that  righteous  fellow  throw  a  stone 
Who  is  not  guilty  of  the  self-same  fault. 
Of  being  easy  ?     Well,  what  must  they  do, 
If  no  man  perseveres  and  all  get  tired 
At  the  fourth  day  of  trying?    Of  being  hard  ? 
Why  do  we  thus  complain  when  we,  too,  all 
Run  to  extremes  ?    If  difficult  our  suit 
We  hate  it,  and  if  easy  we  despise. 


In  GanarAmigos  (To  Gain  Friends) 
Don  Fernando  has  killed  the  brother 
of  Don  Fadrique,  and  seeks  and 
obtains  refuge  with  the  latter,  who, 
however,  does  not  know  him.  Don 
Fadrique,  though  at  length  made 
aware  of  the  truth,  faithfully  keeps 
the  pledge  he  has  given  the  slayer 
of  his  brother.  Seeing  this,  Don 
Fernando  gratefully  exclaims : 


The  earth  w'icreon  thou  stand'st  shall  be  my 

altar. 
Fadrique.  Rise,   sir  ;   give  me  uo  thanks,  as 

do  I  not 

This  deed  for  you,  but  for  my  honor's  self, 
For  I  have  plighted  unto  you  my  word. 

In  the  comedy  of  Mudarse  por 
Mejorarse  (To  Change  for  the  Bet- 
ter; or,  more  literally,  to  Change  in 
order  to  Better  One's  Self),  a  certain 
Don  Garcia,  who  was  to  marry 
Dona  Clara,  falls  in  love  with  her 
niece  Leonor ;  whence  this  dialogue : 

Leaner.  Is  it,  perchance,  Don  Garcia, 
The  custom  in  Madrid  to  fall  in  love 
With  niece  and  aunt  at  one  and  the  same  time  ? 

Garcia.  At  least,  if  so  divine  a  niece  comes 

there 
As  you,  the  custom  is  to  leave  the  aunt. 

Leonor.  A  bad  one,  then. 

Garcia.  It  is  not  to  be  called 

Bad,  if  such  matter  be  the  occasion. 

Leonor.  How  can  a  reason  be  for  changeful- 
ness  ? 

Garcia.  One's  self  to  better  is  the  best  of 
reasons. 

Leonor.  Well,  there's  a  law  of  constancy :  to 

what 

Doth  it  oblige,  whereunto  doth  it  reach, 
If  it  be  right  one  beauty  to  forswear 
For  a  greater?     Constancy's  not  to  love 
Unchangeably  the  love  more  beautiful; 
To  love  the  best  what  firmness  do  we  need  ? 
He  constant  is  who  doth  despise  the  more 
Happy  occasion. 

Garcia..  I  confess,  sweet  lady 

That's  to  be  constant,  but  it's  to  be  foolish. 

Leonor.  Then  cannot  you  in  one  who'd    be 

discreet 

Have  confidence,  as  change  is  to  be  excused 
By  gain  of  fairer  subject? 

Garcia.  It  is  clear. 

Leonor.  Well,  be  it  so ;  and  for  I  think  thee, 

sir, 

A  man  judicious,  and  thou  leav'st  my  aunt 
To  make  thyself  the  better  so  by  me, 
Pray  do  excuse  me  of  thy  love,  since  must 
I  give  thy  suit  resistance  till  I  know 
If  I've  another  and  a  fairer  niece. 

The  discreet  Leonor,  compromised 
by  the  entangling  suit  of  Don  Gar- 
cia, is  compelled  to  admit  the  atten- 
tions of  a  gallant  and  rich  marquis, 
with  whom  at  last  she  falls  in  love. 
The  following  passage  explains  the 
rest: 

Garcia.  How,  cruel  one, 

Hast  changed  so  soon  ? 

Leonor.  Yes,  for  the  better. 

Mencia  (aside).  She  gave't  him,  then,  with  his 
own  flower. 

Garcia.  Ungrateful,  is  not  thy  disdain  enough 
Without  the  aggravation— making  him, 
The  marquis,  better  ? 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


705 


Leonor.  Wilt  deny  the  improvement  ? 

Although  in  blood  thou'rt  equal,  yet  between 
Little  and  ample  fortuue,  and  between 
Your  worship  and  your  lordship — ? 

Garcia..  Yea,  I  grant: 

But  what  effect  hast  given  thy  words, 
Thy  promise,  tyrant,  if  thou  hast  all  changed 
By  taking  better  subject  ?     Where's  constancy 
If  thou  hast  liked  me  only  when  thou  couldst 

not 

Better  thyself?    She  only  constant  is 
Who  doth  despise  the  opportunity. 

Leonor.  I  do  confess  to  thee,  Don  Garcia, 
That's  to  be  constant,  but  it's  to  be  foolish. 

Here  is  the  "  retort  courteous  "  in 
its  most  charming  humor.  The  gal- 
lant grace  and  wit  of  these  dialogues 
are  evidence  of  the  original  art 
with  which  Alarcon  could  make  his 
comedy  a  study  of  life,  and  compel 
his  auditors  to  think  somewhat  after 
they  ceased  to  laugh.  This  is  the 
function  of  eminent  high  comedy, 
though  we  may  not  ask  that  it  shall 
elaborate  a  severe  or  intrusive  moral, 
and  though  we  admit  its  possession, 
as  in  Shakespeare,  of  the  liveliest 
poetic  qualities.  Another  passage, 
this  time  from  the  famous  Verdad 
Sospechosa,  wherein  Don  Beltran  re- 
primands his  son,  Don  Garcia,  for  the 
vice  of  habitual  lying,  will  further 
elucidate  the  method  of  Alarcon  : 

Beltran.  Are  you  a  gentleman,  Garcia  ? 

Gfrcia.  — I  believe 

I  am  your  son. 

Beltran.  — And  is  it,  then,  enough, 

To  be  my  son  to  be  a  gentleman  ? 

Garcia.  I  think  so,  sir. 

Beltran.  — What  a  mistaken  thought ! 

Consists  in  acting  like  a  gentleman 
To  be  one.     What  gave  birth  to  noble  houses/ 
The  illustrious  deeds  of  their  first  authors,  sir. 
Without  consideration  of  their  births,  the  deeds 
Of  humble  men  honored  their  heirs.     'Tis  doing 
Good  or  ill  makes  gentleman  or  villain. 

Garcia.   That  deeds  give  nobleness  I'll  not 

deny, 
But  who  will  say  birth  does  not  also  give  it  ? 

Beltran.   Well,  then,   if  honor  can  be  gained 

by  him 

Who  was  born  without  it,  is't  not  certain  that, 
Vice  versa,  he  can  lose  it  who  was  born 
With  it? 

Garcia.        — 'Tis  true. 

Beltran.  — Then  if  you  basely  act, 

Although  my  son,  no  longer  you  will  be 
A  gentleman.    So  if  your  habits  shame 
You  here  in  town,  an  ancient  crest  will  not 
Signify,  nor  noble  ancestors  serve. 
What  is't  report  says  to  me  ?    That  your  lies 
Are  all  the  talk  of  Salamanca.     Now, 
If  t  affronts  noble  or  plebeian  but 
To  tell  him  that  he  lies,  what  is't  to  lie 

VOL.  xiii. — 45 


Itself?    If  honorless  I  live  the  while 
On  him  who  gave  the  lie  I  take  not  full 
Revenge — is  your  sword  long  enough  or  breast 
So  stout  that  you  esteem  yourself  all  able 
To  have  revenge  when  all  the  city  says 
You  lie  ?    Is't  possible  a  man  can  have 
Such  abject  thoughts  that  unto  vice  he  can 
Live  subject  without  pleasure,  without  gain ' 
A  morbid  pleasure  have  the  sensual, 
The  power  of  money  draws  the  covetous  ; 
The  taste  of  viands  have  the  gluttonous; 
A  purpose  and  a  pastime  hath  the  gambler ; 
The  homicide  his  hate,  the  thief  his  aim  ; 
Fame  with  ambition  cheers  the  warrior; 
In  short,  doth  every  vice  some  pleasure  give 
Or  profit — but  for  lying,  what  remains 
But  infamy  and  contempt  ? 

Who  could  preach  with  more  wit 
a  brief  sermon  like  this  than  Alar- 
con ?  It  is  no  small  honor  to  the 
dramatist  born  in  Mexico  that  the 
great  Corneille,  who,  if  we  may  cred- 
it the  biographers  of  Alarcon,  partly 
translated  and  partly  imitated  La 
Verdad  Sospechosa  in  his  famous 
Menteur,  could  avow  that  he  would 
give  two  of  his  best  plays  to  have  in- 
vented the  happy  argument  of  the 
Spanish  original.  Moliere  and  Vol- 
taire were  also  among  the  admirers 
of  the  Spanish  comedy,  which  Cor- 
neille at  first  judged  to  be  the  work 
of  Lope  de  Vega.  Of  the  general 
merits  of  Alarcon,  the  following  es- 
timate by  his  German  critic,  Schack, 
which  we  find  in  a  Mexican  notice 
of  the  dramatist,  will  doubtless  suffice  : 
"  Happy  in  painting  comic  charac- 
ters in  order  to  chastise  vice,  as  in 
the  invention  and  development  of 
heroes  to  make  virtue  adorable ;  ra- 
pid in  action,  sober  in  ornament ;  in- 
ferior to  Lope  in  tender  respect  of 
feminine  creations,  to  Moreto  in  live- 
liest comedy,  to  Firso  in  travesty,  to 
Calderon  in  grandeur  and  stage  ef- 
fect, he  excelled  all  of  them  in  the 
variety  and  perfection  of  his  figures, 
in  the  tact  of  managing  them,  in 
equality  of  style,  in  carefulness  of 
versification,  in  correctness  of  lan- 
guage." To  this  large  and  discrimi- 
nating praise  we  may  add  George 
Ticknor's  comprehensive  dictum : 
"  On  the  whole,  he  is  to  be  ranked 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


with  the  very  best  Spanish  drama- 
tists during  the  best  period  of  the 
National  Theatre." 

SOR  JUANA  INEZ  DE  LA  CRUZ. 

It  would  not  be  proper  to  dismiss 
from  the  list  of  Spanish-American 
dramatic  writers  Sor  Juana  Inez  de 
la  Cruz,  although  the  subjects  to 
which  this  pious  woman  yielded  her 
inventive  imagination  were  mainly  or 
wholly  religious.  She  wrote,  be  it  re- 
membered, in  that  remarkable  seven- 
teenth century  when  a  muse  of  re- 
ligion walked  through  the  scenes  of 
the  stage  as  well  as  through  the 
gardens  of  the  convent.  Then  were 
the  patriarchs  and  apostles,  the  pro- 
phets and  saints,  the  chief  persona- 
ges of  a  peculiar  drama ;  and  events 
and  circumstances  of  the  divine 
tragedy  inspired  such  compositions 
as  the  Loas  and  Autos.  It  is  upon 
one  of  these  latter  compositions  that 
her  merit  as  a  dramatic  writer  rests ; 
and  we  are  glad  to  confirm  in  great 
part  an  opinion  of  her  genius  hither- 
to expressed  by  us,  by  here  recalling 
the  judgment  of  that  eminent  Euro- 
pean critic  of  Spanish  literature, 
Bouterwek,  the  more  especially  as 
our  own  Spanish  scholar,  Ticknor, 
seems  to  have  inflicted  such  ungra- 
cious' disparagement  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  our  notice  :  "  Much  as  Inez 
de  la  Cruz  was  deficient  in  real  cul- 
tivation," says  Bouterwek,  "  her  pro- 
ductions are  eminently  superior  to 
the  ordinary  standard  of  female  poe- 
try. .  .  .  The  poems  of  Inez 
de  la  Cruz  breathe  a  sort  of  mascu- 
line spirit.  This  poetic  nun  possess- 
ed more  fancy  and  wit  than  senti- 
mental enthusiasm,  and  whenever  she 
began  to  invent  her  creations  were 
on  a  bold  and  great  scale.  Her 
poems  are  of  very  unequal  merit, 
and  are  all  deficient  in  critical  culti- 
vation. But  in  facility  of  invention 
and  versification  Inez  de  la  Cruz  was 


not  inferior  to  Lope  de  Vega  ;  and  yet 
she  by  no  means  courted  literary 
fame.  ...  In  her  dramatic  works 
the  vigor  of  her  imagination  is  par- 
ticularly conspicuous.  The  collec- 
tion of  her  poems  contains  no  come- 
dies properly  so-called,  but  it  com- 
prises a  series  of  boldly  conceived 
preludes  (loas)  full  of  allegorical  in- 
vention, and  it  concludes  with  a  long 
allegorical  auto,  which  is  superior  to 
any  of  the  similar  productions  of  Lope 
de  Vega.  It  is  entitled  El  Divino 
JVardso,  a  name  by  which  the  author 
designates  the  heavenly  bridegroom. 
.  .  .  It  would  be  impossible  to 
give  a  brief  and  at  the  same  time 
intelligible  sketch  of  this  extraordi- 
nary drama.  With  regard  to  com- 
position, it  is  very  unequal ;  in  some 
respects  offending  by  its  bad  taste, 
and  in  others  charming  by  its  bold- 
ness. Many  of  its  scenes  are  so 
beautifully  and  romantically  con- 
structed that  the  reader  is  compelled 
to  render  homage  to  the  genius  of  the 
poetess,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
cannot  but  regret  the  pitch  of  extra- 
vagance to  which  ideas  really  poetic 
are  carried.  There  is  one  peculiar- 
ly fine  scene,  in  which  human  na- 
ture, in  the  shape  of  a  nymph,  seeks 
her  beloved,  the  real  Narcissus,  or 
the  Christian  Saviour."  The  pasto- 
ral passage,  which  in  our  notice  of  the 
writings  of  Sor  Juana  we  laid  before 
our  readers,  would  seem  to  justify 
the  best  praises  of  our  literary  histo- 
rian, Bouterwek.  Ticknor,  on  the 
other  hand,  speaks  of  her  as  a  re- 
markable woman,  and  not  as  a  re- 
markable poetess;  and,  upon  the 
whole,  our  thanks  for  the  appreciative 
reburnishing  of  the  ancient  fame  of 
an  American  genius — which,  had  it 
shone  in  Massachusetts  three  hun- 
dred years  ago,  would  be  deemed  a 
very  rare  jewel  among  Northern  scho- 
lars— are  due  rather  to  the  Eu- 
ropean Bouterwek  than  the  Ameri- 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


707 


can  Ticknor.  The  latter  observes 
that  she  was  born  at  Guipuzcoa ;  her 
Mexican  biographer  says  at  San 
Miguel  de  Nepantla,  not  far  from 
the  city  of  Mexico,  one  of  whose  con- 
vents she  seems  to  have  directed  lat- 
terly. Time,  place,  the  inferior  stan- 
dard of  feminine  culture,  and  the 
prevalence  of  a  false  poetic  school, 
may  account  for  Sor  Juana's  defects ; 
for  the  rest,  the  issue  (a  large  one) 
is  between  Bouterwek  and  Ticknor. 

EDWARD    GOROSTIZA. 

After  Alarcon,  the  principal  lights 
of  the  actual  Mexican  stage  are  Go- 
rostiza,  Calderon,  and  Galvan ;  and, 
indeed,  whatever  original  triumph  that 
stage  has  enjoyed  is  almost  if  not 
quite  limited  to  these  few  excellent 
though  not  glorious  names.  We 
cannot  with  propriety  name  that  ex- 
traordinary woman,  Sor  Juana  Inez 
de  la  Cruz,  in  the  list  of  Mexico's 
dramatists,  although,  along  with  oth- 
er poetry,  she  wrote  some  religious 
pieces  in  dramatic  form.  Neverthe- 
less, the  credit  which  remains  to  the 
literature  of  the  country,  after  its  few 
phenomenal  names  are  omitted,  is 
not  inappreciable.  Concerning  Go- 
rostiza,  Madame  Calderon  de  la 
Barca  wrote :  "  Don  Jose  Eduardo 
Gorostiza,  a  native  of  Vera  Cruz,  is 
the  son  of  a  Spanish  officer,  and 
when  very  young  went  to  Spain, 
where  he  was  known  politically  as  a 
liberal.  He  was  distinguished  as  a 
writer  of  theatrical  pieces,  which  have 
been  and  still  are  very  popular.  One 
of  his  pieces  which  we  saw  the  other 
evening  at  the  theatre — Con  Tigo 
Pan  y  Cebolla  (With  Thee,  Bread 
and  Onions) — is  delightful."  Let  us 
add  to  Madame  Calderon's  brief  no- 
tice that  Gorostiza  won  the  rank  of 
lieutenant-colonel  in  the  war  against 
Napoleon;  that  in  1823,  while  an  ex- 
ile from  Soain  in  London,  he  wrote 


for  the  Edinburgh  Review  ;  and  that 
since  then,  as  minister  to  England 
and  to  the  United  States,  and  as  se- 
cretary of  state  and  finance,  he  has 
been  eminent  in  the  politics  of  his 
native  land.  In  1836,  he  was  made 
intendant-general  of  the  army,  and 
during  the  war  between  Mexico  and 
the  United  States  took  an  active  and 
heroic  part  in  the  defence  of  Churu- 
busco.  His  efforts  as  a  director  of 
the  poor-house,  as  a  friend  of  edu- 
cation, and  as  the  founder  of  a  house 
of  correction,  are  also  deemed  wor- 
thy of  record.  He  died  in  1851,  at 
the  age  of  sixty-two. 

The  best  known  of  Gorostiza's  co- 
medies are  those  called  The  Intimate 
Friend,  Last  Year's  Fashions,  Don 
Dieguito,  and  Pardon  for  All,  the  last 
being  mentioned  by  his  biographer 
as  celebrated.  In  the  play  of  Don 
Dieguito,  which  may  serve  as  well  as 
any  other  to  exhibit  the  character  of 
Gorostiza's  plots,  Don  Anselmo,  a 
rich  uncle,  sends'  his  nephew  and 
heir,  Don  Dieguito,  to  Madrid  to 
complete  his  education.  While  there, 
Dieguito  falls  in  love  with  Dona 
Adelaida,  whose  father,  Don  Cleto. 
is  a  lawyer.  Don  Anselmo  goes  to 
Madrid  to  attend  the  wedding  of  his 
nephew,  but  does  not  like  the  family 
of  his  son's  fiancee,  and,  accordingly, 
he  schemes  to  break  off  the  match. 
The  mother,  Dona  Maria,  sees  from 
a  worldly  point  of  view  the  great 
advantage  of  her  daughter's  marriage 
with  Don  Dieguito.  But  now  Ansel- 
mo tells  her  that  he  intends  to  marry, 
which  excites  her  fear  that  his  ne- 
phew will  inherit  nothing  from  him. 
She,  therefore,  proposes  to  her  hus- 
band that  Dona  Adelaida  shall  mar- 
ry the  uncle,  Anselmo,  instead  of  the 
nephew,  Dieguito.  Don  Simplicio, 
a  friend  of  Don  Cleto,  endeavors  to 
effect  a  general  reconciliation  of  in- 
terests, and  bring  about  the  marriage 
of  the  young  couple;  but,  finding 


;oS 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


that  father  and  mother  alike  wish  to 
break  off  the  match,  joins  them  in 
insulting  the  apparently  hapless  Die- 
guito.  Don  Anselmo  at  once  per- 
ceives that  his  nephew  has  been  fool- 
ed, and  that  the  family  of  his  be- 
trothed would  be  glad  to  cast  off 
Dieguito  in  order  to  capture  his  un- 
cle's wealth.  He  concludes,  there- 
fore, to  make  his  exit  on  the  very 
day  of  the  proposed  marriage,  tak- 
ing with  him  his  disenchanted  ne- 
phew. When  the  day  arrives,  he 
announces  that  he  has  been  ruined 
by  the  shipwreck  of  a  vessel  from 
Vera  Cruz,  and  that  he  is  compelled 
to  return  to  his  old  business  of  selling 
pork,  beans,  chocolate,  and  sausages 
to  make  good  his  loss.  Don  Die- 
guito, though  asked  to  return  to  his 
allegiance  as  a  lover,  declares  that 
he  is  no  fool,  and  prefers  a  wife  who 
will  not  speculate  at  the  expense  of 
good  faith,  but  will  look  after  her 
children.  As  Don  Anselmo  has  told 
the  family  of  Dona  Adelaida  that 
his  principal  loss  is  in  a  cargo  of 
chocolate,  that  spirited  young  lady 
vows  she  will  not  drink  chocolate 
again ;  and  the  play  ends  in  amusing 
recriminations. 

FERNANDO    CALDERON. 

The  next  of  our  dramatists,  Fer- 
nando Calderon,  was  born  in  1809, 
and  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-six, 
having  been  a  colonel,  a  state  legis- 
lator, a  magistrate,  and  the  secretary 
of  the  government  of  Zacatecas,  as 
well  as  an  industrious  writer.  The 
most  striking  of  his  dramas  are :  The 
Tourney,  Anne  JBoleyn,  and  The  Re- 
turn of  the  Crusader,  which,  says  one 
of  his  admirers,  are  full  of  noble  and 
chivalrous  sentiments  and  spirited 
action.  Calderon's  talent  was  noth- 
ing if  not  dramatic;  for  even  his 
lyrics,  and  especially  his  Soldier  of 
Liberty,  are  characterized  by  a  perso- 


nal fire  and  animation.  His  plays, 
remarkable  for  warmth  of  sentiment, 
and  his  poems,  chiefly  lyrical,  gained 
for  him  not  only  in  Mexico,  but  in 
other  Spanish-American  republics,  a 
degree  of  favor  not  often  enjoyed  by 
writers  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
New  World.  One  of  his  most  ad- 
mired passages  is  the  soliloquy  of 
Isabella  in  The  Tourney  : 

And  this  is  life.    Seeing  the  sable  bier 
Profoundest  cowardice  the  mortal  moves, 
When  is  the  tomb  the  sole  asylum  where 
True  peace  abides.   Where  is  the  life  that  knows 
Not  weight  of  woe  ?    For  ever  in  torment, 
For  ever  in  tears,  so  runs  our  human  fate 
From  infancy  unto  decrepit  age. 
Child,  man,  and  most  unfortunate  womankind, 
Pursue  the  magic  and  illusory  shade 
Which  they  call  happiness,  yet  never  find. 
The  gray-beard  sad,  complaining  of  his  age, 
Youth  would  enjoy;  but,  imbecile,  forgets 
The  tortures  that  afflict  his  junior. 
Life  is  a  fever,  a  remediless  fever, 
It  is  a  frenzy  violent  and  mad. 
Alas !  its  pleasures  pass  us  like  a  flash, 
Whence  follows  gloom  of  soul  with  rain  of  tears. 
Yet  ever  springs  desire  and  fervid  hope 
To  cheat  our  souls  with  what  can  never  be. 
Care  and  vacuity,  and  ephemeral  joy. 
These  make  themselves  our  poor  reality. 
So  fades  our  youth,  and  our  declining  life's 
A  dismal  light  of  undeception  cast 
Upon  the  narrow  confines  of  the  tomb.     .    .    . 
The  black  cloth    ....    and  the  coffin  misera- 
ble   ... 

Thus  darkly  flows  the  tide  of  life.    Alas ! 
My  end  draws  near,  for  which  my  spirit  hope3, 
As  the  wrecked  sailor  for  a  happy  shore. 
O  cause  of  all  my  mourning  my  heart's  balm, 
Not  thou,  not  even  thou,  wouldst  me  console: 
None  grieve  for  one  that  is  already  dead. 
Albert !  Albert !  shalt  thou  o'er  my  grave 
Pour  out  thy  tears  until  our  patient  souls 
Unite  within  the  pure  eternity. 

With  good  reason  is  this  thought- 
ful and  feeling  soliloquy  prized  by 
Calderon's  countrymen,  whose  vicis- 
situdes have  taught  them  peculiar 
sympathy  with  the  tristful  mood  to 
which  he  lends  expression.  The 
tone  and  style  of  the  passage  are 
tragic  in  a  most  dignified  sense,  and 
reflect  much  credit  upon  Mexican 
literature.  A  supplement  to  the  views 
of  mortality  and  eternity  set  forth  in 
The  Tourney  is  contained  in  a  frag- 
ment written  by  Calderon  in  1825  ; 
and  as  it  may  interest  a  Northern 
public  to  know  what  a  Mexican 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


709 


post  thinks   of  the  future  state,  we 
extract  from  it  these  hopeful  lines : 

Cold  and  coward  spirits 

Shun  the  thought  of  death 

With  unbelieving  fear, 

Vain-thinking  that  within  the  grave 

Have  love  and  joy  their  end. 

Dullards !  who  believe  not 

The  eternity  divine ! 

The  disembodied  spirit 

Ascends  to  regions  high 

Of  freedom  and  of  bliss, 

And  love's  sweet  sentiment, 

A  seed  sown  in  our  souls, 

Doubt  not  God's  hand  doth  guard  it 

And  lead  it  up  to  him. 

The  soul  but  breathes  in  love, 

Which  is  its  essence  and  its  food, 

And  without  love  would  die. 


RODRIGUEZ   GALVAN. 

More  praiseworthy,  in  some  re- 
spects, than  any  of  the  modern  poets 
of  Mexico,  is  Rodriguez  Galvan,  the 
last  of  our  trio  of  dramatists.  He 
died  in  1842,  in  his  twenty-sixth  year, 
after  having  without  social  advantages 
acquired  a  high  reputation  as  a  lyri- 
cal and  dramatic  writer.  "  At  eleven 
years,"  says  his  biographer,  "  he  was 
placed  under  the  care  of  his  uncle, 
in  a  book-store  at  the  capital,"  and 
there  his  nightly  studies  made  up  for 
the  impediments  of  his  daily  occupa- 
tion, and  "  his  happy  disposition  and 
love  for  work  supplied  the  want  of 
masters  and  fortune."  An  epical 
fragment  entitled  "  The  Fallen  An- 
gel," and  his  poems,  "  The  Tomb," 
and  "  The  Girandole,"  together  with 
his  dramas,  "  Mufioz "  and  "  The 
Viceroy's  Favorite,"  are  mentioned  as 
the  most  noted  of  his  productions. 
A  specimen  of  his  dramatic  style  is 
the  following  piece  of  satire  on 
the  modern  stage,  from  El  Angel  de 
la  Guarda: 


Let's  think  upon  my  comedy,  and  on 
Its  plan.     Hard,  cruel  hard,  on  all  who  are 
Romantic.    Here's  a  coxcomb  come  from  Rome 
Or  Paris;  next,  an  old  man,  ignorant, 
Foolish,  his  friend  a  most  judicious  fellow  ; 
A  fine  romantic  maid  who  weeps  and  shrieks 
In  Turkish  ;  then,  three  hundred  obscene  gags 
To  make  the  people  laugh  ;  a  prudish  dame 
Who  speaks  French  badly.    Here's  the  knot. 


And  the  conclusion  ?    Why,  a  whistle  trom 
The  second  prompter. 

— Or,  I  will  erect 

Like  to  a  gallows  a  cadaverous  drama 
Shock-full  of  hangings  and  adulteries, 
In  which  the  seven  infants  shall  be  shown 
The  children  of  a  king  of  Acapulco. 
This  nauseous  food  I'll  call  a  play-romance, 
And  I'll  divide  it  into  four  square  parts, 
Which  further  I'll  divide  in  five  full  acts, 
The  scene  in  Aragon,  the  fifteenth  century. 
My  sources  shall  be  dramas  of  Dumas 
And  Hugo,  the  immoral  ones  of  course. 
What  does  it  matter  ?    I  translate  them  mine. 
A  stupid  fellow  comes  out  and  drinks  in 
Half  of  a  tub  of  poison — gives  the  rest 
Straight  to  his  maid,  because  a  vain  old  man 
Comes  with  a  trumpet-tongus  to  blow  and  blow 
In  his  poor  ears.    The  ignorant  hind  don't  know 
For  two  hours  whether  he  is  dead  or  not, 
And  in  the  place  of  calling  upon  God 
He  makes  a  long  discourse.    This  is  the  way 
They  make  our  plays,  and  in  this  age  of  taste 
Calderon,  Moreto,  Alarcon,  Lope, 
Are  only  mules ;  and  in  the  theatre 
Their  works  shed  slumber  by  the  bucketful. 

It  would  require,  perhaps,  an  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  the  Mexican 
stage  as  it  was  thirty  years  ago  to 
appreciate  the  special  application  of 
these  lines ;  but  it  is  plain  that  the 
young  dramatist  conceived  a  genuine 
contempt  for  a  bloodthirsty  and  ini- 
quitous drama.  What,  then,  must  a 
writer  of  his  promise  and  aspirations 
have  felt  regarding  that  more  bitter 
melodrama  acted  all  round  him  ? — 
what  must  any  poet  with  a  tolerable 
amount  of  contemplative  wisdom 
have  thought  of  that  political  mad- 
ness of  which  Mexico  has  been  so 
long  the  victim  ?  Certainly,  it  robbed 
them,  as  it  robbed  others,  of  peace 
and  recompense ;  but  war  respects 
the  stage  even  when  it  destroys  bet- 
ter institutions,  and  it  is  probable  that 
the  dramatic  culture  of  Mexico  is  as 
well  preserved  as  any  of  which  it  can 
boast.  To  Galvan  is  ascribed  the 
first  effective  production  on  the 
Mexican  stage  of  Mexican  subjects. 
Whether  the  following  fable  bears  a 
more  than  ordinary  social  meaning, 
we  cannot  say ;  but  it  is  an  instance 
of  the  poet's  lively  manner : 

THE  SELFISH   DOG. 

With  pike  and  lantern  at  sundown, 
A  grim  night-watchman  of  the  town 


7io 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


Follows  a  -can  dog  as  he  flees 
By  order  of  the  high  police, 
Who  persecute  the  dogs  and  tramps. 
And  take  up  drinking,  murdering  scamps, 
But  tolerate  the  robbers.     Well, 
What  matter  ?     I've  my  tale  to  tell. 
The  starveling,  feeling  insecure, 
Because  a  stranger,  poor,  demure, 
Said,  "  Feet,  what  do  I  want  you  for?" 
So,  in  a  princely  courtyard  door, 
Without  "  Good-day  !"  or  e'en  explaining, 
"I  must  go  in  because  it's  raining," 
Or  sending  up  his  card  at  all, 
As  etiquette  requires  on  call, 
Or  does  not— really,  I  don't  know- 
He  rudely  entered.    So  I'd  go 
Myself.    But  a  cur  thereabout 
Barked  hard  at  him,  "  Get  out !  get  out ! 
This  is  a  noble's  palace,  sir, 
A  place  not  meet  for  starving  cur." 
Our  friend  replies,  "  My  fine-tailed  brother, 
But  for  this  night — "     '•  No,  no  !"  says  t'other. 
"  I  am  pursued  !"    "  Then  leave  this  ground." 
"  I'm  dying  with  hunger."    "  Wretched  hound, 
How  can  a  fine,  superior  person 
Live  tail  to  tail  with  a  base  cur's  son  ?" 
And  insult  after  insult  giving, 
He  barks  with  fury  past  believing, 
This  high-born,  proud,  patrician  growler, 
And  bullies  the  plebeian  prowler. 
Well,  the  sad  creature,  turning  tail, 
Escaped,  for  wonder,  else  would  fail 
My  story  like  a  peacock  shorn. 
Where  novv's  my  moral  ?    Hark,  nor  scorn : 

Soon  after  this  a  dog  forlorn 

Lost  himself  in  the  chase,  and  met 

Some  wolves  whose  teeth  were  sharply  set, 

And  quite  prepared  to  munch  and  gobble  him. 

All  sorts  of  fearful  fancies  trouble  him, 

When,  in  this  plight,  his  eye  sees  plain  in 

The  kennel  of  the  other  canine. 

Lo,  what  an  accident !    But  these 

Accidents  pass  for  verities 

And  mightily  the  public  please. 

Now  the  patrician  barks  for  aid, 

And  t'other  dog  puts  out  his  head, 

But,  seeing  'tis  the  courtier, 

He  shuts  the  door,  that  low-bred  cur, 

And  growls:  "Stop  there!  didst  ever  see 

A  dog  of  noble  family 

With  a  poor  cur  keep  company  ?" 

With  this  the  hungry  wolves  arrive 

And  eat  the  grandee  dog  alive. 

Has  the  tale  pleased  you  ?    No  ?    And  why  ? 

I've  spent  an  hour  and  half  to  try, 

Hunting  up  rhymes — so  scarce  in  Spanish. 

Some  opulent  fellow,  proud  and  clannish 

Spelling  through  this  little  story 

(For  reading's  not  a  common  glory 

Among  the  magnates  of  the  day), 

Will,  doubtless,  furiously  say: 

"See  what  sad  insipidity  !" 

But  some  poor  dog  in  misery 

Will  raise  his  head,  perhaps,  and  sigh, 

"The  simple  fabulist  don't  lie." 

Now  friend  and  critic  both  have  I. 

There  is  nothing  in  Galvan's  story 

•  except  his  way  of  telling  it,  which  is 

•  certainly  vivacious;  but  we  esteem 
it  for  some  flashes  of  satirical  mean- 
ing cast  upon  a  state  of  society  of 


whose  animal  life  the  "  hungry  dog  " 
is  so  commonplace  an  object.  Not, 
however,  in  his  plays,  which,  if  we 
may  credit  his  Mexican  critic,  some- 
times reveal  a  certain  immaturity,  did 
Galvan  find  his  very  happiest  expres- 
sion. He  wrote  the  most  touching 
and  charming  lyric  which,  after  much 
search,  we  have  been  able  to  find  in 
Mexican  literature.  It  was,  we  are 
led  to  think,  in  1842,  when,  as  one  of 
a  "  legation  extraordinary  "  to  South 
America,  he  sailed  for  Havana,  there 
to  die  of  fever,  that  he  wrote  the 
tender  "  Farewell  to  Mexico  "  which 
his  countrymen  love  to  repeat: 

Upon  the  deck  with  longing 

I  watch  the  lonely  main, 
And  on  my  fate  I  ponder 

And  muse  in  doubt  and  pain 
To  thee  I  yield  my  fortunes, 

O  Holy  Maid  above  ! 
Adieu,  my  own  dear  country, 

Adieu,  thou  land  of  love  ! 

Far  in  the  western  waters 

The  red  sun  hides  its  light, 
And  now  at  last  'tis  buried 

Beneath  the  billows'  might. 
The  roaring  sea  announces 

The  weary  day's  decline  : 
Adieu,  beloved  country, 

Adieu,  thou  land  of  mine  ! 

AVELLANEDA   AND    MILANES. 

There  is  more  of  this  excellent  lyric, 
but  we  let  it  pass  in  order  to  bring  to  a 
moment's  attention  a  few  of  the  most 
distinguished  Cuban  and  South  Ame- 
rican dramatic  writers.  We  nowhere 
discern  the  evidence  of  a  luxurious 
dramatic  growth  among  our  tropical 
contemporaries;  but  as,  in  the  most 
advanced  and  varied  circles  of  our 
own  literature,  the  drama  holds  but 
an  inferior  modern  regard,  we  cannot 
deem  this  fact  as  peculiarly  indicative. 
Almost  chief  among  the  writers  of 
Cuba  is  Dona  Avellaneda,  to  whom 
we  owe  the  novels  of  Sab,  the  Baron- 
ess of  Yotfx,  the  American  romance 
of  Guatimozin,  and  the  Undins  of  the 
Blue  Lake.  She  wrote  four  dramas, 
one  of  which,  her  tragedy  of  Alfonso 


Dramatic  Moralists  in  Spanish  America. 


711 


Munio,  is  said  to  have  made  her  fam- 
ous. For  one  of  her  poems  she  re- 
ceived a  crown  of  gold  laurels  from 
the  lyceum  of  Madrid,  and  her  Catho- 
lic devotion  was  signally  manifested 
by  her  poem  of  the  Cross  and  her 
Biblical  drama  of  Saul.  Surely,  a 
most  prolific,  industrious,  and  vigor- 
ous writer  was  La  Avellaenda,  as  her 
countrymen  admiringly  call  her,  not- 
withstanding her  Isabellist  attach- 
ments. To  the  name  of  Avellaneda 
let  us  add  that  of  Jose  Jacinto  M  i- 
lanes  as  among  the  ornaments  of 
Cuban  literature.  His  drama  of 
Conde  Alarcos,  founded  upon  the 
celebrated  Spanish  tradition  of  the 
name,  is  noted  by  Ticknor  for  its 
passionate  energy.  Milanes  seemed 
to  delight  in  the  themes  and  scenes 
of  his  own  country;  but  his  useful- 
ness as  a  writer  was  cut  short,  we  are 
informed,  by  a  wasting  infirmity. 

SANSON,    MAGARINOS,   AND    MARQUEZ. 

Placido  Sanson,  Magarinos  Cer- 
vantes, and  Seiior  Marquez  are 
among  the  most  conspicuous  South 
American  dramatists  we  can  now 
call  to  mind.  Magarinos  Cervan- 
tes was  bora  in  Montevideo  in 
1825,  and,  besides  the  novels  of 
Caramuru  and  The  Star  of  the  South, 
has  written  the  dramas  of  Vasco  Nu- 
nez and  the  Two  Passions,  besides  the 
comedy  of  Penances  Matrimoniales. 
He  was  one  of  the  principal  editors 
of  an  artistic  and  scientific  cyclopaedia 
printed  in  Madrid,  and  was  once  de- 
scribed as  the  youngest  and  most  pro- 
ductive of  well-known  South  Ameri- 
can writers.  Sanson,  who  was  born 
in  Santa  Cruz  de  Teneriffe,  1815,  has 
written  ten  or  eleven  dramas,  among 
them  Abenhamet  and  Herman  Peraza, 
and  has  been  an  exceedingly  indus- 
trious editor  and  translator.  Seiior 
Marquez,  who  was  noticed  fifteen 
years  ago  as  a  young  poet  of  Lima, 


but  twenty-three  years  of  age,  yet  of 
exceeding  promise,  was  known  as  the 
author  of  a  drama  which  derived  its 
title  from  the  beautiful  legend  of  The 
Flou'er  of  Abel. 

This  flower  of  dramatic  poetry,  as 
its  warm  admirers  regard  it,  contains 
a  charming  and  even  what  we  might 
call  a  religious  moral.  One  of  the 
best  known  of  its  Peruvian  critics  de- 
scribed it  as  among  the  most  spiritual 
creations  of  the  day ;  a  defense  of  in- 
nocence and  charity  in  a  heroic  com- 
bat against  the  worldly  selfishness 
which  devours  us;  and  Markham, 
to  whose  good  taste  we  are  indebted 
for  information  respecting  the  ancient 
and  modern  literature  of  Peru,  af- 
firms that  its  plot  is  original  and  in- 
genious, and  that  it  is  full  of  good 
passages.  Abel,  the  first  victim  of 
selfishness,  is  described  as  "  the  mys- 
terious messenger  of  celestial  com- 
passion," an  angel  of  innocence.  The 
innocent  daughter  of  a  proud  and 
aged  veteran  becomes  the  possessor 
of  the  angel's  flower  of  Abel — in 
other  words,  the  blossom  of  inno- 
cence. This  the  heavenly  visitor 
presents  to  her  in  a  vision,  warn- 
ing her  never  to  lose  nor  abandon 
it,  nor  let  it  leave  its  place  in  her 
bosom.  But,  eventually,  the  fair  girl 
loses  the  flower,  and  wanders  far  and 
wide  over  the  world  in  search  of  it, 
passing  through  many  dangers,  for  she 
is  unprotected  and  very  beautiful.  At 
length,  she  reaches  her  mother's  grave, 
and,  wearied  and  imploring,  falls  at  the 
feet  of  an  image  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin, in  whose  hands  she  once  more 
beholds  her  lost  Flower  of  Abel. 
Prostrate  before  the  altar  of  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  the  spirit  of 
Elena  abandons  the  body,  and  is 
conducted  to  the  skies  by  Abel,  who 
recovers  the  mysterious  flower  and 
the  pure  soul  of  the  maiden. 

Reflecting  that  our  own  American 
dramatic  literature  can  claim  not 


712 


Albert  us  Magnus   Vindicated. 


many  successful  writers,  the  portion 
of  Spanish  America,  in  respect  to  the 
dramatists  we  have  described,  can- 
not be  deemed  contemptible.  We 
have  much  yet  to  learn  of  our  sister 
republics,  painful  though  their  pro- 


blem be  to  democratic  thinkers ;  and 
we  cannot  look  through  a  more  ne- 
cessary and  suggestive  medium  than 
their  literature  to  become  acquainted 
with  their  moral  capacities  and  pos- 
sibilities. 


ALBERTUS   MAGNUS  VINDICATED. 


A  MOST  striking  embellishment  to 
the  text  of  a  literary  article  is  a  deep 
row  of  citations  at  the  foot  of  the 
page.  The  effect  may  be  likened  to 
that  of  a  broad  trimming  of  lace  to 
articles  of  dress.  A  lace  of  true  point 
enhances  the  rich  appearance  of  the 
costliest  tissue,  and  a  common  stuff 
may  be  so  set  off  by  a  Nottingham 
trimming  as  to  attract  the  gaze  of 
all  who  are  passing.  If  unable  to 
distinguish  the  true  from  the  false, 
the  gazer  is  astonished  by  the  dis- 
play. 

Struck  by  the  deep  trimming  of  an 
article  that  appeared  in  a  recent 
number  of  the  American  Journal  of 
the  Medical  Sciences,  we  examined  it 
thoroughly  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end.  After  perusal,  we  laid  it  down 
with  a  warm  recollection  of  the  speech 
of  the  country  member  in  the  Wiscon- 
sin legislature,  who,  after  listening  to 
an  eloquent  oration  filled  with  classical 
quotations,  arose,  and  said :  "  Mr. 
Speaker,  the  honorable  gentleman 
has  roamed  with  Romulus,  soaked 
with  Socrates,  ripped  with  Euripi- 
des, and  canted  with  old  Cantha- 
rides,  but  what  has  all  that  to  do  with 
the  laws  of  Wisconsin  ?" 

It  would,  however,  be  entirely  out 
of  place  in  us  to  call  attention  to 
this  article,  were  it  not  for  a  most 
extraordinary  sentence  which  it  con- 


tains, and  upon  this  we  feel  bound 
by  many  considerations,  amongst 
which  our  reverence  for  truth  and  love 
of  propriety,  to  make  some  observa- 
tions. The  sentence  referred  to  is  as 
follows  : 

"About  the  year  1240,  at  the  soli- 
citation of  an  inquisitive  priest,  Al- 
bertus  Magnus,  the  Bishop  of  Ratis- 
bon,  wrote  a  very  unepiscopal  work 
on  the  Secrets  of  Women.  It  con- 
tains much  prurient  matter  which 
will  hardly  bear  translation,  and  yet 
was  deemed  worthy  of  a  commen- 
tary by  so  devout  an  ecclesiastic  as 
St.  Thomas  Aquinas."  * 

In  this  sentence,  in  which  two 
great  and  good  men  are  thus  spoken 
of,  we  maintain  that  there  are  at 
least  three  glaring  misstatements : 
the  first,  that  the  work  De  Secretis 
Mulierum  was  written  by  the  Bishop 
of  Ratisbon,  Albertus  Magnus,  about 
the  year  1240;  the  second,  that  Al- 
bertus Magnus  wrote  the  work — 
positive  affirmation  of  that  fact,  as  if 
there  were  no  doubt  of  its  authenticity  ; 
and  the  third,  that  St.  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas ever  wrote  a  commentary  on  it. 

First  Misstatement. — That  the  work 
was  written  about  the  year  1240,  by 
Albertus  Magnus,  Bishop  of  Ratisbon, 
and  therefore  that  it  was  the  pro- 

*The  citation  is  from  Medical  Bibliography. 
By  James  Atkinson.  London.  1854. 


Albert  its  Magnus   Vindicated. 


713 


duction  of  a  bishop,  although  very 
unepiscopal  in  its  nature.  We  pre- 
mise a  short  sketch  of  his  life,  com- 
piled from  the  Protestant  Cave 
(Historia  Literaria,  Saeculum  Scho- 
lasticum,  §1260) :  Albertus,  surnamed 
the  Great,  a  German,  was  born  in  the 
year  1205.  He  studied  at  Padua. 
In  the  year  1221,  he  joined  the  Friar 
Preachers.  He  was  considered  the 
greatest  theologian,  philosopher,  and 
mathematician  of  his  day.  He  excel- 
led especially  in  mathematics.  In 
the  year  1236,  on  the  death  of  the 
general  of  the  order,  he  governed  the 
same  for  two  years  as  vicar.  He 
afterward  became  provincial  of  his 
order  in  Germany,  fixing  his  resi- 
dence at  Cologne,  where  also  he 
taught  with  great  applause.  In  the 
beginning  of  the  year  1260,  he  was  ap- 
pointed Bishop  of  Ratisbon  by  Alex- 
ander IV.,  and  was  obliged,  against 
his  will,  to  undertake  that  responsibi- 
lity. He  held  the  same  for  only 
three  years,  when,  wearied  out  by  its 
duties,  he  resigned  the  dignity,  and 
returned  to  his  beloved  monastery 
of  Cologne,  where  he  spent  his  old 
age  in  the  delights  of  study.  He 
died  in  the  year  1280.  Such  is  the 
substance  of  Cave's  biography.  Al- 
though there  is  some  doubt  as  to  the 
date  of  his  birth,  all  agree  that  he 
was  made  bishop  in  the  year  1260, 
and  that  during  that  time  he  had 
enough  to  do  in  the  affairs  of  his 
diocese.  The  work  in  question,  written 
about  the  year  1240,  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  rightly  styled  unepiscopal. 
Besides,  all  the  editions  that  attri- 
bute the  work  to  Albertus  say  that  it 
was  written  by  him  whilst  stopping  in 
Paris.  Thus,  in  the  notes  added  by 
some  unknown  author  to  the  editions 
of  1 60 1  and  1637  these  words  are 
found :  "  Ego  Albertus  morans  Pa- 
risiis  " — "  I,  Albert,  staying  in  Paris." 
The  first  words  of  the  text  are,  "  Dilec- 
to  sibi,"  etc.  As  a  bishop,  we  have  no 


record  of  his  ever  having  been  in  Pa- 
ris, much  less  stopping  there  for  a 
time.  As  a  very  old  man,  it  is  said 
that  he  made  the  journey  once  more 
from  Cologne.  After  resigning  his 
episcopate,  he  always  lived  and  taught 
at  Cologne.  We  may  therefore,  with 
justice,  put  down  the  word  unepisco- 
pal as  inaccurate. 

Second '  Misstatement. — The  positive 
affirmation  of  the  fact  that  Albertus 
Magnus  was  the  author  of  the  work 
on  the  Secrets  of  Women.  Admit- 
ting that  our  examination  has  not 
been  as  exhaustive  as  it  might,  owing 
to  the  want  of  facility  in  consulting 
many  authorities  we  should  have  de- 
sired to,  what  we  shall  produce  we 
hope  will  be  sufficient  to  place  be- 
yond doubt  this  one  fact,  that,  if  the 
work  is  not  wholly  to  be  rejected  as 
that  of  Albertus  Magnus,  it  must  at 
least  be  granted  that  it  is  very  doubt- 
ful. Our  opinion  is  that  it  is  wholly 
supposititious.  We  have  not  found 
a  single  authority  which  does  not  ad- 
mit that  it  is  doubtful  whether  Alber- 
tus Magnus  was  the  author  of  it ; 
and  the  vast  majority  of  critics  and 
several  intrinsic  arguments  prove  that 
his  name,  as  the  famous  one  of  the 
age,  was  affixed  to  it  to  give  it  noto- 
riety. These  propositions  we  will  now 
substantiate  by  negative  and  positive 
arguments,  some  extrinsic  and  oth- 
ers intrinsic,  drawn  from  the  charac- 
ter of  the  author  and  of  the  writing 
in  question. 

All  admit  that  the  authenticity 
of  the  work  is  called  in  question. 
We  have  consulted  at  least  eighteen 
distinct  authorities  in  matters  of  bib- 
liography, and  have  not  found  one 
making  the  positive  affirmation  of 
the  fact ;  and  some  of  our  authorities, 
as,  for  instance,  Cave  and  Fabricius, 
refer  to  every  critic  of  note  up  to 
their  time  (Cave  to  no  less  than 
three  hundred  and  seventy-two  au- 
thors). Almost  all  positively  deny 


Albert  us  Magnus  Vindicated. 


that  the  work  belongs  to  Albertus 
Magnus.  Some  make  no  mention 
of  it  at  all  when  speaking  of  his  life 
and  labors.  Others  say  in  general 
that  many  writings  have  been  ascrib- 
ed to  Albertus,  in  order  to  give  them 
notoriety,  which,  however,  must  be 
rejected  as  supposititious.  Thus,  the 
Encyclopedia  Britannica,  art.  "Albert," 
vol.  i.,  p.  171,  says  :  "A  detailed  list 
of  Albert's  works,  the  genuineness  of 
many  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
termine, is  to  be  found  in  the  Scrip- 
tores  Ord.  Prcedicatorum  of  Quetif 
and  Echard."  Moreri,  in  his  grand 
Dictionnaire  Historique,  has  nothing 
at  all  about  the  book,  and  yet  he 
speaks  at  length  of  Albertus  and  his 
works.  Appleton's  American  Ency- 
clopedia makes  no  mention  of  it;  neith- 
er does  Hallam,  who  would  not  have 
passed  by  such  a  book,  for  he  speaks 
expressly  of  Albertus's  influence  on 
medical  studies.  The  Regensburg 
Universal  Realen  Encyclopedic,  edi- 
tion 1850,  art.  "Albertus  Magnus," 
says  :  "  Sehr  viele  Schrifter  wurden 
ihm  spater  falschlich  beigelegt " — 
"  Very  many  works  were  at  a  later 
period  falsely  ascribed  to  him." 

These  authorities  are,  however, 
purely  negative.  We  shall  now  bring 
forward  the  positive  proofs  for  the 
same  fact :  a.  Critics,  b.  Brunet.  c. 
Encyclopaedias,  d.  Historians,  e.  Bio- 
graphies, f.  Editions. 

a.  Critics. — It  will  be  enough  to 
bring  forward  Fabricius,  Boyle,  and 
Cave,  all  unexceptionable  authorities. 
Fabricius,  Lipsiensis  Professor,  Bib- 
liotheca  Latina  medics  et  infinite  ceta- 
tis,  after  referring  to  all  the  subjects 
treated  of  in  the  twenty-one  folio 
volumes  of  the  Lyons  edition,  the 
only  complete  one  ever  published, 
speaks  of  the  works  which  must  be 
rejected,  and  among  them  he  places 
"  Liber  de  Secretis  Secretorum,  sive  de 
Secretis  Mulierum,  scepe  editus  sed  sup- 
fositus  Alberto,  qui  plus  simplici  vice 


in  eo  citatur " — "  The  book  on  the 
Secret  of  Secrets,  or  on  the  Secrets 
of  Women,  often  published  but  fath- 
ered on  Albertus,  who  is  more  than 
once  quoted  in  it."  Boyle  certainly 
will  not  be  accused  of  any  partiality 
for  the  great  Catholic  doctors  of 
scholasticism.  In  a  long  article  on 
Albertus  Magnus,  he  has  these  words : 
"  I  shall  particularly  mention  some 
falsities  that  have  been  reported  about 
him.  It  has  been  said  that  he  deliv- 
ered women,  and  it  was  taken  very 
ill  that  a  man  of  his  profession  should 
do  the  office  of  a  midwife.  The 
ground  of  this  story  is  that  there 
was  a  book  under  the  name  of 
Albertus  Magnus,  containing  several 
instructions  for  midwives,  and  so 
much  knowledge  of  their  art  that  it 
seemed  he  could  not  have  been  so 
well  skilled  in  that  trade  if  he  had 
not  exercised  it.  But  the  apologists 
of  Albertus  maintained  that  he  is  not 
the  author  of  that  book,  nor  of  that 
De  Secretis  Mulierum."  He  here  re- 
fers to  a  note  in  which  he  explains 
as  follows :  "  The  book  De  Secretis 
Mulierum,  wrongfully  ascribed  to  Al- 
bertus, is  the  work  of  one  of  his  dis- 
ciples, who  is  called  Henricus  de 
Saxonia,  with  whose  name  it  has 
been  printed  more  than  once.  Here 
are  Simler's  words :  '  Henricus  de 
Saxonia,  Alberti  Magni  discipuli,  liber 
de  Secretis  Mulierum  impressus  Au- 
eustce]  A.D.  1498,  per  Antonium 
Surg. ;  and  in  the  Catalogue  of  Thua- 
nus's  Library  you  will  find,  '  Henrici 
de  Saxonia,  de  Secretis  Mulierum,  de 
virtutibus  herbarum,  lapidum  quorum- 
dam  animalium  aliorumque,  12  mo, 
Francof.,  1615.'  It  is  plain  that  Al- 
bertus's name,  more  famous  than 
that  of  Henry,  gave  occasion  to  that 
supposition."  Thus  far  Boyle. 

Cave  in  his  Hisforia  Literaria  makes 
no  mention  of  the  work  as  belonging 
to  Albertus. 

b.  Brunet,  the  great  authority  on 


Albert  us  Magnus   Vindicated. 


715 


books  and  editions,  in  his  Manuel 
du  Libraire,  says  :  "  De  Secretis  Mu- 
lieriun,  opus  1478,  in-4°,  premiere 
edition  de  cet  ouvrage,  mal-a-propos 
attribue  &  Albert-le-grand  " — "De Se- 
cretis Muliemm,  1478,  4to,  first  edi- 
tion of  this  work,  wrongfully  attribut- 
ed to  Albert  the  Great." 

c.  Encyclopedias. — Edinburgh  En- 
cyclopcedia,     conducted      by     David 
Brewster,  edition  of  1832,  art.  "  Alber- 
tus  Magnus  :"  "  The  treatise  De  Se- 
cretis Mulierum"   etc.,  generally  as- 
cribed to  him,  was  written  by  one  of 
his  disciples,  Henricus  de  Saxonia." 
Penny  Encyclopaedia,  London,   1833  : 
"  There  are  also  collections  of  sup- 
posed secrets  which  have  erroneously 
been    published    under    his    name; 
among  others,  one  De  Secretis  Mu- 
lierum  et  Naturce,  printed  at  Amster- 
dam, in   1655,  which  is  believed  to 
have  been  written  by  one  of  his  dis- 
ciples."  Chambers'*  Encyclopaedia  re- 
jects the  work  also  as  supposititious. 

d.  Historians. — Natalis  Alexander, 
Hist.  Ecc.,  Sseculum  XIII.,  on  "  Al- 
bertus  Magnus,"  concludes  his  notice 
thus  :   "  Liber  De  Mirabilibus  vani- 
tate  et  superstitione  refertus,  Alberto 
Magno  suppositus  est,  inquit  Debrio, 
Disquisitionum   Magicarutn,    cap.    3. 
Librum  De  Secretis  Mulierum  nee  ip- 
sius   est   nee   docti   cujuspiam     esse 
censuerunt   Medici   Lovanienses,  ut 
refert  Molanus  in  Bibliotheca  Sacra  " — 
"  The  book  De  Mirabilibus,  filled  with 
nonsense  and  superstition,  has  been 
falsely  ascribed  to  Albertus  Magnus, 
says  Debrio  in  his  work  Essays  on 
Magic,  cap.  3.    The  Medical  Faculty 
of  the  University  of  Louvain  gave  as 
their  opinion  that  the  book  De  Secre- 
tis Muliemm  is  not  his  nor  that  of 
any  learned  man,  as  Molanus  relates 
in  his  Bibliotheca  Sacra" 

Raynoldus,  in  his  Cronaca,  the 
great  continuation  of  the  Annals  of 
Baronius,  under  the  year  1260,  para- 
graph 1 5th,  says:  "Hie  vero  lec- 


torem     diligenter     monitum     velim 
plura  passim  Alberti  Magni  nomine 
scripta  circumferri,  quae  ab  ipso  nun- 
quam  emanasse  exploratum  est ;  cum 
magica  superstitione  sint  foedata,  sed 
ad  conciliandum  rei  vel  frivolae  vel 
scelestae  auctoritatem,  piissimi  et  sa- 
pientis  viri  nomine  subornati  simpli- 
cibus  obtruduntur  "— "  We  wish  here 
particularly  to  warn  the  reader  that 
there  are  many  writings  extant  attri- 
buted to  Albertus  Magnus,  which,  it 
is   clear,  never   emanated   from  his 
pen ;  for  they  are  filled  with  magical 
superstition ;  but  to  gain  some  au- 
thority for  a  trifling  or  wicked  work, 
they  are  palmed  off  on  the  ignorant 
under  the  name  of  a  most  pious  and 
learned    man."      Prof.    Hefele,   the 
German   historian,  in  an  article  on 
Albertus     Magnus    in    Wetzer    and 
Welte's    Kirchen- Lexicon,  concludes 
thus :    "  Dem    Albertus    sind    viele 
Biicher  unterschoben  worden,  z.  B. 
De  Alchymia   und  De  Secretis  Mu- 
lierum, u.  dgl." — "  Many  books  have 
been  fathered  on  Albert,  e.g.  De  Al- 
chymia and   De    Secretis  Mulierum, 
etc."     Cantri,  the  Italian  historian, 
in  his  Universal  History,  expresses  the 
same  opinion  in  his  chapter  on  the 
"  Natural  and  Occult  Sciences." 

e.  Biographies. — Feller,  in  his  Bio- 
graphie  Universelle,  says  :  "  Enfin,  on 
a  lui  attribue  de  ridicules  recueils  des 
Secrets,  auquels  il  n'a  pas  eu  la 
moindre  part.  On  y  trouve  meme 
des  indecences  et  des  recherches 
aussi  vaines  que  peu  dignes  d'une 
religeux  " — "  Finally,  a  ridiculous  col- 
lection of  Secrets  have  been  attribut- 
ed to  him,  with  which  he  had  nothing 
to  do.  Even  obscene  things  are  found 
in  this  collection,  and  investigations 
as  frivolous  as  they  are  unworthy  of 
a  religious."  The  French  and  Ger- 
man biographies  consulted  by  us 
agree  in  this  same  opinion. 

f.  Editions. — Dr.  Atkinson,  in  his 
Medical  Biography,  mentions  all  the 


716 


Albert  us  Magnus   Vindicated. 


editions  of  the  work  from  the  first  in 
1478  to  1760.  The  first  edition,  1478, 
is  without  the  name  of  the  place  in 
which  it  was  printed ;  and  of  it  we 
have  seen  the  judgment  of  Brunei. 
The  editions  of  1480  and  1481  are 
without  the  name  of  either  printer 
or  place.  The  edition  of  1484, 
Augustae,  comes  out  with  Henry  of 
Saxony  as  its  author.  Those  of  1488 
and  1498  also.  The  earliest  editions, 
therefore,  cannot  be  quoted  as  making 
Albertus  the  author  of  the  work.  It 
was  only  the  editions  of  1600  and 
those  which  followed  that  ascribed 
the  work  to  Albertus,  and  they  were 
almost  all  printed  in  Germany  or 
Holland.  Does  it  not  look  as  if 
party  spirit  had  much  to  do  with 
these  editions  ?  The  only  complete 
edition  of  the  works  of  Albertus  is 
that  of  the  Rev.  A.  P.  Peter  Jammy, 
S.T.D.,  in  twenty-one  folio  volumes, 
printed  at  Lyons,  1651.  This  edition 
contains  no  mention  of  the  book. 

In  the  authorities  thus  far  quoted, 
we  have  studiously  avoided  bringing 
forward  any  but  those  which  are 
universally  admitted  as  standard. 
But  even  should  the  extrinsic  testi- 
mony thus  far  given  not  have  been 
all  on  our  side,  we  think  the  intrinsic 
evidence  would  be  quite  sufficient  to 
settle  the  question.  To  this  point  we 
will  now  briefly  direct  attention. 
These  intrinsic  arguments  are  drawn 
from  the  work  itself  and  from  the 
well-known  character  of  Albertus 
Magnus.  The  book  or  document 
was  written  somewhere  about  the 
year  1240  or  1250,  and  was  first 
printed  in  the  year  1478.  Its  com- 
position shows  evidently  that  it  was 
intended  only  for  the  person  to  whom 
it  was  directed ;  that  it  was  merely  a 
letter  to  a  friend  in  answer  to  an  ob- 
scure question  proposed  by  him ;  in 
fine,  that  it  was  not  a  treatise  intend- 
ed for  preservation,  but  merely  a 
familiar  correspondence  on  the  part 


of  the  writer  to  satisfy,  as  far  as  he 
was  able,  the  inquiries  of  his  friend. 
Naude,  the  critic,  makes  use  of  these 
two   proofs   to   show   that   Albertus 
could   not   have   written    the   work. 
First,  Albertus  did  not  name  himself 
in  the  beginning  of  the  work.     He 
who    commented    upon   it   affirmed 
without  any  proof  that  Albertus  was 
its  author.     The   text    begins    with 
these  words :  "  Delecto  sibi  in  Christo 
socio  et  amico,"  etc. — "  To  his  beloved 
companion  and  friend  in  Christ.     In 
the  notes  added  to  the   edition  of 
1 60 1    and    1637    these   words   have 
been  placed   as   a   title :    "  Ego  Al- 
bertus morans  Parisiis  " — "  I,  Albert, 
staying  in  Paris."    The  title  has  been 
affixed   gratuitously   and   arbitrarily. 
The  work   is   therefore   anonymous. 
Second,   Albertus    could    not    have 
written  it,  for  his  own   authority  is 
often  made  use  of.    We  must  remem- 
ber that  the  document  in  question  was 
only  a  letter  from  one  friend  to  anoth- 
er ;  and  it  certainly  would  be  strange 
for  a  man  to  quote  his  own  well-known 
works  at  any  time,  much  less  in   a 
familiar  correspondence.     If   he  in- 
troduced them  at  all,  it  would  be  in 
some  such  form  as  this :  "  as  you  will 
find  in  my  work  on,"  etc.     The  au- 
thor of  this  letter  quotes  Albertus's 
authority   at   least    five   times.     We 
have   verified   the   following   in   the 
edition  of  1637,  Argentorati:    Page 
49  :  "  That  this  may  be  understood, 
we   must  note  that    there    are  four 
states  of  the  moon,  according  to  Al- 
bertus in  his  treatise  De  Statu  Soils 
et  Lunce.     Page  69,  showing  the  im- 
possibility of  a  universal  deluge,  the 
author  says:   "And  we  must  know 
that  these  things  are  not  imaginary, 
because  Albertus,  on  the  Action  and 
Effect  of  Lightning,    mentions,"  etc. 
Page  97,  "  For  Albertus  mentions  just 
as,"   etc.     Page    109,  "As   Albertus 
says  in  his  book  on,"    etc.     We  do 
not  argue  from  the  fact  of  the  au- 


Albcrtus  Magnus  Vindicated. 


717 


thority  of  Albertus  being  used  to 
prove  that  he  could  not  have  been 
the  author,  but  from  the  manner  in 
which  that  authority  is  introduced. 
The  reader  will  judge  for  himself  if 
our  inference  be  correct.  But  to  us 
the  convincing  proof  of  the  falsity  of 
the  work  is  to  be  drawn  from  the 
character  of  Albertus  himself  and  the 
subject  matter  of  the  work.  The 
testimony  of  antiquity  has  brought 
him  down  to  us  as  venerable  for  his 
piety  and  goodness  as  he  was  illustri- 
ous for  learning.  He  was  truly  a 
good  man.  He  was  really  an  exceed- 
ingly learned  man.  The  work  as- 
cribed to  him  could  have  been  writ- 
ten by  neither  a  good  man  nor.  even 
a  moderately  well-educated  man. 
There  are  principles  laid  down  in  it 
which  contradict  the  first  ideas  of 
morality  and  inculcate  unbridled  li- 
cense. And  shall  the  well-known 
works  on  morality  of  the  great  doctor 
not  be  allowed  to  cry  out  in  his  de- 
fence ?  Shall  we  say  that  he  has  not 
only  glaringly  contradicted  himself, 
but  become  the  open  advocate  of 
immorality?  When  the  illustrious 
Protestant  critic  Cave  tells  us  that 
Albertus  was  considered  the  greatest 
theologian,  philosopher,  and  mathe- 
matician of  his  day,  he  does  but  re- 
echo the  voice  of  each  past  genera- 
tion ;  and  shall  we  say  that  he  could 
have  written  the  work  in  question,  so 
full  of  nonsense  and  superstition, 
and  contrasting  so  strongly  with  his 
other  writings  ?  Is  not  the  opinion 
of  the  Medical  Faculty  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Louvain  more  just  when 
they  maintain  that  the  work  De  Se- 
cretis Mulierum  is  neither  that  of 
Albertus  nor  indeed  of  any  learned 
man  at  all?  These  few  reflections 
should  be  enough  to  settle  the  matter. 
We  could  bring  forward  other  and 
far  more  convincing  reasons  in  vindi- 
cation of  this  great  doctor;  but  from 
what  has  been  said,  we  think  we  are 


justified  in  placing  the  positive 
affirmation  of  the  writer  ascribing 
the  work  to  Albertus  Magnus  as  a  glar- 
ing misstatement — as  blot  number  two. 

The  third  misstatement  was  that 
St.  Thomas  Aquinas  wrote  a  com- 
mentary on  it.  We  challenge  the 
writer  to  bring  a  single  authority  to 
prove  that  fact.  We  n^ver  heard  or 
saw  anything  about  it  before.  None 
of  the  great  standard  critics  ever  hint 
at  it;  so,  not  to  lose  patience,  we 
affirm  that  it  is  the  most  glaring  mis- 
statement  made — blot  number  three, 
in  almost  as  many  lines. 

The  reader  might  here  naturally 
ask,  Where,  then,  did  the  writer  ob- 
tain any  information  on  which  to 
base  his  so  positive  statements,  so  in- 
jurious to  the  characters  of  two  justly 
celebrated  benefactors  of  the  human 
race  ?  We  have  met  with  but  one 
phrase  which  could  have  suggested 
the  lines  in  question,  and  they  are 
taken  from  a  writer  who  should  not 
be  brought  forward  as  authority  in  a 
matter  of  criticism ;  for  the  scurrilous, 
filthy,  and  flippant  manner  in  which 
he  speaks  of  authors  and  books  ren- 
ders him  unworthy  of  an  answer. 
This  author  is  Dr.  James  Atkinson, 
who  published  a  Medical  Biography, 
one  volume,  A  and  B,  London,  1834. 
After  admitting  that  the  authorship 
of  the  book  De  Secretis  Mulierum 
is  a  contested  matter,  he  has  these 
words :  "  It  may  be  a  question  whether 
the  editions  (of  which  I  have  one  in 
Gothic  characters)  of  this  Libellus 
de  Secretis  Mulierum  were  not 
originally  written  by  Albertus,  and 
published  with  a  commentary  (which 
is  annexed  to  it  in  my  edition)  by  St. 
Thomas  Aquinas  (although  usually 
'non  est  inventus')  or  Henricus  de 
Saxonia.  Is  it  possible  ? "  The 
character  of  the  author  Atkinson,  as 
manifested  in  his  work,  and  these 
words  themselves,  are  a  sufficient  an- 
swer to  any  proof  to  be  drawn  from 


7I8 


New  Publications. 


his  authority.  We  must  say  candidly 
that  these  are  the  only  words  we 
could  find  even  to  suggest  the  re- 
markable lines  we  have  quoted  in  the 
beginning  of  this  article;  and  we 


conclude  that  we  might  have  hoped 
for  the  sincerity  of  Atkinson  in  one 
who  shows  that,  if  he  has  tried  to 
read  much,  he  has  read  neither  wisely 
nor  well. 


NEW   PUBLICATIONS. 


A  HISTORY  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  COUNCILS. 
From  the  Original  Documents,  to  the 
close  of  the  Council  of  Nicaea,  A.D. 
325.  By  Charles  Joseph  Hefele,  D.D., 
Bishop  of  Rottenburg,  formerly  Profes- 
sor of  Theology  in  the  University  of 
Tubingen.  Translated  from  the  Ger- 
man, and  edited  by  William  R.  Clark, 
M.A.  Oxon.,  Prebendary  of  Wells  and 
Vicar  of  Taunton.  Edinburgh :  T.  & 
T.  Clark,  38  George  Street.  1871. 
New  York  :  The  Catholic  Publication 
House,  9  Warren  Street. 

The  merits  of  Dr.  Hefele's  great 
but  still  unfinished  work  are  well 
known  and  universally  appreciated. 
Certain  portions  of  it  rise  to  the  ex- 
cellence of  a  masterpiece,  and  real- 
ly exhibit  a  genius  almost,  if  not 
quite,  equal  to  that  which  is  shown 
in  the  Athanasius  of  Mohler  and  the 
History  of  the  Arians  by  Dr.  New- 
man. We  refer  especially  to  the 
parts  treating  of  the  Arian  and 
semi-Arian  controversies,  and  of  the 
history  of  the  Council  of  Constance, 
with  the  other  synods  preceding  and 
connected  with  it.  We  cannot,  how- 
ever, consider  the  work  of  Dr.  He- 
fele as  faultless.  In  our  opinion,  he 
has  signally  failed  in  his  treatment 
of  the  celebrated  cases  of  Liberius 
and  Honorius.  In  the  present  vol- 
ume there  are,  as  it  appears  to  us, 
two  manifest  errors  in  regard  both 
to  fact  and  doctrine.  The  first  one 
is  found  in  the  statement  that  con- 
firmation by  a  schismatical  or  here- 
tical bishop  is  invalid,  and  was  judg- 
ed to  be  so  by  Pope  Stephen  and 
the  bishops  of  his  time.  The  second 


is  the  assertion  that  the  baptism  of 
the  Paulianists  was  rejected  because 
of  the  heresy  professed  by  them, 
and  not  because  they  had  vitiated 
the  baptismal  formula.  It  is  strange 
that  so  learned  a  professor  could 
not  see  that,  if  baptism  in  the  name 
of  the  Trinity  was  made  invalid  by 
the  fact  that  the  Paulianists  under- 
stood by  the  terms  Father,  Son,  and 
Holy  Ghost  something  different 
from  the  true,  Catholic  sense  of  the 
church,  the  baptism  of  the  Arians, 
and  of  all  sorts  of  Unitarians,  would 
be  made  invalid  by  the  same  reason. 
Almost  all  German  authors  have 
a  tone  and  an  air  as  if  everything 
has  to  be  proved  from  the  begin- 
ning anew,  and  this  proof  sharply 
criticised  by  an  infidel  professor  in 
the  next  room.  Dr.  Hefele  has  this 
air  about  him  whenever  he  writes 
about  the  constitutive  principles  of 
the  Catholic  Church,  and  only  loses 
it  when  he  has  fairly  plunged  into 
his  subject  and  become  carried 
away  by  it.  There  is,  moreover,  a 
perceptible,  though  not  very  deep, 
tinge  of  what  we  may  call  ante-Vat- 
ican theology  in  the  introduction, 
although  one  passage  has  been  cor- 
rected by  the  author  since  the  coun- 
cil. The  learned  and  illustrious  au- 
thor was  always  animated  by  an 
orthodox  and  pious  spirit,  which  he 
has  manifested  by  a  truly  apostolic 
exercise  of  his  episcopal  authority 
in  sustaining  and  enforcing  the  de- 
cisions of  the  Council  of  the  Vat- 
ican. Notwithstanding  the  acci- 
dental defects  of  his  great  work,  it 


New  Publications, 


719 


is  a  monument  not  merely  of  ec- 
clesiastical learning,  but  of  sound 
Catholic  doctrine,  in  which  the  su- 
premacy of  the  Holy  See,  and  the 
justice  of  its  cause  as  against  all 
heretics,  schismatics,  and  rebels,  are 
maintained  with  victorious  logic  and 
overwhelming  evidence.  Its  critical 
character  makes  it  especially  valua- 
ble for  those  who  are  studying  the 
history  and  constitution  of  the 
church,  and  we  are,  therefore,  sin- 
cerely glad  that  one  volume  has 
been  translated  into  English  and 
published,  and  can  only  hope  that 
the  others  may  follow. 

The  translation  has  been  made  by 
a  Protestant  dignitary  and  publish- 
by  a  Protestant  firm,  as  the  title  at 
the  head  of  this  notice  has  already 
informed  our  readers.  This  seems 
rather  odd.  We  are  glad  to  see  a 
taste  for  works  like  this  arising  in 
the  educated  world,  but  can  scarce- 
ly understand  what  could  induce  a 
Protestant,  sincerely  and  firmly  at- 
tached to  his  own  doctrine,  to  pro- 
mote their  circulation.  The-author's 
motives  are,  however,  his  own  af- 
fair, and  the  affair  of  his  own  eccle- 
siastical connection.  We  have  only 
to  criticise  the  manner  in  which  he 
has  done  his  work,  and  for  that  we 
are  bound  to  accord  him  great 
praise.  Most  judiciously,  and  to 
our  very  great  satisfaction,  he  has 
refrained  from  giving  us  his  own 
opinions  in  prefaces  or  notes,  and 
has  left  Bishop  Hefele  in  the  state 
in  which  he  found  him  of  pure,  un- 
adulterated text.  The  translation 
is  undoubtedly  substantially  correct, 
and,  so  far  as  we  have  seen,  exact 
and  accurate  in  detail,  while  at  the 
same  time  it  is  smooth,  readable 
English.  We  have  noticed  only 
one  mistranslation,  and  that  is  one 
which  is  wholly  indefensible.  This 
is  the  substitution  of  ROMAN  CATH- 
OLIC for  CATHOLIC.  We  protest 
against  this  alteration  of  Bishop 
Hefele's  language,  and  condemn  it 
as  contrary  to  literary  honesty,  and 
a  real  falsification  of  the  text.  The 
volume  is  admirably  printed,  and  is 
for  sale  at  The  Catholic  Publication 


House,  and  we  most  cordially  re- 
commend it  to  the  attention  of  all 
students  of  ecclesiastical  history 
who  are  unable  to  read  the  work  in 
German  or  French. 

THE  PRIEST  ON  THE  MISSION.  A  Course 
of  Lectures  on  Missionary  and  Paro- 
chial Duties.  By  Frederick,  Canon 
Oakeley,  elc.  London  :  Longmans  & 
Co.  New  York  :  The  Catholic  Publi- 
cation Society,  9  Warren  Street.  1871. 

Whoever  has  the  happiness  of 
knowing  Canon  Oakeley  will  think 
he  sees  him  and  hears  him  talking 
when  he  reads  this  book.  Canon 
Oakeley  was  well  known  many 
years  ago  as  a  Fellow  of  Balliol  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  and  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  of  the  brilliant  band 
of  converts  from  that  university. 
As  a  Catholic  priest,  he  has  been 
one  of  the  most  laborious  and  suc- 
cessful among  the  parochial  clergy 
of  London.  His  long  experience 
and  eminently  practical  mind  make' 
him  unusually  well  fitted  for  writing 
a  work  like  the  present.  It  is  full 
of  admirable  directions  and  sugges- 
tions, among  which  those  on  preach- 
ing especially  attracted  our  atten- 
tion. Canon  Oakeley's  very  remark- 
able merits  as  a  writer  are  too  well 
known  to  need  our  commendation. 
The  style  of  the  present  volume  is 
well  worthy  of  the  venerable  au- 
thor's best  days,  and  makes  the 
book  delightful  reading.  We  think 
it  is  one  which  even  the  most  ex- 
perienced pastors  will  find  useful 
and  interesting,  and  which  will  be 
found  to  be  of  the  highest  value  to 
young  clergymen  and  ecclesiastical 
students. 

CATHOLIC  HYMNS  AND  CANTICLES,  TO- 
GETHER WITH  A  COMPLETE  SODALITY 
MANUAL.  By  Rev.  Alfred  Young. 
Sixth  edition.  New  York  :  The  Cath- 
olic Publication  House.  1871. 

Father  Young's  hymn-book,  well 
known  to  many  of  our  schools  and 
confraternities  for  the  past  eight 
years,  is  now  enlarged  by  the  addi- 
tion of  twenty-four  hymns  to  its 


720 


New  Publications. 


first  edition.  The  best  thing  we 
can  say  of  the  collection  is  that,  of 
the  one  hundred  and  thirty-one 
hymns  which  it  contains,  not  more 
than  half  a  dozen  are  beyond  the 
capacity  or  unsuited  to  the  tastes  of 
the  youth  for  whom  it  was  designed. 
The  majority  of  the  melodies  are 
original,  and  not  to  be  found  in  any 
other  book  of  the  kind.  Every  sea- 
son and  festival  of  the  year  is  repre- 
sented by  a  choice  selection  of  ap- 
propriate hymns,  and  the  present 
edition  is  enriched  with  the  popular 
congregational  hymns  sung  in  the 
church  of  the  Paulists  during  Lent, 
and  at  the  meetings  of  their  Rosary 
and  Christian  Doctrine  Societies. 
We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying 
that  it  is  the  most  complete  and 
satisfactory  hymn-book  for  our 
schools  and  sodalities  that  has  been 
issued  in  the  English  language. 


AMERICAN   RELIGION.     By  John  Weiss. 
Boston  :  Roberts  Brothers.     1871. 

Precisely  what  it  was  that  Mr. 
Weiss  proposed  to  himself  in  writ- 
ing the  series  of  essays  which  he 
dignifies  by  the  title  of  "  American 
Religion,"  we  do  not  find  it  easy  to 
say.  He  is  one  of  those  more  un- 
happy admirers  of  Mr.  Emerson 
who,  in  paying  him  the  ready  tribute 
of  a  more  or  less  perfect  imitation 
of  the  style  of  his  speech  and  the 
manner  of  his  thought,  have  so  far 
beggared  themselves  as  to  leave 
their  readers  in  doubt  as  to  what 
their  own  thinking  and  their  own 
statement  might  have  been,  had 
they  in  fact  retained  that  individu- 
ality the  rights  of  which  it  seems 
now  only  a  part  of  their  imitation 
to  assert.  Mr.  Emerson's  style, 
which  is  the  fit  expression  of  the 
character  of  his  mind,  and  in  its 
way  perfection,  has  the  unfortunate 
peculiarity  of  being  so  mannered 
that  the  least  of  his  disciples  can 
successfully,  and  apparently  uncon- 
sciously, travesty  it.  Just  what  it 
was,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Weiss  had 


in  his  mind  concerning  the  new  re- 
ligion which  he  desires  to  see  adapt- 
ed to  the  supposed  needs  of  Amer- 
ica, we  do  not  know ;  but  through 
the  fog  in  which  his  readers  are  per- 
force doomed  to  flounder,  it  seems 
as  if  he  believes  that  the  three 
thousand  miles  of  sea-water  which 
lie  between  his  native  land  and  the 
Old  World  were  a  sufficient  laver  of 
regeneration  for  those  born  on  the 
hither  side  of  it.  The  sense  of  sin, 
the  need  of  an  atonement,  the  effi- 
cacy of  prayer,  are  effete  ideas 
which  have  served  their  purpose  in 
the  past,  but  which  an  American 
citizen  is  better  without.  Why 
should  Yankee  Doodle,  who,  as  all 
the  world  knows,  is  the  latest  and 
fullest  expression  of  what  Mr.  Weiss 
likes  to  call  the  "  Divine  Imma- 
nence," bewail  sins  which  are  after 
all  either  purely  imaginary  or  the 
result  of  a  defective  organization 
for  which  he  is  not  to  blame ;  or 
think  himself  in  need  of  a  mediator 
with  an  offended  God,  when  the  real 
truth  is  that  he  has  only  to  step  up 
to  the  nearest  square  inch  of  look- 
ing-glass to  behold  the  Divinity  in 
himself  and  settle  all  outlying  ac- 
counts by  word  of  mouth  ?  Perhaps 
we  do  Mr.  Weiss  an  injustice,  and,  in 
the  twelve  essays  which  form  this 
volume,  he  may  have  embodied  more 
and  better  ideas  than  the  only  one 
which  a  tolerably  attentive  reading 
has  enabled  us  to  gather  from  them. 
But  to  us  his  book  seems  likely  to 
be  as  barren  of  suggestion  to  those 
who  would  willingly  agree  with  him 
as  it  is  to  ourselves.  Its  prevailing 
cloudiness  is  here  and  there  broken 
in  upon  by  a  sort  of  inane  audacity 
of  expression  when  he  refers  to  our 
Lord  and  his  miracles ;  but  other- 
wise it  offers  an  unbroken  uniform- 
ity of  platitude.  It  betrays,  too,  an 
amusing  ignorance  of  all  modes  of 
thought  alien  to  either  the  ortho- 
doxy or  the  rationalism  of  New 
England,  the  provincialism  of  which 
is  in  very  pretty  keeping  with  the 
significant  title  which  Mr.  Weiss 
has  chosen  for  his  work. 


THE 


CATHOLIC  WORLD 


VOL.  XIII.,  No.  78.— SEPTEMBER,  1871. 


THE   REFORMATION   NOT  CONSERVATIVE.* 


DR.  KRAUTH  is  a  man  highly  es- 
teemed in  his  own  denomination,  and, 
though  neither  very  original  nor  pro- 
found, is  a  man  of  more  than  or- 
dinary ability  and  learning,  well  vers- 
ed in  Lutheran  theology,  and,  we 
presume,  a  trustworthy  representative 
of  it  as  contained  in  the  Lutheran 
symbolical  books,  and  held  by  the 
more  conservative  members  of  the 
Lutheran  Church — a  church,  or  sect 
rather,  of  growing  importance  in  our 
country,  in  consequence  of  the  large 
migration  hither  from  Germany  and 
the  north  of  Europe,  and  in  some 
respects  the  most  respectable  of  all 
the  churches  or  sects  born  of  the 
Protestant  Reformation,  or,  rather, 
the  Protestant  revolt  and  rebellion 
against  the  church  of  God.  Yet  he 
will  excuse  us  if  we  refuse  to  follow 
him  step  by  step  in  his  exposition  of 


*  The  Conservative  Reformation  and  its  Theo- 
logy ;  as  Represented  in  the  A  ugsburg  Confession, 
and  in  the  History  and  Literature  of  the  Evan- 
gelical Lutheran  Church.  By  Charles  V.  KrautU, 
D.D.,  Norton  Professor  of  Theology  in  the 
Evangelical  Lutheran  Theological  Seminary,  and 
Professor  of  Intellectual  and  Moral  Philosophy 
in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  Philadel- 
phia: J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.  1871.  8vo,  pp. 


the  Lutheran  theology,  for  all  that  is 
true  in  it  we  have  in  the  teaching  of 
the  Catholic  Church,  without  the  er- 
rors and  falsehoods  Luther  mingled 
with  it.  It  were  a  waste  of  time  to 
study  it,  unless  we  were  called  upon 
to  refute  it  in  detail,  which  we  are 
not. 

That  there  is  much  that  is  true 
mingled  with  much  more  that  is  false 
in  Lutheran  theology,  we  do  not  dis- 
pute, and  we  readily  admit  that  Dr. 
Krauth  means  to  hold,  and  in  his 
way  does  hold,  most  of  the  funda- 
mental principles,  if  not  dogmas,  of 
Christianity;  but  this  is  no  more  than 
we  might  say  of  any  other  system  of 
false  theology,  or  of  any  heathen  re- 
ligion or  superstition,  ancient  or  mo- 
dern, civilized  or  barbarous.  There 
is  no  pagan  religion,  if  we  analyze  it 
and  trace  it  to  its  fountain,  in  which 
we  cannot  detect  most,  if  not  all,  of 
the  great  primary  truths  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  or  the  great  principles 
which  underlie  the  dogmas  and  pre- 
cepts of  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
which  could  have  been  obtained  only 
from  the  revelation  made  by  God 
himself  to  our  first  parents  before 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by  REV.  I.  T.  HECKKR,  in  the  Office  of 
the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


722 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


their  expulsion  from  the  garden.  Yet 
what  avails  the  truth  false  religion 
conceals,  mingled  as  it  is  with  the 
errors  that  turn  it  into  a  lie  ?  It 
serves,  whether  with  the  lettered  and 
polished  Greek  and  Roman  or  the 
rude,  outlying  barbarian,  only  as  the 
basis  of  barbarous  superstitions,  cru- 
el, licentious,  and  idolatrous  rites,  and 
moral  abominations.  The  fundamen- 
tal ideas  or  principles  of  civilized  so- 
ciety are  retained  in  the  memory  of 
the  most  barbarous  nations  and  tribes, 
yet  are  they  none  the  less  barbarous  for 
that.  They  lack  order,  subordination ; 
neither  their  intelligence  nor  their  will 
is  disciplined  and  subjected  to  law; 
and  their  appetites  and  passions,  unre- 
strained and  untamed,  introduce  dis- 
order into  every  department  of  life, 
and  compel  intelligence  and  will, 
reason  itself,  to  enter  their  ignoble 
service,  and  as  abject  slaves  to  do 
their  bidding.  Civilization  introduc- 
es the  element  of  order,  establishes 
the  reign  of  law  in  the  individual,  in 
the  family,  in  the  state,  in  society, 
which  is  not  possible  without  a  reli- 
gion true  enough  to  enlighten  the  in- 
tellect, and  powerful  enough  over 
conscience  to  restrain  the  passions 
within  their  proper  bounds,  and  to 
bend  the  will  to  submission. 

All  Protestant  sects  hold  much  of 
truth,  but.  like  the  heathen  religions, 
they  hold  it  in  disorder,  out  of  its 
normal  relations  and  connections,  out 
of  its  unity  and  catholicity,  and  con- 
sequently no  one  of  them  is  strong 
enough  to  recover  the  element  of  or- 
der, and  re-establish  and  maintain  the 
reign  of  law  in  any  of  the  several 
apartments  of  life,  spiritual  or  secu- 
lar; for  the  very  essence  of  both 
consists  in  rejecting  catholicity,  the 
only  source  of  order.  We  therefore 
make  no  account  of  the  principles, 
truths,  or  even  Catholic  dogmas  re- 
tained by  the  various  Protestant 
churches  or  sects  from  Catholic  tra- 


dition. Held  as  they  are  out  of  uni- 
ty, out  of  their  normal  relations,  and 
mingled  with  all  sorts  of  errors  and 
fancies,  they  lose  their  virtue,  become 
the  basis  of  false  religion  and  false 
morality,  pervert  instead  of  enlight- 
ening reason,  and  mislead,  weaken, 
and  finally  destroy  conscience.  They 
are  insufficient  to  preserve  faith  and 
the  worship  of  God,  and  naturally 
tend  to  revive  in  a  lettered  nation 
the  polished  heathenism  of  Greece 
and  Rome.  Their  impotence  is  seen 
in  the  prevailing  disorder  in  the  whole 
Protestant  world,  and  especially  in  the 
singular  delusion  of  modern  society, 
that  the  loss  of  Catholic  truth,  Ca- 
tholic authority,  of  spirituality,  is  a 
progress  in  light,  liberty,  religion,  and 
civilization — a  delusion  which  counts 
the  revolutions,  the  civil  commotions, 
the  wars  between  the  people  and  the 
government,  between  class  and  class, 
and  capital  and  labor,  the  insurrec- 
tions and  terrible  social  disorders  of 
the  last  century  and  the  present,  only 
as  so  many  evidences  of  the  marvel- 
lous advance  of  the  modern  world 
in  freedom,  intelligence,  religion,  and 
Christian  morals.  Is  not  this  the 
delusion  that  goeth  before  and  lead- 
eth  to  destruction  ? 

Dr.  Krauth  has  not  advanced  so 
far,  or  rather  descended  so  low,  as 
have  some  of  his  Protestant  brethren. 
He  has  strong  conservative  instincts, 
and  still  retains  a  conviction  that  or- 
der is  necessary,  and  that  without  re- 
ligious faith  and  conscience  order  is 
not  possible.  He  has  a  dim  percep- 
tion of  the  truth,  that  unless  there  is 
something  in  religion  fixed,  perma- 
nent, and  authoritative,  even  religion 
cannot  meet  the  exigencies  of  society 
or  the  needs  of  the  soul ;  but,  a  child 
of  the  Reformation,  and  jealous  of  the 
honor  of  his  parentage,  he  thinks  it 
necessary  to  maintain  that,  if  religion 
must  be  fixed  and  permanent,  it  must 
at  the  same  time  be  progressive;  au- 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


723 


thoritative,  and  yet  subject  to  the  faith- 
ful, who  have  the  right  to  resist  or 
alter  it  at  will.  Hence  he  tells  us, 
page  viii.,  "  The  church  problem  is 
to  attain  a  Protestant  Catholicity,  or 
a  Catholic  Protestantism,"  and  seeks 
to  establish  for  Lutheranism  the  char- 
acter of  being  a  "  conservative  refor- 
mation." The  learned  doctor  may 
be  a  very  suitable  professor  of  theo- 
logy in  a  Lutheran  theological  semi- 
nary, or  a  proper  professor  of  intel- 
lectual and  moral  philosophy  in  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania,  but  he 
seems  either  not  to  have  mastered 
the  categories  or  to  have  forgotten 
them.  Contradictory  predicates  can- 
not be  affirmed  of  the  same  subject. 
The  Lutheran  Reformation  and  con- 
servatism belong  to  different  categor- 
ies. That  only  can  be  a  conservative  re- 
form of  the  church  that  is  effected  by 
the  church  herself  or  by  her  authority, 
and  which  leaves  her  authority  and 
constitution  intact,  by  no  means  the 
case  with  the  Lutheran  Reformation, 
which  was  a  total  subversion  of  the 
constitution  of  the  church  and  the 
denial  of  her  authority.  In  the  sense 
of  the  author,  conservative  reforma- 
tion implies  a  contradiction  in  terms. 
Logicians,  at  least  those  we  have 
had  for  masters,  tell  us  that  of  con- 
tradictories one  must  be  false.  If 
there  were  ever  two  terms  each  the 
contradictory  of  the  other,  they  are 
Catholic  and  Protestant.  One  cannot 
be  a  Catholic  without  denying  Pro- 
testantism, or  a  Protestant  without 
denying  Catholicity.  "  Protestant  Ca- 
tholicity "  or  "  Catholic  Protestant- 
ism" is  as  plainly  a  contradiction  in 
terms  as  a  square  circle  or  a  circular 
square.  If  Catholicity  is  true,  Pro- 
testantism is  false,  for  it  is  simply  the 
denial  of  Catholicity ;  and  if  the  Pro- 
testant denial  of  Catholicity  is  true 
or  warranted,  then  is  there  nothing 
catholic,  no  catholicity,  and  conse- 
quently r>o  catholic  Protestantism. 


Dr.  Krauth  has,  we  doubt  not, 
a  truth  floating  before  his  mind's 
eye,  but  he  fails  to  grasp  it,  or  to 
consider  to  what  it  is  applicable. 
"The  history  of  Christianity,"  he 
says,  page  vii.,  "  in  common  with  all 
genuine  history,  moves  under  the  in- 
fluence of  two  generic  ideas :  the  con- 
servative, which  desires  to  secure  the 
present  by  fidelity  to  the  results  of 
the  past;  the  progressive,  which  looks 
out  in  hope  to  a  better  future.  Re- 
formation is  the  great  harmonizer  of 
the  true  principles.  Corresponding 
with  conservatism,  reformation,  and 
progress,  are  the  three  generic  types 
of  Christianity ;  and  under  these 
genera  all  the  species  are  but  shades, 
modifications,  or  combinations,  as  all 
hues  arise  from  three  primary  colors. 
Conservatism  without  progress  pro- 
duces the  Romish  and  Greek  type 
of  the  church;  progress  without, con- 
servatism runs  into  revolution,  radi- 
calism, and  sectarianism ;  reformation 
is  antithetical  to  both — to  passive  per- 
sistence in  wrong  or  passive  endur- 
ance of  it,  and  to  revolution  as  a  mode 
of  relieving  wrong."  That  is,  re- 
formation preserves  its  subject  while 
correcting  its  aberrations,  and  effects 
its  progress  without  its  destruction, 
which,  if  the  subject  is  corruptible 
and  reformable,  and  the  reform  is  ef- 
fected by  the  proper  authorities  and 
by  the  proper  means,  is  no  doubt 
true;  and  in  this  case  reformation 
would  stand  opposed  alike  to  immo- 
bility and  revolution  or  destruction. 

But  is  the  learned  and  able  pro- 
fessor aware  of  what  he  does  when 
he  assumes  that  Christianity  is  cor- 
ruptible and  reformable,  that  it  is  or 
can  be  the  subject  either  of  corrup- 
tion or  of  reformation  ?  Intention- 
ally or  not,  by  so  assuming,  he  plac- 
es it  in  the  category  of  human  insti- 
tutions, or  natural  productions,  left 
to  the  action  of  the  natural  laws  or 
of  second  causes,  and  withdraws  it 


724 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative, 


from  the  direct  and  immediate  gov- 
ernment and  protection  of  God.  Not 
otherwise  could  its  history  be  subject 
to  the  laws  that  govern  the  move- 
ment of  all  genuine  history,  be  either 
perfectible  or  corruptible,  or  ever 
stand  in  need  of  being  reformed,  or  of 
intrinsically  advancing.  Christianity 
itself  is  a  revelation  from  God,  the 
expression  of  his  eternal  reason  and 
will,  and  therefore  his  law,  which 
like  himself  is  perfect  and  unalter- 
able. The  terms  the  professor  applies, 
can  apply,  then,  only  to  men's  views, 
theories,  or  judgments  of  Christiani- 
ty, not  to  Christianity  itself,  either 
as  a  doctrine  or  an  institution,  either 
as  the  faith  to  be  believed,  or  as  the 
law  to  be  obeyed— a  fact  which,  in  the 
judgment  of  some,  Dr.  Newman's 
theory  of  development  overlooks 
Christianity  embodied  in  the  church 
is  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth, 
founded  immediately  by  the  Incar- 
nate Word  to  manifest  the  divine 
love  and  mercy  in  the  redemption 
and  salvation  of  souls,  and  to  intro- 
duce and  maintain  the  authority  of 
God  and  the  supremacy  of  his  law 
in  human  affairs.  It  is  not  an  ab- 
straction, and  did  not  come  into  the 
world  as  a  "  naked  idea,"  as  Guizot 
maintains,  nor  is  it  left  to  men's  wis- 
dom and  virtue  to  embody  it;  but 
it  came  into  the  world  embodied  in 
an  institution,  concreted  in  the  church, 
which  the  blessed  apostle  assures  us 
is  "  the  body  of  Christ,"  who  is  him- 
self Christianity,  since  he  says,  "  I 
am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life." 
Neither  as  the  end  nor  as  the  divine 
institution,  neither  as  the  law  nor  as 
the  authority  to  keep,  declare,  and 
apply  it,  then  is  the  church  imperfect, 
therefore  progressive  or  corruptible, 
and  therefore  reformable.  This  is  the 
Catholic  doctrine,  which  must  be  re- 
tained by  Protestantism  if  Protest- 
antism is  to  be  Catholic. 

The  learned  professor  either  over- 


looks or  virtually  denies  the  divine 
origin,  character,  and  authority  of 
the  church,  or  else  he  supposes  that 
the  divine  founder  failed  to  adapt 
his  means  to  his  end,  and  left  his 
work  incomplete,  imperfect,  to  be  fin- 
ished by  men.  From  first  to  last,  he 
treats  the  church  not  as  the  kingdom 
of  God  on  earth,  but  as  an  institu- 
tion formed  by  men  to  realize  or  em- 
body their  conceptions  or  views  of 
his  kingdom,  its  principles,  laws,  and 
authority.  He  thus  makes  it  a  human 
institution,  subject  to  all  the  vicis- 
situdes of  time  and  space.  As  men 
can  never  embody  in  their  institutions 
the  entire  kingdom  of  God,  the 
church  must  be  progressive ;  as  what- 
ever is  defective  may  be  corrupted 
by  the  errors  and  corruptions  of  the 
faithful,  as  what  is  subject  to  growth 
must  also  be  subject  to  decay,  the 
church  may  from  time  to  time  be- 
come corrupt,  and  men  must  be  free, 
as  she  has  need,  to  reform  her.  This 
manifestly  supposes  the  church  is 
not  divine,  but  simply  an  attempt, 
as  is  every  false  religion  of  men,  to  re- 
alize or  embody  their  variable  con- 
ceptions of  the  divine.  If  this  were 
not  the  professor's  view,  he  could 
not  talk  of  conservatism,  progress, 
and  reformation  in  connection  with 
Christianity,  nor  the  correspondence 
of  these  with  "  the  three  generic  types 
of  Christianity,"  for  these  terms  are 
inapplicable  to  anything  divine  and 
perfect,  and  can  be  logically  applied 
only  to  what  is  imperfect  and  hu- 
man, to  what  is  perfectible,  corrupti- 
ble, and  reformable.  As  there  is  but 
one  God,  one  Christ,  the  mediator 
of  God  and  men,  there  can  be  but 
one  Christianity,  and  that  must  be 
catholic,  one  and  the  same  in  all 
times  and  places.  To  suppose  three 
generic  types  of  Christianity  is  as  ab- 
surd as  to  suppose  three  Christs  oi 
three  Gods,  generically  distinguished 
one  from  another,  that  is — three 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


725 


Christs  or  three  Gods  of  three  dif- 
ferent types  or  genera. 

Supposing  the  professor  under- 
stands at  all  the  meaning  of  the  scho- 
lastic terms  he  uses,  it  is  clear  that 
he  understands  by  Christianity  the 
history  of  which  moves  under  the  in- 
fluence of  two  generic  ideas  —  no- 
thing divine,  nothing  fixed,  perma- 
nent, and  immutable,  the  law  alike 
for  intellect  and  will,  but  the  views 
and  theories  or  judgments  which  men 
form  of  the  works  of  God,  his  word, 
his  law,  or  his  kingdom.  Christiani- 
ty resolved  into  these  may,  we  con- 
cede, not  improperly  be  arranged 
under  the  three  heads  of  conserva- 
tism, progress,  and  reformation,  but 
never  Christianity  as  the  truth  to  be 
believed  and  obeyed.  We  do  not, 
however,  blame  the  Lutheran  profess- 
or for  his  mistake ;  for,  assuming  his 
position  as  a  Protestant  to  be  at  all 
tenable,  he  could  not  avoid  it,  since 
Protestants  have  no  other  Christiani- 
ty. They  have  only  their  views  or 
judgments  of  Christianity,  not  Chris- 
tianity itself  as  the  objective  reality. 

There  is  progress  by  Christianity ; 
and  that  is  one  great  purpose  for 
which  it  is  instituted ;  but  none  in 
Christianity,  because  it  is  divine  and 
perfect  from  the  beginning.  There 
may  be  reformation  in  individuals, 
nations,  and  society,  for  these  are  all 
corruptible,  but  none  of  Christianity 
itself,  either  as  the  creed  or  as  the  body 
of  Christ,  for  it  is  indefectible,  above 
and  independent  of  men  and  nations, 
and  therefore  neither  corruptible  nor 
reformable  by  them.  Not  being  cor- 
ruptible or  capable  of  deterioration, 
the  term  conservative,  however  appli- 
cable it  may  be  to  states  and  empires 
in  the  natural  order  or  to  human  in- 
stitutions and  laws  subject  to  the 
natural  laws,  has  no  application  to 
Christianity  or  the  kingdom  of  Christ, 
which  is  supernatural,  under  the  di- 
rect and  immediate  government  and 


protection  of  God,  an  eternal  and 
therefore  an  ever-present  kingdom, 
universal  and  unalterable,  and  not 
subject  to  the  natural  laws  of  growth 
and  decay.  Dr.  Krauth  forgets  the 
law  of  mechanics,  that  there  is  no 
motion  without  a  mover  at  rest. 
The  movable  cannot  originate  mo- 
tion, nor  the  progressive  be  the  cause 
of  progress,  or  corruption  purify  and 
reform  itself.  If  Christianity  or  the 
church  were  itself  movable,  or  in 
itself  progressive,  it  could  effect  no 
progress  in  men  or  nations,  individ- 
uals or  society ;  and  if  it  could  ever 
become  itself  corrupt,  it  could  be  no 
principle  of  reform  in  the  world,  or 
in  any  department  of  life. 

The  office  of  Christianity  is  to 
maintain  on  earth  amidst  all  the  vicis- 
situdes of  this  world  the  immutable 
divine  order,  to  recover  men  from 
the  effects  of  the  fall,  to  elevate  them 
above  the  world,  above  their  natural 
powers,  and  to  carry  them  forward, 
their  will  consenting  and  concurring, 
to  a  blissful  and  indissoluble  union 
with  God  as  their  supreme  good,  as 
their  last  end  or  final  cause.  How 
could  it  fulfil  this  office  and  effect  its 
divine  purpose,  if  not  itself  free  from 
all  the  changes,  alterations,  and  ac- 
cidents of  time  and  space  ?  Does 
not  the  learned  professor  of  theology 
perceive  that  its  very  efficiency  de- 
pends on  its  independence,  immova- 
bleness,  and  immutability  ?  Then 
the  conceptions  of  conservatism, 
progress,  and  reformation  cannot 
be  applied  to  the  church  of  God, 
any  more  than  to  God  himself,  and 
are  applicable  only  to  what  is  human 
connected  with  her.  In  applying 
these  ideas  to  her,  the  professor,  as 
every  Protestant  is  obliged  to  do 
in  principle  at  least,  divests  her  of 
her  divinity,  of  her  supernatural  ori- 
gin and  office,  and  places  her  in  the 
natural  and  human  order,  and  sub- 
jects her  to  the  laws  which  govern 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


the  history  of  all  men  and  nations 
deprived  of  the  supernatural  and  re- 
maining under  the  ordinary  provi- 
dence of  God  manifested  through 
second  causes.  The  professor's  doc- 
trine places  Christianity  in  the  same 
category  with  all  pagan  and  false 
religions,  and  subjects  it  to  the  same 
laws  to  which  they  are  subjected. 

This  being  the  case,  Dr.  Krauth, 
who  is  a  genuine  Lutheran,  has  no 
right  to  call  Luther's  Reformation  a 
conservative  Reformation.  It  may  or 
may  not  be  conservative  in  relation 
to  some  other  Protestant  church  or 
sect,  but  in  relation  to  the  church 
of  God,  or  to  Christianity  as  the 
word  or  the  law  of  God,  it  is  not 
conservative,  but  undeniably  destruc- 
tive; for  it  subverts  the  very  idea 
and  principle  on  which  the  church 
as  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth  is 
founded  and  sustained.  The  church 
on  the  principles  of  Luther's  reforma- 
tion is  subject  to  the  authority  of 
men  and  nations,  and,  instead  of 
teaching  and  governing  them,  is 
taught  and  governed  by  them,  and 
instead  of  elevating  and  perfecting 
them,  they  perfect,  corrupt,  or  reform 
it.  This  is  manifestly  a  radical  de- 
nial, a  subversion  of  the  church  of 
God,  of  Christ's  kingdom  on  earth 
if  it  means  anything  more  than  a 
temperance  society  or  a  social  club. 
In  this  respect,  the  principle  of  the 
Lutheran  reformation  was  the  com- 
mon principle  of  all  the  Protestant 
reformers,  as  we  may  see  in  the 
fact  that  Protestantism,  under  any  or 
all  of  its  multitudinous  forms,  wher- 
ever not  restrained  by  influences  for- 
eign to  itself,  tends  incessantly  to 
eliminate  the  supernatural,  and  to 
run  into  pure  rationalism  or  natural- 
ism. How  absurd,  then,  to  talk  of 
"  Protestant  Catholicity,  or  of  Catho- 
lic Protestantism"!  The  two  ideas 
are  as  mutually  repellent  as  are 
Christ  and  Belial. 


The  church  has,  indeed,  her  hu- 
man side,  and  on  that  side  she  may 
at  times  be  corrupt  and  in  need  of 
reform,  that  is  to  say,  the  heavenly 
treasure  is  received  in  earthen  vessels, 
and  those  earthen  vessels,  though 
unable  to  corrupt  or  sully  the  divine 
treasure  itself,  may  be  unclean  and 
impure  themselves.  Churchmen  may 
become  relaxed  in  their  virtue  and 
neglect  to  maintain  sound  doctrine 
and  necessary  discipline,  and  leave 
the  people  to  suffer  for  the  want  of 
proper  spiritual  nourishment  and 
care,  even  to  fall  into  errors  and 
vices  more  in  accordance  with  the 
heathenism  of  their  ancestors  than 
with  the  faith  and  sanctity  of  the 
Christian.  Moreover,  in  a  world 
where  all  changes  under  the  very  eye 
of  the  spectator,  and  new  forms  of 
error  and  vice  are  constantly  spring- 
ing up,  the  disciplinary  canons  of 
the  church,  and  those  which  regulate 
the  relations  of  secular  society  with 
the  spiritual,  good  and  adequate 
when  first  enacted,  may  become  in- 
sufficient or  impracticable  in  view  of 
the  changes  always  going  on  in 
everything  human,  and  fail  to  repres? 
the  growing  evil  of  the  times  and  to 
maintain  the  necessary  discipline 
both  of  clerics  and  laics,  and  there- 
fore need  amending,  or  to  be  aided 
by  new  and  additional  canons.  In 
this  legislative  and  administrative 
office  of  the  church,  not  in  her  dog- 
mas, precepts,  constitution,  or  autho- 
rity, which,  as  expressing  the  eternal 
reason  and  will  of  God,  are  unaltera- 
able,  reforms  are  not  only  permissi- 
ble but  often  necessary.  The  councils, 
general,  national,  provincial,  and 
diocesan,  have  always  had  for  their 
only  object  to  assist  the  Papacy  in 
suppressing  errors  against  faith  in  en- 
forcing discipline,  maintaining  Chris- 
tian morality,  and  promoting  the  pur- 
ity and  sanctity  of  the  Christian  com- 
munity. 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


727 


We  do  not  deny  that  reforms  of 
this  sort  were  needed  at  the  epoch  of 
the  Protestant  revolt  and  rebellion, 
and  the  Holy  Council  of  Trent  was 
convoked  and  held  for  the  very  pur- 
pose of  effecting  such  as  were  needed, 
as  well  as  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
demning ^he  doctrinal  errors  of  the 
reformers ;  but  we  cannot  concede  that 
they  were  more  especially  needed  at 
that  epoch,  than  they  had  been 
at  almost  any  time  previous,  since 
the  conversion  of  the  barbarians  that 
overthrew  the  Roman  empire,  and 
of  their  pagan  brethren  that  remain- 
ed in  the  old  homesteads.  Long, 
severe,  and  continuous  had  been  the 
struggle  of  the  church  to  tame,  hu- 
manize, and  christianize  these  fierce 
and  indocile  barbarians,  especially 
those  who  remained  beyond  the 
frontiers  of  the  empire,  and  to  whom 
the  Roman  name  never  ceased  to  be 
hateful,  as  it  is  even  to  this  day  with 
the  bulk  of  the  northern  Germanic 
races.  The  evils  which  for  eight 
centuries  had  grown  out  of  the 
intractable  and  rebellious  spirit  of 
these  races  in  their  old  homes,  and 
their  perpetual  tendency  to  relapse 
into  the  paganism  of  their  ancestors, 
and  which  had  so  tried  the  faith  and 
patience  of  the  church,  had  been  in 
a  great  measure  overcome  before  the 
opening  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and 
their  morals  and  manners  brought 
into  close  conformity  with  the  Chris- 
tian ideal.  The  church,  through  her 
supreme  pontiffs  and  saintly  bishops, 
zealous  and  hard-working  priests  and 
religious,  had  struggled  successfully 
against  them  ;  and  was  even  getting 
the  better  of  the  polished  Greek  and 
Roman  heathenism,  partially  revived 
in  the  so-called  Revival  of  Let- 
ters, or  the  Renaissance,  and  was 
pursuing,  never  more  steadily  or  more 
successfully,  her  work  of  evangeliza- 
tion and  civilization ;  and  we  can 
point  to  no  period  in  her  history 


since  the  conversion  of  Clovis,  king 
of  the  Franks,  the  missionary  labors 
of  St.  Columbanus  and  his  colonies 
of  Irish  monks  in  Eastern  Gaul  and 
Italy,  and  of  St.  Boniface  and  his 
Anglo-Saxon  companions  and  suc- 
cessors in  central  Germany  and  the 
Netherlands,  when  reforms  were  less 
necessary,  or  the  bonds  of  discipline 
were  less  relaxed,  than  at  the  epoch 
of  the  rise  of  Protestantism. 

But,  granting  that  reforms  of  this 
sort  were  especially  needed  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  who  had  the  right, 
on  conservative  and  orderly  princi- 
ples, to  propose  or  to  effect  them  ? 
Certainly  not  private  individuals,  on 
their  own  authority,  except  so  far  as 
it  concerned  their  own  personal 
faith  and  morals,  but  to  the  ecclesi- 
astical authorities  of  the  time,  as  we 
see  in  the  Holy  Council  of  Trent. 
Reforms,  even  if  needed  and  proper 
in  themselves,  if  attempted  by  unau- 
thorized individuals  on  their  own  re- 
sponsibility, and  carried  out  without, 
and  especially  in  opposition  to,  the 
supreme  authority  of  the  church,  are 
irregular,  disorderly,  and  unlawful. 
A  reform  attempted  and  effected  in 
church  or  state  by  unauthorized  per- 
sons, and  especially  against  the  con- 
stituted authorities  of  either,  is  un- 
questionably an  attempt  at  revolu- 
tion, if  words  have  any  meaning. 
Now,  was  Luther's  reformation  ef- 
fected by  the  church  herself,  or  by 
persons  authorized  by  her  to  institute 
and  carry  it  on  ?  Was  it  done  by 
the  existing  authorities  of  the  church 
in  accordance  with  her  constitution 
and  laws,  or  was  it  done  in  opposi- 
tion to  her  positive  prohibition,  and 
in  most  cases  by  violence  and  armed 
force  against  her  ? 

There  is  no  question  as  to  the  fact. 
Luther  had  no  authority  or  commis- 
sion from  the  church  to  attempt  and 
carry  out  the  reforms  or  changes  he 
declared  to  be  necessary;  and,  ur 


728 


TJie  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


laboring  to  effect  them,  he  proceeded 
not  only  without  her  authority,  but 
against  it,  just  as  he  does  who  con- 
spires to  overthrow  the  state  or  to 
subvert  the  constitution  and  laws  of 
his  country.  Luther,  then,  was  not 
a  conservative  reformer,  but  a 
decided  revolutionist,  a  radical,  a 
sectarian,  a  destructive,  and  Dr. 
Krauth  counts  too  much  on  the  igno- 
rance or  credulity  of  his  readers  in 
expecting  them  to  accept  Lutheran- 
ism  as  a*"  conservative  reformation." 
A  conservative  reformation,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  or  opposed  to  revo- 
lution, is  a  legal,  constitutional  re- 
formation, effected  under  the  proper 
authorities  and  by  constitutional  and 
legal  means.  Dr.  Krauth  himself 
would  despise  us  or  laugh  at  us  if 
we  should  concede  that  such  was 
Luther's  reformation.  It  was  effect- 
ed by  persons  unauthorized  to  reform 
the  church,  against  her  constitution 
and  laws  existing  at  the  time,  and 
to  which  they  themselves  owed  strict 
fidelity  and  unreserved  obedience. 
They  were  conspirators  against  law- 
ful authority,  against  their  spirit- 
ual sovereign,  and  their  pretended 
reform  was  a  revolt,  a  rebellion,  and, 
as  far  as  successful,  a  revolution. 
It  is  idle  to  deny  it,  or  to  attempt  to 
defend  Luther  and  his  associates  on 
legal  and  constitutional  principles. 
The  reform  or  movement  he  attempt- 
ed was  without  and  against  law, 
against  the  constitution  and  canons 
of  the  church,  and  was  condemned 
and  prohibited  by  the  supreme  spir- 
itual authority.  This  is  undeniable, 
and  Dr.  Krauth  knows  it  as  well  as 
we  do,  and  yet  he  has  the  hardihood 
to  call  it  a  "  conservative  reforma- 
tion " ! 

But  the  Protestant  pretence  is  that 
Luther  and  his  associates  acted  in 
obedience  to  a  higher  authority  than 
that  of  popes  and  councils,  and  were 
justified  in  what  they  did  by  the 


written  word  of  God  and  Christian 
antiquity.  An  appeal  of  this  sort, 
on  Protestant  principles,  from  the 
decisions  of  a  Protestant  sect,  might 
be  entertained,  but  not  on  Catholic 
principles  from  the  decision  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  for  she  is  herself,  at 
all  times  and  places,  the  supreme  au- 
thority for  declaring  the  sense  of  the 
written  as  well  as  of  the  unwritten 
word,  for  declaring  and  applying  the 
divine  law,  whether  naturally  or  su- 
pernaturally  promulgated,  and  for 
judging  what  is  or  is  not  according 
to  Christian  antiquity.  Their  appeal 
was  irregular,  revolutionary  even, 
and  absurd  and  not  to  be  entertained 
for  a  moment.  She  authorized  no 
appeal  of  the  sort,  and  the  appeal 
could  have  been  only  from  her  judg- 
ment to  their  own,  which  at  the 
lowest  is  as  high  authority  as  theirs 
at  the  highest.  Luther  and  his  asso- 
ciates did  not  appeal  to  a  higher  law 
or  authority  against  the  popes  and 
councils,  but  to  a  lower,  as  Dollinger 
has  done  in  asking  permission  to  ap- 
peal from  the  judgment  of  a  general 
council,  to  that  of  a  national  or  rath- 
er a  provincial  council.  The  appeal 
to  Christian  antiquity  was  equally 
unavailable,  for  it  was  only  setting  up 
their  private  judgment  against  the 
judgment  of  the  supreme  court.  The 
church  denied  that  she  had  departed 
from  the  primitive  church,  and  her 
denial  was  sufficient  to  rebut  their 
assertion.  In  no  case,  then,  did  they 
or  could  they  appeal  to  or  act  on  a 
higher  law  or  authority  than  hers. 
They  opposed  and  could  oppose  to 
her  judgment,  rendered  by  popes 
and  councils,  of  the  law  or  word  of 
God,  written  or  unwritten,  or  of 
Christian  antiquity,  only  their  own 
judgment,  which  at  the  best  was  no 
better  than  hers  at  the  worst. 

The  simple  fact  is,  there  is  no  de- 
fence of  the  so-called  Reformation 
on  catholic,  church,  or  conservative 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


729 


principles.  It  sought  to  reform  the 
faith,  and  to  change  the  very  consti- 
tution of  the  church,  and  wherever 
it  was  successful,  it  proved  to  be  the 
subversion  of  the  church,  and  the 
destruction  of  her  faith,  her  authority, 
and  her  worship.  Dr.  Krauth  says 
that  this  was  not  originally  intended 
by  the  reformers,  and  that  they  had 
in  the  beginning  no  clear  views,  or 
fixed  and  determined  plan  of  reform, 
but  were  carried  forward  by  the  logic 
of  their  principles  and  events  to 
lengths  which  they  did  not  foresee, 
and  from  which  they  would  at  first 
have  recoiled.  But  this  only  proves 
that  they  were  no  divinely  illumined 
and  God-commissioned  reformers, 
that  they  knew  not  what  manner  of 
spirit  they  were  of,  that  they  took  a 
leap  in  the  dark,  and  followed  a 
blind  impulse.  If  the  spirit  they 
obeyed,  or  the  principle  to  which 
they  yielded,  led  them  or  pushed 
them  step  by  step  in  the  way  of  de- 
struction, to  the  total  denial  of  the 
authority  of  the  church,  or  to  trans- 
fer it  from  the  pope  and  hierarchy 
to  Caesar  or  the  laity,  which  we  know 
was  universally  the  fact,  it  is  clear 
proof  that  the  spirit  or  principle  of 
the  Reformation  was  radical,  revolu- 
tionary, destructive,  not  conservative. 
That  conservative  men  among  Pro- 
testants abhor  the  radicalism  and  sec- 
tarianism which  the  whole  history  of 
the  Protestant  world  proves  to  be 
the  natural  and  inevitable  result  of 
the  principles  and  tendencies  of  the 
so-called  Reformation,  we  are  far 
from  denying;  but  whatever  of  re- 
sistance is  offered  in  the  Protestant 
world  to  these  results  is  due  not  to 
Protestantism  itself,  but  either  to  Ca- 
tholic reminiscences  and  the  natural 
good  sense  of  individuals,  to  the  con- 
trol of  religious  matters  assumed  by 
the  civil  government,  which  really 
has  no  authority  in  spirituals,  or  to 
the  presence  and  constant  teaching 


of  the  Catholic  Church.  "  What  is 
bred  in  the  bones  will  out  in  the 
flesh."  Everywhere  the  Protestant 
spirit,  the  Protestant  tendency,  is  to 
remove  farther  and  farther  from  Ca- 
tholicity, to  eliminate  more  and  more 
of  Catholic  dogma,  Catholic  tradi- 
tion, Catholic  precepts,  and  to  ap- 
proach nearer  and  nearer  to  no- 
churchism,  to  the  rejection  of  all  au- 
thority in  spiritual  matters,  and  the 
reduction  of  the  whole  supernatural 
order  to  the  natural.  Faith  in  the 
Protestant  mind  is  only  a  probable 
opinion,  sometimes  fanatically  held 
indeed,  and  enforced  by  power,  but 
none  the  less  a  mere  opinion  for  that. 
The  conception  of  religion  as  a  di- 
vine institution,  of  the  church  as  a 
living  organism,  as  a  teaching  and 
governing  body,  as  the  kingdom  of 
God,  placed  in  the  world  as  the  me- 
dium of  divine  grace  and  of  the  di- 
vine government  in  human  affairs,  is 
really  entertained  by  no  class  of  Pro- 
testants, but  disdainfully  rejected  by 
all  as  spiritual  despotism,  Romish  usur- 
pation, or  Popish  superstition. 

It  is  useless  to  say  that  this  is  a 
departure  from  or  an  abuse  of  the 
principle  of  the  Protestant  Reforma- 
tion. It  is  no  such  thing ;  it  is  only 
the  logical  development  of  the  radi- 
cal and  revolutionary  principles  which 
the  refqrmers  themselves  avowed  and 
acted  on,  and  which  carried  them  to 
lengths  which,  in  the  outset,  they 
did  not  dream  of,  and  from  which 
Dr.  Krauth  says  truly  they  would, 
had  they  foreseen  them,  have 
shrunk  with  horror.  We  do  not 
find  that  Lutheranism,  when  left  by 
the  civil  magistracy  to  itself,  and 
suffered  to  follow  unchecked  its 
own  inherent  law,  is  any  more  con- 
servative or  less  radical  in  its  devel- 
opments and  tendency  than  Calvin- 
ism or  Anglicanism,  that  prolific  mo- 
ther of  sects,  or  any  other  form 
of  Protestantism.  Every  revolution 


730 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


must  run  its  course  and  reach  its 
goal,  unless  checked  or  restrained  by 
a  power  or  influences  foreign  to  it- 
self,tand  really  antagonistic  to  it.  The 
reformers  rejected  the  idea  of  the 
church  as  a  kingdom  or  governing 
body,  or  as  a  divine  institution  for 
the  instruction  and  government  of 
men,  and  substituted  for  it,  in  imita- 
tion of  the  Arabian 'impostor,  a  book 
which,  without  the  authority  of  the 
church  to  declare  its  sense,  is  a  dead 
book,  save  as  quickened  by  the  in- 
telligence or  understanding  of  its 
readers.  Their  followers  discovered 
in  the  course  of  time  that  the  book 
in  itself  is  immobile  and  voiceless, 
and  has  no  practical  authority  for 
the  understanding  or  the  will,  and 
they  cast  it  off,  some,  like  George 
Fox  and  his  followers,  for  a  pretend- 
ed interior  or  spiritual  illumination, 
the  reality  of  which  they  can  prove 
neither  to  themselves  nor  to  others ; 
but  the  larger  part,  for  natural  rea- 
son, history,  erudition,  and  the  judg- 
ment of  learned  or  soi-disant  learned 
men.  Their  work  has  gone  on  till, 
with  the  more  advanced  party,  all 
divine  authority  is  rejected,  and  as 
man  has  and  can  have  in  his  own 
right  no  authority  over  man,  reason 
itself  has  given  way,  objective  truth 
is  denied,  and  truth  and  falsehood, 
right  and  wrong,  it  is  gravely  main- 
tained, are  only  what  each  man  for 
himself  holds  them  to  be.  The  ut- 
most anarchy  and  confusion  in  the 
intellectual  and  moral  world  have 
been  reached  in  individuals  and 
sects  said  to  have  "advanced 
views." 

Such  have  been  the  results  of  Dr. 
Krauth's  "  conservative  reforma- 
tion "  in  the  spiritual  order,  in  Chris- 
tianity or  the  church.  It  introduced 
the  revolutionary  principle,  the  prin- 
ciple of  individualism,  of  private 
judgment,  and  insubordination  into 
the  religious  order,  and,  as  a  necessa- 


ry consequence,  it  has  introduced  the 
same  principle  into  the  political  and 
social  order,  which  depends  on  reli- 
gion, and  cannot  subsist  without  it. 
Hence,  the  great  and  damning  charge 
against  the  church  in  our  day  is  that 
by  her  unchangeableness,  her  immov- 
able doctrines,  her  influence  on  the 
minds  and  hearts,  and  hold  on  the 
consciences  of  the  faithful,  she  is  the 
great  supporter  of  law  and  order — 
despots  and  despotism,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  liberal  journals — and  the 
chief  obstacle  to  the  enlightenment 
and  progress  of  society,  in  the  same 
language;  but  radicalism  and  re- 
volution in  ours.  Hence,  the  whole 
movement  party  in  our  times,  with 
which  universal  Protestantism  sym- 
pathizes and  is  closely  allied,  is  mov- 
ed by  hostility  to  the  church,  espe- 
cially the  Papacy.  Hence,  it  and 
the  Protestant  journals  of  the  Old 
World  and  the  New  are  unable  to 
restrain  their  rage  at  the  declaration 
of  the  Papal  supremacy  and  infalli- 
bility by  the  Council  of  the  Vatican, 
or  their  exultation  at  the  invasion  of 
the  States  of  the  Church,  their  an- 
nexation to  the  Subalpine  kingdom, 
and  the  spoliation  of  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther by  the  so-called  King  of  Italy. 
Why  do  we  see  all  this,  but  because 
the  revolutionary  principle,  which  the 
reformers  asserted  in  the  church,  is 
identically  the  principle  defended 
by  the  political  radicals  and  revolu- 
tionists ? 

Having  thrown  off  the  law  of 
God,  rejected  the  authority  of  the 
church,  and  put  the  faithful  in  the 
place  of  the  pope  and  hierarchy, 
what  could  hinder  the  movement 
party  from  applying  the  same  sub- 
versive principle  to  the  political  and 
social  order?  The  right  to  revolu- 
tionize the  church,  and  to  place  the 
flock  above  the  shepherd,  involves 
the  right  to  revolutionize  the  state, 
and  the  assertion  of  the  right  of  the 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


731 


governed  to  resist  and  depose  their 
governors  at  will,  or  at  the  dictation  of 
self-styled  political  and  social  reform- 
ers. Protestantism  has  never  favor- 
ed liberty,  as  it  claims,  and  which  it  is 
impotent  either  to  found  or  to  sus- 
tain ;  but  its  claims  to  be  the  founder 
and  chief  supporter  of  modern  libe- 
ralism, which  results  naturally  and 
necessarily  from  the  fundamental 
principle  of  the  reformers,  that  of 
the  right  of  the  people  to  resist  and 
depose  the  prelates  placed  over  them, 
cannot  be  contested.  If  no  man  is 
bound,  against  his  own  judgment  and 
will,  to  obey  the  law  of  God,  how 
can  any  one  be  bound  in  conscience 
to  obey  the  law  of  the  state  ?  and  if 
the  people  may  subvert  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  church,  and  trample  on 
her  divine  authority,  why  may  they 
not  subvert  the  constitution  of  the 
republic,  and  trample  under  foot  the 
human  authority  of  the  civil  magis- 
trate, whether  he  be  called  king  or 
president  ?  It  is  to  Protestantism 
we  owe  the  liberalistic  doctrine  of 
"  the  sacred  right  of  insurrection," 
or  of  "  revolution "  assumed  to  be 
inherent  in  and  persistent  in  every 
iDeople,  or  any  section  of  any  people, 
and  which  justifies  Mazzini  and  the 
secret  societies  in  laboring  to  bring 
about  in  every  state  of  Europe  an 
internal  conflict  and  bloody  war  be- 
tween the  people  and  their  govern- 
ments. It  deserves  the  full  credit  of 
having  asserted  and  acted  on  the 
principle,  and  we  hold  it  responsible 
for  the  consequences  of  its  subversive 
application  ;  for  it  is  only  the  appli- 
cation in  the  political  and  social  or- 
der of  the  principle  on  which  the  re- 
formers acted,  and  all  Protestants 
act,  in  the  religious  order  against  the 
church  of  God. 

The  principle  of  revolution,  assert- 
ed and  acted  on  as  a  Christian  prin- 
ciple by  the  reformers,  has  not  been 
inoperative,  or  remained  barren  of 


results,  on  being  transferred  to  mo- 
dern political  and  civil  society.  If 
the  reformation,  by  drawing  off  men's 
attention  and  affections  from  the  spi- 
ritual order,  and  fixing  them  on  the 
material  order,  has  promoted  a  mar- 
vellous progress  in  mechanical  in- 
ventions and  the  applications  of  sci- 
ence to  the  industrial  and  productive 
arts,  it  has  at  the  same  time  under- 
mined the  whole  political  order,  shak- 
en every  civil  government  to  its 
foundation,  and,  in  fact,  revolu- 
tionized nearly  every  modern  state. 
It  has  loosened  the  bonds  of  society, 
destroyed  the  Christian  family,  erect- 
ed disobedience  into  a  principle,  a 
virtue  even,  and  reduced  authority 
to  an  empty  name.  It  has  taught 
the  people  to  be  discontented  with 
their  lot,  filled  them  with  an  insane 
desire  for  change,  made  them  greedy 
of  novelties,  and  stirred  them  up  to 
a  chronic  war  with  their  rulers.  Eve- 
rywhere we  meet  the  revolutionary 
spirit,  and  there  is  not  a  government 
in  Europe  that  has  any  strong  hold 
on  the  consciences  of  the  governed, 
or  that  can  sustain  itself  except  by 
its  army.  Even  Russia,  where  the 
people  are  most  attached  to  their 
emperor,  is  covered  over  with  a  net- 
work of  secret  societies,  which  are 
so  many  conspiracies  against  govern- 
ment, laboring  night  and  day  to  re- 
volutionize the  empire.  Prussia,  which 
has  just  succeeded  in  absorbing  the 
greater  part  of  Germany,  and  is  flush- 
ed with  her  recent  triumph  over  the 
French  empire  and  the  improvised 
French  republic,  may  seem  to  be 
strong  and  stable;  but  she  has  the 
affections  of  the  people  in  no  part 
of  Germany,  which  she  has  recently 
annexed  or  confederated  under  her 
headship,  and  the  new  empire  is  per- 
vaded in  all  directions  by  the  revolu- 
tionary spirit  to  which  it  owes  its 
existence,  and  which  may  be  strong 
enough  to  resist  its  power,  and  re- 


732 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


duce  the  ill-compacted  body  to  its 
original  elements  to-morrow. 

We  need  not  speak  of  Austria; 
she  may  become  hereafter  once  more 
a  power  in  Europe,  but  she  is  now 
nothing.  Voltairianism,  and  the  spi- 
rit generated  by  the  Reformation, 
have  prostrated  her,  and  sunk  her  so 
low  that  no  one  deigns  to  do  her 
reverence.  In  England  the  govern- 
ment itself  seems  penetrated  with 
the  revolutionary  spirit,  or  at  least 
believes  that  spirit  is  so  strong  in  the 
people  that  it  is  unsafe  to  resist  it, 
and  that  it  is  necessary  to  make  large 
and  continual  concessions  to  it.  It 
is  a  maxim  with  the  liberals  and  most 
English  and  American  statesmen,  or 
politicians  rather,  for  our  age  has  no 
statesmen,  that  a  government  is 
strengthened  by  timely  and  large 
concessions  to  popular  demands.  The 
government  is  undoubtedly  strength- 
ened by  just  laws  and  wise  adminis- 
tration, but  in  our  times,  when  the 
old  respect  for  authority  has  gone, 
and  governments  have  little  or  no 
hold  on  consciences,  there  is  no  gov- 
ernment existing  strong  enough  to 
make  concessions  to  popular  de- 
mands, or  to  the  clamors  of  the  gov- 
erned, without  endangering  its  pow- 
er, and  even  its  existence.  The  Ho- 
ly Father,  Pius  IX.,  in  the  beginning 
of  his  pontificate,  tried  the  experi- 
ment, and  was  soon  driven  from  his 
throne,  and  found  safety  only  in 
flight  and  exile.  Napoleon  III.  tried 
it  in  January  of  last  year,  was  driven 
by  his  people  into  a  war  for  which 
he  was  unprepared,  met  with  disas- 
ters, was  defeated  and  taken  prison- 
er, declared  deposed  and  his  em- 
pire at  an  end  by  a  Parisian  mob, 
before  the  end  of  September  of  the 
same  year.  The  policy  of  conces- 
sion is  a  ruinous  policy;  one  con- 
cession leads  to  the  demand  for  an- 
other and  a  larger  concession,  and 
each  concession  strengthens  the  dis- 


affected, and  weakens  the  power  of 
authority  to  resist.  But  England  has 
adopted  the  policy,  is  fully  commit- 
ted to  it,  as  she  is  to  many  false  and 
ruinous  maxims,  and  it  will  go  hard 
but  she  yields  to  her  democracy,  and 
reaps  in  her  own  fields  the  fruits 
of  the  liberalism  and  revolutionism 
which  she  has,  especially  when  un- 
der Whig  influence,  so  industriously 
sown  broadcast  throughout  Europe. 

We  need  not  speak  of  our  own 
country.  Everybody  knows  its  in- 
tense devotion  to  popular  sovereign- 
ty, its  hatred  of  authority,  and  its 
warm  sympathy — in  words  at  least 
— with  every  insurrection  or  upris- 
ing of  the  people,  or  any  portion 
of  the  people,  to  overthrow  the  es- 
tablished authority,  whether  in  church 
or  state,  they  can  hear  of,  without 
any  inquiry  into  the  right  or  wrong 
of  the  case.  The  insurrection  or 
revolutionary  party,  it  is  assumed, 
is  always  in  the  right.  There  is  no 
more  intensely  Protestant  people  on 
the  globe  than  the  American,  and 
none  more  deeply  imbued  with  the 
revolutionary  spirit,  in  which  it  is 
pretended  our  own  institutions  origi- 
nated, and  which  nearly  the  whole 
American  press  mistake  for  the  spirit 
of  liberty,  and  cherish  as  the  Ameri- 
can spirit.  What  will  come  of  it, 
time  will  not  be  slow  in  revealing. 

But  France,  so  long  the  leader  of 
modern  civilization,  and  which  she 
has  so  long  led  in  a  false  direction, 
shows  better  than  any  other  nation 
the  workings  of  the  revolutionary 
spirit  introduced  by  the  Reformers. 
She,  indeed,  repelled,  after  some 
hesitation  and  a  severe  struggle,  the 
Reformation  in  the  religious  order; 
but  through  the  indomitable  energy 
of  the  princely  Guises  and  their 
brave  Lorraine  supporters,  whom  ev- 
ery French  historian  and  publicist 
since  takes  delight  in  denouncing, 
she  was  retained  in  the  communion 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


733 


of  the  church ;  but  with  Henry  IV. 
the  parti  politique  came  into  power, 
and  Protestantism  was  adopted  and 
acted  on  in  the  political  order.  On 
more  occasions  than  one,  France  be- 
came the  diplomatic  and  even  the 
armed  defender  of  the  Reformation 
against  the  Catholic  sovereigns  of 
Europe.  She  was  the  first  Christian 
power  to  form  an  alliance  with  the 
Grand  Turk,  against  whom  Luther 
declared  to  be  against  the  will  of 
God  for  his  followers  to  fight,  even 
in  defence  of  Christendom  ;  she  aid- 
ed the  Low  Countries  in  their  rebel- 
lion against  Catholic  Spain,  Protest- 
ant Sweden,  and  Northern  Germany 
in  their  effort  to  crush  Catholic  Aus- 
tria, and  protestantize  all  Germany  ; 
and  saw,  without  an  effort  to  save 
her,  Catholic  Poland  struck  from  the 
list  of  nations.  Twice  has  she  with 
armed  force  dragged  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther from  his  throne,  and  secularized 
and  appropriated  the  States  of  the 
Church,  and  set  the  example  which 
the  Italian  Liberals  have  but  too 
faithfully  followed.  Rarely,  if  ever, 
has  she  since  the  sixteenth  century, 
by  her  foreign  policy,  consulted  the 
interests  of  the  church  any  further 
than  they  happened  to  be  coincident 
wiih  her  own.  In  an  evil  hour,  she 
forgot  the  principles  which  made  the 
glory  of  the  French  sovereigns,  and 
on  which  Christendom  was  recon- 
structed after  the  downfall  of  the 
Roman  Empire  of  the  West,  and 
severed  her  politics  from  her  religion. 
At  first  asserting  with  the  reformers 
and  the  Lutheran  princes  the  inde- 
pendence of  the  secular  order  of  the 
spiritual,  afterwards  the  superiority 
of  the  secular  power,  and  finally 
the  sovereignty  of  the  people  or 
the  governed  in  face  of  their  gov- 
erners,  as  the  reformers  asserted  the 
sovereignty  of  the  faithful  in  face  of 
the  pope  and  hierarchy,  she  made  her 
world-famous  revolution  of  1789,  in- 


augurated the  mob,  and  has  been  wel- 
tering in  anarchy  and  groaning  un- 
der despotism  ever  since. 

The  accession  of  Henry  IV.,  the 
beau  ideal  of  a  king  with  the  French 
people,  marks  a  compromise  between 
Catholicity    and    Protestantism,    by 
which    it   was    tacitly   agreed    that 
France  should  in  religion  profess  the 
Catholic  faith  and  observe  the  Ca- 
tholic worship,  while  in  politics,  both 
at  home  and  abroad,  she  should  be 
Protestant,  and  independent  of  the 
spiritual    authority.     It   was    hoped 
the   compromise   would   secure    her 
both  worlds,  but  it  has  caused  her  to 
lose  both,  at  least  this  world  as  eve- 
ry one  may  now  see.     It  is  worse 
than  idle  to  attempt  to  deny  the  so- 
lidarity of  the  French  revolution  with 
Luther's  rebellion ;  both  rest  on  the 
same  principle  and  tend  to  the  same 
end ;   and  it  is  the  position  and  in- 
fluence of  France  as  the  leader  of 
the  civilized  world,  that  has  given  to 
the  revolutionary  principle  its  popu- 
larity, diffused  it  through  all  modern 
nations,  and  made  it  the   Weltgeist, 
or  spirit  of  the  age.     The  socialistic 
insurrection  in  Paris,  and  which  we 
fear  is  only  "  scotched,  not  killed," 
is  only  the  logical  development  of 
'93,  as  '93  was  of  '89,  and  '89   of 
Luther's  revolt  against  the  church  in 
the   sixteenth    century.     Its   success 
would  be  only  the  full  realization  in 
church  and  state,  in  religion  and  so- 
ciety, of  what  Dr.  Krauth  calls  "  the 
conservative      reformation."        The 
communists  deny  the  right  of  pro- 
perty, indeed,  but  not  more  than  did 
Protestants  in  despoiling  the  church 
and    sacrilegiously   confiscating    the 
possessions  of  religious  houses  and 
the  goods  of  the  clergy.     No  more 
consistent    and    thoroughgoing  Pro- 
testants   has    the   world   seen   than 
these   French   socialists  or  commu- 
nists, who  treat  property  as  theft  and 
God  as  a  despot. 


734 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


We  do  not  exult  in  the  downfall 
of  France,  in  which  there  are  so  many 
good  Catholics  and  has  always  been 
so  much  to  love  and  admire,  any  more 
than,  had  we  lived  then,  we  should 
have  exulted  in  the  downfall  of  the 
Roman  Empire  before  the  invasion 
of  the  barbarians.  Like  that  down- 
fall, it  is  the  breaking  up  of  Christen- 
dom, and  leaves  the  Holy  Father 
without  a  single  Christian  power  to 
defend  his  rights  or  the  liberty  of  the 
Holy  See ;  but  it  deprives  Protestant- 
ism of  its  most  efficient  supporter  and 
its  great  popularizer,  and  all  the  more 
efficient  because  nominally  Catholic. 
It  is  not  Catholic  but  Protestant  and 
liberal  France  that  has  fallen.  The  Bo- 
napartes  never  represented  Catholic 
France,  but  the  principles  of  1789 — 
that  is,  the  revolution  which  created 
them,  and  which  they  sought  to  use 
or  retain  as  they  judged  expedient 
for  their  own  interests.  In  the  last 
Napoleon's  defeat  we  see  the  defeat, 
we  wish  we  could  say  the  final  de- 
feat, of  the  revolution.  Yet  so  terri- 
ble a  disaster  occurring  so  suddenly 
to  so  great  a  nation,  we  think 
must  prove  the  turning-point  in  the 
life  and  tendencies  of  the  nations  of 
Europe,  and  pave  the  way  for  the 
reconstruction  of  Christendom  on  its 
old  basis  of  the  mutual  concord  and 
co-operation  of  the  two  powers.  We 
think  it  must  lead  the  nations  to 
pause  and  reflect  on  the  career 
civilization  has  for  three  centuries 
been  running,  and  open  their  eyes 
to  the  folly  and  madness  of  attempt- 
ing to  found  permanent  political  and 
social  order,  or  authority  and  liberty, 
on  the  revolutionary  principle  of  the 
Reformation  or  of  1/89.  We  look 
for  a  powerful  reaction  at  no  distant 
date  against  the  revolution  in  favor 
of  the  church  and  her  divine  authori- 
ty. It  is  sometimec  necessary  to  make 
men  despair  of  the  earth  in  order  to 
turn  their  attention  to  heaven. 


But  to  conclude :  we  have  wished 
to  show  Dr.  Krauth  that  the  Refor- 
mation in  any  or  all  its  phases,  in  its 
principle  and  in  its  effects,  in  church 
and  state  is  decidedly  revolutionary. 
He  as  a  Protestant  has  not  been 
able  to  see  and  set  forth  the  truth ; 
bound  by  his  office  and  position  to 
defend  the  Reformation,  he  has  con- 
sidered what  it  must  have  been  if 
defensible,  not  what  it  actually  was, 
and  has  given  us  his  ideal  of  the 
Reformation,  not  the  Reformation 
itself.  If  it  does  not,  he  rea- 
sons, maintain  all  Catholic  princi- 
ples and  doctrines  it  is  indefensible; 
but  if  it  concedes  that  these  princi- 
ples and  doctrines,  were  held  in  their 
purity  and  integrity  in  their  unity 
and  catholicity,  by  the  church  Lu- 
ther warred  against,  what  need  was 
there  of  it  ?  Our  good  doctor  must 
then  assume  that  they  were  not  so 
held,  that  the  church  had  erred  both 
in  faith  and  practice,  and  that  the 
Reformation  simply  restored  the 
faith,  purified  practice,  re-established 
discipline,  freed  the  mind  from  undue 
shackles,  and  opened  the  way  for  the 
free  and  orderly  progress  of  the 
word.  All  very  fine  ;  only  there  does 
not  happen  to  be  a  word  of  truth  in 
it.  Besides,  if  it  were  so,  it  would  only 
prove  that  the  church  had  failed, 
therefore  that  Christianity  had  failed, 
and  that  Christ  was  not  equal  to  the 
work  he  undertook.  If  Christ  is  true, 
there  must  always  be  the  true  church 
somewhere,  for  she  is  indefectible  as 
he  is  indefectible.  If  the  church  in 
communion  with  the  See  of  Rome 
had  become  corrupt  and  false,  as  the 
reformers  alleged,  then  some  other 
existing  body  was  the  true  church, 
and  Luther  and  his  associates,  in  or- 
der to  be  in  the  true  church,  should 
have  ascertained  and  joined  it — a 
thing  which  it  is  well  known  they  did 
not  do,  for  they  joined  no  other 
church  or  organic  body,  but  set  fu- 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


735 


riously  at  work  to  pull  down  the  old 
church  which  had  hitherto  sheltered 
them  and  to  build  a  new  one  for 
themselves  on  its  ruins. 

We  grant  the  Reformation  should 
have  been  conservative  in  order  to 
be  defensible,  but  it  was  not  so,  it 
was  radical  and  subversive.  It  reject- 
ed the  Papacy,  the  hierarchy,  the 
church  herself  as  a  visible  institution, 
as  a  teaching  and  governing  body, 
and  asserted  the  liberty  of  the  faith- 
ful to  teach  and  govern  their  prelates 
and  pastors.  It  is  the  common  prin- 
ciple of  all  Protestant  denominations 
that  the  church  is  constituted  by  the 
faithful,  holds  from  them,  and  the  past- 
or is  called  not  sent.  This,  we  need  not 
say,  is  the  subversion  of  all  church 
authority,  of  the  kingdom  of  God 
founded  by  our  Lord  himself,  and  rul- 
ing from  above  instead  of  from  below. 
It  reduces  religion  from  law  to  opin- 
ion or  personal  conviction,  without 
light  or  authority  for  conscience. 
This  principle,  applied  to  politics,  is 
the  subversion  of  the  state,  overthrows 
all  government,  and  leaves  every  man 
free  to  do  "  what  is  right  in  his  own 
eyes."  It  transfers  power  from  the 
governors  to  the  governed,  and  al- 
lows the  government  no  powers  not 
held  from  their  assent,  which  is  sim- 
ply to  make  it  no  government  at  all. 
It  has  been  so  applied,  and  the  ef- 
fect is  seen  especially  in  France, 
which,  since  her  revolution  of  '89,  has 
had  no  settled  government,  but  has 
alternated,  as  she  alternates  to-day, 
between  the  mob  and  the  despot, 
anarchy  and  military  despotism. 

We  so  apply  it,  theoretically,  in 
this  country ;  and  in  the  recent  civil 
war  the  North  was  able  to  fight  for 
the  preservation  of  the  Union  only 
by  pocketing  for  a  time  its  principles 
and  forswearing  its  logic.  The  logic 
was  on  the  side  of  the  South; 
the  force  was  on  the  side  of  the 
North;  on  which  side  was  the 


right   or   the  wrong,   it   is   not    oui 
province   to   decide.     We  will   only 
add   that   we    do   not   agree   at   all 
with  journals  that  speak  of  the  issues 
which  led  to  the  war  as  being  decid- 
ed by  it.     War  may  make  it  inexpe- 
dient to  revive  them,  but  the  only 
issue  it  ever  does  or  can  decide  is,  on 
which  side  is,  for  the  time,  the  supe- 
rior force.     We  deny  not  the  right 
of  the  people  to  resist  the  prince  who 
makes  himself  a  tyrant,  if  declared 
to  be  such  and  judicially  deposed  by 
the  competent  authority,  but  we  do 
deny  their  right,  for  any  cause  what- 
ever, to  conspire  against  or  to  resist 
the  legitimate  government  in  the  legal 
exercise  of  its  constitutional  powers. 
We  recognize  the  sovereignty  of  the 
people  in  the  sense  that,   if  a  case 
occurs  in  which  they  are  without  any 
government,  they  have  the  right,  in 
concert  with  the  spiritual  power,  to 
institute  or  "reconstitute  government 
in  such  way  and  in  such  form  as  they 
judge  wisest  and  best ;  but  we  utterly 
deny    that    they  remain    sovereign, 
otherwise  than  in   the    government, 
when  once  they  have  constituted  it,  or 
that  the  government,  when  constitut- 
ed, holds  from  them  and  is  responsible 
to  their  will  outside  of  the  constitu- 
tion ;  for  that  would  make  the  gov- 
ernment a  mere  agent  of  the  people 
and   revocable  at  their   will,   which 
is  tantamount  to  no  government  at 
all.     The   doctrine  of  the  demago- 
gues and  their  journals  we  are  not 
able  to  accept ;  it  deprives  the  people 
collectively  of  all  government,  and 
leaves  individuals  and  minorities  no 
government  to   protect   and  defend 
them  from  the  ungoverned  will  and 
passions  of  the  majority  for  the  time. 
We  accept   and  maintain  loyally, 
and  to  the  best  of  our  ability,  the 
constitution  of  our  country  as  origi- 
nally understood  and  intended,  not 
indeed  as   the  best  constitution  for 
every  people,  but  because  it  is  the 


736 


The  Reformation  not  Conservative. 


best  for  us,  and,  above  all,  because  it 
is  for  us  the  law.  In  itself  consider- 
ed, there  is  no  necessary  discord  be- 
tween it  and  Catholicity,  but  as  it  is 
interpreted  by  the  liberal  and  secta- 
rian journals,  that  are  doing  their  best 
to  revolutionize  it,  and  is  beginning 
to  be  interpreted  by  no  small  portion 
of  the  American  people,  or  as  inter- 
preted by  the  Protestant  principle, 
so  widely  diffused  among  us,  and  in 
the  sense  of  European  liberalism  or 
Jacobinism,  we  do  not  accept  it,  or 
hold  it  to  be  any  government  at  all, 
or  as  capable  of  performing  any  of 
the  proper  functions  of  government ; 
and  if  it  continues  to  be  interpret- 
ed by  the  revolutionary  principle 
of  Protestantism,  it  is  sure  to  fail 
— to  lose  itself  either  in  the  su- 
premacy of  the  mob  or  in  military 
despotism— and  doom  us,  like  un- 
happy France,  to  alternate  between 
them,  with  the  mob  uppermost  to- 
day, and  the  despot  to-morrow.  Pro- 
testantism, like  the  heathen  barbar- 
isms which  Catholicity  subdued,  lacks 
the  element  of  order,  because  it  re- 
jects authority,  and  is  necessarily  in- 
competent to  maintain  real  liberty  or 
civilized  society.  Hence  it  is  we  so 
often  say,  that  if  the  American  Re- 
public is  to  be  sustained  and  pre- 
served at  all,  it  must  be  by  the  re- 
jection of  the  principle  of  the  Refor- 
mation, and  the  acceptance  of  the 
Catholic  principle  by  the  Ameri- 
can people.  Protestantism  can  pre- 
serve neither  liberty  from  running 
into  license  or  lawlessness,  nor  autho- 
rity from  running  into  despotism. 

If  Dr.  Krauth  wants  conservatism 
without  immobility,  and  progress 
without  revolution  or  radicalism,  as 
it  seems  he  does,  he  must  cease  to 
look  for  what  he  wants  in  the  Lu- 
theran, Calvinistic,  Anglican,  or  any 
other  Protestant  reformation,  and 
turn  his  thoughts  and  his  hopes  to 
that  church  which  converted  pagan 


Rome,  christianized  and  civilized 
his  own  barbarian  ancestors,  found- 
ed the  Christendom  of  the  middle 
ages,  and  labored  so  assiduously,  un- 
weariedly,  perseveringly,  and  success- 
fully to  save  souls,  and  to  advance 
civilization  and  the  interests  of  hu- 
man society,  from  the  conversion  of 
the  pagan  Franks  in  the  fifth 
century  down  to  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  which  still 
survives  and  teaches  and  governs, 
in  spite  of  all  the  effort  of  reformers, 
revolutionists,  men,  and  devils  to 
cover  her  with  disgrace,  to  belie  her 
character,  and  to  sweep  her  from  the 
face  of  the  earth.  She  not  only  con- 
verted the  pagan  barbarians,  but  she 
recovered  even  the  barbarian  nations 
and  tribes,  as  the  Goths,  Vandals, 
and  Burgundians,  that  had  fallen  in- 
to the  Arian  heresy,  which  like  all 
heresy  is  a  compromise  between 
Christianity  and  heathenism,  and 
even  reconverted  the  Alemanni, 
Frieslanders,  and  others  who  had 
once  embraced  the  Gospel,  but  had 
subsequently  returned  to  their  idols 
and  heathen  superstitions.  God  is 
with  her  as  of  old,  and  lives,  teaches, 
and  governs  in  her  as  in  the  begin- 
ning ;  and  she  is  as  able  to  convert 
the  heathen  to-day,  to  reconvert  the 
relapsed,  and  to  recover  the  heretical, 
as  she  was  in  the  days  of  St.  Remi, 
St.  Amand,  St.  Patrick,  St.  Austin, 
St.  Columbanus,  St.  Willebrod,  or  St. 
Boniface.  She  is  the  kingdom  of 
God,  and  like  him  she  cannot  grow 
old,  decay,  or  die.  Never  had  her  Su- 
preme Pontiff  a  stronger  hold  on  the 
consciences,  the  love  and  affections 
of  the  faithful  throughout  the  world, 
than  he  has  at  this  moment,  when 
despoiled  of  all  his  temporalities  and 
abandoned  by  all  earthly  powers,  nor 
ever  were  her  pastors  and  prelates 
more  submissive  and  devoted  to  their 
chief.  Never  did  she  more  fully 
prove  that  she  is  under  the  protec- 


Genzano  and  Frascati. 


737 


tion  of  God,  as  his  immaculate  spouse, 
than  now  when  held  up  to  the  scorn 
and  derision  of  a  heretical  and  un- 
believing world.  Dead  she  is  not,  but 
living. 

Let  our  learned  Lutheran  professor 
remove  the  film  from  his  eyes,  and 
look  at  her  in  her  simple  gran- 
deur, her  unadorned  majesty,  and 
see  how  mean  and  contemptible,  com- 
pared with  her,  are  all  the  so-called 
churches,  sects,  and  combinations 


arrayed  against  her.  spitting  blasphe- 
my at  her,  and  in  their  satanic  ma- 
lice trying  to  sully  her  purity  or  dim 
the  glory  that  crowns  her.  Say  what 
you  will,  Protestantism  is  a  petty  af- 
fair, and  it  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of 
this  life  how  a  man  of  the  learning, 
intelligence,  apparent  sincerity,  and 
good  sense  of  Dr.  Krauth  can  write 
an  octavo  volume  of  eight  hundred 
closely  printed  pages  in  defence  of 
the  Protestant  Reformation. 


GENZANO  AND   FRASCATI. 


WHAT  is  interesting  to  visitors  in 
Rome,  and  indeed  in  all  Italy,  is 
not  merely  their  stay  in  certain  known 
localities,  or  their  sight-seeing  within 
a  certain  beaten  track ;  it  is  also  the 
casual  observation  of  less  famous 
and  more  intimate  scenes,  and  the 
residence  in  less  crowded  and  more 
attractive,  because  more  peculiar, 
neighborhoods. 

The  curious  festival,  more  carnival- 
esque  than  religious,  that  takes  place 
every  Sunday  in  August  in  the  Piaz- 
za Narona,  in  Rome,  and  during 
Avhich  pedestrians  and  carriage-goers 
wade  and  splash  through  a  shallow, 
artificial  lake,  produced  by  the  re- 
gulated overflowing  of  the  centre- 
fountain,  is  a  sight  unfamiliar  to 
strangers  and  tourists,  yet  none  the 
less  a  very  characteristic  sport,  and 
interesting  especially  to  such  as  view 
Rome  chiefly  in  a  historic  and  anti- 
quarian light.  Again,  the  "  Otto- 
brate,"  a  species  of  christianized  bac- 
chanalia,  an  innocent  merry-making 
answering  in  some  sort  to  our  dear 
old  familiar  gathering  of  "  Harvest 
Home,"  is  a  thing  more  often  heard 
VOL.  xiii. — 47 


of  than  witnessed  by  flying  visitors 
to  the  Eternal  City.  In  October,  also-, 
the  Holy  Father  visits  different  con- 
vents, and  a  few  ladies  not  unfre- 
quently  procure  the  privilege,  through 
"  friends  at  court,"  of  following  in 
his  train,  and  thus  gaining  admit- 
tance to  strictly  enclosed  nunneries, 
and  being  present  at  touching  little 
ceremonies  performed  very  simply  by 
the  Pope  himself  in  the  poor,  plain 
chapels  of  these  voluntary  prisoners 
of  love.  Sometimes  he  says  a  few 
words  of  encouragement  and  advice ; 
sometimes  he  gives  benediction  while 
the  untutored  choir  of  nuns  sing 
some  simple  hymn ;  sometimes  he 
assembles  the  community,  and  gives 
them  his  solemn  blessing.  There  are 
the  "  Celestines  "  (so-called  from  their 
blue  veil  beneath  the  black  one), 
whose  convent  is  in  a  retired  street 
not  far  from  St.  John  Lateran,  and 
whose  enclosure  does  not  necessitate 
a  grating,  but  compels  them  to  wear 
their  veils  down  while  speaking  to 
strangers,  and  not  to  advance  further 
than  the  threshold  of  the  inner  house- 
door,  while  their  visitor  stands  with- 


738 


Genzano  and  Frascati, 


out  the  line,  yet  face  to  face  with 
them.  There  are  the  Dominicaness- 
es, near  the  Piazza.  Trajana,  at  "  San 
Domenico  e  Sisto,"  whose  profession 
is  impressively  accompanied  by  the 
heart-stirring  ceremony  of  prostration 
beneath  a  funeral  pall,  while  the 
choir  sing  the  solemn  dirge  of  the 
De  Profundis.  When  these  nuns  take 
the  habit  and  first  become  novices, 
they  are  asked,  at  a  certain  part  of 
the  service,  whether  they  choose  the 
crown  of  thorns  or  the  wreath  of 
roses,  both  of  which  lie  before  them 
on  a  table.  Of  course  there  is  but 
one  answer,  but,  the  ceremony  over, 
the  rose,  or  bridal  wreath,  replaces 
for  the  day  the  coronal  of  thorns. 
There  is  a  convent  of  a  very  severe 
order,  called  the  "  Sepolte- Vive"  or 
"  buried  alive,"  whose  rule  is  almost 
inhumanly  severe,  and  has  never  re- 
ceived absolute  confirmation  from 
the  Holy  See,  but  only  toleration,  or 
permission,  for  such  as  feel  them- 
selves drawn  to  such  appalling  aus- 
terities. They  dig  their  own  graves, 
and  wear  fetters  on  the  wrist,  and, 
when  in  fault,  no  matter  how  slight, 
a  placard  on  their  backs  indicating 
their  peculiar  failing.  When  news 
is  brought  to  the  superioress  of  the 
death  of  a  parent  or  relation  of  any 
one  of  the  sisters,  the  bereaved  one 
is  not  told  of  her  loss,  but  it  is  an- 
nounced that  "one  among  us  has 
lost  a  member  of  her  family;"  and 
Masses  are  offered  for  the  departed 
without  any  further  mention  of  him 
or  her.  Again,  there  is  a  Carmelite 
convent  in  Rome,  I  forget  where,  in 
which  a  miraculous  crucifix  has  been 
preserved  for  about  fifty  years — a 
strange  image,  which  seems  instinct 
with  life  and  expression,  seems  to 
speak  to  and  look  at  you,  fascinates 
the  gaze,  and  stirs  the  least  impres- 
sionable heart.  It  is  not  much  spok- 
en of  even  in  Rome,  that  city  where 
marvels  are  no  longer  marvels,  and 


where  miracles  are  more  credible 
than  business  negotiations  elsewhere ; 
but  it  is  enough  that  in  one  of  these 
Papal  October  visits  to  convents,  two 
persons  of  calm  judgment,  both  Eng- 
lish, both  converts,  and  one  the  sis- 
ter of  an  eloquent  and  gifted  Angli- 
can divine,  saw  it,  and  declared  that 
there  was  something  about  it  far  be- 
yond the  common  run  of  even  skil- 
fully carved  and  elaborately  chiselled 
masterpieces. 

To  pass  from  convents  to  hospi- 
tals, the  sight  during  the  evenings  of 
Holy  Week  at  the  "  Trinita  de  Pelle- 
grini "  is  something  not  less  interest- 
ing than  the  oft-recounted  glories  of 
the  Sistine  Chapel  and  the  thrilling 
rubrics  of  the  Pontifical  High  Mass 
at  St.  Peter's  shrine.  Rome  is  still, 
in  this  century,  a  real  centre  of  pil- 
grimage ;  and  what  could  be  a  great- 
er proof  of  the  truth  of  the  faith  she 
teaches  than  this  apparently  incredi- 
ble fact  —  this  anachronism  in  the 
eyes  of  our  enlightened  progressists  ? 
Men  and  women,  chiefly  from  the 
rural  and  mountainous  districts  of 
Italy,  but  also  from  Hungary,  and 
Germany,  and  faithful  Poland,  come 
begging  their  arduous  way,  in  sim- 
ple faith  and  fervent  love,  perfect- 
ly undisturbed  by  doubts  they  have 
never  heard  discussed,  by  the  "  spirit 
of  the  age  "  they  have  never  dreamt 
of  as  being  in  antagonism  with  the 
spirit  of  the  church,  by  the  childish 
and  wilful  gropings  after  religious 
reconstruction  which  they,  if  they 
knew  of  them,  would  call  madness, 
and  pity  as  such.  They  come  with 
their  strange  tattered  costumes,  all 
incrusted  with  dirt,  and  embroidered 
into  perplexing  patterns  with  accu- 
mulation of  unheeded  dust,  and 
knock  at  the  door  of  this  gigantic 
hospital,  where  they  find  a  real  home 
and  a  ready  welcome.  Other  men 
and  women,  chiefly  of  the  higher 
classes,  and,  like  the  pilgrims,  of  di- 


Gensano  and  Frascati. 


739 


vers  nationalities,  come  to  tend  them 
and  offer  them  literally  the  same  ser- 
vices Abraham  offered  to  the  voyag- 
er-angels when  they  stopped,  travel- 
stained  and  foot-sore,  at  the  entrance 
of  his  tent.  In  an  upper  hall  are 
laid  tables  laden  with  abundant  and 
wholesome  food,  of  which  a  portion 
is  reserved  by  each  wanderer  for  the 
morrow's  breakfast,  and  the  disposi- 
tion of  which,  from  personal  obser- 
vation, I  know  to  be  as  follows  :  a 
small  loaf  of  bread  sliced  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  meat  and  sauce  crammed  as 
tight  as  possible  between  the  two 
halves  thus  making  a  substantial 
but  somewhat  ungainly  sandwich. 
In  a  large  room  on  the  lower  floor 
are  placed  benches  against  the  wall, 
with  a  foot-board  running  along 
them,  on  which  are  rows  of  basins, 
with  the  necessary  adjuncts  of  soap 
and  towels.  The  washing  of  the 
pilgrims'  feet  is  by  no  means  a  sine- 
cure, or  a  graceful  make-believe  at 
biblical  courtesies.  It  is  a  very  real 
and  slightly  unpalatable  business ; 
but  the  grievance  is  far  more  the 
short  time  allowed  to  each  person 
than  the  washing  itself.  The  unfor- 
tunate feet  of  the  weary  pilgrims  are 
more  refreshed  than  thoroughly  clean- 
ed by  one  layer  of  soap ;  and  it  is 
to  be  wished  that  the  time  allotted 
could  be  sufficiently  extended  to  al- 
low the  work  to  be  well  done,  since 
it  is  attempted  at  all.  The  self-deni- 
al of  those  who  undertake  this  most 
praiseworthy  and  mediaeval  charity 
must  be  enhanced  by  the  fact  that 
many  tourists  come  to  see  this  done, 
as  a  part  of  their  Holy  Week  pro- 
gramme, and,  being  mostly  curious 
and  carping  critics  of  English  or 
American  origin,  their  comments  are 
more  sarcastic  than  encouraging. 
Here  are  wildernesses  of  dormitories, 
into  which  the  pilgrims  file  in  slow 
procession  after  supper,  singing  lita- 
nies and  hymns.  Let  any  other 


country  point  to  such  a  palace  of 
Christian  charity,  to  such  a  freely 
supported  and  admirably  managed 
institution,  and  then  it  may  have 
claim  to  talk  of  progressive  civiliza- 
tion !  But  instead  of  '.his,  what  do 
we  see  but  poor-laws,  that  treat 
God's  poor  as  animals,  and  the  state 
in  which  God  himself  chose  to  be 
born,  and  live,  and  die,  as  a  crime 
and  a  moral  shame.  "Till  when,  O 
Lord,  till  when  ?" 

On  Christmas  night,  another  beau- 
tiful scene  takes  place  in  the  female 
prison,  on  the  "  Piazza  di  Termini," 
opposite  the  baths  of  Aurelian,  be- 
tween the  railway  station  and  the 
church  of  the  Cistercians,  "  Santa 
Maria  degli  Loyoli."  Yet  there  is 
nothing  to  describe,  no  gorgeous  ri- 
tual, no  impressive  assemblage,  no 
pageant  to  take  the  eye  and  divide 
the  attention.  Four  whitewashed 
walls,  an  orderly  throng  of  uniformly 
dressed  women,  a  few  hymns,  in 
which  the  voices  of  the  nuns,  in  whose 
charge  the  prisoners  are,  lead  and 
predominate ;  a  plain  altar,  an  unpre- 
tending "  Presepio,"  or  representa- 
tion of  the  stable  of  Bethlehem,  and 
that  is  all.  Well !  what  is  there  to 
say  about  this  ?  No  correspondent 
could  fill  a  column  with  these  details ; 
yet  they  fill  the  heart  of  God,  and 
make  the  heart  of  his  sinless  Mother 
glad,  as  she  looks  down  on  the  re- 
pentant woman  whose  welfare  is  so 
dear  to  her  in  whom  there  is  found 
no  spot  nor  stain  of  guilt.  And  this 
is  very  different,  ho  doubt,  from  the 
splendidly  illuminated  altar  in  San 
Litigi  de  francesi,  where  the  lighted 
tapers  are  pyramidally  ranged  in 
dazzling  tiers  of  shining  amber  bright- 
ness, and  where  the  fragrance  of  in- 
cense struggles  hard  not  to  be  over- 
powered by  the  sweetness  of  the  hot- 
house plants  blooming  in  clusters 
around  the  steps  and  commanion 
rails.  Very  different,  too,  from  the 


740 


Genzano  and  Frascati. 


artistic  and  elaborate  "  Presepio  "  at 
Sanf  Andrea  della  Valle,  where  a  ve- 
ritable stage  seems  miraculously  pois- 
ed over  the  altar,  and  where  all  man- 
ner of  wonderful  details  of  Eastern 
scenery,  somewhat  mixed  with  pre- 
vailing Western  conceptions  and  in- 
congruities concerning  the  Orient,  are 
displayed  on  a  magnificent  scale  for 
the  edification  of  the  peasantry  flock- 
ing into  Rome  from  all  sides.  Very 
different,  again,  from  the  solemn  ri- 
tual of  "  Santa  Maria  Maggiore " 
(though  that  has  been  for  many  years 
discontinued,  on  account  of  the  abus- 
es of  which  it  was  the  unhappy  occa- 
sion), the  ceremonies  that  renewed 
most  vividly  the  scene  of  the  angels' 
announcment,  and  the  pastoral  wel- 
come, on  the  moon  -  brightened 
plains  round  the  stable  of  Bethlehem, 
the  splendor  of  decoration  gathered 
about  the  precious  relic  of  the  rude 
crib,  whose  straw,  still  preserved  in 
this  church,  is  now  more  glorious  by 
far  than  conqueror's  coat-of-mail  or 
emperor's  robe  of  ermine.  But  what 
of  this  difference,  after  all  ?  Earth's 
costliness  of  display  is  earthly  still, 
earth's  poverty  and  nakedness  is  al- 
most divine,  because,  whenever  earth 
became  the  scene  of  any  of  God's 
choicest  wonders,  it  was  always  in  a 
state  of  destitution,  which  he  ordained 
beforehand  as  a  mystical  preparation. 
God  fashioned  Adam  out  of  common 
clay,  and  Eve  from  a  bare  rib  ;  his 
own  birth  was  in  a  stable,  cold  and 
forlorn,  his  life  in  an  obscure  artisan's 
shop,  littered  with  common  .dust, 
filled  with  coarse  tools;  his  death 
was  on  a  common  gibbet,  on  a  bare 
mountain.  Common  animals,  do- 
mestic drudges,  and  beasts  of  burden 
surrounded  him  at  the  dawn  of  his 
being ;  common  criminals,  rough 
men,  coarse -minded  gazers,  were 
around  him  in  his  last  hour.  The 
only  time  he  rode  in  any  state,  it  was 
upon  an  ass,  not  a  fancy  war-steed  with 


trappings  of  oriental  magnificence, 
not  even  a  stately  mule,  such  as  be- 
came later  on  a  recognized  and  legi- 
timate bearer  of  great  dignitaries. 
The  first  men  who  welcomed  him  on 
earth  were  shepherds ;  the  last  who 
spoke  to  him  were  fishermen.  But 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  more  on 
a  theme  so  well  known  and  so  much 
canvassed;  yet  it  is  not  (inappropriate 
to  the  frame  of  mind  which  this  pic- 
ture of  the  midnight  Mass  in  the  pri- 
son induces  and  fosters.  And  just 
as  it  would  be  good  for  any  Chris- 
tian country  to  be  able  to  show  a 
hospital  as  well  managed  as  the  Pil- 
grim's Home  we  have  glanced  at,  so 
would  it  be  even  better  could  any 
one  of  the  nations  of  Europe  point 
to  prisons  where  repentance  is  taught 
by  the  rule  of  the  Gospel  and  not  by 
the  regulations  of  a  board  of  magis- 
trates, and  where  confinement  for  one 
species  of  offence  is  not  turned  into 
a  school  of  graduation  for  worse  of- 
fences still. 

The  reader  will  forgive  this  round- 
about introduction  to  the  two  beau- 
tiful reminiscences  of  which  this  pa- 
per is  the  subject,  for  these  are  both 
among  the  class  of  events  described 
at  the  beginning  as  less  famous,  but 
more  attractive  because  more  pecu- 
liar. 

One  of  them  is  of  a  private  and 
purely  personal  nature,  the  other  of 
a  public  sort,  but  rarer  than  remini- 
scences of  Rome  usually  are. 

There  is  a  village  about  twenty 
miles  from  Rome,  and  two  beyond 
Albano,  the  name  of  which  is  Gen- 
zano, and  belongs,  I  believe,  to  the 
Chigi  family,  as  does  Laricia  with  its 
wild  woods  of  chestnuts.  It  is  an 
ordinary  hamlet,  with  its  church 
standing  on  a  height  to  which  two 
side  straggling  streets  lead  up,  and 
the  front  of  which  is  pretty  well  hid- 
den by  the  block  of  irregular  houses 
that  divide  the  road-ways.  For 


Gensano  and  Frascati. 


741 


many  generations  this  village  had 
been  famous  for  its  Corpus  Christi 
procession,  and  the  peculiar  way  in 
which  the  procession's  track  was 
more  carpeted  than  strewn  with  flow- 
ers. Strangers  used  to  flock  to  see 
the  floral  festival,  and  Hans  An- 
dersen, in  his  Improvisatore,  once 
gave  the  most  vivid  and  picturesque 
account  of  it.  Perhaps  every  one 
has  not  read  this  description,  and  few 
in  this  country  at  least  have  seen 
the  procession.  In  1848,  the  cus- 
tom was  discontinued,  owing  to  the 
unsettled  state  of  the  country,  and 
the  tendency  of  the  Carbonari  to 
make  disturbances  at  any  popular 
gathering  or  demonstration,  especi- 
ally of  a  religious  kind.  In  1864, 
things  being  somewhat  more  stable 
under  the  protection  of  French  troops 
and  the  promise  of  non-intervention 
on  the  part  of  the  King  of  Italy, 
the  festival  of  the  Infiorata,  as  it  is 
called,  was  again  announced,  and  all 
Rome  hurried  to  see  it. 

It  took  place  in  the  evening.  No 
description  can  do  it  justice,  especial- 
ly as  its  beauty  was  enhanced  by  that 
most  hopelessly  indescribable  of  cir- 
cumstances— the  loveliness  of  a  south- 
ern summer's  day.  Albano  looked 
from  its  puny  heights  ever  the  wide 
plain  that  stretches  to  Ostia  and  the 
sea,  covered  with  dusky  gray-green 
olive-yards ;  the  blue  hills,  where  the 
chestnuts  grow  and  overshadow  the 
ruddy  wealth  of  wild  mountain  straw- 
berries beneath,  rose  like  cupolas  in 
the  evening  sky,  that  was  alive  with 
summer  lightnings ;  the  bright  red 
and  blue  costumes  of  the  peasant 
women,  with  their  little  tents  of  spot- 
less linen  squarely  poised  upon  their 
heads,  and  their  massive  chains  of 
gold  and  coral  vying  with  their  won- 
derful sword-shaped  hair-pins  for 
quaintness  and  for  richness,  stood 
out  ?n  picturesque  relief  against  the 
dark  background  of  the  common- 


looking  dwellings ;  through  the  bus- 
tle and  clatter  of  an  Italian  crowd, 
there  could  yet  be  discerned  the  hush 
and  stillness  so  familiar  to  our  North- 
ern hearts,  so  congenial  to  our  idea 
of  Sabbaths  and  church  festivals  ;  the 
noise  seemed  a  distant  hum,  the 
whole  scene. a  vision  ;  and  over  it  all, 
the  spirit  of  faith  that  made  it  what 
it  was,  not  a  mere  idle  show  to 
awake  idle  people,  but  a  living  gath- 
ering of  living  and  believing  souls, 
offering  nature's  purest  gifts  in  their 
virgin  integrity  to  the  God  of  love,  to 
Gesit  Sacratnentato,  as  the  Italians  so 
ingeniously  and  touchingly  say. 

Both  streets  leading  up  to  the 
church  were  paved  with  flowers,  in 
thick  layers,  symmetrically  portion- 
ed out  with  squares  corresponding 
to  the  width  of  the  houses  on  either 
side  of  the  road.  Patterns  of  great 
delicacy  were  produced  by  these 
flowers,  scattered  into  petals  as  they 
were,  and  no  leaves  nor  stems  care- 
lessly appearing  anywhere.  Here, 
on  one  large  space,  were  pictured 
the  arms  of  the  Chigi  family,  there, 
the  arms  of  the  bishop  of  the  dio- 
cese, further  still,  those  of  the  Holy 
See.  In  the  centre  of  one  of  the 
streets,  the  grand  compartment  was 
taken  up  by  a  colored  representation 
of  an  altar  with  candles  and  a  mon- 
strance, and  the  white  Host  within. 
A  little  lower  down  was  a  tiny  foun- 
tain, more  like  a  squirt  than  anything 
else,  concealed  in  a  mound  of  soft 
flower-petals.  Patterns  of  geometri- 
cal figures,  of  Persian  carpets,  of 
fanciful  monograms,  filled  up  the 
many  squares,  while  all  along  the 
sides,  and  supported  by  stakes,  ran  a 
low  festoon  of  box-wreaths,  guarding 
the  flower-carpet  from  the  feet  c" 
the  eager  crowd. 

From  above,  from  the  many  bal- 
conies and  terraces,  and  from  the 
roofs  of  the  tall,  old-fashioned  hous- 
es, the  people  look  down  and  gaze 


742 


Genzano  and  Frascati. 


upon  this  wonderful  tapestry,  more 
elaborate  and  incomparably  more 
beautiful  than  the  choicest  produce 
of  the  looms  of  Genoa,  and  Lyons, 
and  the  Gobelins — more  precious  and 
more  fair  than  the  silken  hangings 
woven  of  old  by  the  hands  of  queens 
and  sovereign  princesses. 

And  this  is  all  for  an  hour  !  In  a 
few  moments,  the  procession  and  the 
following  multitude  will  have  passed 
over  the  floral  tapestry,  and  every 
trace  of  its  beauty  will  be  gone. 
But  why  not  ?  Its  beauty  is  conse- 
crated, and,  when  it  has  ministered 
to  the  greater  glory  of  God,  its  mis- 
sion will  be  over. 

Every  one  knows  the  incident  in 
the  life  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  when, 
walking  across  a  muddy  road  with 
his  imperious  and  capricious  sove- 
reign, Elizabeth  of  England,  the 
gallant  courtier's  velvet  cloak,  costly 
though  it  was,  was  not  deemed  too 
rich  for  a  woman's  footstool,  and 
doubtless  the  graceful  homage  was 
considered  as  very  little  beyond  an 
absolute  necessity  of  courtesy.  And 
shall  this  display  of  rarest  loveliness 
and  natural  treasures,  called  the  "  In- 
fiorata"  be  thought  of  otherwise 
than  as  a  cloak  thrown  beneath  the 
weary  feet  of  the  pilgrim  Saviour  ? 

Our  Lord  walks  through  many 
lands,  and  the  way  of  men's  hearts 
is  very  rugged  here,  very  treacherous 
there,  very  uneven  everywhere.  Let 
him  pause  here  for  a  moment,  as  he 
rests  his  feet  on  the  carpet  or  cloak 
spread  for  him,  and  let  him  find  in  a 
few  faithful  hearts  a  path  ready  pre- 
pared for  him,  as  fragrant  and  as 
beautiful  as  this  floral  "  via  sacra." 

The  procession  leaves  the  church 
by  one  of  the  two  diverging  roads, 
and  returns  by  the  other.  It  is  a 
regular  Italian  procession,  somewhat 
grotesque  in  our  eyes,  unaccustomed 
to  some  little  peculiarities,  such  as 
winged  angels  represented  by  chil- 


dren in  scanty  robes  of  tinselled  mus- 
lin, and  golden  paper  kites  flying 
from  their  shoulders,  but  on  the 
whole  it  is  edifying  in  its  very  art- 
lessness.  There  are  many  monks, 
walking  two-and-two,  and  bearing 
lighted  tapers ;  children  in  compa- 
nies and  sodalities  with  gaudy  ban- 
ners and  streamers,  priests  in  black 
and  white,  and  cross-bearers  and 
thurifers,  and,  lastly,  the  swaying  ca- 
nopy under  which  is  borne  the  Lord 
of  nature.  While  each  person  in 
the  procession  winds  his  way  among 
the  flower  patterns,  and  carefully 
spares  the  perfection  of  the  design 
as  much  as  possible,  the  priest,  on 
the  contrary,  carries  the  Blessed  Sa- 
crament right  over  in  the  centre  of 
the  broad  path,  and  the  crowd  pour 
after  him  in  heaving  masses,  leaving 
the  track  behind  them  strewn  with 
remnants  of  box  and  olive  borders 
and  blended  heaps  of  crushed  flow- 
er-petals. 

And  so  the  sacred  pageant  is  over. 
The  sky  is  getting  cloudy,  and  thun- 
der-drops of  almost  tropic  rain  are 
falling  noisily  to  the  earth  ;  people 
hurry  home,  but  long  before  Albano 
is  reached  the  storm  is  already  furi- 
rious,  and  bursts  over  the  darkening 
plain.  Many  are  detained  at  the 
inns  of  the  white  village  whose  gal- 
lerie  of  elm  and  ilex  are  so  famous 
round  Rome. 

By  the  bye,  these  gallerie  lead  from 
Albano  to  the  neighboring  village  of 
Frascati,  an  archiepiscopal  see,  and 
once  the  retreat  of  the  Cardinal  of 
York,  the  last  of  the  Stuarts.  He 
himself,  with  his  unfortunate  brother, 
is  buried  in  St.  Peter's ;  but  in 
the  village  church  of  which  he  was 
titular  archbishop  is  a  tablet  to  his 
memory,  recounting  his  many  virtues, 
and  the  love  and  veneration  in  which 
his  flock  ever  held  him. 

Frascati  is  the  scene  of  the  second 
reminiscence  I  have  once  before  spok- 


Gcnzano  and  Frascati. 


743 


en  of;  one  more  domestic  and  more 
intimate  than  the  last,  and  very  in- 
teresting as  being  the  record  of  an 
unusual  favor  shown  to  a  foreigner 
by  the  Holy  Father,  Pope  Pius  IX. 

There  are  a  great  many  villas 
around  Frascati,  and  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest as  well  as  most  historical  is  the 
Villa  Falconieri,  the  whilom  abode 
of  Santa  Juliana  Falconieri,  to  whom 
a  chapel  is  dedicated  in  the  house. 
The  grounds  are,  as  in  most  Italian 
villas,  very  badly  kept  (according  to 
Northern  ideas),  but  in  their  wild- 
ness  more  beautiful  than  the  trim- 
mest garden  of  Old  or  New  England. 
A  winding,  steep  road,  bordered  with 
box,  leads  to  the  mansion,  whose 
wide  marble  chambers  re-echo  the 
few  footsteps  they  ever  bear,  and 
whose  best  preserved  ornaments  are 
some  marble  busts  and  old  frescoes. 
To  the  front  stretches  a  lawn  dotted 
with  Spanish  chestnut-trees,  and  be- 
yond lies  an  alley  of  hoary  and  gi- 
gantic cypresses  that  seem  the  en- 
chanted genii  of  perpetual  silence. 
There  is  a  peculiar  odor  about  cy- 
press-trees which  can  never  be  for- 
gotten by  one  who  has  been  much 
among  these  groves  of  living  columns ; 
and  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the 
charm  inherent  in  a  familiar  odor  is 
one  of  the  strongest  that  exists.  Not 
only  in  this  alley,  a  mile  long,  lead- 
ing up  through  a  maze  of  thickets  to 
the  ruins  of  Tusculum,  but  also  in  a 
weird  quadrangle  planted  round  a 
stone-coped  pond,  do  these  trees 
stand  in  their  stern  and  sad  majesty. 
Here,  again,  is  silence,  reigning  un- 
disputed; the  grand  path  is  grassy 
with  weeds ;  the  little  cones  drop  into 
it  and  are  never  swept  away;  the 
brown  branches  of  the  trees  fall  upon 
it  in  autumn,  and  remain  there  till 
they  decay  into  the  soil ;  the  water 
is  stagnant,  and  the  artificial  rock- 
work  in  the  centre  of  the  pond  is 
neglected  and  overgrown  with  crops 


of  worthless  yet  not  unlovely  weeds. 
A  landscape  gardener  would  form 
and  draw  out  a  new  map  of  these 
mismanaged  acres ;  a  painter  would 
shout  for  joy  at  this  picturesque 
frame  for  a  historical  love-scene,  and 
would  transfer  the  whole  to  his  can- 
vas, adding  only,  according  to  his 
fancy,  the  pale  moon  silvering  the 
mysterious  trees,  or  the  setting  sun, 
in  its  amethyst  radiance,  throwing 
golden  arrows  through  the  glorious 
openings  of  the  cypress  grove. 

This  villa  of  Santa  Juliana  Falco- 
nieri was  once  let,  now  many,  many 
years  ago,  to  an  Englishman,  a  re- 
cent convert,  and  a  well-known  and 
zealous  defender  of  his  newly  adopt- 
ed faith.  He  was  not  unfrequently 
a  guest  at  the  neighboring  monastery 
of  Camaldoli,  a  beautiful  hermitage 
embosomed,  in  the  woods,  and  where 
the  white-robed  monks  follow  a 
strict  and  ascetic  rule,  very  different 
from  the  lives  of  hypocritical  holiness 
that  Protestants  and  liberators  would 
make  us  believe  is  the  present  type 
of  monastic  perfection.  One  day, 
when  the  temporary  owner  of  the 
Villa  Falconieri  was  dining  at  the 
Camaldolese  convent,  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther, whose  summer  residence  is  close 
by,  at  a  little  village  called  Castel 
Gandolfo,  overlooking  the  classic 
Lake  Nemi,  came  with  his  retinue  to 
visit  the  monks.  He  also  stayed  to 
dinner,  which  in  Italy  and  among 
religious  is  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and,  the  visit  over,  he  spontaneously 
proposed  to  his  English  friend  to  make 
another  halt  at  his  house.  A  mes- 
sage was  sent  down  in  haste  to  pre- 
pare the  villa,  and  so  few  were  the 
servants  there  that  it  was  not  before 
the  cavalcade  of  the  Pope  was  at  the 
head  of  the  cypress  alley  that  the 
end  nearest  the  house  was  swept  and 
cleaned.  The  wife  and  little  daugh- 
ter were  ready  to  welcome  the  Holy 
Father,  as.  his  host  introduced  him 


744 


Gensano  and  Frascati. 


into  the  pretty,  picturesque  dwelling. 
A  throne  had  been  temporarily  arrang- 
ed at  the  further  end  of  the  drawing- 
room,  and  a  square  of  gold-edged 
velvet  placed  at  the  feet.  The  "  No- 
ble Guard,"  part  of  the  Pontifical  re- 
tinue, took  their  places  around  the 
room,  seemingly  a  living  wall,  and 
other  ecclesiastical  attendants  group- 
ed themselves  in  various  corners. 
This  was  an  honor  seldom  bestowed 
on  any  but  Roman  princes,  and  then 
very  sparingly,  so  that  it  was  all  the 
more  a  distinguished  mark  of  perso- 
nal friendship  on  the  part  of  the  good 
and  fatherly  Pope  toward  his  Eng- 
lish child.  Not  long  before,  those 
three,  the  father  and  mother  and  lit- 
tle daughter,  had  knelt  before  the 
Pope,  and  the  parents  had  resolved 
and  promised  to  embrace  outwardly 
the  religion  they  inwardly  believed ; 
the  child  had  unknowingly  played 
with  its  father's  sword,  and  prattled, 
as  unconscious  little  ones  do,  in  the 
midst  of  these  grave  events. 

Now,  the  child  was  not  forgotten 
either,  and  the  Holy  Father  kept  it 
near  his  throne,  and  bestowed  espe- 
cial attention  upon  it,  even  while  he 
conversed  with  the  steadfast  and 
happy  parents.  By-and-by,  the  No- 
ble Guard  were  dismissed,  and  bivou- 
acked outside  the  house,  under  the 
chestnut-trees,  till  it  was  dark.  Then 
lanterns  were  hung  on  the  branches 
and  on  the  tall  gates,  and  a  regular 
illumination  took  place.  When  the 
Pope  left,  torches  were  carried 
around  him  and  his  cortege,  all 
through  the  woods  that  cover  the 
ground  between  Frascati  and  Castel 
Gandolfo.  A  tablet  was  put  up  in 
the  vestibule  or  atrium  of  the  villa, 
with  the  permission  of  the  owner  of 
the  property,  in  commemoration  of 
this  signal  honor  conferred  upon  a 
stranger.  These  details  are  only  a 
part  of  the  many-sided  recollections 
of  this  day,  but,  such  as  they  are,  they 


come  from  the  lips  of  an  eye-witness, 
and  we  are  not  conscious  that  they 
are  in  any  degree  exaggerated. 

Nearly  twelve  years  after  this  me- 
morable visit,  the  villa  was  revisited 
by  some  of  the  persons  who  had 
been  its  temporary  occupants  during 
that  occurrence,  and  it  was  found  to 
be  in  exactly  the  same  state  as  be- 
fore ;  the  dark  cypress  alley  and  the 
quadrangle,  the  chestnut-shaded  lawn 
and  deserted-looking  house,  showing 
no  sign  of  the  lapse  of  time.  The 
former  owner,  however — a  Cardinal 
Falconieri,  I  believe — was  dead,  and 
the  property  was  disputed  by  two 
or  three  noble  families.  The  chapel 
of  Santa  Juliana  stood  open  to  the 
terrace,  accessible  from  the  outside  as 
well  as  from  the  narrow  inner  passage 
connecting  it  with  the  house ;  and  on 
one  side  of  its  tiny  walls  was  the  pic- 
ture of  the  saint's  death-bed,  repre- 
senting the  miraculous  communion 
by  way  of  viaticum,  when  the  bless- 
ed sacrament  sank  into  her  breast 
because  her  sickness  was  of  such  a 
nature  as  to  prevent  her  from  receiv- 
ing it  into  her  mouth.  Below  the 
picture  is  a  long  explanation  of  this 
fact,  and  a  sort  of  laudatory  epitaph 
in  the  saint's  honor. 

The  villa  Aldobrandini  occupies 
one  of  the  most  prominent  positions 
in  Frascati,  and  commands  attention 
from  its  tiers  of  stone  fountains;  raised 
amphitheatre-like  one  over  the  other 
up  the  face  of  the  hill,  and  arranged 
so  as  to  let  an  artificial  waterfall 
spring  down  the  giant  staircase. 

Another  notable  building  of  this 
village  is  the  white-walled  Capu- 
chin convent,  a  nest  among  the 
trees  and  rocks,  where  the  little 
chapel  is  railed  off  by  heavy  gates 
from  the  poor  vestibule,  and  where 
lived  once  a  very  good  and  eloquent 
monk,  Padre  Silvestro.  He  too,  like 
the  old  cardinal,  died  within  the  years 
that  followed  the  visit  of  the  Pope  to 


Sonnet. 


745 


the  Villa  Falconieri,  but  his  kind- 
ness to  little  children  and  his  well- 
known  powers  of  language  alike 
cause  him  to  live  for  ever  in  the  heart 
and  memory  of  those  whose  happi- 
ness it  was  to  know  him. 

He  always  seemed  to  the  writer 
the  very  type  of  Manzoni's  renown- 
ed "  Padre  Cristofaro,"  one  of  the  no- 
blest creatures  of  that  author's  world- 
famed  romance,  / Promessi  Sposi. 

And  with  this  mention  of  him  and 
his  quiet  convent — which  is  now,  per- 
haps, a  desecrated  stable  or  barrack 
— let  us  close  this  little  sketch  of  a 
well-remembered  and  beloved  spot, 


endeared  to  us  by  many  happy 
hours  spent  among  its  hills  and  woods, 
and  by  the  memory  of  one  of  God's 
best  and  purest  creatures,  one  worthy 
of  more  gratitude,  more  love,  and 
more  appreciation  than  our  poor 
heart  was  ever  able  to  render  her. 
To  her,  once  our  guide  on  earth, 
now  our  guardian,  we  trust,  in  hea- 
ven, do  we  dedicate  these  few  me- 
mentoes of  our  happy  companion- 
ship in  a  land  whose  beauty  she  al- 
ways taught  us  to  look  upon  as  the 
chosen  appanage  of  the  Vicar  of 
Christ,  and  the  Jerusalem  of  the  new 
law. 


SONNET. 


ST.   FRANCIS  AND  ST.   DOMINIC. 


FRANCIS  and  Dominic,  the  marvels  twain 
Of  those  fair  ages  faith  inspired  and  ruled, 
When  Christendom,  alike  by  darkness  schooled 

And  light,  served  God,  and  spurned  the  secular  chain. 

Strong  brother-saints  of  Italy  and  Spain, 

The  nations,  Christian  once,  whose  love  hath  cooled, 
The  sects  pride-blind,  the  sophists  sense-befooled, 

Your  child-like,  God- like  lowliness  disdain! 

But  ye  your  task  fulfilled  !     All  love  the  one, 
Christ's  lover,  burning  with  seraphic  fire  ; 
All  light  the  other,  from  the  cherub  choir 

Missioned,  a  clouded  world's  re-risen  sun ; 

Warriors  of  God  !  for  centuries  three  at  bay 

Those  crowned  lusts  ye  kept  that  gore  his  church  to-day. 


AUBREY  DE  VERE. 


ROME — Convent  of  St.  Buenaventura. 


THE     HOUSE     OF    YORKE. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


POLEMICS   AND   THE  WEATHER. 


IT  is  trite  to  say  that  error  is  most 
dangerous  when  mingled  with  truth  ; 
but  never  was  this  saying  more  appli- 
cable than  in  the  case  of  the  Native 
American  or  Know- Nothing  party. 
"  America  for  Americans "  was  not 
all  a  cry  of  bigotry  and  exclusion  : 
the  hospitality  and  freedom  of  the 
nation  had  been  abused,  and  a  reform 
was  needed.  But,  unfortunately,  it 
was  possible  to  make  the  question  a 
religious  one.  The  fact  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  crime  in  cities  is 
committed  by  foreigners,  and  that  the 
majority  of  foreigners  in  the  country 
are  at  least  nominally  Catholic,  could 
easily,  by  a  lame  syllogism,  be  turn- 
ed against  the  church.  But  what 
matter  how  lame  the  syllogism,  when 
prejudice  props  it  on  the  one  side 
and  malice  on  the  other  ? 

Beside  this,  the  masses  of  any  peo- 
ple crave  an  occasional  popular  com- 
motion to  vary  the  monotony  of 
a  peaceful  national  existence,  and 
nothing  else  offered  at  the  time. 
The  advent  of  this  party  was,  there- 
fore, a  propos. 

How  it  used  its  power,  we  all 
know.  It  was,  indeed,  less  a  party 
than  an  army,  for  its  measures  were 
violent,  invasive,  and  illegal.  Its 
street-preachers,  from  Gavazzi  down- 
ward, its  pulpit-preachers,  who  coun- 
tenanced their  brethren  of  the  mob 
by  more  decent  but  not  less  mali- 
cious attacks,  its  floods  of  foul  litera- 
ture penetrating  to  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  land,  duping  and  inflam- 
ing the  ignorant  while  it  filled  the 


pockets  of  irresponsible  writers,  edi- 
tors, and  publishers — the  "  canaille  de 
la  litte'rature"  as  Voltaire  called  such 
— its  mobs  and  riots,  its  churches  de- 
stroyed and  clergymen  maltreated, 
its  committee  of  Massachusetts  legis- 
lators, senators,  and  volunteers  in- 
vading and  insulting  a  community 
of  defenceless  women,  all  are  mat- 
ter of  history.  The  spectacle  was  a 
strange  and  revolting  one,  and  it  was 
one  which  the  country  is  not  likely 
to  see  repeated  with  the  same  re- 
sults ;  for  it  is  incredible  that  Ameri- 
can Catholics  would  ever  again  sub- 
mit to  such  a  persecution.  It  is 
more  probable  that,  should  we  once 
more  find  our  -  liberties  threatened 
and  our  sacred  places  desecrated, 
there  will  be 

"  Thirty  thousand  Cornish  men 
To  see  the  reason  why." 

In  this  movement,  the  ambitious 
town  of  Seaton  was  not  to  be  left 
behind ;  but  certain  circumstances 
conspired  to  check  for  a  while  any 
great  demonstration.  The  utter 
peacefulness  of  Father  Rasle,  and  the 
undeniably  good  influence  he  exer- 
cised over  his  flock,  gave  no  pretext 
for  overt  attack,  and  the  fact  that 
he  was  prospering  and  had  built  a 
church  could  only  be  cited  as  dan- 
gerous indications.  Besides,  Edith 
Yorke  was,  quite  unconsciously,  a 
shield  to  the  church  in  her  native 
town.  Her  uncle's  family  assumed 
steadily  that  no  person  who  hoped 
for  any  countenance  from  them  would 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


747 


say  or  do  anything  offensive  to  her. 
This  assumption  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Yorke  would  not  have  had 
so  much  effect,  but  their  children 
were  more  powerful.  Carl  was  the 
idol  and  hero  of  the  young  ladies  of 
the  town,  and  not  for  worlds  would 
one  of  them  have  seen  directed  to 
her  that  flashing  gaze  with  which  he 
regarded  any  person  who  even  re- 
motely reflected  on  his  "  cousin 
Edith."  It  did  not  take  much  to 
freeze  that  beautiful,  laughing  face 
of  his  when  Edith  was  in  question. 
Melicent  also  had  a  fair,  and  Clara 
a  large,  share  of  the  gallantry  of  the 
town,  and  the  former  could  discon- 
cert by  her  haughtiness,  the  latter 
scathe  by  her  passion,  any  offender 
against  the  family  dignity.  Major 
Cleaveland  was  also  a  powerful  ally. 
Edith  was  to  him  an  object  of  ro- 
mantic admiration.  He  insisted  that 
she  ought  to  have  a  title,  and  used 
playfully  to  call  her  Milady  and  the 
Little  Countess,  and  to  say  that, 
though  he  did  not  like  the  Catholic 
religion  for  himself  or  his  family,  he 
liked  it  for  her. 

"  I  naturally  associate  the  thought 
of  her,"  he  said,  "  with  incense,  and 
lighted  altars,  and  dim,  rich  aisles." 
And  he  quoted  : 


•  Why,  a  stranger,  when  he  sees  her 
In  the  street  even,  smiieth  stilly, 
Just  as  you  would  at  a  lily. 

'  And  should  any  artist  paint  her, 
He  would  paint  her,  unaware, 
With  a  halo  round  her  hair." 


Evidently,  Major  Cleaveland  would 
not  countenance  anything  likely  to 
insult  the  dignity  or  hurt  the  feelings 
of  this  "  radiant  maiden  "  ;  and  Ma- 
jor Cleaveland's  countenance  was 
of  consequence  in  the  town  of  Sea- 
ton. 

Edith  and  Edith's  religion  had  yet 
another  protector  in  Mr.  Griffeth. 
This  gentleman  was  by  far  the  most 


popular  minister  in  town,  and  drew 
to  himself  all  the  explosive  elements 
there.  His  manner  of  speaking  was 
lively  and  theatrical,  the  matter 
amusing.  Those  progressive  spirits 
found  it  delightful  to  have  a  pastor 
who,  when  he  did  condescend  to 
draw  from  the  Bible,  took  piquant 
texts,  such  as,  Ephraim  is  as  a  cake 
that  is  half-baked.  It  provoked  a 
smile,  and  that  was  what  they  want- 
ed. Mr.  George  MacDonald  had  not 
then  been  heard  of;  but  Mr.  Griffeth 
already  amused  his  hearers  by  hold- 
ing up  for  their  derision  "  old  granny 
judgment." 

"  Do  not  believe,"  he  said,  "  that 
God  gives  all  the  pain,  and  the  devil 
all  the  pleasure.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
insist  on  your  believing  that  there  is 
any  devil  whatever." 

All  this  was  charming  to  his  hear- 
ers, so  charming  that  they  did  not 
absolutely  require  him  to  abuse  Ca- 
tholicism. Once  only  a  member  of 
his  congregation  gave  him  a  hint  on 
the  subject,  but  the  minister's  answer 
was  ready: 

"  I  do  not  like  to  say  the  same 
things  which  everybody  else  is  say- 
ing. If  you  wish  to  hear  anti-Catho- 
lic sermons,  go  to  Brothers  Martin 
and  Conway :  they  will  satisfy  you. 
I  do  not  suppose  that  my  silence  on 
the  subject  will  be  interpreted  as  a 
leaning  toward  the  Church  of  Rome." 

"  No,  sir !"  the  gentleman  answer- 
ed dryly.  "  It  is  more  likely  to  be 
looked  on  as  a  leaning  toward  the 
house  of  Yorke." 

Mr.  Griffeth  colored,  but  did  not 
deny  the  "  soft  impeachment."  It 
would  have  been  useless  to  deny  it, 
for  his  partiality  to  the  family  was 
evident,  though  to  which  member 
of  it  his  especial  regard  was  directed, 
was  not  so  easy  to  say.  Well  for 
him  that  it  was  not,  or  he  would  not, 
perhaps,  have  been  forgiven. 

So  Edith  stood,  surrounded  by  a 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


guard  of  devoted  hearts,  between  the 
church  and  harm. 

The  physical  and  mental  growth 
of  this  girl  was  fair  to  see.  It  was 
like  the  slow,  sweet  unfolding  of  a 
rose  from  the  bud,  with  its  baby  lip 
pushed  through  the  green  to  the  rich 
and  gracious  beauty  of  the  bursting 
flower.  That  morning  look  which  be- 
longs to  the  eyes  of  ingenuous  youth 
still  shed  its  calm,  clear  lustre  over 
hers  ;  her  hair  had  darkened  in  tint,  so 
as  to  be  no  longer  a  shadowed  gold, 
but  a  gilded  shadow ;  and  she  shot 
up  like  a  young  palm-tree,  slender, 
but  with  the  rounded,  vigorous 
strength  of  an  Atalanta.  She  had 
that  perfect  health  which  makes 
mere  existence  a  delight,  and  she 
was  perfectly  happy,  for  all  her  wants 
were  satisfied,  and  all  her  wishes 
were  winged  with  hope.  Friends 
she  took  as  a  matter  of  course.  She 
did  not  think  much  about  them,  but 
loved  them  quietly?  as  people  do 
who  never  wanted  for  friends.  It  is 
need  or  the  fear  of  losing  which 
develops  intensity  of  affection. 

What  she  did  think  of  was  :  How 
does  the  wind  blow  and  the  sun 
shine  ?  What  are  the  names  of  those 
worlds  in  the  sky,  and  how  do  they 
move  ?  How  does  the  seed  sprout 
and  grow,  and  what  makes  the  flower 
unfold  ?  Where  do  the  birds  go 
when  they  disappear  in  winter,  and 
how  do  they  know  when  to  return  ? 
How  does  the  snow-flake  gather 
itself  into  a  star-shape,  and  what 
shapes  and  colors  the  rainbow  ? 

Her  interest  took  in  also  another 
subject  kindred  to  these :  What  dis- 
tant people  live  on  the  earth  ?  What 
do  their  eyes  see  ?  How  do  they  live  ? 
How  do  they  speak  ?  Her  mother's 
native  land  having  been  far  away, 
made  all  far-away  lands  seem  fair  to 
her;  and  customs  and  speech  differ- 
ent from  those  she  had  known  did 
rot  repel,  but  attracted. 


By  some  happy  providence  in  her 
nature  or  her  education,  or  in  both, 
the  girl's  curiosity  and  love  of  the 
marvellous  and  beautiful  took  this 
direction,  and  therefore  her  delights 
did  not  wither  like  weeds  when  child- 
hood passed :  they  grew  for  ever. 

But  what  was  best  in  Edith 
Yorke's  growth  was  that  she  began 
to  perceive  the  glories  of  the  church 
of  God,  and,  as  her  knowledge  touch- 
ed here  and  there  at  remote  points, 
to  guess  at  the  grandeur,  the  symme- 
try, and  the  perfect  finish  of  the 
whole  structure.  She  had  been  asham- 
ed of  her  religion,  even  while  she 
clung  to  it,  because  all  the  professors 
of  it  whom  she  knew  were  poor  and 
ignorant,  and  because  she  had  seen 
it  mocked  by  a  higher  class.  She 
soon  learned  that  all  Catholics  were 
not  like  those  she  saw,  and  that  some 
of  the  noblest  of  earth,  persons  ex- 
celling in  rank,  wealth,  learning,  and 
virtue,  had  been  devoted  children  of 
the  church.  It  was  a  mean  reason 
for  being  better  satisfied  with  it,  but 
it  was  better  than  no  reason,  and  it 
led  upward.  What  was  it  that  these 
people  found  to  love  and  reverence  ? 
She  looked  to  see,  and,  seeing,  she 
also  loved  and  reverenced,  not  be- 
cause the  great  did,  not  because  any 
one  else  did,  but  because  what  she 
saw  was  worthy  of  such  homage. 
Once  attaining  this  elevation,  it  was 
easy  for  a  nature  like  hers  to  be  en- 
tirely and  enthusiastically  on  the  side 
of  God,  and  to  find  a  beauty  and 
delight  in  the  fact  that  had  before 
repelled  her,  to  rejoice  that  the  poor 
and  the  ignorant,  as  well  as  the  rich 
and  the  learned,  had  a  place  in  the 
arms  of  this  bountiful  Mother,  and 
that,  while  human  science  built  a  la- 
borious track  on  which  to  crawl  to- 
ward the  heart  of  God,  simple  human 
love  flew  straight  there,  as  the  bird 
flies  to  its  nest. 

Father  Rasle  instructed  her  tho- 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


749 


roughly,  particularly  in  controversy. 
She  must  be  able  not  only  to  defend 
herself  when  attacked,  but  to  attack, 
if  necessary.  As  yet,  of  either  at- 
tack or  defence  she  had  had  no  need 
to  think.  That  there  was  strife  in 
the  world,  she  almost  forgot.  The 
memory  of  all  that  had  been  miser- 
able in  her  past  life  became  as  a 
dream,  or  was  only  real  enough  to 
keep  fresh  her  love  and  gratitude  to- 
ward her  early  friends,  and  to  bar  all 
intercourse  between  her  and  the  vil- 
lage people.  She  saw  them  only 
when  they  came  to  her  uncle's  house. 

Her  life  was  simple — books,  music, 
and  drawing,  a  little  gardening,  and 
a  good  deal  of  riding  on  horseback. 
Major  Cleaveland  had  given  her  a 
beautiful  saddle-horse,  and  Carl  was 
her  teacher  and  constant  companion 
in  these  rides.  Mrs.  Yorke,  gentle 
soul !  would  have  fainted  with  terror 
had  she  seen  the  reckless  manner  in 
which  these  two  flew  over  the  ground 
when  they  were  out  of  her  sight. 

"  You  have  had  no  exercise  till 
your  cheeks  grow  red,"  Carl  would 
say;  and  at  that  challenge  Edith 
would  chirrup  to  her  prancing  This- 
tledown, and  they  were  off  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind.  Thus  cloistered 
and  fostered,  she  grew  up  strong, 
sweet,  and  happy,  and  with  the  glance 
of  her  clear  eyes  kept  back  yet  a 
while  many  a  shaft  that  would  have 
been  aimed  at  the  church. 

One  marksman,  however,  was  not 
dazzled  by  her.  Mr.  Conway  cried 
aloud,  sparing  not.  Denunciation 
was  this  man's  forte,  and  he  improved 
the  occasion.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  Miss  Clara  Yorke  commented 
on  the  astringent  qualities  of  the  gen- 
tleman's character. 

"  Why,  mamma,"  Hester  Cleave- 
land said,  "  he  had  even  the  impu- 
dence to  come  to  my  house,  and  ex- 
hort me,  and  to  say  that  we  were  all 
in  danger  from  the  influence  of  Fa- 


ther Rasle  and  Edith.  I  got  up  at 
that,  a'nd  said  that,  since  he  had  tak- 
en the  liberty  to  speak  to  me  in  such 
a  manner  of  my  own  family,  I  should 
not  scruple  to  excuse  myself  from 
any  further  conversation  with  him 
then  or  in  future.  And  I  made  him 
one  of  my  most  splendid  bows,  and 
left  him  alone ;  didn't  I,  you  beauti- 
ful creature  ?" 

This  question  was  addressed  to  a 
lovely,  gray-eyed  infant  that  lay  in 
the  speaker's  lap,  and  was  followed 
by  a  long  and  interesting  conversa- 
tion between  the  two,  the  young  mo- 
ther furnishing  both  questions  and 
answers,  and  in  that  delightful  inter- 
course quite  forgetting  Mr.  Conway 
and  his  impudence.  What  were  all 
the  crabbed  old  ministers  in  the  world 
in  comparison  to  mamma's  own  ba- 
by ?  Nothing  at  all !  "  Come,  Me- 
licent,  and  see  how  intelligent  his 
expression  is  when  I  speak  to  him. 
He  looks  right  in  my  face." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  he  could  well 
help  it,  if  he  looks  anywhere,  since 
your  face  is  within  an  inch  of  his 
nose,"  remarks  Melicent  dryly. 

Hester  had  at  this  time  been  a 
year  married,  and  was  triumphantly, 
we  must  own,  a  little  selfishly  happy. 
There  was  not  in  her  nature  a  par- 
ticle of  malice,  but  she  lacked  that 
sensitive  and  delicate  regard  for  the 
feelings  of  others  less  favored  than 
herself,  which  makes  unselfish  per- 
sons cautious  not  to  display  too 
much  their  own  superior  advantages. 
As  her  father  had  predicted,  Major 
Cleaveland  was  to  her  the  most  won- 
derful man  in  the  wrorld,  and  as  to 
Major  Cleaveland's  youngest  son, 
words  could  not  express  his  perfec- 
tions. Their  house  was,  in  some  oc- 
cult way,  finer  than  any  other  house 
whatever,  their  furniture  had  a  charm 
of  its  own,  their  horses  had  peculiar 
qualities  which  rendered  them  more 
valuable  than  you  would  think,  their 


750 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


very  bread  and  butter  had  an  un- 
common flavor  which  distinguished 
it  from  the  bread  and  butter  of  less 
fortunate  mortals. 

The  Cleavelands  remained  in  Sea- 
ton  the  first  winter  after  this  baby's 
birth,  greatly  to  the  joy  of  Hester's 
family.  The  winters  passed  rather 
heavily  for  them,  and  it  was  a  plea- 
sant break  in  their  daily  life  to  see 
Hester's  horses  turn  into  the  avenue, 
with  a  great  jingling  of  sleigh-bells, 
and  Hester's  pretty  face  smiling  out 
from  her  furs  behind  them.  Even 
Clara,  absorbed  as  she  was  in  the 
glorious  work  of  putting  the  last 
finishing  touches  to  her  first  no- 
vel—  a  novel  actually  accepted  by 
a  publisher,  and  to  be  brought  out 
in  the  spring  —  even  this  inspired 
person  would  start  up  at  that  cheery 
sound,  and  run  down-stairs  to  chat 
with  her  sister,  and  embrace  her  ne- 
phew, if  he  were  of  the  party. 

But  there  were  times  when  no  one 
could  come  to  them,  and  they  could 
not  go  out,  but  were  as  close  prison- 
ers as  though  walls  of  stone  had 
been  built  up  around  them.  One 
might  as  well  have  been  in  the  Bas- 
tile  as  in  a  solitary  country-house  in 
one  of  those  old-fashioned,  down-east 
snow-storms.  One  could  see  them 
gather  on  winter  days  in  a  steady 
purple  bank  about  the  horizon,  wait- 
ing there  with  leaden  patience  for  a 
day  or  two,  perhaps,  till  all  their 
forces  should  come  up,  or  till  the  air 
should  moderate  enough  for  a  fall. 
There  would  be  no  visible  clouds, 
but  a  gradual  thickening  of  the  air, 
the  blue  losing  its  brilliancy  under 
the  gray  film,  a  flake  sidling  down 
now  and  then  in  so  reluctant  a  man- 
ner that  it  seemed  every  moment  on 
the  point  of  going  up  again.  An- 
other follows,  and  another,  they  co- 
quette with  the  earth,  seem  to  talk  the 
matter  over  in  the  air,  finally,  with  a 
good  deal  of  hesitation,  one  after 


another  settles,  and  presently  the 
storm  comes  on  steadily,  and  what 
was  a  fairy  star  of  whiteness  becomes 
a  thin  white  veil,  then  an  inch-deep 
of  swan's-down,  then  a  pile  that 
clogs  the  feet  of  men  and  beasts, 
and  the  wheels  or  runners  of  car- 
riages, then  an  alabaster  prison. 

It  is  possible  to  be  in  a  state  of 
desolation  under  such  circumstances, 
and  it  is  possible  not  to  be:  that  de- 
pends on  the  people,  and  on  the 
mood  they  are  in.  Some  groan  over 
the  trial;  some,  scarcely  less  agree- 
able, sit  down  and  endure  it  with  a 
most  depressing  patience  ;  some  shut 
the  world  out,  and  invent  expedients 
to  forget  what  sort  of  world  it  is; 
others,  wider  of  mind  and  heart  and 
clearer  of  sight,  take  the  storm  as  it 
comes,  and  see  all  the  enchantment 
of  it.  In  that  vast  lily-flower  that 
has  curled  down  over  them,  and 
shut  them  in  for  a  time,  they  find  a 
honey  that  sparkles  like  wine.  Lean 
out  and  catch  a  flake  as  it  falls ;  it  is 
a  star,  a  flower,  a  fairy  dumb-bell,  a 
cross,  a  globe,  always  a  wonder. 
Think,  then,  of  the  lavish  millions  of 
them ! 

One  whom  nature  holds  close  to 
her  heart  has  sung  the  snow-storm  : 

"  Every  pine,  and  fir,  and  hemlock, 

Wore  ermine  too  dear  for  an  earl ; 

And  the  poorest  twig  on  the  elm-tree 

Was  ridged  inch-deep  with  pearl." 

One  such  snow  in  Seaton  fell  all 
day  quietly,  and  all  night,  with  a 
rising  wind,  and  the  next  morning 
they  woke  in  chaos.  There  was  no 
up  and  down  out  of  doors,  but  only 
a  roundabout.  There  was  a  whirl, 
and  a  whiteness  that  dimmed  off  in- 
to grayness;  there  were  no  fences  nor 
posts;  a  ghost  of  a  pyramid  stood 
where  the  barn  had  been ;  what  had 
been  trees  were  white  giants  coming 
toward  them,  apparently.  They  op- 
ened their  windows  to  brush  away 
the  snow  that  piled  up  on  the  sill, 


The  House  of  Yorke, 


751 


^nd  were  blinded  and  baffled  ;  they 
opened  their  doors  to  go  out,  and  a 
solid  Parian  barrier  was  laid  across 
the  step,  knee-high;  they  tried  to 
shovel  a  path,  and  an  angry  wind 
and  a  myriad  of  little  hands  filled  it 
in  again.  Patrick  and  Carl  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  reach  the  village, 
and,  after  struggling  as  far  as  the 
avenue  gate,  were  glad  to  get  back 
to  the  house  without  being  suffocated. 
At  the  door  they  found  Edith  catch- 
ing snow-flakes  to  look  at  the  shapes 
of  them,  and  watching  with  wonder 
and  delight  certain  thin,  sharp  drifts 
that  a  breath  would  have  shaken 
from  their  airy  poise,  but  which  the 
wild  wind  never  stirred  even  to  a 
tremor. 

"  If  one  could  only  see  the  shapes 
of  the  wind  !"  she  said.  "  Or  is  it, 
Carl,  that  the  shape  of  the  snow  is 
the  shape  of  the  wind  ?" 

Clara  shook  the  snow  from  her 
brother's  coat,  and  slyly  dropped  a 
snow-ball  down  his  back ;  even  Meli- 
cent  forgot  her  dignity  so  far  as  to 
sit  down  in  a  bank,  which  enthron- 
ed her  very  prettily.  Carl  thereupon 
called  her  Mrs.  Odin,  and  Melicent 
smiled  involuntarily  at  the  idea  of 
being  Mrs.  Anybody.  The  mother 
and  father,  standing  side  by  side, 
watched  them  smilingly  from  the 
window,  and  remembered  how  they 
used  to  play  in  the  snow  when  they 
were  children,  and  felt  young  again 
for  a  brief  moment. 

"  But  the  spectres  of  rheumatism 
and  sore-throat  stand  between  me 
and  all  that  folderol  now,"  Mr. 
Yorke  says,  with  a  half-sigh. 

"  Yes,  dear;  but  it  is  pretty  to  look 
at,"  says  the  wife  cheerfully.  "  And 
we  elders  have  the  fire,  which  is 
more  beautiful  yet." 

They  pile  wood  on  the  fire.  It 
blazes  up,  and  reddens  all  the  dusky 
room,  and  presently  Mrs.  Yorke 
wraps  a  scarlet  mantle  about  her, 


and  goes,  with  a  little  shiver,  almost 
to  the  door,  and  calls  out  in  the 
sweetest  little  bird-call :  "  Come  in, 
children,  come  in !  You'll  take  cold." 

"  Mother  looks  and  sounds  like  an 
oriole  in  there,"  says  Carl.  "  Come, 
girls  !" 

They  all  come  in  with  very  red 
cheeks  and  bright  eyes,  Edith  run- 
ning to  show  her  aunt  a  large  star- 
flake  before  it  melts.  Mrs.  Yorke, 
bending  to  examine  it,  breathes  on 
it,  and  it  changes  instantly  to  a  spot 
of  water  on  Edith's  dark-blue  sleeve. 

The  two  young  Pattens,  who  have 
developed  into  clever  scapegraces,  are 
pushing  each  other  into  drifts  at  the 
ba^k-door,  and  pretending  not  to 
hear  Betsey's  stern  calls  to  them  to 
come  to  their  work.  When  she  ap- 
pears at  the  door  with  her  hands  all 
ready  to  administer  summary  chastise- 
ment, they  elude  her  with  the  skill 
of  practised  gymnasts  or  of  children 
used  to  dodging  blows,  rua under  her 
very  elbows  into  the  kitchen,  and  are 
busily  and  gravely  employed  by  the 
time  she  has  turned  about  and  come 
back.  Patrick  sets  his  face  resolute- 
ly toward  the  barn,  where  are  cer- 
tain quadrupeds  to  be  cared  for,  and 
flounders  as  if  he  were  himself  a 
quadruped,  and  becomes  a  lessening 
speck,  only  the  head  visible,  and 
finally,  when  they  begin  to  think  that 
he  is  lost,  triumphantly  pushes  the 
barn-door  open,  and  is  greeted  by 
a  neigh  from  the  horse,  a  shake  of 
the  head  from  the  cow,  and  a  wel- 
coming cackle  from  the  hens. 

That  evening  they  had  music. 
Melicent  played  brilliantly,  and  Clara 
sang  them  an  elfish  old  song  : 

"  '  Wha  patters  sae  late  at  our  gyle-window  ? ' 

'  Mither,  it's  the  cauld  sleet.' 
'  Come  in,  come  in,'  quoth  the  canny  gude- 

wife, 
'  An'  warm  thae  frozen  feet.'  " 

When  it  came  time  for  prayers, 
Mr.  Yorke  read  that  exquisite  chap- 
ter in  Job  wherein  God  speaks  of 


752 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


the  incomprehensible  mysteries  of 
power  and  wisdom  hidden  in  the 
things  that  he  has  made. 

Carl,  finding  himself  bored,  lean- 
ed back  in  his  chair,  and  clasped  his 
hands  over  the  top  of  his  head.  The 
leaning  back  brought  within  his 
range  of  vision  the  fold  of  a  dark- 
blue  gown,  the  toe  of  a  small  shoe, 
and  a  pair  of  lovely  folded  hands. 
He  turned  his  face  a  little,  and  look- 
ed at  Edith,  who  had  drawn  her 
chair  near  his,  and  as  he  looked  his 
face  softened,  and  he  unconsciously 
changed  his  careless  position  to  one 
more  respectful.  He  saw  her  pro- 
file, with  the  lustrous  eyes  steady  as 
she  listened,  and  so  uplifted  as  to  show 
their  full  size.  The  firelight  played 
over  her  quiet  face,  and  made  shine 
a  curve  or  two  of  the  large  braid  of 
hair  wound  round  her  head. 

When  Mr.  Yorke  read  :  Hast  thou 
entered  into  the  store-houses  of  the 
snow,  or  hast  thou  beheld  the  treasures 
of  the  hail?  etc.,  she  glanced  at  Carl, 
and  smiled.  She  had  known  that 
he  was  looking  at  her,  and  was  pleas- 
ed that  he  should.  Carl  had  a  par- 
ticularly pleasant  way  of  looking  at 
his  cousin  which  she  felt  as  a  flower 
may  feel  the  sun.  It  was  as  though 
they  were  talking  together  without 
words,  and  he  knew  her  thoughts 
without  the  trouble  of  speech. 

When  the  reading  was  over,  Edith 
said  good-night  to  each  one,  kissed 
her  aunt  on  both  cheeks,  and  went 
up  to  her  chamber.  The  last  good- 
night was  to  Carl,  who  opened  the 
door  for  her. 

"  He  has  beautiful  manners,"  she 
said  to  herself  as  she  went  up-stairs. 
"  He  says  so  much  without  speaking 
a  word.  He  seemed  to  say  good- 
night, but  he  did  not  speak.  I  think 
that,  when  we  go  to  heaven,  we  shall 
all  talk  in  that  silent  way.  How 
odd  that  Carl  and  I  should  begin 
now  !" 


She  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her, 
and  stood  before  her  crucifix,  looking 
at  it,  and  recollecting  herself  before 
saying  her  prayers.  "  When  I  am 
going  to  speak  to  Carl  or  to  Dick, 
or  to  any  one,  I  think  of  him.  If  I 
were  going  to  speak  to  a  king,  I 
should  think  of  nothing  else,  and  my 
heart  would  beat  quickly.  I  am 
going  to  speak  to  the  One  who  makes 
kings." 

She  bowed  her  head  with  a  calm 
reverence.  But  that  was  not  what  she 
wanted.  Her  heart  craved  emotion. 
"  I  am  going  to  speak  to  the  Son  of 
God.  He  was  poor,  he  was  despis- 
ed and  rejected.  When  I  was  the 
poorest,  I  had  my  little  attic  to  sleep 
in,  but  he  had  not  where  to  lay  his 
head.  O  dear  Lord!  it  was  pitiful. 
I  will  never,  never  turn  you  out  in 
the  cold!" 

When  Melicent  softly  entered  her 
room,  next  to  Edith's,  and  stopped  a 
moment,  hesitating  whether  to  speak 
to  her  cousin,  she  heard  her  breathe  out 
as  she  laid  her  head  upon  the  pillow, 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  I  lie  down  to  sleep  !" 

Melicent  stole  noiselessly  away 
from  the  door.  She  could  not  ad- 
dress any  trivial  word,  even  any 
word  of  common  affection,  to  one 
who  had  just  lain  down  to  sleep 
in  the  name  of  tlje  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  It  made  sleep  seem  awful 
and  sacred  as  well  as  sweet.  It 
made  guardian  angels  seem  possible, 
even  necessary.  "  How  beautiful 
the  Catholic  religion  is  in  some  of  its 
forms !"  she  thought,  and,  after  a 
moment,  knelt,  and  said  a  short  prayer 
that  she  also  might  be  guarded  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  that  the  Lord 
would  not  refuse  to  let  her  also  rest 
in  his  name.  She  felt  a  sense  of 
safety  in  having  her  cousin  near,  and 
the  door  of  Edith's  chamber  seemed 
to  her  like  the  door  of  a  shrine. 

The  next  morning  when  they  wak- 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


753 


ed,  the  windows  were  all  of  a  glitter 
with  sunshine,  and  wrought  over  by 
the  artisans  of  frostland  with  samples 
of  every  landscape  under  the  sun — 
cliffs  with  climbing  spruce-trees,  sil- 
very-sanded deserts  with  palms,  an 
infinite  variety.  The  sky  was  a  daz- 
zling clearness.  The  earth  was  like  a 
stormy  sea  that  had  suddenly  been 
enchanted  into  a  motionless  and  in- 
effable whiteness ;  the  wave  curl- 
ed over,  with  the  spray  all  ready  to 
slide  down  its  back ;  the  hollows  were 
arrested  in  their  sinking,  the  ripples 
frozen  in  their  dimpling. 

Then  when  evening  came  there 
was  a  grand  display  of  northern  lights, 
that  pitched  their  tents  of  shifting 
rose  and  gold,  with  flags  flying,  and 
armies  marching,  and  stained  the 
snow  with  airy  blood. 

Carl  stood  in  the  cupola  with 
Edith  and  Clara  clinging  to  him, 
both  a  little  uneasy,  and  told  them 
stories  of  Thor,  Odin,  the  Bifrost 
bridge,  and  Valhalla.  What  they  saw 
was  the  Scandinavian  gods  carousing, 
he  said ;  or,  no,  it  was  a  repetition 
of  that  fierce  battle  of  olden  time, 
when,  at  night,  spectators  saw  the 
dead  arise  from  the  field,  float  up 
into  the  air,  and  fight  their  battle 
over  again  in  the  sky,  that  wild  le- 
gend that  Kaulbach  painted  on  can- 
vas. 

"Carl,"  Edith  sajd  hesitatingly, 
"  I  think  that  the  truth  is  more  beau- 
tiful than  any  legend." 

"  But  we  do  not  know  the  truth 
about  northern  lights,"  he  replied, 
taking  a  scientific  view  of  the  matter. 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  She 
was  not  used  to  speaking  of  what 
came  nearest  to  her  heart.  But  Fa- 
ther Rasle  had  given  her  a  charge : 
"  Whenever  you  have  a  chance  to 
say  anything  beautiful  about  God,  say 
it.  That  is  your  duty." 

"  We  know  that  God  made  them," 
she  faltered, 

VOL.  xni. — 48 


"  Oh  !  that  spoils  the  poetry  of  it !" 
Carl  exclaimed  involuntarily.  "  Par- 
don me !  but  to  speak  of  God  is  to 
remind  me  of  long,  sanctimonious 
faces  and  disagreeable  ways,  and  of 
a  frowning  on  everything  graceful 
and  grand  and  beautiful." 

"It  isn't  right!"  she  said  eagerly, 
forgetting  herself;  "  for  it  is  God  who 
has  made  everything  grand  and  beau- 
tiful and  graceful.  When  you  see  a 
fine  picture,  or  a  piece  of  statuary,  or 
read  a  good  book,  you  think  of  the  ar- 
tist, and  admire  him.  Reading  a  play, 
the  other  day,  you  said,  '  What  a  soul 
Shakespeare  had ! '  and  I  heard  you 
say  once  that  Michael  Angelo  was  ft. 
god ;  and  last  night,  when  Melicent 
played  a  sonata  you  liked,  you  ex- 
claimed, '  That  glorious  Beethoven ! ' 
Why  not  say, '  That  great  God ! '  when 
you  see  the  northern  lights  ?  Be- 
sides, God  made  Beethoven,  and 
Michael  Angelo,  and  Shakespeare,  and 
taught  them  everything  they  knew. 
I  do  really  think,  Carl,  that  the  truth 
is  more  beautiful  than  any  legend. 
Why  isn't  it  as  fine  to  say,  '  The  God  of 
glory  thundereth]  as  to  talk  about  Jove 
throwing  thunderbolts  ?  I  don't  see 
anything  very  admirable  in  Jove. 
And  why  isn't  it  as  sublime  for  the 
sun  to  hang  and  shine,  and  the  world 
to  go  whirling  about  it,  because  God 
told  them  to,  as  for  Phoebus  to  drive 
the  chariot  of  the  sun  up  the  East  ?  " 

She  turned  her  face,  rosy  with  earn- 
estness and  northern  lights,  and 
looked  at  him  with  her  shining  eyes. 

"Why,  Edith,"  he  said,  "you're 
going  to  be  a  poet ! " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  hung  it  a 
little  bashfully.  "  No,  I  am  not.  But 
King  David  was  a  poet." 

And  so  the  matter  dropped.  But 
Edith  had  spoken  her  word  for  God, 
and  may  be  it  had  not  been  entirely 
lost. 

Perhaps  we  may  be  allowed  here 
to  sav  a  word  in  defence  of  the 


754 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


weather  as  a  subject  of  conversation. 
The  assertion  that  Americans,  and 
especially  New  Englanders,  com- 
mence all  acquaintanceships  and  all 
social  conversations  with  an  atmo- 
spheric exordium,  has  become  class- 
ical, and  to  mention  that  on  any 
given  occasion  the  weather  was  the 
subject  of  conversation  is  to  intend 
to  be  facetious.  But  let  us  question 
.the  good  sense  of  this  mockery.  Are 
aiot  the  countless  phases  of  the  many- 
sided  weather  as  noble,  as  beautiful, 
as  profitable,  and  as  harmless  topics 
•of  conversation  as  ninety-nine  out  of 
.a  hundred  things  which  people  do 
•talk  about  ?  Is  a  dull  or  a  wicked 
speech,  a  dull  or  a  wicked  book,  a 
fashion,  a  horse,  your  neighbor's 
character,  a  caucus,  a  candidate,  even 
a  song,  or  a  bit  of  weather  on  canvas, 
a  finer  topic  ? 

Ah,  the  weather ! — skies  of  infinite 
changes,  inexhaustible  palette  in 
which  the  painter's  imagination  dips 
its  brush  ;  calms,  nature  holding  her 
breath;  winds,  the  nearest  to  spirit 
of  any  created  thing;  clouds,  the 
aerial  chemists  of  light;  showers, 
overflowing  spray  from  fountains  sus- 


pended in  air ;  rains,  the  asperges  of 
the  skies ;  fogs,  filmy  veils  which  all 
the  king's  men  cannot  tear  aside ; 
droughts,  continents  in  a  fever ;  cold, 
the  horror  of  nature,  at  which  the 
small  streams  stiffen  and  die,  the 
mountains  whiten  to  ghosts,  and 
even  iron  shrinks ;  heat,  nature's 
angel  of  the  resurrection  blowing 
through  the  golden  sunshine,  and 
calling  the  flowers  out  of  their  graves, 
and  bringing  the  birds  from  afar — 
would  that  all  the  bad.  the  unchari- 
table, the  silly,  the  cold,  the  com- 
plaining talk  that  on  this  earth  vexes 
the  ear  of  heaven  could  be  changed 
to  sweet  and  harmless  talk  of  the  in- 
finitely-varying weather,  and  of  him 
who  planned  its  variety! 

After  this  protest  and  apiration,  it 
can  be  said  of  the  Yorkes,  without 
any  intention  of  reflecting  on  their 
intelligence,  that  the  weather  had  a 
good  deal  to  do  with  their  entertain- 
ment, from  the  spring  round  through 
the  circle  of  flowers  and  snows,  till 
beside  the  melting  drift  they  found 
the  first  May-flowers  making  their 
rosy  act  of  faith  in  the  coming  sum- 
mer. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


CARL  SEES   HIMSELF   IN  A   GLASS   DARKLY. 


THE  summer  we  are  thinking  of  was 
1851,  and  in  the  June  of  it  Edith  had 
her  sixteenth  birthday  duly  cele- 
brated by  the  family,  and  Clara  pub- 
lished her  first  book,  an  event  of  still 
greater  consequence  to  them. 

In  the  June  of  this  year,  also,  the 
Hon.  Mr.  Blank  came  down  to  de- 
light and  instruct  the  voters  of  Seaton. 
Mr.  Yorke  was  highly  pleased  by 
this  announcement.  He  had  known 
the  gentleman  in  Boston,  and  thought 
him  eloquent.  It  would  be  pleasant 
to  see  and  hear  a  man  of  note  once 
more.  "  Come  to  think  of  it,  Amy," 


he  said,  "  we  have  been  buried  here 
four  years,  seeing  nobody  outside  of 
the  town.  It  will  be  truly  refreshing. 
We  must  have  him  here  to  dinner  or 
tea,  and  we  must  all  go  to  hear  the 
address.  It  is  to  be  in  a  tent  on  the 
fair-grounds." 

Mr.  Yorke  was  quite  bright  and 
interested.  He  had  been  living  in 
seclusion  long  enough  to  appreciate 
the  value  of  a  little  excitement.  He 
called  on  Mr.  Blank  at  his  hotel, 
the  evening  of  his  arrival,,  and  had  a 
very  cordial  and  agreeable  half-hour, 
talking  chiefly  of  personal  matters, 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


755 


and  old  friends.  Two  or  three  other 
gentlemen  who  were  paying  their  re- 
spects to  the  senator  withdrew  after 
a  few  minutes,  to  Mr.  Yorke's  satisfac- 
tion. They  were  persons  whom  he 
did  not  at  all  like. 

"  I  am  worn  out,"  Mr.  Blank  said, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  poising 
his  heels  on  the  back  of  another  chair. 
"  I  have  made  forty  speeches  in  thirty 
days.  But  it  pays.  The  excitement 
is  immense." 

Mr.  Yorke  was  rather  ashamed  to 
ask  what  particular  issue  created  this 
excitement  and  palaver.  The  truth 
was,  he  was  a  little  behind  the  times. 
His  four  years  had  been  years  of 
vegetation,  and  he  scarcely  knew  what 
his  old  friends  were  about.  He  had 
been  so  much  engaged  in  filling  up 
the  maw  of  his  avenues,  coaxing  ex- 
otics to  bloom  for  the  first  time  in  his 
gardens,  and  reading  novels — ac- 
tually reading  novels — that  he  was 
politically  in  the  position  of  a  man 
who  had  had  a  four  years'  sleep.  He 
was  mortified  and  astonished  to  re- 
alize at  this  moment  that  he  had  been 
going  over  the  Waverley  novels  again, 
when  he  should  have  been  reading 
the  papers  and  keeping  the  state  of 
the  nation  in  view. 

His  embarrassment  was  relieved 
by  a  loud  shout  that  rose  from  a 
crowd  collected  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
The  gentleman  for  whom  this  ap- 
plause was  intended  took  no  notice  of 
it,  except  by  an  impatient  shake  of 
the  head.  He  sipped  a  little  from  a 
tumbler  at  his  elbow,  and  calmly 
lighted  a  cigar. 

The  shouting  ceased,  and  the  Sea- 
ton  band — not  the  cast-iron  band 
this  time — broke  out  in  their  finest 
style. 

"  Confound  them ! "  ejaculated  the 
senator.  "  Do  they  think  I  want  to 
hear  their  noise  ?  I  am  tired  of 
Dodworth's  and  the  Germanians; 
but  this  !  Why,  it's  all  trombones." 


The  music  ceased,  and  the  shout 
went  up  again. 

"  They  will  have  me  out,"  groaned 
the  hero  of  the  hour.  "  I've  a  great 
mind  to  be  taken  sick.  Couldn't  you 
go  out  and  say  I'm  sick  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  Mr.  Yorke  said  deci- 
sively, "  I  could  not." 

"  Well,  couldn't  you  go  out  and 
make  a  speech  for  me  ?  You're  about 
my  build.  It's  easy.  I  could  say  it 
in  my  sleep.  Honored — free  and  in- 
telligent people — your  beautiful  town 
— glorious  cause,  etc.  Fill  it  in  as 
you  like." 

Mr.  Yorke  laughed.  "  I'm  about 
half  your  build,  and  my  voice  is  as 
much  like  yours  as  a  crow's  is  like  a 
nightingale's.  Go  along.  When 
you've  embarked  in  this  sort  of  thing, 
you  must  take  the  consequences'." 

As  another  and  still  more  impera- 
tive call  came  up,  the  honorable 
gentleman  rose  with  a  yawn,  and  the 
two  stepped  out  into  the  balcony. 

"My  dear  friends,"  began  the 
speaker  in  silvery-clear  tones,  "  words 
fail  me  to  express  the  feelings  which 
move  my  heart  when  I  listen  to  this 
generous  welcome."  (Applause.) 

"  Well  for  you  that  they  do,"  pa- 
renthesized Mr.  Yorke. 

"  Your  approval  honors  you  more 
than  it  does  me,"  resumed  the  sena- 
tor. "  For  what  am  I  but  the  mouth- 
piece by  which  you  speak,  as  the 
thunder-cloud  speaks  by  the  light- 
ning? The  mass  of  the  people 
gather  the  truth,  and  it  is  their  fire 
which  informs  the  leader,  and  incites 
him  to  utter  it  forth.  They  are  the — " 
(Immense  applause.) 

"  The  idiots  ! "  exclaimed  the  orator. 
"They  have  broken  into  my  best 
paragraph  where  it  can't  be  mended. 
I  must  wind  up." 

"  The  fame  of  your  town  has 
reached  me,"  he  went  on.  "  I  have 
heard  of  it  as  a  place  where  freedom 
is  not  only  loved,  but  adored,  where 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


oppression  is  not  only  hated,  but 
trampled  on ;  and  to-day,  when  I 
drove  over  the  distant  hills,  and  saw 
the  white  spires  of  your  churches 
rising  out  of  the  forests,  they  seemed 
to  me  like  warning  fingers  pointing 
heavenward,  as  though  the  genius  of 
the  place  bade  me  remember  that 
the  angelic  hosts  were  witnessing  if  I 
and  if  you  were  faithful  to  the  sacred 
trust  placed  in  our  keeping."  (Tem- 
pests of  applause). 

"  That  always  takes,"  remarked 
the  senator  to  his  companion. 
"  Spires  are  trumps." 

"  My  friends,  to-night  I  am  but  a 
voice  to  you,  but  to-morrow  we  shall 
meet  face  to  face.  Let  not  a  man  be 
missing.  Seaton  expects  every  voter 
to  do  his  duty.  Again  I  thank  you 
for  your  kind  welcome,  and  wish  you 
one  and  all  good-night." 

"  What  do  they  think  a  man  is 
made  of  when  they  call  him  out  to 
speak  in  a  fog  thick  enough  to  slice 
and  butter  ?"  grumbled  the  orator, 
getting  into  his  chamber  again,  and 
dropping  the  curtain  between  him 
and  a  second  burst  of  music  from 
the  band. 

Mr.  Yorke  raised  his  eyebrows 
slightly,  and  pursed  out  his  under- 
lip.  "  What  glorious  things  have 
you  heard  of  Seaton,  and  where  ?" 
he  inquired.  "  I  was  not  aware  that 
it  was  famous." 

The  senator  finished  the  contents 
of  his  tumbler,  and  wiped  his  mous- 
tache carefully.  "  I  have  heard  that 
it  is  an  infernally  rovvdyish  little 
hole,"  he  answered.  "  I  didn't  care 
about  coming  here,  but  it  was  in  my 
stumping  programme." 

Mr.  Yorke  took  leave,  and  went 
homeward  very  soberly.  He  was 
disappointed  and  depressed,  and  na- 
ture seemed  to  sympathize  with  his 
mood.  The  road  was  muddy,  and 
in  the  thick  fog  and  darkness  he 
, could  scarcely  see  the  path  at  the 


side  of  it.  When  he  turned  into  the 
private  way  that  led  to  his  own 
house,  the  trees  crowded  about,  drip- 
ping, uncomfortable,  and  threatening, 
as  if  they  had  met  to  impeach  the 
clerk  of  the  weather,  and  concert 
measures  for  the  putting  down  of  this 
Scotch  mist  that  was  presuming  to 
befog  a  free,  enlightened  New  Eng- 
land forest.  When  he  reached  the 
gate,  Mr.  Yorke  leaned  on  it  a  mo- 
ment. "  Oh !  for  the  laws  of  the  Lo- 
crians !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Charles,  is  that  you  ?"  asked  a 
soft  voice  near. 

"  Why,  Amy !"  returned  the  gen- 
tleman, starting. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,"  Mrs. 
Yorke  explained,  taking  her  husband's 
arm.  "  I  hate  to  have  you  come  up 
this  road  alone." 

Her  thin  dress  was  damp,  her 
hands  cold,  her  heart  fluttering.  She 
had  been  walking  up  and  down  the 
avenue  for  the  last  hour,  listening  for 
her  husband's  step.  How  did  she 
know  what  might  happen  to  him  ? 
The  people  were  violent,  and  he  was 
uncompromising  and  bold.  Oh  !  why 
had  she  consented  to  return  to  that 
place  where  her  youth  had  been 
blighted  ?  No  good  had  ever  come 
to  her  there,  nothing  but  sorrow. 

"  O  woman,  woman  !  how  you  do 
torment  yourself!"  Mr.  Yorke  ejacu- 
lated. "  You  will  have  it  that  we 
are  in  danger.  You  will  have  it  that 
we  are  being  hanged,  drawn,  and 
quartered,  if  we  are  ten  minutes  be- 
yond the  time." 

"  Would  you  rather  we  should  care 
nothing  about  you  ?"  his  wife  asked 
tremulously. 

"  No,  dear,"  he  answered ;  "  for  I 
know  that  your  fears  are  in  proportion 
to  your  loving." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Yorke  and  his 
daughters  went  to  hear  the  address. 
Edith  remained  at  home  with  her 
aunt,  who  never  went  into  a  crowd. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


757 


The  road,  the  tent,  and  all  about  it 
were  full  of  people.  The  enthusiasm 
was  immense.  When  the  speaker 
appeared,  the  audience  stood  up,  the 
men  shouting,  the  women  waving 
their  handkerchiefs — what  for  it  would 
be  hard  to  say.  Probably  they  did 
not  know  themselves,  unless  they 
meant  to  express  thus  their  admira- 
tion for  success.  For  this  man  was 
the  very  embodiment  of  worldly  suc- 
cess. Wealth  and  honors  had  come 
to  him,  not  unsought,  but  without 
toil,  and  with  little  deserving.  Suc- 
cess showed  forth  from  his  smooth, 
handsome  face  with  its  bright  eyes 
and  ready  smile,  even  from  the  plump 
white  hand,  at  whose  wave  thousands 
of  voters  said  yea  or  nay.  His  ex- 
pression was  one  of  pleasant  excite- 
ment and  self-complacency,  such  as 
a  man  like  him  may  naturally  feel  in 
such  circumstances.  He  was  a  fluent 
speaker,  had  a  musical  voice,  and  a 
graceful  manner. 

Mr.  Yorke  listened  to  his  exordium 
with  great  and  anxious  interest,  and, 
as  from  generalities  the  orator  gra- 
dually became  more  specific,  his  face 
darkened.  It  was,  in  fact,  nothing 
more  than  a  Know- Nothing  tirade, 
with  the  usual  appeal  to  the  pas- 
sions instead  of  the  reason,  and  the 
old  hackneyed  abuse  of  the  clergy. 

Mr.  Yorke  rose  like  a  tiger.  "  Come, 
girls,"  he  said  quite  audibly.  "  I 
can't  listen  to  any  more  of  this 
trash." 

His  daughters  followed  him  quiet- 
ly ;  but,  their  seats  being  prominent, 
they  could  not  get  out  without  excit- 
ing attention,  and  the  first  to  see 
them  was  the  speaker.  He  faltered 
a  little  in  his  speech,  and  a  faint  co- 
lor rose  to  his  face ;  but  he  recovered 
himself  immediately,  and  waved  his 
hand  to  stop  the  hisses  that  were  be- 
ginning to  rise.  But  he  felt  the  de- 
fection. He  knew  well  that  he  was 
a  politician,  not  a  statesman,  and  he 


would  rather  have  had  Mr.  Yorke's 
countenance  than  that  of  any  ten 
other  men  present. 

Mr.  Yorke  did  not  d;ne  with  the 
senator  that  day  as  he  ^ad  promised 
to.  "  When  I  made  the  engagement, 
I  did  not  know  that  you  had  become 
a  wire-puller,"  he  wrote  briefly,  in 
making  his  excuse. 

Mr.  Blank's  face  paled  slightly  as 
he  read  the  note,  but  he  crushed  it 
carelessly  the  moment  after.  "  Charles 
Yorke  was  always  a  hunker,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Carl,  I  want  you  to  print  a  lead- 
er from  me,  this  week,"  Mr.  Yorke 
said  to  his  son  that  evening. 

Wre  have  not  said  that  Carl,  hav- 
ing finished  his  law-studies,  instead 
of  practising,  had  undertaken  the 
editorship  of  the  Seaton  Herald. 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  the  young  man 
replied,  "  that,  if  you  print  your  lead- 
ers in  the  Herald,  you  will  have  to 
pay  the  expenses  of  the  paper,  and 
insure  the  office  against  fire  and 
mobs.  At  present  the  circulation  is 
very  small,  and  I  dare  not  say  a 
word  against  the  party  in  power." 

This  paper  was  not,  indeed,  a  very 
prosperous  sheet ;  for  the  editor  could 
not  lower  himself  to  the  majority  of 
the  people,  and  they  could  not  raise 
themselves  to  him.  His  politics  were 
too  little  violent,  his  tone  too  gentle- 
manly, his  literary  items  and  extracts 
too  pure  and  high  in  tone. 

Major  Cleaveland  and  Hester  were 
taking  tea  at  the  homestead,  and, 
when  after  tea  Edith  went  up-stairs 
to  read  a  letter  she  had  just  received 
from  Dick  Rowan,  there  was  quite 
a  warm  discussion  of  the  events  of 
the  day. 

"  After  all,  Mr.  Blank  is  a  strong 
speaker,"  Major  Cleaveland  said. 

"  A  strong  speaker !"  exclaimed 
his  father-in-law.  "  He  is  rank,  sir !" 

The  ladies  interposed  a  little. 

"  I'm  not  a  Know-Nothing,"  Hes- 


753 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


ter's  husband  said ;  "  but  neither  do 
I  condemn  them.  Their  charges  are 
not  all  false.  The  Catholic  party 
proclaim  their  theory,  which  is  very 
fine,  and  say  nothing  about  the  abus- 
es which  creep  into  their  practice; 
their  enemies  denounce  the  abuses, 
and  give  them  no  credit  for  their 
principles.  I  think  that  the  gist  of 
the  trouble  is  this :  neither  party  will 
distinguish  between  the  church  and 
the  clergy.  When  the  body  of  Ca- 
tholics will  check  their  priests  the 
minute  they  step  out  of  their  pro- 
vince or  abuse  their  power,  and 
when  non-Catholics  learn  not  to  con- 
demn a  religion  for  the  sins  of  indi- 
vidual professors,  then  we  shall  have 
peace." 

The  ladies  and  Carl  went  out  into 
the  garden,  and  left  the  two  gentle- 
men to  their  discussion. 

"  I  often  wonder,  Carl,  that  you 
express  no  opinion  on  these  subjects," 
his  mother  said.  "  You  must  have 
opinions.  I  almost  wish,  sometimes, 
that  you  would  argue." 

"  Which  side  do  you  wish  me  to 
prove  ?"  he  inquired  listlessly.  "  I 
can  prove  either." 

She  sighed.  "  How  you  do  need 
rousing  !" 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  as  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  piazza.. 
"  My  opinion  is,  little  mother,"  he 
said,  "  that  opinions  are  a  bore.  Who 
wants  to  be  always  listening  to  what 
other  people  think  on  subjects  ?  Not 
one  thought  in  a  milliard  is  worth 
putting  into  words.  I  am  sick  of 
words,  of  gabble,  of  inanities." 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  she  said  gently. 
"  But  one  expects  a  man  to  give 
his  opinion  once  for  all  on  religious 
questions." 

"  It  is  not  a  religious  question, 
mother :  it  is  a  question  of  religions," 
the  young  man  replied  with  a  sort 
of  impatience.  "  There  is  no  great- 
er bore  than  that  same  question. 


Why  does  not  each  person  believe 
what  suits  him,  and  hold  his  tongue 
about  it,  and  let  every  other  do  the 
same  ?" 

"  But  truth  !  but  truth  !"  said  the 
mother. 

Carl  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Eve- 
rybody thinks  he  has  it  shut  up  in 
his  cranium." 

"  What !  you  renounce  religion  ?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said.  "  They  are 
so  many  spiritual  gymnasiums  where 
people  exercise  their  souls.  They 
are  very  pretty  and  amiable  for  wo- 
men, and  for  men  who  need  them ; 
but  there  are  those  who  do  not  need 
them." 

"  Carl,  you  break  my  heart !"  his 
mother  cried  out,  gazing  through 
tears  into  her  son's  face.  The  boy- 
ish look  had  gone  out  of  it.  There 
were  weariness  and  sadness  in  it,  and 
hardness,  too. 

Carl  was  in  a  bitter  mood  that 
day,  but  he  tried  to  soothe  the  pain 
he  had  given.  "  I'll  do  anything," 
he  said  laughingly.  "  I'll  turn  Ca- 
tholic. I'll  go  to  hear  John  Conway. 
I'll  read  the  Dairyman's  Daiighter. 
I'll  teach  a  Sunday-school  class." 

Edith  came  smiling  out  through 
the  door.  "  Such  a  nice  letter  from 
Dick!"  she  said,  giving  it  to  her 
aunt.  "  And  see,  Carl,  here  is  a 
little  handful  of  sand  from  the  Sa- 
hara, and  here  is  an  orange-blossom 
from  Sorrento.  It  looks  quite  fresh." 

Dick  Rowan  had  that  delightful 
way  which  so  few  letter-writing  tra- 
vellers know  of  making  their  descrip- 
tions more  vivid  by  sending  some  il- 
lustrations of  them.  Writing  from 
the  south,  he  would  say,  "  While  you 
are  in  the  midst  of  snow,  there  is  a 
rose-tree  in  bloom  outside  my  win- 
dow. Here  is  one  of  the  buds." 
He  had  emancipated  himself  from 
the  letter-writers,  and  succeeded  per- 
fectly in  his  own  way. 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


759 


The  next  afternoon  Mrs.  Yorke  sent 
for  Mr.  Griffeth,  and  saw  him  alone. 
"  What  have  you  done  to  Carl  ? " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Are  you  making  an 
infidel  of  him  ?  " 

The  minister,  confounded,  tried  to 
excuse  Carl  and  defend  himself. 

The  interview  was  not  a  pleasant 
one,  and  Mr.  Griffeth  was  glad  when 
it  was  over.  He  went  out  into  the 
sitting-room  where  Melicent  and 
Clara  sat ;  but  their  constrained  man- 
ners did  not  encourage  him  to  stay 
long.  They  suspected  the  subject  of 
the  conversation  he  had  been  holding 
with  their  mother. 

Edith  sat  on  the  piazza,  outside, 
studying.  Her  person  was  not  in 
sight  as  he  looked  from  the  window, 
but  a  flutter  of  drapery  on  the  breeze 
betrayed  her  presence.  Mr.  Griffeth 
merely  bowed  to  the  sisters  in  passing, 
and  went  out  on  to  the  piazza.  Edith 
sat  in  a  low  chair  with  a  book  of 
German  ballads  on  her  knees.  By 
her  side  were  a  grammar  and  diction- 
ary. She  was  translating,  watching 
thought  after  thought  emerge  from 
that  imperfectly-known  language,  as 
stars  emerge  from  the  mists  of  heaven. 

She  glanced  at  the  minister  with  a 
smile  that  was  less  for  him  than  for 
the  stanza  she  had  just  completed. 

"  Salve  !  "  he  exclaimed,  bowing 
lowly. 

"  I  am  translating  a  song  from  the 
German,"  Edith  said.  "  Is  not  trans- 
lating delightful  ?  It  is  like  digging 
for  gold,  and  finding  it.  I  have  just 
got  a  thought  out  whole." 

The  song  was  that  beautiful  one 
which  has  been  rendered  : 

"The  fight  is  done  :  and,  far  away, 

The  thundering  noise  of  battle  dies; 
While  homeward,  glad,  I  wend  ray  way, 
To  meet  the  sunlight  of  her  eyes."' 

Edith  was  looking  very  lovely. 
The  vines  curtaining  the  end  of  the 
piazza  where  she  sat  shut  her  into  a 
green  nook  to  which  only  the  finest 
sprinkle  of  sunshine  could  penetrate. 


The  light,  moving  shadows  flecked 
her  white  gown,  and  all  the  floor  of 
the  piazza  about  her, 

"  Making  a  quiet  image  of  disquiet," 

and  a  flickering  in  her  hair.  Carl, 
who  was  always  dressing  her  out  in 
some  fanciful  way,  had  fastened  a 
drooping  bunch  of  white  lilies  in  her 
braids,  and  the  petals,  lying  against 
her  neck  and  cheek,  showed  the  dif- 
ference between  silver-white  and  rose- 
white.  Her  beaming  face  made  a 
light  in  the  place. 

Mr.  Griffeth,  stooping  to  see  the 
poem,  laid  his  hand  on  the  book  she 
held,  and  she  released  it  so  suddenly 
that  it  had  nearly  fallen  to  the  floor. 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  he  said,  reading 
it  aloud.  "  Can  you  not  fancy  your- 
self that  golden-haired  lady,  and  that 
some  warrior  is  coming  home  to  lay 
his  honors  at  your  feet  and  claim  his 
reward  ?  " 

Edith  looked  away  quickly,  and 
let  the  air  take  the  brightness  of  her 
face.  He  gazed  steadily  at  her,  and 
wondered  for  whom  the  brightness 
was,  or  if  it  were  only  a  girl's  vague 
romance. 

"  I  like  soldiers,"  she  said  after  a 
moment,  and,  though  quiet,  there 
seemed  a  slight  stateliness  in  her  man- 
ner. "  My  grandfather  was  a  soldier 
all  his  life,  and  was  as  used  to  a 
sword  as  I  am  to  a  fan.  Mamma  said 
that  one  of  his  mottoes  was,  '  Never 
reckon  the  forces  of  an  enemy  till 
after  the  victory.'  It  was  written  in 
one  of  her  letters  to  papa.  If  I  were 
a  man,  I  should  wish  to  be  a  soldier." 

"  I  also  am  a  soldier ;  I  fight  the 
devil,"  the  minister  said,  with  a  slight, 
bitter  laugh. 

"  Do  you  conquer  him  ?"  she  asked 
simply,  but  with  the  faintest  little 
mocking  smile. 

Mr.  Griffeth  ignored  the  question. 
"  You  have  golden  hair,  like  the  lady 
of  the  song,"  he  said  hastily.  "  If  I 


760 


The  House  of  Yorkc. 


were  a  soldier,  Edith,  and  came  home 
to  you  from  battle,  would  you  wel- 
come me  as  that  lady  did  her  lover  ?  " 
He  touched  her  hair  with  his  hand  as 
he  spoke. 

A  bright  crimson  color  swept  over 
her  face,  and  she  stood  up  instantly, 
drawing  away  from  him,  her  eyes 
sparkling.  Edith  Yorke's  innocence 
was  not  of  that  kind  which  is  divorced 
from  dignity  and  delicacy,  and  smiles 
at  freedoms  from  everybody. 

"  Pardon  me  !  "  the  minister  stam- 
mered, and  at  the  same  moment, 
to  complete  his  discomfiture,  per- 
ceived that  the  curtain  to  the  window 
directly  behind  them  had  been  drawn 
aside,  and  that  Mrs.  Yorke  stood  there, 
flushed  and  haughty,  with  a  look  in 
her  eyes  which  he  had  never  seen 
there  before. 

His  case  was  desperate,  he  knew, 
but  he  made  an  effort  to  recover.  "  I 
forgot  myself,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  assure 
you  I  meant  no  harm." 

"  What  harm  could  you  have 
meant,  sir  ? "  said  the  lady,  drawing 
herself  up. 

It  was  not  an  easy  question  to 
answer. 

"  You  have  probably  made  the 
mistake  of  supposing  that  the  young 
ladies  in  my  family  are  as  free  in  their 
manners  as  those  in  some  other 
families  you  may  know.  It  is  a  mis- 
take. I  have  taken  care  that  their 
education  shall  second  and  confirm 
what  is  always  the  impulse  pf  a  re- 
fined nature :  to  regard  such  free- 
doms as  offences  when  coming  from 
any  one  but  the  one  chosen  to  receive 
all  favors." 

Mr.  Griffeth  might  apologize,  and 
the  apology  be  civilly  received,  but, 
when  he  walked  away  from  that 
house,  he  felt  that  he  would  not  be 
welcomed  in  it  again.  And  so  the 
church  in  Seaton  lost  a  friend  and 
found  an  enemy.  The  next  Sunday 
the  most  bitter  anti-Catholic  sermon 


of  the  season  was  preached  from  the 
Universalist  pulpit. 

A  few  weeks  after  came  a  peremp- 
tory letter  from  Miss  Clinton.  She 
wanted  Carl  to  come  up  to  see  her. 
What  was  he  burying  himself  in  the 
country  for  ?  Was  he  raising  tur- 
nips ?  Was  he  going  to  marry  some 
freckled  dairy-maid  ?  If  he  was, 
she  did  not  wish  to  set  eyes  on  him. 
What  did  they  mean  by  leaving  her 
to  die  alone,  without  a  relative  near 
her  ?  It  was  unnatural !  It  was  a 
shame !  Let  Carl  come  at  once.  If 
he  pleased  her,  she  would  provide 
for  him. 

Miss  Clinton's  promises  were  not 
very  trustworthy  in  this  respect,  for 
she  had  successively  endowed  and 
disinherited  every  one  of  her  rela- 
tives and  friends.  But  that  was  no 
reason  why  her  request  should  be  re- 
fused. She  was  a  lonely  old  woman, 
and  Carl  must  go  to  her. 

He  consented  rather  reluctantly, 
protesting  that  he  would  only  stay  a 
week.  But,  when  he  got  there,  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  tear  himself  away. 

"  A  newspaper  to  edit  ?"  cried  tbk: 
old  lady.  "  What  signifies  a  news- 
paper in  a  little  country  town  ?  No- 
body ever  reads  it." 

"  Not  when  /  edit  it  ?"  says  Carl 
with  a  laugh.  He  found  the  old  lady 
amusing. 

"  No,  not  even  then,  Master  Va- 
nity," she  replies.  "  Stay  here,  Carl. 
It  is  miserable  to  be  left  alone  so. 
I  sha'n't  keep  you  very  long.  You 
shall  have  any  room  you  choose, 
and  money  enough  to  be  respectable, 
and  you  may  smoke  from  morning 
to  night.  There  is  only  one  thing 
you  may  not  do.  I  won't  have  a  dog 
in  this  house,  for  two  reasons  :  he 
might  go  mad,  and  he  might  worry 
my  cat.  Will  you  stay  ?  Old  peo- 
ple live  longer  when  they  have  young 
ones  about  them;  and,  besides,  I'm 
lonely.  Bird  torments  me.  She  hints 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


761 


religion,  and  reads  the  Bible  when 
she  thinks  I  don't  see  her.  I  know 
she  is  searching  out  texts  that  she 
thinks  will  fit  my  case.  I  am  getting 
old,  Carl,  and  I  forget  a  little  the  ar- 
guments against  all  this  superstition. 
They  are  true,  but  I  forget  them ; 
and  sometimes  in  the  night,  or  when 
I  feel  nervous,  the  nonsensical  reli- 
gious stories  I  have  heard  come  up 
and  frighten  me,  and  I  have  nothing 
to  oppose  to  them.  Alice  torments 
me,  too.  She  is  so  sure,  she  looks  so 
much,  she  goes  about  with  her  religion 
just  like  a  little  child  holding  its  mo- 
ther's hand,  while  I  am  sure  of  noth- 
ing, and  have  nothing  to  lean  on  but 
this  stick " — holding  out  a  cane  in 
her  shaking  hand. 

"  It  must  be  comfortable  to  believe 
so,"  she  went  on,  after  two  or  three 
gasping  breaths.  "  I  envy  the  fools 
who  can.  But  I  can't.  My  head  is 
too  clear  for  that.  And  I  want  you 
here,  Carl,  to  remind  me  of  the  ar- 
guments that  I  forget,  and  to  talk  to 
me  when  I  am  nervous.  They  tell 
me  that  you  are  a  free-thinker,  and  I 
know  that  you  are  clever.  Stay,  for 
God's  sake  !  I  suppose  there  may 
be  a  God." 

Carl  shrank  from  the  wild  appeal 
in  that  frightened  old  face;  shrank 
yet  more  from  the  horrible  task  as- 
signed him.  Unbelief,  as  he  had 
contemplated  it,  looked  gallant,  no- 


ble, and  aspiring;  but  this  unbelief 
seemed  like  a  glimpse  into  that  per- 
dition which  he  had  denied.  In  this 
old  scoffer  he  felt  as  if  contemplating 
a  distorted  image  of  himself.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  been  asked  to  commit  a 
crime,  a  sacrilege.  There  was  such 
a  crime  as  sacrilege,  he  saw. 

But  'l>e  could  not  refuse  to  stay. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for 
us  both  to  look  for  arguments 
against  than  for  our  theories,"  he 
said  gravely. 

Anything,  so  that  he  did  not  leave 
her,  she  insisted.  Indeed,  she  want- 
ed his  masculine  strength  more  than 
anything  else.  Every  one  about  feared 
her,  or  was  tenderly  careful  of  her, 
but  this  young  man  had  already  more 
than  once  good-naturedly  scouted 
her  notions.  He  was  one  to  be  fear- 
less and  tell  the  truth,  and  she  felt 
safe  with  him.  Besides,  he  was  a 
man,  and  clever,  and  it  would  not 
hurt  her  pride  to  be  influenced  by 
him.  If  her  insensible  and  selfish 
heart  felt  no  longer  the  necessity  of 
loving,  it  still  felt  the  equally  femi- 
nine necessity  of  submission  and  sa- 
crifice. Already  in  the  bottom  of 
her  heart  was  a  faint  hope  that  Carl 
might  insist  on  having  a  dog  in  the 
house,  and  that  she  might  show  her 
dawning  fondness  for  him  by  con- 
senting— a  greater  concession  than 
she  had  ever  yet  made  in  her  life. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


A      RIVAL      FOR      EDITH, 


DICK  ROWAN  came  home  in  the 
spring  of  '52  to  begin  a  new  life.  In 
the  first  place,  he  was  to  have 
a  ship  of  his  own.  Mr.  Williams 
had  a  beautiful  ship  almost  ready  to 
launch,  and  he  was  to  be  the  master 
of  it.  He  was  to  name  it,  too,  that 
had  been  promised  him;  but  what 
name  he  meant  to  bestow  was  as  yet 


a  secret  to  all  but  himself.  What 
could  it  be  but  the  Edith  Yorke  f 
He  had  other  matters  to  settle,  too ; 
he  must  become  a  Catholic.  He 
had  promised  Edith  that  he  would, 
if,  on  reading,  he  found  he  could  do 
so  conscientiously.  He  had  read  a 
good  deal,  more  than  he  liked,  in- 
deed, and  saw  nothing  to  object  to 


762 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


Besides,  the  fact  that  it  was  Edith's 
religion  and  the  religion  of  his  fath- 
er's boyhood  was  a  strong  argument 
in  its  favor.  There  was  one  other 
affair  to  settle,  the  thought  of  which 
made  the  color  drop  out  of  his 
cheeks,  and  his  heart  rise  in  excited 
throbs.  He  had  studied  it  over  and 
over  during  this  last  voyage,  and  his 
mind  was  made  up.  Edith  was  al- 
most seventeen  years  old,  and  he 
meant  to  speak  to  her.  She  must 
know  now,  if  she  ever  would,  wheth- 
er she  was  willing  to  be  his  wife. 

Perhaps  something  said  to  him  by 
Captain  Gary  had  hastened  his  de- 
cision. The  captain  had  seen  what 
his  studies  were,  and  been  vexed  by 
them. 

"  You  are  going  too  far,  Dick," 
he  expostulated.  "  A  man  never 
should  change  his  religion  for  a  girl's 
sake.  She  won't  like  you  any  the 
better  for  it.  Besides,  Dick,  I  can't 
help  saying  it,  you  are  making  a  fool 
of  yourself.  She  will  marry  Carl 
Yorke." 

Dick  stared,  reddened,  then  grew 
pale.  "  I  think  not,"  he  said  decid- 
edly. "  Don't  say  that  again,  cap- 
tain." 

The  first  thing  to  be  attended  to, 
then,  was  his  religion.  He  must  be 
a  Catholic  when  he  met  Edith.  Be- 
sides, if  religion  gives  strength,  he 
would  feel  better  prepared  to  put  his 
fortune  to  the  test.  He  went,  there- 
fore, to  a  clergyman  immediately. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  read  any  more, 
sir,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  like  the 
way  in  which  learned  men  prove 
their  arguments  to  be  true.  It  is  too 
ingenious.  It  always  seems  to  me 
that  the  other  side  could  be  just  as 
well  proved,  if  one  were  clever 
enough.  I  am  willing  to  believe 
whatever  is  true.  I  cannot  swear  to 
any  doctrine,  except  the  existence  of 
a  God  and  the  divinity  of  Christ. 
Those  two  truths  I  would  stand  by 


with  my  life.  For  the  rest,  I  can 
only  say  that  I  place  my  mind  and 
heart  passively  in  the  hands  of  God, 
and  ask  him  to  direct  them.  I  can 
do  no  more,  except  to  say  that,  if  I 
do  not  believe,  neither  do  I  disbe- 
lieve anything  that  has  been  propos- 
ed to  me.  Perhaps  my  head  isn't 
a  very  good  one ;  I  dare  say  it  is  not. 
I  certainly  do  not  like  subtleties.  It 
seems  to  me  that  all  necessary  truth 
may  be  known  and  believed  by  a 
very  ordinary  intellect  with  very  mo- 
derate study.  What  I  want  in  reli- 
gion is  what  I  find  in  the  faces  of 
some  of  the  poor  people  whom  I 
see  here  at  Mass  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  I  don't  believe  they  got 
that  out  of  books,  or  got  it  them- 
selves in  any  way." 

"You  are  right,"  the  priest  said. 
"  What  you  saw  in  their  faces  was 
faith,  a  pure  gift  of  God*.  But  you 
believe  baptism  to  be  necessary  to 
salvation  ?" 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  so,  but 
not  sure,"  was  the  reply.  "  If  I  were 
sure,  then  I  should  already  have 
faith,  which  is  what  I  come  to  ask 
for.  If  it  is  necessary,  I  wish  for  it." 

The  priest  mused.  This  was  not 
a  very  fervent  penitent  certainly; 
but  he  was  a  sincere  one,  and  in  his 
fine,  earnest  face  the  father  read  a 
latent  fervor  and  power  of  strong 
conviction  which  would  be  all  the 
more  precious  when  aroused. 

Dick  mistook  the  father's  silence 
for  hesitation,  and  his  real  impatience 
broke  out.  "  I  am  uneasy,  sir,"  he 
said ;  "  I  wish  to  be  one  thing  or  an- 
other." 

The  priest  looked  at  him.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?" 

Dick  paused  a  minute,  resting  his 
head  on  his  hand,  then  raised  his 
bright,  clear  eyes. 

"  What  I  say  to  a  priest  goes  no 
further  ?"  he  said  interrogative- 


The  House  of  Yorke. 


763 


"  Your  confidence  is  safe  with 
me." 

"  Edith  said  that  I  should  tell  you 
everything,"  Dick  muttered,  half  to 
himself,  and  for  a  moment  his  drea- 
my eyes  seemed  to  contemplate  the 
picture  his  mind  held  of  her  saying 
so.  A  smile  just  stirred  his  lips,  and 
he  went  on.  "  I  was  born  an  out- 
law, sir.  The  conventionalities 
which  keep  many  people  straight 
had  nothing  to  do  with  me.  Then 
I  like  adventure,  and  am  hard  to 
frighten.  I  have  been  about,  and 
seen  all  sorts  of  people  believing  all 
sorts  of  things,  and  one  sort  was  as 
good  as  another,  as  far  as  I  could 
see.  The  effect  of  this  is,  of  course, 
to  make  one  liberal ;  but  such  a  lib- 
erality, if  a  man  has  not  a  settled 
religious  belief,  unhinges  the  princi- 
ples. There  have  been  times  when 
I  have  thought  that  it  wasn't  much 
matter  what  I  did.  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  run  away  with  Edith,  and 
turn  privateer." 

"  Who  is  this  Edith  ?" 

"  She  is  a  little  Catholic  girl  who 
was  brought  up  with  me,  sir.  I'm 
going  to  ask  her  to  marry  me,  and  I 
think  she  will.  She  is  the  only  person 
in  the  world  whom  I  depend  on,  or 
who  has  any  influence  over  me.  I 
believe  in  her.  She  is  as  true  as 
steel.  And  she  believes  in  me.  I 
can't  fail  her,  sir.  That  thought  has 
kept  me  from  harm  so  far." 

"  It  is  a  poor  reason  for  being  a 
Catholic,"  the  father  said  in  a  dis- 
satisfied tone.  "  It  is  a  weak  hold 
on  virtue  when  your  motive  is  an 
affection  like  this." 

The  young  man  smiled  with  a 
sudden  recollection. 

"  When  we  were  at  St.  Michael's, 
last  winter,  there  was  a  great  storm, 
and  a  vessel  was  wrecked  close  to 
the  coast.  We  went  down  to  the 
shore  to  see,  but  nothing  could  be 
done.  One  man  swam  to  or  was 


washed  to  a  little  rock  not  far  from 
the  shore.  There  he  lay  clinging, 
with  the  waves  breaking  over  him. 
He  couldn't  have  held  on  long,  and 
we  could  not  get  to  him  any  way. 
But  Captain  Gary  brought  out  a  big 
bow  and  arrow  of  his  that  always 
reminded  me  of  Ulysses',  for  no  one 
but  the  captain,  I  believe,  could 
bend  it,  and,  in  a  lull  of  the  wind,  he 
shot  a  little  cord  over  to  the  man,  and 
the  man  drew  it  out.  Hope  revived 
his  strength,  I  suppose,  and  it  seem- 
ed as  if  the  tempest  waited  for  him. 
We  tied  a  rope  to  the  cord,  and  a 
larger  rope  to  that,  and  he  drew  it 
out,  and  tied  it  to  the  rock,  and  we 
saved  him." 

The  priest  smiled.  "  Very  true. 
We  rise,  we  are  saved  sometimes  by 
degrees,  and  this  little  hold  may  be 
tied  to  a  stronger.  Go  out  into  the 
church,  and  make  the  prayer  of  the 
blind  man,  '  Lord,  that  I  may  re- 
ceive my  sight.'  To-morrow  morn- 
ing I  will  baptize  you.  I  find  you 
sufficiently  instructed." 

That  evening  Dick  made  a  re- 
quest of  the  priest.  "  When  men 
were  to  be  knighted,  in  olden  times," 
he  said,  "  they  used  to  keep  a  vigil 
in  the  church.  Now,  if  by  baptism 
I  am  to  be  made  fit  to  enter  heaven 
at  once,  changed  from  a  child  of  the 
devil  to  a  child  of  God,  why,  it  is 
worth  thinking  about.  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  happen  in  a  man's  life,  and 
it  happens  but  once.  I  would  like 
to  keep  a  vigil  in  the  church.  I 
could  think  there  better  than  any- 
where else." 

The  priest  hesitated.  He  hardly 
knew  what  to  think  of  this  mingled 
coldness  and  fervor. 

"  Besides,"  the  young  man  added, 
"  you  say  that  Christ  is  there  bodily. 
I  would  like  to  watch  with  him  one 
night.  It  seems  to  me  wrong  to 
leave  him  alone  there  now,  when  he 
is  to  do  so  much  for  me  to-morrow." 


764         A  Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future, 


The  priest  consented.  "  But  do 
not  fancy  that  the  Lord  is  alone, 
though  his  earthly  children  forsake 
him,"  he  said.  "  Doubtless  the 
place  is  crowded  with  angels  and 
archangels." 

Dick  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  priest, 
and  for  a  moment  lost  himself. 

"  Then,  perhaps,"  he  began  hesi- 
tatingly, but  broke  off  there.  "  No, 
if  he  had  preferred  the  company  of 
angels,  he  would  have  remained  in 
heaven,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  no 
intrusion.  He  comes  here  to  be 
with  man." 

Night  came  on,  the  church  was 
locked,  and  all  was  dark  save  a  small 
golden  flame  that  burned  suspended 
in  air.  A  watcher  sat  far  back  in 
one  of  the  seats,  but  after  a  while 
drew  nearer,  still  sitting,  not  kneel- 
ing. The  whole  place  was  full  of 
silence  and  a  sense  of  waiting.  In 
the  shade,  the  stations  hung  unseen, 
but  not  unfelt.  He  had  seen  them 
that  day,  and  they  spoke  through 
the  dark,  "  Here  he  fell !  Here  he 


was  struck  !  Here  he  was  nailed  to 
the  cross !" 

There  was  in  this  darkness  and 
silence  such  a  vacuum  of  the  earthly, 
that  the  heavenly  seemed  to  break 
through  the  thin  wall  of  sense  and 
flow  around  the  soul. 

When  the  priest  came  in  at  day- 
break, he  found  his  penitent  pros- 
trate before  the  altar.  After  Mass 
was  over,  the  baptism  took  place. 

The  father  was  struck  by  the  coun- 
tenance of  his  convert.  It  wore  a 
rapt  and  exalted  expression,  and  he 
appeared  to  see  nothing  of  what  was 
visibly  before  his  eyes. 

"  God  bless  you !"  he  said  to  Dick 
on  going  out  of  the  church.  "  Come 
to  see  me.  And  for  a  while  try  to 
think  of  God  entirely,  and  not  of 
Miss  Edith  Yorke." 

"  Sir,"  said  Dick  quietly,  "  I  have 
thought  of  Edith  Yorke  but  once 
since  I  entered  the  church  last  night ; 
and  then  it  was  as  though  the  Blessed 
Virgin  put  her  aside  and  stood  in 
her  place." 


TO   BE  CONTINUED. 


A  PAGE  OF  THE  PAST  AND  A  SHADOW  OF  THE  FUTURE. 


IT  is,  perhaps,  hardly  to  be  believ- 
ed, in  this  new  country  whose  mental 
geology  grows  and  changes  so  quick- 
ly that  one  stratum  of  thought  and 
of  circumstances  is  gone  even  before 
one  has  had  time  to  analyze  it — it  is, 
perhaps,  hardly  to  be  believed  that 
the  shadow  of  the  penal  laws  in  the 
mother-country  should  still  cloud 
with  lingering  touches  the  remini- 
scences of  a  yet  unfa-ded  life.  Young 
people  whose  ideas  and  education 


belong  to  this  century  can  still  re- 
member one  of  those  priests  of  old — 
one  of  those  silent  champions — whom 
the  English  law  made  outcasts  from 
their  kind,  and  fair  game  for  their 
enemies. 

Such  a  one  was  James  Duckett, 
the  pastor  of  a  scattered  flock  that 
covered  the  plain  of  Gresham,  of  his- 
toric memory,  to  the  fort  of  Edgehill, 
the  last  standpoint  of  the  "  lost  cause  " 
of  the  Stuarts. 


A  Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future.         765 


The  way  in  which  his  retreat  was 
discovered,  by  a  party  of  Catholics 
from  one  of  the  large  country-houses 
of  Gloucestershire,  was  very  amusing 
as  well  as  interesting. 

They  were  returning  from  a  pic- 
nic at  a  charming  old  Tudor  manor- 
house,  one  of  the  seats  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Northampton,  by  name 
Compton-Wyniatts,  and  where  the 
family  tradition  asserts  a  portion  of 
the  Royalist  army  to  have  lain  hid- 
den the  eve  of  the  terrible  battle  of 
Edgehill.  The  house  is  full  of  holes 
and  hiding-places,  sliding-panels,  and 
trap- doors,  great  ghostly  chambers, 
and  funereal  beds,  not  to  mention 
the  vast  cobwebbed  garrets  which 
the  soldiers  are  alleged  to  have  occu- 
pied. It  has  a  very  deserted  appear- 
acce,  and,  indeed,  its  owner  hardly 
ever  lives  there ;  but  it  is  picturesque 
in  inverse  ratio  of  its  desolation. 
Just  outside  the  front  courtyard  is 
the  lawn,  shaded  by  chestnut-trees, 
and  here  the  picnic  took  place. 

Returning  home,  and  passing 
through  the  hamlet  of  Brailes,  two 
miles  from  Compton-Wyniatts,  the 
party  observed  some  curious  things 
lying  on  the  roadside  hedges.  Upon 
examination,  they  proved  to  be  ec- 
clesiastical vestments,  and  evidently 
genuine  Catholic  property,  ritual- 
ism being  as  yet  unknown  in  the 
country  districts  of  England.  It 
turned  out  that  they  belonged  to 
Mr.  Duckett,  and  the  whole  party 
repaired  to  Mr.  Duckett's  house. 
This  was  a  cottage  in  a  little  garden, 
with  a  hay-field  between  it  and  the 
old  parish  church,  Protestant  now, 
but  once  the  only  home  these  costly 
vestments  should  have  known.  There 
was  the  old  man,  the  priest  of  the 
past,  in  the  homely  peasant  garb, 
now  abandoned  by  the  peasants 
themselves,  in  coarse  blue  woollen 
stockings  and  a  snuff-colored  coat, 
and  leather  garters  at  the  knee. 


Huge-buckled  shoes  were  on  his 
feet,  and  a  thickly-folded  neckcloth 
was  wound  stiffly  round  his  throat. 
I  saw  him  myself,  later  on,  when  the 
existence  of  this  living  relic  of  the 
penal  days  was  better  known  among 
the  county  circle.  The  lower  room 
of  his  cottage,  stone-flagged  and  bare, 
was  a  little  school  where  a  few  chil- 
dren were  taught  catechism  and  read- 
ing ;  the  upper  rooms  were  reached 
by  a  steep  wooden  staircase  outside 
the  house.  Here  was  a  "  large  upper 
chamber,  furnished,"  and  this  was  the 
chapel.  It  was  as  cold,  and  bare, 
and  poor  as  it  could  well  be;  the 
roughest  workmanship  was  display- 
ed in  the  altar,  the  rails,  and  the 
benches.  The  raftered  and  thatched 
roof  that  was  immediately  above  was 
broken  and  untrustworthy,  and  the 
rain  of  the  last  thunder-shower  had 
discolored  both  it  and  the  floor  be- 
low. The  small  sacristy,  off  the 
chapel,  was  in  the  same  state  of 
decay  and  dilapidation;  hence  the 
damage  done  to  the  vestments  that 
had  been  put  out  in  the  sun  to  dry. 
Mr.  Duckett  had  treasures  here  that 
many  modern  churches  might,  and 
with  reason,  have  envied.  The  vest- 
ments— especially  a  white  cope  and 
a  gold-embroidered  chasuble — were 
very  rich  and  beautiful,  and  such  as 
must  have  been,  no  doubt,  a  gift  from 
some  persecuted  Catholic  family  to 
the  persecuted  temple  of  God.  But, 
better  still,  there  was  a  small  leaden 
chalice,  said  to  have  been  used  by 
many  of  the  martyrs  of  Tyburn,  by 
special  permission  given  in  considera- 
tion of  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  gold 
and  silver  vessels  for  sacred  purposes, 
and  of  the  probable  sacrilege  and 
spoliation  the  known  existence  of 
such  vessels  would  provoke.  And, 
among  other  things,  there  was  also  a 
little  bell,  wide  and  round,  like  a  low- 
crowned  hat,  and  four  little  clappers 
inside,  making  a  sweet  chime  when 


766         A  Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadozv  of  the  Future. 


the  bell  was  shaken.  This  was  after- 
wards copied  by  the  modern  artificers 
of  Birmingham,  but  they  could  not 
transmit  to  their  copy  the  mellow, 
time-harmonized  tone  of  the  original. 
In  Mr.  Duckett's  sitting-room,  a 
small,  unpretending,  and  homely 
nook,  was  the  portrait  of  his  revered 
and  beloved  patron,  Bishop  Bishop, 
in  Mr.  Duckett's  youth  the  only  and 
supreme  ecclesiastical  authority  in 
England.  The  priest  was  an  old 
man  now,  seventy-five  or  there- 
abouts, but  his  heart  was  true  yet  to 
his  friend  and  patron,  whose  praises 
he  was  never  tired  of  repeating.  He 
told,  also,  how,  although  parishes  had 
been  formed  around  him  and  churches 
had  grown  up  at  his  side,  yet  once  his 
duties  carried  him  on  midnight  rides 
and  to  distances  of  forty  or  fifty  miles, 
for  a  sick-call  or  a  promised  and  occa- 
sional Mass  at  some  one  of  the  many 
places  that  claimed  his  care.  Broad- 
way, a  village  at  the  foot  of  the  Cotes- 
wold  Hills,  just  at  the  edge  of  the  fruit- 
ful plain  or  vale  of  Gresham,  was  one 
of  these  stations,  and  now,  as  for  many 
long  years  past,  there  stands  in  its 
midst  the  Passionist  Monastery  of  St. 
Saviour,  the  novitiate  house  for  the 
province  of  Great  Britain.  Two  hun- 
dred Catholics  and  a  spacious  church, 
model  schools  under  government  in- 
spection, and  confraternities  of  many 
kinds,  have  turned  the  far-off  hamlet, 
where  a  few  stray  and  hunted  Catho- 
lics were  hidden,  into  a  very  centre 
of  religion  for  twenty  miles  around. 
Wordnorton,  the  hunting-box  of  the 
Due  d'Aumale,  and  Chipping-Camp- 
den,  a  thriving  little  mission  on  the 
opposite  ridge  of  the  Coteswold,  are 
both  served  from  the  monastery  at 
Broadway;  and  so  great  is  the  per- 
sonal ascendency  of  the  monks,  and 
so  universal  their  popularity,  that  they 
need  not  fear  the  letter  of  the  law,  and 
do  often  contravene  it  by  walking 
abroad  in  their  monastic  habit. 


Here  is  one  of  the  changes  that 
have  occurred  in  the  straggling  field 
of  Mr.  Duckett's  early  labors;  and, 
while  all  this  is  happening  around 
him,  the  calm  old  man  waits  for  his 
summons  in  the  same  homely  and 
unobtrusive  dress  he  has  sanctified 
by  his  daily  work  in  the  vineyard  of 
Christ. 

It  is  said,  and  I  believe  with  truth 
— at  least,  I  hope  so — that  the  mo- 
nastic garb  of  all  religious  orders 
was  originally  modelled  on  the 
coarse  habiliments  of  the  poorest 
and  simplest  of  mankind — the  shep- 
herds and  husbandmen  of  the  hard- 
working rural  districts.  If  so,  it  sug- 
gests a  very  beautiful  and  a  very 
happy  thought,  and  brings  before  our 
eyes  the  many  parables  in  which 
God's  church  is  likened  to  a  field, 
a  vineyard,  an  orchard,  a  garden. 
Tillers  of  the  soil  and  sowers  of  the 
grain,  reapers  of  the  harvest  and  fos- 
terers of  the  vine,  are  priests  and  dea- 
cons, bishops  and  monks;  and  all 
through  sacred  history  runs  this 
touching  parallel.  Nowhere  is  re- 
ligion without  her  crown  of  nature's 
weaving:  the  blossoming  rod  and 
the  sceptre  of  Christ's  jurisdiction 
are  one. 

And  so,  to  return  to  our  friend,  the 
priest  and  pastor  of  a  forgotten  and 
happily  buried  age  of  persecution, 
God's  voice  called  him  in  time,  and 
among  the  many  who  daily  wait  in 
the  temple's  outer  court  he  was 
chosen  to  blossom  forth  in  a  higher 
life,  and  to  wear  his  robe  of  glory  in  a 
nobler  place  than  that  where  he  had 
clothed  himself  like  the  poor  and  the 
unnoticed,  and  only  wore  by  stealth 
the  sacred  garments  of  his  priesthood. 

He  died  in  the  year  1866,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  and  his  place  was  filled  by 
a  young  man,  newly  ordained,  as  if 
to  bear  witness  how  suddenly  one 
state  of  things  had  died  away  and 
another  had  come  in  its  stead,  but 


A  Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future.         767 


also,  perchance,  to  point  out  to  us — 
too  secure  in  our  present  safety — that 
as  quickly  as  freedom  had  followed 
persecution,  so  we  should  be  ever 
ready  to  see  persecution  follow  free- 
dom. 

And  in  these  days,  surely,  we  dare 
not  think  such  a  past  as  that  of  Eng- 
lish religious  intolerance  so  far  from 
us  as  that  it  should  never  draw  near 
us  again,  and  renew  itself  in  many 
shapes  of  tyranny  and  horror.  And 
this,  not  only  in  England,  where 
religious  persecution  may  suddenly 
emerge  from  the  apparent  extreme 
of  religious  indifference,  and  where  it 
may  be  carried  on,  some  day,  on 
members  of  all  Christian  communities, 
no  longer  in  the  name  of  a  state 
church  or  a  general  catechism,  but 
in  the  name  of  rabid  hatred  to  a 
Creator,  God,  and  senseless  chafing 
against  any  constituted  authority — 
not  only,  I  say,  may  this  happen  in 
England,  but  in  other  lands,  Eastern 
and  Western,  old  and  new. 

We  see  it  to-day  in  red-handed 
France  and  Judas-tongued  Italy ;  we 
may  see  it  elsewhere  to-morrow.  Per- 
secution is  an  instinct  of  the  brute ; 
what  is  not  after  its  own  kind,  it  has 
no  desire  to  spare.  The  prevailing 
systems  of  philosophy — if  we  may  so 
degrade  the  word  Avhose  first  mean- 
ing is  love  of  wisdom — tend  to  the 
apotheosis  of  the  brute,  and  the  nega- 
tion and  indignant  repudiation  of 
anything  in  man  above  the  brute. 
When  this  task  shall  be  completed, 
and  man  educated  into  the  right  usage 
of  his  newly-discovered  nature,  what 
are  we  to  expect  but  persecution  in 
one  form  or  another  from  the  new 
lords  of  the  creation,  the  new  mon- 
archs  of  the  system  of  materialistic 
supremacy  ? 

There  is  a  new  and  subtle  alchemy 
running  through  the  so-called  moral 
world,  the  Areopagus  of  modern 
thinkers.  Of  old,  all  things  might 


be  resolved  into  component  parts,  of 
which  gold  was  infallibly  one ;  now, 
all  men  must  be  resolved  into  per- 
ishable parts,  of  which  each  one  is 
stamped  with  the  brand  of  the  brute. 

It  is  a  sad  contrast,  and  no  doubt 
it  would  be  needless  to  define  which 
of  the  two  is  the  more  harmful  theory. 
Let  us  pass  now  from  the  life  of  the 
hidden  pastor  of  an  obscure  village 
to  an  incident,  perhaps  hardly  better 
known,  in  the  career  of  one  of  the 
apostles  of  a  great  and  glorious  city, 
the  same  whose  comeliness  has  been 
so  cruelly  brought  low,  and  whose 
desolation  at  this  moment  reminds 
one  too  forcibly  of  the  plaint  of  the 
prophet  Jeremiah  over  doomed  Jeru- 
salem. 

The  Pere  de  Ravignan,  whose 
name  is  a  household  word  in  France, 
and  whose  influence  over  the  young 
men  of  his  day  was  something  all  but 
miraculous,  was  summoned  one  night 
to  attend  a  sick-call.  A  carriage  was 
in  attendance;  the  two  men  who  had 
come  for  him  represented  the  case  as 
of  the  greatest  urgency,  but  refused 
to  take  him  with  them  unless  he 
suffered  himself  to  be  blindfolded. 
After  briefly  hesitating,  he  complied 
with  this  strange  request.  The  times 
were  dangerous,  revolution  was  hover- 
ing like  a  storm  over  the  state,  secret 
societies  were  in  ever-watchful  and 
almost  infallibly  secure  fermentation. 
He  himself  was  a  well-known  man,  a 
representative  man,  one  whose  voice 
was  ever  raised  uncompromisingly 
against  the  foes  of  law  and  order — 
one  whose  life  was  every  day  exposed, 
in  consequence  of  his  grand  fearless- 
ness of  conscience,  to  the  machina- 
tions of  hidden  and  treacherous  ene- 
mies. A  less  suspicious  man  might 
have  feared  a  snare  in  this  strange 
condition  of  blindfolding  a  priest 
called  to  a  death-bed,  but  the  blood 
of  the  old  race  of  gentilhommes 
that  was  fast  disappearing,  added  to 


768         A  Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future. 


the  courage  of  the  consecrated  line 
of  God's  ministers  that  never  disap- 
pears, made  the  Jesuit  strong  in  this 
hour  of  peril,  and  he  forgot  himself 
to  think  only  of  the  sinking  soul  to 
whose  aid  he  was  summoned.  He  took 
the  holy  oils  and  the  viaticum  with 
him,  and  left  the  house  in  the  Rue 
de  Sevres  in  the  carriage  that  was 
waiting  at  the  door. 

They  drove  off  rapidly;  his  com- 
panions pulled  down  the  blinds,  and 
effectually  shut  out  any  daylight  that 
might  straggle  in.  The  motion  of  the 
vehicle,  however,  and  the  many  sud- 
den jerks  it  gave,  indicated  turnings 
and  corners  as  being  constantly 
doubled,  and  even  suggested  the  not 
unlikely  idea  that  this  was  done  on 
purpose,  with  the  object  of  confusing 
the  priest's  recollection.  The  two 
men  preserved  a  dead  silence  all  the 
time.  At  last  the  carriage  stopped; 
the  door  was  opened,  the  Pere  de 
Ravignan  helped  out,  and  conduct- 
ed up  a  wide  staircase ;  doors  were 
opened  and  shut,  and  then  the  ban- 
dage was  taken  from  his  eyes,  and  he 
found  himself  in  a  large  anteroom, 
handsomely  and  massively  furnished. 

"  In  the  end  room  of  this  suite  of 
apartments,  you  will  find  the  person 
who  requires  your  ministry,"  said  one 
of  his  guides. 

He  passed  room  after  room  with 
the  windows  darkened,  and  rich  fur- 
niture giving  a  sumptuous  air  to  the 
large  and  airy  saloons,  but  order 
reigned  everywhere.  He  saw  neither 
sign  of  confusion  nor  heard  any 
sound  of  sorrow,  nothing  to  indicate 
the  presence  of  death  or  mortal  sick- 
ness. He  began  to  fear  that  in  truth 
he  had  been  snared  by  secret  enemies, 
and  that  it  was  his  own  death  he  had 
to  expect  as  the  denouement  of  this 
solemn  masquerade.  The  last  door 
was  reached  ;  a  curtain  hung  across 
the  entrance,  and  the  chamber  was 
darkened.  One  lamp  burned  in  the 


furthest  recess.  He  looked  in  vain 
for  signs  of  sickness;  there  were  none. 
The  room  was  a  drawing-room,  and 
was  furnished  much  like  the  rest. 
But  soon  a  form  rose  to  meet  him, 
coming  slowly  from  the  luxurious 
lounge  near  the  solitary  lamp.  It 
was  that  of  a  young  man,  very  hand- 
some, and  fashionably  dressed.  He 
looked  pale  and  anxious,  and  his 
hands  trembled  slightly  as  he  moved. 
Yet  sick  to  death  he  certainly  was 
not.  Was  this  his  executioner,  or 
some  part  of  the  ghastly  pageant  of 
his  own  coming  doom  ?  The  priest 
paused,  and  the  young  stranger  said, 
in  eager,  hollow  tones  : 

"  Man  pere,  it  is  for  me  that  you 
are  here.  I  am  going  to  die.  I  shall 
be  dead  within  twenty-four  hours, 
but  I  obtained  this  favor  that  1 
might  first  make  my  peace  with 
God." 

"  My  son,  what  does  this  mean  ?" 
a^ked  the  priest.  "  You  are  not  ill !" 

"  No ;  yet  I  shall  not  see  to-mor- 
row's sunset.  I  dare  say  no  more. 
I  must  make  my  confession." 

An  hour  went  by ;  the  solemn  mys- 
teries that  pass  unseen  and  undreamt- 
of by  the  careless  world  soothed  and 
comforted  the  doomed  man.  We 
know  nothing  further,  nor  can  we 
ever  know  aught  concerning  this 
dread  interview  on  the  very  threshold 
of  invisible  death;  but,  the  priest's  duty 
done,  the  young  man  craved  his 
blessing  and  his  prayers,  and  took 
an  agonizing  farewell  of  the  last  hu- 
man being  who  was  to  show  him 
mercy  and  promise  him  forgiveness. 

Reluctantly,  sorrowfully,  the  priest 
parted  from  the  victim,  and  wended 
his  way  through  the  splendid  rooms, 
whose  beauty  now  seemed  so  bale- 
ful, as  though  it  were  but  the  refine- 
ment and  gloss  of  cruelty,  the  gay 
mask  that  hid  the  torture-chamber. 

At  the  door  of  the  anteroom,  the 
same  silent  guides  were  watching  his 


A  Page  of  the  Past  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future.         769 


return,  and,  again  blindfolding  him, 
led  him  out  of  the  gates  that  closed 
on  such  strange  mysteries,  and  hid 
from  view  such  appalling  possibilities 
of  horror. 

How  many  might  there  have  been 
of  these  human  holocausts,  immo- 
lated in  silence,  perchance  without 
the  gracious  respite  allowed  this  one 
victim !  How  many  might  there 
have  been,  perhaps  priests,  beguiled 
by  a  lure  such  as  he  had  thought  his 
own  carrying-off  to  be,  and  never 
allowed  to  go  forth  again,  as  he  was 
being  providentially  helped  to  do ! 
And  what  other  crimes  besides  silent 
murder  might  have  taken  place  in 
that  mysterious  and  seemingly  de- 
mon-guarded house  ! 

These  and  other  thoughts  not  un- 
like them  must  have  pressed  painful- 
ly on  his  overstrung  mind,  as  with 
the  same  precautions,  turnings,  doub- 
lings, and  joltings  the  Pere  de  Ravi- 
gnan  was  driven  back  to  the  house 
of  his  order,  the  sinister  guides  in 
whose  hands  his  life  had  helplessly 
and  inevitably  lain  for  several  hours 
preserving  yet  that  impenetrable  si- 
lence and  seemingly  respectful  be- 
havior, which  in  themselves  were 
enough  to  shake  the  courage  of  most 
men. 

The  house  was  all  astir.  Every  one 
had  been  anxious  for  the  safe  return 
of  the  superior  from  his  mysterious 
and  perilous  errand ;  for  perilous  they 
had  intuitively  felt  it  to  be,  and  had 
indeed  once  attempted  at  first  to 
follow  the  carriage.  This,  however, 
had  been  cleverly  frustrated  by  the 
well-instructed  driver. 

Search  was  made  next  day  by  the 
secret  police  for  any  house  answering 
the  only  description  the  priest  could 
imperfectly  give  ;  inquiries  were  insti- 
tuted concerning  the  disappearance 
of  any  person  answering  the  minute 
description  given  by  the  confessor  of 
his  young  penitent;  but  although  the 
VOL.  xin. — 49 


police  swore  that  they  knew  every 
house,  and  could  put  their  finger 
upon  every  individual  in  Paris,  yet 
not  a  single  trace  could  be  discover- 
ed of  anything  unusual  having  taken 
place  in  the  city. 

And  there  the  mystery  remained 
and  was  forgotten,  and  came  to  be 
related  only  as  a  tale  of  dread  and 
wonder,  and  was  only  known  to  few. 
Even  so  the  secret  organization  it- 
self, for  nothing  but  vagueness  sur- 
rounded its  palpable  though  ever-in- 
visible existence,  and  some  believed 
that  the  parti pretre  invented  stories 
of  its  horrors,  and  others  thought 
they  exaggerated  the  importance  of 
its  influence. 

Then  came  '48,  with  its  wild  vol- 
canic outburst  all  over  Europe,  and 
under  the  name  of  freedom  a  mo- 
dern Vehmgericht  convulsed  and  tor- 
tured the  civilized  world.  Those  who 
had  pooh-poohed  its  existence  or  un- 
derrated its  strength  were  the  first 
to  crouch  before  its  explosive  power. 
Persecution  began  again,  for  we  all 
know  the  story  of  revolutions,  and 
how  the  final  court  of  appeal  was 
always  death.  What  mattered  it 
that  the  persecutors  handled  the  axe, 
the  guillotine,  or  the  rifle,  instead  of 
the  scourges,  the  fasces,  the  swords  of 
the  Roman  lictors  ?  Amphitheatres 
there  were,  and  wild  beasts  to  tear 
the  Christians  in  pieces,  although  the 
former  were  called  public  squares, 
and  streets,  and  gardens,  and  the 
wild  beasts  were  hideous  human 
forms.  One  Archbishop  of  Paris  in 
'48  was  shot  down  —  perhaps  by 
chance,  but  who  can  tell  save  only 
God  ? — on  the  barricades,  as  he  was 
trying  to  quiet  the  infuriate  rabble  ; 
another  Archbishop  of  Paris  follow- 
ed him  in  '71,  more  foully  murdered 
in  shear  demoniac  wantonness,  be- 
cause order  and  authority  were  re- 
presented in  his  person,  and  because 
to  be  a  child  of  God  was  a  burning 


A  Page  of  the  Pnst  and  a  Shadow  of  the  Future. 


reproach  offered  to  the  godless  and 
soulless  Commune. 

Thus,  two  ages  of  persecution  join 
hands  within  a  short  half-century, 
and  in  one  life,  yet  in  its  prime,  two 
figures  are  prominently  and  personal- 
ly interwoven  :  the  old  peasant  priest 
who  almost  dreaded  to  have  the 
sanctuary  lamps  lighted  for  fear  of 
attracting  unwelcome  notice,  so  im- 
bued was  he  with  the  idea  that  be- 
fore the  law  a  Catholic  must  need 
be  a  criminal ;  and  the  intrepid  Je- 
suit, having  secret  dangers  in  the 
fulfilment  of  his  ministry,  and  know- 
ing full  well  that,  before  the  self-styl- 
ed law  of  lawless  liberty,  to  be  a 
priest  is  to  be  nothing  better  than  a 
dog. 

Some  talk  lightly  of  these  things 
that  are  passing  as  of  mere  ebulli- 
tions that  cannot  fail  to  be  quelled  ; 
but  where  is  the  power  to  quell,  the 
power  to  charm  these  serpents,  to 
humanize  these  savages  ?  Gone 
from  the  kings  of  the  earth,  who 
have  abjured  the  aid  of  religion,  who 
have  expelled  her  from  the  schools 
and  colleges,  and  repudiated  her 
offices  in  the  most  solemn  and  ten- 
der relations  of  life.  Gone  from  the 
philosophers  of  this  century,  who  con- 
trol the  thoughts  of  millions  by  pan- 
dering freely  to  their  passions,  and 
whose  first  axiom  is  that  everything 
that  is  natural  is  ri<rht.  Gone  from 
the  timid  politicians,  whose  precari- 
ous object  is,  not  the  happy  and 
steady  consolidation  and  progress  of 
the  state,  but  the  maintenance  of 
themselves  and  their  creatures  in  of- 
fice, and  the  increase  of  their  hoard- 
ed fortunes.  Gone,  too,  from  the 
poets  and  artists,  who  should  clothe 
truth  and  religion  in  dignified  and 
attractive  forms,  but  whose  dearest 
aim  is  but  to  court  popularity  by  en- 
couraging vice.  Gone,  in  a  word,  from 
all  whose  mission  it  is  to  raise  and 
guide  the  people,  simply  because 


they  find  it  more  profitable  to  grovel 
with  and  follow  them. 

And  religion  stands  this  day  as 
our  divine  Lord  stood  centuries  ago 
in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemani,  with 
lukewarm  and  timid  disciples  in 
numbers,  and  with  a  Judas  striving 
with  honeyed  words  to  betray  her. 
The  sword  she  may  not  use,  nor  any 
earthly  weapon;  for,  if  God  would 
have  it  so,  could  he  not  send  her 
twelve  legions  of  angels  ?  But  no  ; 
she  stands  as  he  stood,  unarmed; 
and  when  she  preached  with  the 
voice  of  princes  and  commanded 
through  the  mouth  of  statesmen,  no 
one  attacked  her,  even  as  the  Jews 
did  not  apprehend  Jesus  when  he 
taught  openly  in  the.  synagogue. 
But  when  worldly  power  was  taken 
away,  when  concordats  were  broken, 
when  heresy  rose  up  in  her  midst, 
the  enemies  of  the  church  fell  upon 
her,  and  in  their  onslaught  tore  up 
kingdoms  by  the  root  and  trampled 
order  in  the  dust.  The  crushed  ones 
look  to  her — "  they  shall  look  upon 
him  they  have  pierced  " — imploring- 
ly, but  they  had  tied  her  hands,  they 
had  crippled  her  in  the  days  of  their 
triumph,  and  the  deluge  breaks  over 
them  and  annihilates  them,  while  it 
tosses  the  church  on  its  turbid  waves, 
and  at  each  angry  toss  only  lifts  the 
Ark  of  the  Covenant  safer  and  high- 
er toward  heaven. 

We  may  be  only  at  the  beginning 
of  a  scathing  trial :  we  may  be  al- 
most at  its  end.  We  have  seen  the 
blood  of  the  martyrs  flow  once  more  ; 
we  have  seen  '71  rival  '93,  and  the 
Mazas  Prison  reflect  the  Massacre  des 
Cannes  ;  elsewhere  we  see  the  spectre 
of  blood  not  yet  let  loose,  but  hiding 
impatiently  behind  the  spirit  of  sacri- 
lege and  spoliation.  Perhaps  this  is  the 
hour  before  the  dawn ;  perhaps  only 
the  first  watch  of  the  night.  But  let 
us  not  think  that  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury bears  a  charmed  life,  and  that 


Sancta  Dei  Genitrix 


771 


we  dwellers  in  it  have  a  prescriptive 
right  to  a  safe  and  easy-going  exis- 
tence. We  must  be  for  the  church,  in 
her,  with  her  0/her;  be  hers  in  spirit 
and  in  truth,  "  not  merely  pause  and 
hesitate  at  the  threshold,  or  linger 
within  the  outer  courts."  This  is  the 
hour  of  conversions,  for  the  next  may 
be  the  hour  of  martyrdom.  And 
above  all,  it  is  the  hour  for  sound 
philosophy,  that  will  lead  us  firmly 
by  the  hand  into  the  haven  of  faith, 
and  show  us  that,  to  be  a  good  citi- 


zen, one   has  need   to  be  a  perfect 
Christian. 

Truth  is  one;  and  just  as  water 
will  rise  to  its  own  level,  so  all  par- 
ticles of  truth  will  lead  to  the  foun- 
tain of  truth.  The  church  has  solv- 
ed all  problems,  and  fulfilled  all 
yearnings,  and  realized  all  ideals 
long  ago ;  and  while  men  are  seeking 
what  they  severally  want,  the  church 
has  offered  it  to  thousands  of  their 
forefathers  before  they  themselves 
were  ever  born  to  seek  it. 


SANCTA   DEI   GENITRIX. 

MOTHER  of  God !     My  Queen  is  simply  this. 

For  this  elected,  the  eternal  Mind 
Conceived  her  in  its  infinite  abyss — 

With  the  God-man  co-type  of  human  kind. 

And  she,  when  came  the  wondrous  hour  assigned, 
Conceiving  her  Conceiver,  girt  him  round, 

And  held  in  her  Immaculate  womb  confined 
That  Essence  whom  the  heavens  cannot  bound  ! 
Then  brought  him  forth,  her  little  one,  her  own ; 

And  fed  her  suckling  at  her  maiden  breast — 

The  only  pillow  of  his  earthly  rest, 
And  still  for  evermore  his  dearest  throne 
O  Lady !  what  the  worship  faith  allows  ? 
The  Eternal  calls  thee  Daughter,  Mother,  Spouse ! 


7/2 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


LIQUEFACTION    OF    THE    BLOOD    OF    ST.    JANUARIUS. 


ON  the  nineteenth  day  of  Septem- 
ber, there  will  be  gathered  together 
from  five  to  eight  thousand  persons 
in  the  grand  cathedral  of  Naples,  to 
witness  again  an  occurrence  which, 
though  it  has  been  witnessed  thou- 
sands of  times  already,  never  fails  to 
fill  the  beholder  with  astonishment 
and  awe.  Perhaps  one-half  of  the 
crowd  may  be  from  the  city  of  Naples 
itself.  A  large  portion  comes  from 
other  parts  of  Italy.  Many  are  from 
Austria,  Illyria,  Hungary,  Bavaria, 
and  Prussia,  Russia,  England,  France, 
and  Spain.  Some  are  from  the  West- 
ern hemisphere.  And  Moors,  Egyp- 
tians, Arabs,  and  Turks,  ever  travelling 
along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean, 
are  here,  too,  raising  their  turbaned 
heads  among  these  thousands  in  the 
cathedral,  as  intent  and  as  filled  with 
emotion  as  any  around  them. 

The  greater  part  of  that  crowd 
believe  that  they  are  witnesses  of  a 
deed  done  by  the  direct  will  and 
power  of  God — a  miracle ;  and  very 
naturally  their  hearts  are  filled  with 
awe  and  devotion.  Others,  again,  are 
in  doubt  what  to  believe  on  the  point ; 
but  they  have  come  to  see,  and  to  see 
exactly  for  themselves  what  really 
does  occur.  Others,  again,  are  sure 
beforehand  that  it  is  all  a  trick.  They 
will  spare  no  pains  to  detect  the 
fraud. 

What  is  it  they  are  all  assembled 
to  see  ?  The  large  cathedral  in 
which  they  stand  fronts  on  a  little 
square  to  the  north.  At  the  southern 
extremity  is  placed  the  grand  sanc- 
tuary and  high  altar,  with  a  large 
and  rich  basement  chapel  underneath. 
On  either  side  of  the  church  above, 


there  are,  as  is  usual  in  Italian 
churches,  small  side  chapels  and 
altars ;  but  about  the  middle  of  the 
western  side  a  large  archway  gives 
admission  to  a  very  large  chapel — to- 
day the  centre  of  attraction.  We 
might  call  it  a  small  church.  The 
Neapolitans  name  it  the  Tesoro.  It 
is  cruciform,  and  a  well-proportioned 
dome  rises  above  the  intersection  of 
its  nave  and  transept.  Towards  its 
western  extremity,  and  opposite  the 
crowded  archway  or  entrance  from 
the  cathedral,  stands  its  elevated 
high  altar;  six  other  altars  occupy 
the  transept  and  sides.  The  main 
altar  stands  about  five  feet  forward, 
out  from  the  solid  stone  wall  of  the 
building.  Behind  that  altar,  in  the 
massive  masonry  of  the  wall,  is  a 
double  closet,  closed  by  strong  metal 
doors,  and  secured  by  four  locks. 
From  this  closet,  at  nine  A.M.,  is  first 
taken  out  a  metal  life-sized  bust,  held 
to  contain  what  remains  of  the  bones 
of  the  head  of  St.  Januarius,  bishop 
and  martyr,  who  was  put  to  death  in 
the  year  305.  This  bust  is  placed  on 
the  main  altar,  at  the  Gospel  end. 
Next,  an  old  and  tarnished  silver  case 
is  brought  out  from  the  other  side 
of  the  same  closet.  All  eyes  scrutin- 
ize it.  The  front  and  the  back  of  it, 
or,  rather,  both  faces  of  it,  for  they 
are  alike,  are  of  heavy  glass,  securely 
fastened  to  the  silver  frame.  Look- 
ing through  these  plates  of  glass,  the 
interior  of  the  case  is  seen  to  contain 
two  antique  Roman  vials  of  glass, 
held  securely  in  their  places  above 
and  below  by  rude  masses  of  solder- 
ing, black  with  age.  The  vials  are 
of  different  patterns,  both  very  com- 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


773 


RELIQUARY   CONTAINING  THE   VIALS   OF  THE   BLOOD   OF   ST.   JANUARIUS 

AT   NAPLES. 

SCALE — hearty  one-half  natural  size. 

A,  A,  Dark  and  rough  masses  of  soldering  holding  the  vials  in  place.      B,  B,  Stains  or  pellicles 
of  the  blood  on  the  interior  of  the  smaller  vial 


774 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius, 


mon  in  the  museums  of  Roman  anti- 
quities. The  smaller  one  is  empty, 
save  some  patches  of  stain  or  pellicle 
adhering  to  the  interior  of  its  sides. 
The  other  one,  which  might  hold  a 
gill  and  a  half,  is  seen  to  contain  a 
dark -colored  solid  substance,  occupy- 
ing about  four-fifths  of  the  space 
within  the  vial.  This  substance  is 
held  to  be  a  portion  of  the  blood  of 
the  same  martyred  saint,  gathered  by 
the  Christians  when  he  was  decapitat- 
ed, and  ever  since  carefully  preserved. 
Ordinarily  it  is  hard  and  solid,  as  it 
well  may  be  fifteen  hundred  and 
sixty-odd  years  after  being  shed. 
The  case,  or  reliquary,  as  it  is  pro- 
perly called,  is  borne  to  the  main 
altar,  and  a  priest  holds  it  midway 
between  the  middle  of  the  altar  and 
the  bust,  that  is,  about  a  foot  from 
the  latter.  Prayers  are  said;  hymns, 
psalms,  and  litanies  are  recited  by 
the  clergy  kneeling  near.  Mean- 
while, from  time  to  time  the  priest 
moves  the  reliquary  from  side  to  side, 
that  he  may  see  whether  the  expected 
change  of  the  substance  within  the 
vial  has  taken  place  or  not ;  and  he 
presents  it  to  the  bystanders  crowded 
around  him  on  the  steps  of  the  altar, 
that  each  one  in  succession  may  rev- 
erently kiss  it  and  closely  scrutinize 
its  condition.  At  length,  after  a 
greater  or  smaller  lapse  of  time,  per- 
haps in  a  few  minutes,  perhaps  only 
after  several  hours,  perhaps  after 
many  hours,  the  solid  mass  within 
the  vial  becomes  liquid — perhaps 
instantaneously,  perhaps  rapidly,  at 
times  more  slowly  and  gradually, 
several  hours  elapsing  before  the 
change  becomes  complete.  Some- 
times only  a  portion  of  the  mass  be- 
comes liquid,  the  remaining  portion 
floating  as  a  still  hard  lump  in  the 
liquid  portion.  This  change  is  what 
is  known  as  the  liquefaction  of  the 
blood  of  St.  yanuarius,  and  is  what 
these  thousands  have  crowded  the 


Tesoro  chapel  and  the  cathedral  to 
witness. 

It  has  occurred  repeatedly  each 
year  for  centuries  back.  It  occurs 
in  public  under  the  eyes  of  thousands. 
Accounts  of  it  were  written  by  learned 
men  and  by  travellers  before  the  in- 
vention of  printing.  In  these  latter 
centuries,  accounts  of  it  have  been 
published  in  Latin,  in  Italian,  in 
Polish,  in  English,  French,  German, 
and  Spanish — we  presume,  in  every 
language  of  Europe.  Some  are  writ- 
ten by  devout  believers  in  the  miracle ; 
some  by  candid  but  perplexed  wit- 
nesses, who  examined  for  themselves 
and  are  afraid  to  come  to  a  conclu- 
sion ;  while  others  that  we  have  seen 
are  filled  with  such  mistakes,  both  as 
to  persons  and  events  and  to  estab- 
lished regulations,  that  we  felt  the 
writers  had  themselves  seen  little  or 
nothing.  They  had  merely  got  a 
hint  from  one  and  a  suggestion  from 
another,  and  had  filled  out  the  re- 
mainder from  the  storehouse  of  their 
own  imagination. 

We  are  privileged  to  insert  a  full 
account,  written  by  an  American  eye- 
witness in  1864.  We  are  unwilling 
to  abbreviate  it  too  much,  although 
the  reader  will  find  in  it  thoughts  we 
have  already  expressed  or  may  here- 
after have  to  dwell  on  : 

I  had  for  years  determined  that,  if 
ever  I  had  a  chance,  I  would  go  to  Na- 
ples to  see  myself  the  celebrated  miracle. 
This  year  gave  me  the  desired  opportuni- 
ty, and  I  would  not  neglect  it.  Leaving 
Rome  by  railway,  on  September  17,  I 
reached  Naples  that  evening,  and  early 
the  next  morning  went  to  the  cathedral 
to  introduce  myself,  to  say  Mass,  and 
to  take  a  preparatory  look.  The  cathe- 
dral is  an  immense  semi-Gothic  building, 
dedicated  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  to  St. 
Januarius,  and  to  other  patron  saints  of 
the  city.  St.  Januarius,  a  native  of  Na- 
ples, was  Bishop  of  Benevento  (a  city 
some  thirt_,  milet  inland),  and  was  appre- 
hended in  the  days  of  persecution  under 
Diocletian,  held  in  prison,  exposed  to 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


775 


the  wild  beasts  without  harm,  and  finally 
beheaded  near  Puzzuoli,  about  five  miles 
from  Naples,  in  the  year  305.  His  head 
and  body  were  taken  by  the  Christians, 
and  transported — probably  by  night,  cer- 
tainly in  secrecy — across  the  bay  to  the 
southern  shore,  and  were  entombed,  be- 
tween Mount  Vesuvius  and  the  sea,  on 
the  farm  of  a  Christian  called  Marcian. 
It  was  the  custom  of  the  Christians  to 
gather,  as  far  as  they  possibly  could,  the 
blood  shed  by  their  martyrs,  and,  placing 
a  portion  of  it  in  glass  vials,  to  deposit 
such  vials  in  the  tombs.  In  the  cata- 
combs at  Rome  such  vials  in  a  niche  are 
the  surest  sign  that  a  martyr  was  there 
deposited.  You  can  still  see  some  of 
them,  or  fragments  of  them,  in  the  opened 
vaults  or  niches  of  the  catacombs.  The 
rials  within  have  a  thin,  dark-reddish 
crust,  showing  still  where  the  blood 
reached  in  the  glass.  A  few  years  ago, 
a  chemical  analysis  of  a  portion  of  such 
crust  or  pellicle,  made  by  direction  of 
his  Holiness,  fully  confirmed  this  histo- 
rical and  traditional  statement  of  its  ori- 
gin. Such  vials  are  also  to  be  seen  in 
multitudes  in  the  Vatican  and  other 
Christian  museums,  and  in  the  churches 
to  which  the  remains  of  the  martyrs  have 
been  transferred.  As  St.  Januarius  was' 
a  prominent  Christian,  and  as  his  mar- 
tyrdom attracted  the  earnest  attention  of 
all,  we  may  and  should  naturally  sup- 
pose that  his  case  was  no  exception, 
and  that  a  portion  of  the  blood  was 
gathered  in  his  case,  and,  as  usual,  that 
the  vials  containing  it  were  deposited 
with  the  body  in  the  tomb. 

In  the  year  385,  peace  having  been 
fully  restored,  and  Christian  churches 
built,  and  things  quieted,  the  remains  of 
St.  Januarius  were  solemnly  transferred 
from  their  original  resting-place  to  Na-  , 
pies,  and  were  placed  in  a  church  or 
chapel  dedicated  to  him,  and  situated 
just  outside  the  city  walls.  San  Gennaro 
extra  muros  still  stands,  though,  of  course, 
the  first  building  has  been  replaced  by  a  se- 
cond, a  third,  I  believe  by  a  fourth  church. 
Here,  henceforth,  near  their  martyr  and 
patron  saint,  the  Neapolitan  Christians 
wished  to  be  buried.  And  when  an  oath 
was  to  be  taken  with  the  most  binding 
force  and  obligation,  it  was  administered 
and  taken  before  the  altar  where  lay  en- 
shrined the  remains  of  this  great  Neapo- 
litan saint.  In  course  of  time — it  is  not 
precisely  known  when,  or  by  what  arch- 
bishop— the  head  of  St.  Januarius  and 


the  ampulla;  or  vials  containing  his  blood 
were  transferred  into  the  city,  and  placed 
in  some  church — probably  in  the  cathe- 
dral, where  we  know  that,  eight  hundred 
years  ago,  they  were  carefully  and  rever- 
ently preserved  in  the  cathedral,  Tesora 
or  treasury,  as  they  called  the  strong, 
vaulted  chamber  of  stone  in  which  the 
relics  of  the  saints  were  safely  kept. 
The  body  of  the  saint  was  left  in  the 
church  extra  muros.  It  was  afterwards 
taken  to  Benevento,  thence  to  Monte 
Vergine,  and  in  1497  was  transferred  to 
Naples,  and  now  lies  under  the  principal 
altar  of  the  subterranean  crypt  or  base- 
ment chapel,  beneath  the  sanctuary  of 
the  cathedral. 

The  cathedral  itself  is,  as  I  said,  a 
large  semi-Gothic  building,  over  three 
hundred  feet  long  and  one  hundred  and 
twenty  wide,  lofty,  well-proportioned,  and 
filled  with  columns,  frescoes,  marbles, 
statuary,  paintings,  and  gilding,  very 
bright  and  very  clean.  It  fronts  on  a 
small  square  to  the  north.  The  sanctu- 
ary is  at  the  southern  end.  In  the  west 
side  of  the  building  is  a  large,  open  arch- 
way, about  thirty  feet  broad  and  forty 
feet  high,  with  a  lofty  open-work  railing 
of  bronzed  metal,  and  of  very  artistic 
'design.  A  folding-door  in  this  railing, 
of  the  same  material,  opens  twelve  feet 
wide  to  usher  you  into  another  good-sized 
church  or  chapel,  called  the  new  Tesoro 
or  chapel  of  St.  Januarius,  commenced  in 
1608,  by  the  city,  in  special  honor  of  the 
saint,  and  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow,  and  con- 
secrated in  1646.  It  is  nearly  in  the 
form  of  a  Greek  cross,  over  a  hundred 
feet  from  east  to  west,  and  about  eighty 
from  north  to  south.  The  arms  are  about 
forty  feet  wide,  and  at  their  intersection 
a  cupola  rises  to  over  a  hundred  feet 
.above  the  level  of  the  floor.  It  is  said 
this  chapel  cost  half  a  million  of  dollars. 
If  so,  the  city  fathers  got  the  full  worth 
of  their  money  in  rich  marbles,  in  mosaics, 
frescoes,  bronze  and  marble  statues,  and 
in  ever>'  sort  of  finest  decorations.  There 
is  a  complete  service  for  this  chapel, 
entirely  distinct  from  and  independent 
of  that  of  the  cathedral  proper — a  dean, 
twelve  chaplains,  other  minor  assistants 
as  needed,  and  a  thoroughly  supplied 
sacristy.  In  this  Tesoro  chapel  are  no 
less  than  seven  altars  ;  the  main  one,  to 
the  west,  opposite  the  entrance  from  the 
church,  another  grand  one,  and  two 
subsidiary  ones  on  either  side  of  the 
chanel.  There  is  also  a  fine  organ.  The 


7/6 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


main  altar  stands  about  five  feet  forward 
from  the  rear  wall  of  the  building,  leaving 
thus  a  commodious  passage-way  between 
them.  In  the  massive  stone  wall  itself, 
to  the  rear  of  the  main  altar,  are  two 
armories,  adjoining  each  other.  In  one 
of  them,  that  to  the  south,  the  relic  of  the 
head  of  St.  Januarius  is  kept ;  in  the 
other,  to  the  north,  are  preserved  the 
vials  containing  his  blood.  These  ar- 
mories, which  I  might  call  a  double  ar- 
mory, are  in  the  solid  masonry,  and  are 
closed  by  strong  gilt  metal  doors,  about 
thirty  inches  broad  and  fifty  inches  high, 
each  secured  by  an  upper  and  a  lower 
lock. 

So  much  I  saw  at  this  visit  in  the 
cathedral  and  in  the  chapel.  The  after- 
noon I  devoted  to  a  visit  to  Puzzuoli, 
and  the  scene  of  the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Januarius  and  his  six  companions.  On 
.the  way,  we  stopped  to  look  at  and  enter 
the  reputed  tomb  of  Virgil,  and  we  pass- 
ed through  the  grotto  of  Posilippo.  As 
the  carriage  rolled  on  over  the  smooth 
macadamized  road,  the  Bay  of  Naples 
stretched  away  on  our  left  in  all  its 
beauty,  smiling  and  rippling  in  the  Sep- 
tember breeze,  just  as  it  did  on  the  day 
they  were  beheaded.  Before  us  was 
Puzzuoli,  once  the  beautiful  summer  re- : 
sort  and  watering-place  for  the  richest 
nobles -of  ancient  Rome,  often  graced  by 
the  presence  of  the  emperor  himself,  and 
still  a  place  of  pretension.  On  our 
right,  hills  and  vineyards  and  olive  groves 
stood  now  as  they  stood  then.  The  pal- 
aces and  houses  which  the  saint  looked 
on  are  all  gone  ;  but  their  solid  stone 
foundation  walls  have  not  perished,  and 
other  houses  of  more  modern  aspect  rise 
on  them.  The  mineral  springs  at  the 
foot  of  the  hills  are  still  the  same,  and 
in  the  same  repute;  aud  hundreds  are 
still  going  to  them,  or  meet  us  returning 
after  their  baths.  Here  and  there,  along- 
side our  smooth  modern  road,  we  see 
patches  of  the  old  Roman  pavement, 
large,  irregularly-shaped  slabs  of  hard 
stone,  lying  now  much  less  evenly  than 
they  did  when  senators,  and  consuls,  and 
prefects,  and  Roman  nobles  loved  to 
walk  along  this  road,  to  enjoy  the  beau- 
tiful scene,  and  to  drink  in  the  healthful 
evening  breezes  that  came  to  them  over 
the  Mediterranean. 

We  reached  Puzzuoli,  and  its  narrow, 
crooked  streets  soon  led  us  to  the  sum- 
mit of  a  knoll  or  spur  of  the  hills,  now 
a  little  back  of  the  modern  city.  Here 


the  ancients  had  placed  their  amphithe- 
atre. Its  remains  are  still  well  preserv- 
ed. The  galleries  for  the  dignitaries,  the 
seats  for  the  spectators — it  could  hold 
15,000  at  least — the  arena,  where  the 
gladiators  fought  and  fell,  and  where 
wild  beasts  tore  each  other  or  destroyed 
their  human  victims,  are  all  still  to  be 
easily  recognized.  We  entered  a  cellar 
or  masonry  chamber  under  the  lofty  seats. 
Here  the  victims  were  kept  until  the  hour 
came  for  thrusting  them  forth  into  the 
arena  in  the  centre.  It  is  now  a  chapel, 
with  a  single  plain  altar,  at  which  Mass 
is  celebrated  from  time  to  time.  A  vo- 
tive lamp  hangs  down  from  the  arched 
masonry  above  The  walls  are  plain 
and  void  of  ornament.  The  place  needs 
little  decoration.  Who  can  kneel  there, 
and  not  feel  his  heart  swell  as  he  re- 
members St.  Januarius  and  his  compani- 
ons kneeling  and  praying,  and  awaiting 
their  summons?  It  came,  and  they  were 
led  forth.  We  went,  too,  to  the  arena. 
Here  they  stood,  sustained  by  the  con- 
stancy of  faith.  There  is  the  seat  aloft 
of  the  prefect  and  his  attendants  and 
officers,  who  condemned  these  Christians 
to  death  by  the  wild  beasts,  and  have 
come  to  look  on  the  bloody  drama. 
There,  all  around,  rising  backwards,  row 
above  row,  are  the  seats,  filled  then  by 
thousands  hoarsely  screaming,  "  The 
Christians  to  the  lions  /"  To  their  voices 
answered  the  angry  growls  and  roars  of 
lions  and  panthers,  shut  in  their  dens 
beneath — those  recesses  in  the  masonry 
below  the  lowest,  the  front  rank  of  seats. 
For  one  or  two  days  past  the  beasts  have 
been  deprived  of  their  food,  that  they 
might  be  more  furious  and  eage^for  the 
tragedy.  Excited  by  the  clamor,  mad- 
dened by  hunger,  frenzied,  too,  perhaps 
by  the  sight  of  the  victims,  whom  they 
could  see  through  the  bars  of  their  doors 
— .for  perhaps  they  had  already  had  ex- 
perience of  such  feasts — the  beasts  walk- 
ed impatiently  from  end  to  end  of  their 
small  prisons,  glared  and  growled 
through  the  bars,  or  impatiently  strove 
to  tear  them  down.  The  prefect  gives  the 
signal :  the  multitude  is  hushed  in  silent 
expectation.  The  servitors  hurry  for- 
ward to  the  edge  of  the  seats  above,  and 
with  cords  and  pulleys  are  lifting  up- 
wards the  heavy  doors  in  their  grooves. 
The  iron  grates  against  the  stone  as  it 
mounts.  Soon  out  from  below  into  the 
arena  leap  the  ravenous  wild  beasts. 
They  rush  on,  each  one  intent  on  seizing 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Jannarius, 


777 


a  victim.  They  crouch,  as  is  their  na- 
ture, for  a  final  spring,  fastening  their 
glaring  eyes  on  the  martyrs  ;  but  they 
spring  not.  The  eye  loses  its  glare ; 
the  stiffened  mane  and  bristling  hair 
become  smooth,  and,  with  moans  almost 
of  affection,  they  draw  themselves  gently 
over  the  sand  up  to  the  martyrs,  and 
fawn  on  them  and  lick  their  feet. 
There  will  be  no  bloody  tragedy  here 
to-day.  God  vouchsafes  to  the  pre- 
fect Timotheus  and  to  these  multitudes 
another  proof  of  the  saintly  character 
and  heavenly  authority  of  these  men 
whom  they  would  slay.  Some,  we  may 
hope,  were  awed,  and  believed,  and  re- 
turned to  their  homes  with  hearts  yield- 
ing to  the  grace  of  God  ;  but  not  so  the 
prefect,  nor  the  majority  of  that  crowd. 
"  Sorcery  !  Witchcraft  !  Chaldean  super- 
stition !"  they  cried.  "Away  with  the 
dangerous  magicians !  If  they  can  do 
this,  what  can  they  not  do?  Who  is 
safe  ?  Slay  them  at  once  !"  The  prefect 
ordered  them  to  be  led  out  to  the  top  of 
a  neighboring  hill,  and  to  be  beheaded 
on  its  summit  in  the  sight  of  all  and  as  a 
warning  to  all.  We  followed  the  steep 
and  narrow  old  Roman  road  up  which 
they  must  have  walked.  The  rains  have 
not  yet  washed  away  all  of  the  old  Ro- 
man pavement.  Vines  and  olive-trees 
and  flowers  of  richest  hues  shade  it  and 
beautify  it  now,  and  were  not  wanting  to 
it  in  those  days  of  imperial  luxury.  To 
our  martyrs  it  was  the  road  to  heaven. 
No  earthly  beauty  could  cheer  them  as 
they  were  cheered  by  Christian  faith  and 
the  firm  hopes  of  quickly  reaching  a 
blessed  immortality.  We  reached  the 
spot  of  execution,  the  level  top  of  a 
knoll,  overlooking  some  part  of  the  city, 
the  beautiful  bay,  Puzzuoli,  and  much  of 
the  neighboring  country.  A  little  church 
stands  here  now,  served  by  a  small  com- 
munity of  Capuchins,  who  hold  the  faith 
of  the  martyrs,  and  try  to  imitate  their 
virtues ;  who  seek  first  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  and  its  righteousness,  and  hope 
that,  like  the  martyrs  they  honor,  they 
may  pass  from  this  consecrated  spot  to 
the  abode  of  bliss.  Here  the  saint  and 
his  six  companions  were  beheaded.  The 
Capuchins  showed  us  in  the  church  a 
stone,  now  inserted  in  the  wall  and  care- 
fully preserved,  said  to  have  been  stained 
by  his  blood,  and  still  to  show  the  stains. 
They  said,  too,  that,  when  the  blood  of  St. 
Januarius  liqirefies  in  Naples,  these  stains 
grow  moist  and  assume  a  brighter  red- 


dish color.  This  I  had  no  opportunity  of 
verifying.  Here,  too,  we  might  almost 
guess  the  route  down  the  precipitous 
sides  of  the  hill  to  the  waters  of  the 
bay,  almost  under  our  feet,  by  which 
that  night  the  Christians  bore  the  body 
of  the  saint  to  their  boat.  Across  the 
bay,  five  or  six  miles  off,  we  could  see 
the  houses  of  Torre  dell'  Annunziata, 
near  where  they  landed  with  it.  A  little 
back  lay  the  farm  of  the  Christian  where 
they  entombed  it.  A  Benedictine  mo- 
nastery from  the  sixth  century  marked 
the  spot.  .  .  . 

As  you  may  well  suppose,  night  over- 
took us  before  we  got  back  to  Naples. 
The  next  morning,  I  went  to  the  cathedral 
again.  It  was  the  igth  of  September, 
the  festival  proper  of  the  saint — the  day 
of  his  martyrdom  and  entrance  into 
heaven.  The  exposition  of  his  relics, 
during  which  the  liquefaction  usually 
occurs,  commences  at  nine  A.M.  I  was 
at  the  door  of  the  chapel  at  half-past 
eight.  I  found  the  chapel  already  cram- 
med and  jammed.  Still,  way  was  made 
for  me  somehow.  I  went  to  the  sacristy, 
and  was  then  conducted  back  to  the 
chapel,  and  into  the  space  behind  the 
main  altar,  in  front  of  the  armories,  to 
await  the*  hour  appointed.  Of  course, 
the  crowd  could  not  yet  enter  the  sanc- 
tuary of  the  main  altar,  much  less  pass 
behind  the  altar.  Only  five  or  six  privi- 
leged persons  were  there.  Mass  was  be- 
ing celebrated  at  the  altar  itself.  That 
over,  we  sat  and  waited,  and  I  asked 
questions  on  the  all-absorbing  subject. 

Since  the  building  and  opening  of  this 
new  Tesoro  chapel  —  that  is,  since  A.D. 
1646 — the  relics  are  in  the  keeping  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Naples  and  the  city  au- 
thorities conjointly.  Everything  is  regu- 
lated by  the  long  and  minute  agreement 
then  entered  into  by  all  parties.  I  said 
each  door  of  the  armories  has  two  locks. 
The  archbishop  keeps  the  key  of  one, 
the  city  authorities  the  key  of  the  other. 
The  armories  cannot  be  approached  ex 
cept  through  the  open  chapel,  and  cannot 
be  opened,  save  by  violence,  unless  both 
parties  are  present  with  their  keys. 

I  was  patiently  waiting  for  nine  o'clock 
to  strike.  Our  number  was  increasing. 
At  last  there  joined  us  behind  the  altar 
a  tall,  thin,  gentlemanly  man,  all  in  black, 
about  forty-five  years  of  age.  He  was 

introduced  to  me   as  Count  C ,  the 

delegate  to  day  on  the  part  of  the  city. 
He  bore  a  large  red  velvet  purse  or  bag 


773 


Liquefaction  of  tJie  Blood  of  St.   Januarius. 


with  gold  cords  and  braiding,  very  rich 
in  its  workmanship.  Opening  its  mouth, 
he  drew  forth  two  good-sized,  long-han- 
dled antique  keys  with  complicated 
wards.  They  were  connected  by  a  steel 
chain,  strong  and  light,  about  fifteen  inches 
in  length.  The  cardinal,  Riario  Sforza, 
is  absent  in  Rome,  driven  into  exile  by 
Victor  Emmanuel's  government ;  but 
before  leaving  he  gave  his  keys  in  charge 
to  one  of  the  chief  ecclesiastics  of  the 
city  in  his  stead.  Accordingly,  a  canon 
of  the  cathedral  soon  appeared,  bearing 
another  red  velvet  bag,  something  like 
the  first,  but  not  so  rich,  and,  moreover, 
somewhat  faded.  He,  too,  took  out  of 
his  bag  two  good-si»ed,  long-handled 
keys,  equally  antique  in  their  look  and 
complicated  in  their  wards,  and  similarly 

connected  by  a  steel  chain.    Count  C 

inserted  one  of  his  keys  in  the  lower 
lock  of  the  armory  to  the  south,  and 
turned  it.  We  heard  the  bolt  shoot  back. 
The  pious-looking  canon  was  short,  and 
the  upper  lock  was  rather  high,  so  they 
placed  some  portable  steps  in  position. 
He  ascended  them,  and  inserted  one  of 
his  keys  in  the  upper  lock.  That  bolt 
shot  back,  too  ;  and  he  swung  the  heavy 
metal  door  open.  We  looked  into  the 
interior  of  the  armory,  abouf  two  feet 
wide,  three  and  a-half  or  four  feet  high, 
and  sixteen  or  twenty  inches  deep,  in  the 
masonry  of  the  wall.  It  was  lined  with 
slabs  of  white  marble,  and  a  scarlet  silk 
curtain  hung  down  towards  the  front.  A 
thick  metal  partition  divided  it  from  the 
other  armory.  One  of  the  chaplains  of 
the  Tesoro  then  mounted  the  steps,  and 
took  out  from  the  armory  a  life-sized 
bust  of  St.  Januarius,  of  silver  gilt.  A 
mitre  on  the  head  of  it,  and  a  short  cope 
which  had  been  put  on  the  shoulders, 
designated  his  episcopal  character.  In 
the  head  of  this  bust  are  contained  the 
relics  of  the  head  of  the  saint. 

We  know  precisely  when  this  bust  was 
made ;  for  in  the  spring  of  1306  an 
entry  was  made  in  the  account-books  of 
Charles  of  Anjou,  then  sovereign  of  Na- 
ples, stating  how  much  silver  and  how 
much  gold  from  the  king's  treasury  had 
beefi  given  to  a  certain  artificer  as  mate- 
rials, and  how  much  money  was  paid  to 
him  for  his  workmanship,  in  making  this 
very  bust.  In  making  it,  he  modelled 
the  features  after  a  very  ancient  bust  of 
the  saint,  still  existing  in  Puzzuoli.  In 
the  archiepiscopal  diary,  relative  to  St. 
Januarius,  under  the  date  I3th  Septem- 


ber, 1660,  there  is  a  long  account  stating 
that,  it  being  perceived  that  the  relics 
inside  this  bust  had  become  somehow 
displaced — as  well  they  might  after  355 
years — the  cardinal  archbishop,  on  that 
day,  in  the  presence  of  all  requisite 
witnesses,  had  the  bust  opened  by  a 
goldsmith  ;  himself  reverently  took  out 
the  relics,  and  held  them  in  his  hands 
until  the  goldsmith  had  repaired  the  da- 
mage ;  that  his  eminence  then  reverent- 
ly replaced  the  relics,  properly  sealed, 
and  had  the  bust  closed  as  before,  and 
in  all  this  carefully  observed  the  prescrip- 
tions of  canon  law.  Since  then,  every- 
thing has  been  untouched. 

Four  other  chaplains,  with  torches,  at- 
tended the  chaplain  whom  I  saw  take 
out  this  bust,  and  it  was  borne  in  pro- 
cession round  to  the  front  of  the  altar, 
and  deposited  on  the  altar  itself,  just 
where  the  missal  would  stand  when  the 
Gospel  is  read.  They  then  returned  to 
the  armory. 

Count  C with  his  second  key  un- 
locked the  lower  lock  of  the  other — the 
northern  armory.  The  little  canon  again 
mounted  the  steps,  unlocked  the  upper 
one,  and  swung  back  the  metal  door. 
We  looked  into  the  armory:  it  was  just 
the  fellow  of  the  first — size,  marble  lin- 
ing, red  silk  curtain,  and  all.  The  same 
chaplain  then,  as  before,  took  out  the 
reliquary  containing  the  ampulla;  or  vials 
of  the  blood.  I  will  describe  it.  Con- 
ceive a  bar  or  thick  plate  of  silver,  about 
two  and  a-half  inches  wide  and  about 
sixteen  inches  long,  to  be  bent  until  it 
forms  a  ring  or  circle  of  about  five  inches 
diameter.  Let  a  circular  plate  of  glass 
of  the  requisite  diameter  be  inserted  and 
firmly  fastened  to  the  edge  of  the  stiver 
ring  on  one  side,  and  a  similar  plate  of 
glass  be  also  inserted  and  firmly  fastened 
to  the  other  edge.  You  will  thus  have, 
as  it  were,  the  centre-piece  of  an  osten- 
sory, five  inches  across  and  two  and  one- 
half  inches  through,  with  a  silver  rim, 
and  glass  plates  forming  the  front  and 
rear.  On  the  top,  let  there  be  a  little  or- 
namental scroll-work,  cherubs  and  their 
wings,  and  a  central  stem  rising  upward, 
and  bearing  an  oval  crown  three  inches 
by  two  inches,  and  above  that  a  small 
elegantly-worked  silver  crucifix.  Below 
the  circular  rim,  attach  a  round,  hollow 
bar  of  silver,  about  one  inch  in  diameter 
and  three  inches  long.  It  will  serve  as 
a  stem  to  hold  the  reliquary  by,  or  as  a 
foot  which  may  be  inserted  into  an  open- 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


779 


ing  fitted  to  receive  it.  The  reliquary 
may  thus  be  kept  upright,  whether  it  be 
placed  on  a  stand  on  the  altar  or  put 
away  in  its  armory.  This  reliquary  is 
strong  and  plain,  with  very  little  orna- 
mentation on  the  silver,  but  that,  they 
say,  in  very  good  style.  Inside  this 
frame,  or  case,  or  reliquary,  between  the 
front  and  rear  glass,  and  perfectly  visible 
through  them,  stand  two  ampulla  or  vials 
of  glass,  both  fastened  to  the  silver  rim 
at  top  and  at  bottom  by  rough,  irregular 
masses  of  dark  soldering.  They  are  held 
lo  be  the  identical  glass  vials  in  which  a 
portion  of  the  blood  of  St.  Januarius  was 
poured  at  the  time  of  his  martyrdom, 
which  were  laid  in  his  tomb,  and,  in  385, 
were  brought  with  his  body  to  Naples, 
and  which  have  ever  since  been  carefully 
and  reverently  preserved.  They  are  of 
the  old  Roman  patterns  and  material. 
One  may  see  hundreds  of  just  such  vials 
in  the  museums  of  Naples  and  Rome. 
One  of  them  is  long  and  narrow,  like  a 
modern  vial,  yet  not  so  even  and  sym- 
metrical. The  neck,  too,  does  not  nar- 
row in  the  manner  of  modern  vials.  A 
fillet  runs  three  or  four  times  round  it 
just  below  the  neck.  Perhaps  it  was  an 
ornament ;  more  probably  it  was  intend- 
ed by  the  maker  to  prevent  the  little 
vial  from  slipping  when  held  between 
the  fingers.  The  other  ampulla  or  vial 
is  of  a  different  pattern.  Its  height  is  the 
same  ;  the  neck  is  a  little  higher  up,  and 
is  encircled  by  a  single  fillet  of  an  un- 
dulating curvature.  The  lower  portion 
swells  out  until  it  is  two  inches  in  dia- 
meter, and  the  vial  would  hold,  I  judge, 
about  a  gill  and  a-half.  In  the  interior 
of  the  first  ampulla,  I  saw  two  patches 
resembling  the  pellicle  which  I  had  seen, 
at  Rome,  left  on  the  inner  surface  of  the 
glass  vases  after  the  martyrs'  blood  ori- 
ginally contained  in  them  had  entirely 
evaporated  or  passed  away.  The  other 
vial,  THE  AMPULLA,  contains  a  substance 
ordinarily  hard,  dark,  with  a  reddish  or 
purple  hue,  and  filling  ordinarily  three- 
fourths  of  the  space  within  the  vial,  per- 
haps a  little  more.  This  substance  is 
held  to  be  a  portion  of  the  blood  of  St. 
Januarius,  still  retained  in  this  vial,  in 
which  it  was  originally  placed  on  Sep- 
tember 19,  A.D.  305. 

In  this  description  of  the  reliquary  and 
the  ampulla:,  I  have,  of  course,  summed 
up  the  result  of  all  the  careful  and  scru- 
tinizing observations  which  I  had  the 
opportunity  of  making.  I  have  not  been 


able  to  learn  when  this  silver  reliquary  or 
case  was  made.  No  entry  is  found  set- 
tling the  point,  as  in  the  case  of  the  bust. 
The  style  of  ornamentation  on  the  silver 
case  and  on  the  crown  would  indicate 
about  the  same  epoch  of  art.  But  I  am 
inclined  to  think  it  the  earlier  made  of 
the  two.  Charles  of  Anjou  showed  him- 
self to  be  too  liberal  in  the  matter  of  the 
bust  to  be  suspected  of  being  a  niggard 
in  preparing  the  reliquary,  and  those 
coming  after  him  would  have  felt  bound 
to  be  guided  by  the  example  of  his  libe- 
rality. It  was  probably  made  some  time 
before  the  year  1300,  possibly  even  by 
Roger,  King  of  Sicily,  who  visited  Naples 
about  A.D.  1140. 

But  to  go  back.  As  the  chaplain  took 
the  reliquary  out  from  the  armory,  he  ex- 
amined it, and  said,  "  E  ditro  epieno  " — "  // 
is  hard  and  f till"  In  fact,  the  larger  vial, 
as  he  showed  the  reliquary  round  to  each 
one  of  the  eight  or  ten  persons  behind  the 
altar,  and  as  I  most  clearly  saw  it,  was 
filled  to  the  very  top,  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken in  that ;  but  whether  the  contents 
were  liquid  or  solid,  I  really  could  not 
tell.  For  the  very  fulness  prevented  any 
change  being  visible,  at  least  to  my  eyes, 
in  that  uniformly  dark  mass,  even  if  the 
contents  were  liquid,  although  the  reli- 
quary was  moved  freely  from  side  to  side, 
held  horizontally,  or  even  reversed.  After 
we  had  each  one  venerated  and  fully 
examined  the  reliquary,  the  canon,  with 
his  attendants  bearing  torches,  bore  it  in 
procession  to  the  front  of  the  altar, .and 
showed  it  aloft  to  the  people.  I  followed 
immediately  behind,  and  ascended  the 
steps  of  the  altar  with  them.  On  the 
platform  in  front  of  the  altar,  we  were 
four:  i.  The  chaplain,  holding  the  reli- 
quary in  his  hands  by  the  stem  I  have 
spoken  of.  He  stood  facing  the  altar,  or 
leaning  over  it,  between  the  middle  and 
the  Gospel  end,  where  now  stood  the 
bust.  2.  In  front  of  the  bust,  and  close 
to  the  first  chaplain,  on  his  left,  stood  a 
second  chaplain,  bearing  a  lighted  taper 
in  a  silver  hand  candlestick.  He  would 
sometimes  hold  this  in  such  a  position, 
eight  or  ten  inches  off  from  the  reliquary 
and  behind  it,  that  the  light  from  it  would 
shine  on  the  interior,  so  that  the  observer 
would  not  be  troubled  by  the  reflection 
of  the  ordinary  light  from  the  surface  of 
the  plate  of  glass  next  to  him.  3.  Count 

C ,  the  city  delegate,  stood  at  the  right 

of  the  first  chaplain,  and,  therefore,  in 
front  of  the  middle  of  the  altar.  It  is  h;.s 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


sworn  duty  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  preci- 
ous reliquary  from  the  moment  the  doors 
of  the  armory  are  opened  at  nine  A.M.,  until 
it  is  replaced  there,  and  duly  locked  up, 
about  half  an  hour  after  sunset.  He 
cannot  retire  from  his  post  at  any  time, 
unless  his  place  is  supplied  by  an  alter- 
nate delegate,  who  has  been  chosen,  and 
who,  I  was  told,  had  promised  to  come  by 

ii  A.M.    4.  Next  to  Count  C ,  I  stood, 

or  rather  knelt,  until  the  people  crowded 
so  on  me  that  I  positively  had  not  room 
to  continue  in  that  position. 

The  people,  now  that  the  Mass  had 
been  over  for  twenty  minutes  or  so,  had 
entered  the  sanctuary,  or  had  been  intro- 
duced into  it.  They  completely  filled 
the  space  within  the  rails  ;  they  stood 
crowded  on  the  steps  ;  they  even  invaded 
the  platform  itself,  not  a  very  large  one, 
forcing  the  attendant  chaplains,  who  had 
borne  the  torches  in  the  procession,  and 
who  now  remained  to  join  with  the  two 
chaplains  at  the  altar  in  the  prayers,  to 
retire  somewhat,  and  kneel  in  a  group,  off 
at  the  end  of  the  altar ;  forced  the  count 
and  myself  of  necessity  to  stand  ;  and  just 
left  a  little  room  for  the  two  chaplains  to 
turn  in,  barely  sufficient. 

As  I  stood  up.  I  could  see  the  crowd. 
The  chapel  was  filled  ;  there  are,  you 
know,  no  pews  or  seats  in  Italian  churches  ; 
all  were  standing  as  closely  as  possible 
together.  The  sanctuaries  of  the  side 
chapels  were  equally  crowded  ;  men  stood 
on  the  steps  and  platforms  of  their  altars  ; 
the  very  bases  of  the  columns  were  turned 
to  account  to  afford  a  lofty  standing  room. 
And  such  a  crowd-!  Earnest,  intensest 
curiosity  was  marked  on  every  face.  The 
way  it  mingled  with  awe  and  devotion 
was  at  times  rather  ludicrous.  Hands 
were  clasped  in  prayer,  and  heads  were 
bowed,  and  the  lips  were  reciting  some- 
thing most  devoutly ;  when  up  the  head 
would  be  almost  jerked,  eye-glasses,  spec- 
tacles, and,  a  little  further  off,  opera- 
glasses  and  lorgnettes  would  be  levelled 
at  the  reliquary  for  a  minute  or  two  ; 
and  then  down  with  them,  and  again  at 
the  prayers.  There  were  Frenchmen, 
Germans,  Englishmen,  Spaniards,  and 
Americans ;  strangers  of  every  nation. 
And  these  had  made  their  way,  of  course, 
closest  to  the  altar  ;  at  least  they  pre- 
dominated in  my  vicinity.  In  the  body 
of  the  chapel,  the  Neapolitans  and  Italians 
stood.  The  crowd  reached  to  the  railing 
under  the  grand  archway,  and  beyond 
that  filled  the  west  aisle  of  the  cathedral 


church,  and  stretched  across  the  nave  and 
the  east  aisle  to  the  chapels  opposite. 
The  last  stood  nearly  eighty  yards  off. 

These  Neapolitans,  too  full  of  faith 
and  brimful  of  devotion  on  this  day,  and 
always  exceedingly  demonstrative  in  their 
manner,  gave  full  way  to  their  feelings, 
and  were  praying  aloud  or  nearly  so. 
The  common  people  of  Naples  have  a 
habit  of  modulating  their  voices  while 
speaking,  running  up  and  down  the 
gamut  in  a  way  quite  novel  to  us.  You 
heard  those  tones,  not  inharmonious, 
from  the  thousands  who  were  praying  in 
various  pitches.  Some  were  in  groups, 
chanting  or  half-singing  the  litanies  ; 
some  groups  were  reciting  the  rosary 
devoutly ;  others  united  in  the  acts  of 
faith,  hope,  and  charity  ;  and  still  others 
in  prayers  and  hymns  appropriate  for  this 
occasion,  and  in  their  own  Neapolitan 
dialect.  To  me  it  seemed  a  perfect  Babel. 
But  no  one  could  for  an  instant  look  on 
them,  and  doubt  the  earnestness  of  their 
faith  and  the  intensity  of  their  devotion. 

My  attention  was  soon  drawn  to  one 
group,  or  rather  line,  of  a  score  of  elderly 
women,  from  50  to  80  years  of  age,  strung 
along  outside  the  sanctuary  railing,  from 
the  centre  door  of  it  to  the  Gospel  end. 
They  all  joined  in  one  chorus.  The}'  all 
spoke  so  loudly,  their  tones  were  so 
earnest  and  modulated,  and  their  position 
made  them  so  prominent,  that  I  asked 
who  they  were.  I  was  told  they  were  the 
ancient  matrons  of  certain  families  in 
Naples  who  have  ever  claimed  to  be  the 
blood-relatives  of  the  saint ;  and,  by  right 
of  prescription  and  usage,  they  occupy 
that  position  along  the  altar-rails  on  oc- 
casions of  the  exposition  of  the  relics. 
They  were  evidently  poor,  very  poor.  It 
touched  me  to  see  here  a  dignity  of 
descent  claimed  and  recognized  far  be- 
yond that  based  on  wealth  or  worldly 
position — a  dignity  which  nobles  might 
crave  in  vain,  and  yet  from  which  their 
poverty  and  daily  drudgery  do  not 
debar  these  simple  souls.  I  said  they 
were  old.  Among  them  and  close  to 
them  stood  younger  women  and  girls, 
other  members,  I  presume,  of  their  fami- 
lies, who  at  present  prayed  in  lower  tones, 
inaudible,  or,  at  least,  not  noticeable, 
in  the  crowd  of  subdued  voices  When 
they  become  grandmothers,  I  presume 
they  will  take  more  prominent  positions, 
and  feel  privileged  to  pitch  their  voices 
in  shriller  tones.  I  thought  at  first  there 
was  one  exception.  I  heard  a  clear,  bell- 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Jamiarius. 


781 


like,  treble  voice,  which  generally  led 
their  chorus  of  litanies  or  prayers,  and 
which  never  seemed  to  tire.  But  I  was 
mistaken  in  the  supposition.  I  at  last 
traced  the  voice.  It  was  that  of  an  elderly 
woman  who  will  scarcely  see  sixty  again 
She  stood  in  the  line,  tall,  thin,  emaciated. 
Her  brow  was  lofty  ;  her  eyes  clear,  and 
blazing  with  animation  ;  her  cheeks 
sunken  in,  not  a  tooth  left  ;  and,  as  she 
spoke,  her  broad  chin  seemed  to  work  up 
and  down  a  full  inch.  She  wore  a  clean, 
old,  faded  calico  gown,  without  any  starch 
in  it ;  and  around  her  head  was  wound, 
like  a  turban,  a  bright,  stiffened,  red  and 
yellow  bandanna,  reminding  me  some- 
what of  the  respectable  colored  maumas 
I  had  seen  in  the  South.  Her  voice  was 
clear  and  sweet,  and  she  made  free  use 
of  it.  Others  might  tire,  or  rest,  or  sus- 
pend their  clamorous  prayers  for  a  while  ; 
but  she,  no,  she  never  tired,  and  her  voice 
was  ever  heard  among  the  rest,  like  a 
clear  trumpet  stop  in  a  full  organ.  It  was 
delightful,  at  last,  to  watch  her  occasion- 
ally, as  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
bust  of  the  saint  on  the  altar,  and  every 
feature  of  her  countenance  kept  changing 
to  express  the  sense  of  her  words.  Were 
she  not  in  church,  her  hands  and  arms 
and  whole  body,  I  am  sure,  would  have 
joined  in  the  movements.  As  it  was,  she 
confined  herself  to  bowing  her  head,  or 
turning  it  slowly  from  side  to  side,  yet 
always  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
altar.  I  had  seen,  many  times,  earnest, 
silent,  tearful  prayer.  Here  I  witnessed 
equally  earnest,  noisy  prayer.  I  might 
come  to  like  it,  but  only  after  some  time 
and  after  man}'  trials. 

While  this  universal  hubbub  of  prayer 
was  filling  the  church,  the  chaplain,  still 
holding  the  reliquary  in  his  hands  by  the 
stem  beneath,  bent  over  the  altar,  and, 
with  the  other  chaplains  and  those  of  the 
bystanders  who  joined  in,  recited  the 
Miserere  and  other  psalms,  and  the  Ath- 
anasian  Creed,  and  various  prayers.  His 
face  glowed  with  the  intensity  of  his  feel- 
ings. He  kept  his  eyes  earnestly  fixed 
on  the  reliquary,  from  time  to  time  mov- 
ing it  over  from  side  to  side,  and  examin- 
ing it.  Sometimes  he  rubbed  the  glass 
face,  front  or  rear,  as  necessary,  with  his 
white  pocket-handkerchief,  that  he  might 
see  more  clearly  the  interior.  Sometimes 
the  other  chaplain  held  the  candle  in  a 
proper  position  to  aid  his  inspection.  In 
about  five  minutes,  he  turned  round  with 
the  reliquary  to  the  people,  and  held  it 


up,  with  the  candle  behind  it,  that  all 
might  see.  He  let  those  near  look  as 
scrutinizingly  as  they  wished,  reached  it 
to  each  one  of  the  ten  or  fifteen  on  the 
platform  and  upper  steps  to  kiss  it,  and, 
if  they  chose,  as,  of  course,  they  did,  to 
examine  it,  at  six  or  ten  inches  distance. 
He  then  turned  to  the  altar  as  before,  and 
the  litany  of  the  saints  was  recited,  with 
some  other  prayers.  In  about  five  minutes 
more,  he  again  turned  towards  the  people, 
and  gave  the  immediate  bystanders  an- 
other opportunity  to  examine  the  reli- 
quary closely  as  before.  Then  again  to 
the  altar  for  other  psalms,  hymns,  and 
prayers.  This  alternation  of  prayers  at 
the  altar,  holding  the  reliquary  near  the 
bust,  and  of  presentations  of  it  to  the  by- 
standers and  the  crowd,  ever}'  five  minutes 
or  so,  continued  for  over  half  an  hour. 
But  no  change  was  visible.  Once  he  left 
the  altar,  and  making  his  way — I  could 
not  imagine  how — into  the  crowd  outside 
the  sanctuary  in  the  body  of  the  chapel, 
gave  to  those  to  the  right  and  left  of  his 
route  a  similar  opportunity.  On  another 
occasion,  he  went  down  again  ;  but  this 
time  he  turned  to  the  right,  and  went 
along  the  line  of  "  relatives."  How  their 
fervor  increased,  how  their  demonstra- 
tions became  more  energetic,  their  words 
more  rapid,  their  chorus  fuller,  their 
voices  louder  and  shriller  !  He  came 
back  ;  but  still  no  change.  The  alterna- 
tions continued  as  before. 

At  last,  a  little  after  ten  o'clock,  I  saw 
a  change.  I  think  I  was  the  very  first  to 
perceive  it.  On  all  the  previous  times 
and  up  to  this,  the  ampulla  or  vial  was 
perfectly  full,  as  I  had  seen  it  when  first 
taken  out  of  the  armory.  I  now  noticed 
a  faint  streak  of  light  between  the  sub- 
stance in  the  vial  and  the  top,  or,  rather, 
the  mass  of  solder  into  which  the  top  of 
the  vial  entered.  I  was  sure  it  had  not 
been  there  before.  I  could  scarcely  see 
it  now.  This  time,  as  on  several  other 
occasions,  the  chaplain  came  twice  or 
thrice  around  the  ring  of  immediate  by- 
standers, those  at  first  in  front  courte- 
ously giving  way  that  others  might  in 
turn  come  forward.  But  I,  of  course, 
retained  my  place.  As  he  came  round 
the  second  time,  and  approached  me 
again — I  was  within  the  line  or  semi- 
circle— I  saw  that  the  streak  of  light  was 
now  clear  and  unmistakable.  It  caught 
the  eye  of  an  earnest  little  Frenchman 
who,  for  the  last  half-hour,  had  been 
pressing  against  me,  at  times  rather  in- 


782 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


conveniently.  He  burst  right  out :  "  Don't 
you  see  the  light  in  it?  It  is  changing  ! 
It  is  liquefying !"  The  chaplain  now 
looked  at  it  attentively,  moved  it  from 
side  to  side  a  little,  rubbed  the  glasses 
with  his  white  handkerchief,  looked  again, 
but  went  round  the  circle  of  by-standers  a 
third  time.  Again  he  examined  it.  By 
this  time  the  streak  of  light  had  become 
half  an  inch  broad.  He  moved  the  reli- 
quary from  side  to  side  slowly.  We  saw 
the  vacancy  now  left  above  yield  and  fol- 
low his  motions,  just  as  the  air-bubble 
does  in  a  spirit-level,  clearly  showing  the 
contents  of  the  vial  to  be  now  perfectly 
liquid.  Some  looked  on  in  silent  awe  ; 
some  shed  tears  ;  some  cried  out,  "  Mira- 
colo  !  miracolo  !"  The  chaplain  waved  his 
white  handkerchief  in  s'ignal  that  it  really 
was  so.  Rose-leaves  in  quantities  were 
thrown  up  from  the  crowd  outside  the 
sanctuary,  and  rained  down  on  us.  A 
dozen  little  birds  that  had  been  held  cap- 
tive in  the  baskets  with  the  roses  were 
liberated,  and  rose  circling  upwards  to 
the  windows  of  the  dome.  The  grand 
organ  burst  out  in  the  Te  Deum.  The 
vast  crowd  with  one  voice  took  up  the 
hymn,  almost  drowning  the  full  tones  of 
the  instrument.  The  bells  of  the  cathed- 
ral tower,  in  full  chimes,  sent  the  announce- 
ment over  the  city,  and  the  hills  and 
valleys  around,  and  over  the  quiet  waters 
of  the  beautiful  bay.  All  the  bells  of  the 
other  churches  of  Naples  chimed  in,  and 
quickly  the  cannons  of  the  Castle  of  Sant' 
Elmo  joined  in  the  chorus  with  a  grand 
national  salute. 

Meanwhile,  hundreds  were  approach- 
ing the  altar  to  see  with  their  own  eyes 
that  the  blood  was  liquid,  and  to  venerate 
the  relics.  Anotherchaplain  now  relieved 
the  first,  and  continued  to  present  the 
reliquary  to  those  who  were  crowding  up. 
I  still  retained  my  position.  The  blood 
continued  to  diminish  in  volume,  until  it 
sank  so  as  to  be  a  full  half-inch  below 
the  neck  of  the  vial.  It  was  perfectly 
liquid,  and,  when  the  reliquary  was  turned 
or  inclined,  it  ran  off  the  up-raised  sides 
of  the  ampulla,  at  once  leaving  no  more 
trace  behind  than  would  so  much  water. 

After  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  bust  and 
the  reliquary  were  carried  in  procession 
out  from  the  chapel  into  the  cathedral. 
The  procession  moved  down  the  western 
aisle  towards  the  doors  of  the  church, 
turned  into  the  grand  nave,  and  advanced 
up  to  the  sanctuary.  The  bust  was  placed 
on  the  high  altar,  and  the  canons  cf  the 


cathedral  replaced  the  chaplains  of  the 
Tesoro  chapel  in  the  duty  of  presenting 
the  reliquary  to  the  people,  as  they  ap- 
proached in  undiminished  numbers  to 
venerate  and  inspect  it. 

At  eleven,  I  said  Mass  at  the  altar  where 
I  had  witnessed  the  liquefaction.  After 
the  Mass,  I  went  into  the  church,  and 
spent  another  half-hour  there.  Thou- 
sands pouring  in  from  the  streets  were 
still  flowing  in  a  constant  stream  towards 
the  high  altar.  A  little  after  twelve,  I 
left.  .  .  . 

Next  morning,  I  said  Mass  again  on 
the  same  altar  at  eight  A.M.,  and  before  nine 
o'clock  was  again  at  the  doors  of  the 

armories.  Count  C came  punctually 

with  his  bag  of  keys.  So  did  the  little 
canon  on  the  part  of  the  archbishop.  I 
was  told  that  the  sacred  relics  had  re- 
mained exposed  all  da}',  after  I  left,  on 
the  high  altar  of  the  cathedral,  the  blood 
remaining  liquid  all  the  time  ;  and  that, 
about  dark,  they  had,  according  to  rule, 
been  brought  back  to  the  Tesoro  chapel, 
and  had  been  locked  up,  as  usual,  for  the 
night,  in  the  armories.  This  morning, 
they  were  to  be  again  brought  out.  Count 

C and  the  canon  used  their  keys  just 

as  yesterday.  The  bust  was  taken  out, 
and  carried  in  procession  to  the  front  of 
the  altar,  as  before.  Then  the  other 
armory  was  opened,  and  the  reliquary 
was  taken  out  by  the  chaplain.  "  It  is 
hard,  and  at  its  ordinary  level,"  he  said, 
and  showed  it  to  us.  The  blood  now 
stood  in  the  ampulla,  not,  as  yesterday, 
filling  it,  but  reaching  only  to  about  an 
inch  below  the  neck,  leaving  about  one- 
fourth  of  the  space  within  unoccupied. 
It  was  certainly  solid  and  hard  ;  for  he 
turned  the  reliquary  to  one  side  and  the 
other  without  its  moving  at  all.  He  even 
held  the  reliquary  upside  down,  and  the 
blood  remained  a  firm  and  unmoved 
mass,  attached  to  the  bottom  of  the  now 
up-turned  ampulla.  It  was  carried  to  the 
altar.  We  stationed  ourselves  just  as 
yesterday.  The  sanctuary  was  filled  with 
visitors,  but  not  so  crowded  as  on  the 
former  occasion.  The  chapel,  too,  was 
not  so  densely  jammed.  None  were 
forced  to  stand  out  in  the  church  for 
want  of  room.  The  "  relatives  "  were  at 
their  post,  and  prayed  just  as  before  ; 
but  the  miracle  having  occurred  on  the 
feast  itself,  they  were  satisfied  that  it 
would  occur,  as  a  matter  of  course,  each 
day  of  the  exposition  throughout  the 
octave.  At  least,  so  I  read  their  coun- 


Liquefaction  of  the  Blood  of  St.  Januarius. 


783 


tenances,  which  were  less  nervously  anx- 
ious than  yesterday. 

The  chaplain  commenced  the  Miserere, 
the  Dens  tuoriim  militum,  and  sundry 
prayers,  the  clergy  joining  in.  Every  five 
minutes  or  so,  he  turned  to  show  the  reli- 
quary to  the  people,  especially,  of  course, 
to  those  immediately  around  the  altar. 

In  just  sixteen  minutes  after  we  had 
reached  the  altar,  the  first  symptom  of  the 
coming  change  showed  itself.  As  the 
chaplain  held  the  reliquary  for  a  moment 
completely  reversed,  and  steady  in  that 
position,  I  noticed  that  the  surface  of  the 
blood  within  the  ampulla,  now,  as  he  held 
it,  underneath,  showed  a  tendency  to  sag 
downwards,  as  if  it  were  softening.  Soon 
again,  I  saw  that  around  the  edge,  where 
it  touched  the  glass,  it  had  changed  color, 
and  was  of  a  brighter  red  than  in  the 
middle,  and  seemed  very  soft,  almost 
liquid.  In  fact,  as  he  would  incline  the 
reliquary  to  one  side  or  another,  the 
entire  mass  within  began  soon  gradually 
to  slide  down  and  occupy  the  lowest 
position.  Still,  though  soft,  it  was  thick, 
and  could  scarcely  be  called  liquid.  Then, 
in  two  or  three  minutes  more,  it  became 
still  softer,  until  it  was  quite  liquid,  with 
a  lump,  nevertheless,  which  seemed  to 
remain  hard  and  to  float  in  the  liquid 
portion.  To  day,  as  the  glass  was  moved, 
the  liquid  would  run  off,  of  course.  But, 
whereas  yesterday  it  left  the  glass  quite 
clear  and  clean,  as  water  would  do,  now, 
on  the  contrary,  it  left  a  reddish  thick 
tinge  behind,  which  only  slowly  sank 
down  into  the  general  mass.  After  a 
while,  too,  the  blood  seemed  to  froth,  or 
show  bubbles  on  its  surface — to  boil,  as 
the  Italians  say.  I  remained  over  half 
an  hour  more  to  see  it,  and  I  noticed  that 
at  the  end  of  that  time  the  lump  had  dis- 
appeared, and  all  was  quite  liquid.  The 
frothing  continued. 

After  this,  I  was  invited  to  go  into  the 
sacristy,  where  they  showed  me  the 
superb  ecclesiastical  vestments  belong- 
ing to  the  chapel — the  mitres,  necklaces, 
chalices,  ciboriums,  ostensories,  and  other 
rich  jewelry — in  great  part,  the  gifts  of 
emperors,  kings,  and  other  nobles  and 
wealthy  ones,  who,  for  centuries  past, 
have  given  them  as  offerings  to  this  sanc- 
tuary on  occasion  of  their  visits.  Fin- 
ally, I  had  to  tear  myself  away.  Return- 
ing for  a  few  moments  to  the  chapel,  I 
found  the  crowds  still  approaching  the 
altar  to  examine  and  to  venerate  the 
relics. 


Reluctantly  I  left  the  cathedral,  and  in 
a  few  hours  a  railway-train  was  bearing 
me  fast  and  far  away  from  Naples. 

I  have  thus,  my  dear  S ,  set  forth 

minutely  and  at  length  what  I  saw.  They 
say  that  in  the  liquid  blood  one  may  still 
sometimes  see  a  small  fragment  of  straw 
floating  about.  If  so,  it  must  have  been 
taken  up  with  the  blood  when  it  was 
gathered  at  the  execution  of  the  saint, 
and  must  have  glided  unperceived  into 
the  ampulla  when  the  blood  was  poured 
into  it  that  day.  A  young  friend  with  me 
thought  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  it.  His 
eyesight  is  keen,  which,  you  know,  mine 
is  not.  Anyhow,  I  did  not  see  it.  I  need 
not  tell  you  of  various  other  little  points 
of  which  the  Neapolitans  speak,  as  I  had 
no  opportunity  of  testing  them  or  verify- 
ing them  myself.  I  have  told  you,  simply 
and  straightforwardly,  what  fell  under  my 
own  experience. 

Our  readers  will  not  regret  the 
length  of  this  account  of  the  lique- 
faction, so  full  and  minute  in  the  de- 
tails. The  letter  from  which  we  ex- 
tract it  was  written  immediately  after 
the  visit  of  the  writer  to  Naples,  from 
notes  made  at  the  time,  and  while 
the  impressions  left  on  his  memory 
were  still  fresh. 

It  was  not  necessary,  in  a  letter 
like  that  we  have  made  use  of,  to 
enter  on  the  discussion  of  mooted 
points  of  archaeology.  The  writer 
simply  sets  forth  the  opinions  which, 
after  more  or  less  of  examination,  he 
felt  inclined  to  adopt.  We  say  here 
that  there  is  a  difference  among  writ- 
ers as  to  the  year  in  which  the  body 
of  St.  Januarius  was  transferred  from 
the  original  sepulchre  to  the  church 
of  San  Gennaro  extra  muros,  and 
there  is  still  a  graver  difference  as  to 
the  precise  place  of  the  original 
tomb.  Some  have  held  that  the  exe- 
cution took  place  on  a  more  elevat- 
ed spot  on  the  same  hill  which  the 
letter  mentions — about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  distant  from  the  church  of  the 
Capuchins — and  that  this  church 
marks  not  the  site  of  the  execution, 
as  the  letter  holds  with  the  Neapoli- 


784 


Liquefaction  of  the  Bkod  of  St.  Januarius. 


tan  archaeologists,  but  the  site  of  the 
first  temporary  interment,  from  which 
the  body  was  borne  to  Naples,  twelve 
or  fifteen  years  later  than  the  year 
assigned  above.  These  are  minor 
points,  on  which  we  may  let  antiqua- 
ries argue  at  pleasure. 

In  another  article,  we  purpose  to 
examine  the  character  of  the  fact  of 
the  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St. 
Januarius,  according  to  exact  records 
of  its  history  for  several  centuries 
back. 

For  the  present,  we  close  with  the 
latest  account  of  its  occurrence  which 
has  fallen  under  our  eye.  The  Pall 
Mall  Budget,  of  May  26  last,  has  the 
following:  "The  blood  of  St.  Ja- 
nuarius seems  to  have  been  lately  in 
a  more  perturbed  state,  if  possible,, 
than  ever.  The  Liberia  Cattolica  of 
Naples  gives  an  account  of  some  un- 
usual appearances  presented  by  this 
relic,  on  the  6th  inst.,  one  of  the 
annual  occasions  on  which  the  holy 
martyr  is  honored  in  the  cathedral 
of  Naples.  On  the  day  in  question, 


Saturday,  May  6,  at  a  quarter-past 
four  P.M.,  the  reliquary  being  brought 
out  of  its  tabernacle,  where  it  had 
remained  since  the  i6th  of  last  De- 
cember— -the  feast  of  the  patronage 
— it  was  found  partly  liquid,  as  when 
laid  up.  It  continued  in  the  same 
state  during  the  procession  (from  the 
cathedral  to  the  church  of  St.  Clara), 
and,  after  thirteen  minutes  of  pray- 
ers, the  sign  of  the  miracle  was  giv- 
en, the  portion  which  had  remained 
hard  being  perceptibly  still  more  dis- 
solved, so  as  to  show  that  the  mira- 
cle had  taken  place.  Gradually,  dur- 
ing the  kissing  of  the  reliquary  by 
the  congregation  at  St.  Clara,  it  be- 
came entirely  dissolved.  On  its  re- 
turn to  the  cathedral,  contrary  to 
what  had  taken  place  during  the  last 
few  years,  it  was  found  to  be  com- 
pletely hardened.  When  carried  in- 
to the  chapel  of  the  Tesoro,  it  dis- 
solved anew,  and  now  entirely,  yet 
remaining  thick  and  glutinous;  and 
in  that  state  was  laid  up,  about 
ten  P.M." 


TO  BE  CONTINUED. 


Lucas  Garcia. 


785 


LUCAS    GARCIA. 


FROM   THE    SPANISH    OF   FERNAN   CABALLERO. 

'IN  an  age  when  all  impressions  are  effaced  by  the  double  hammer  of  civilization  and  incredu- 
lity, it  is  touching  and  beautiful  to  see  a  people  preserve  a  stable  character  and  immutable 
beliefs." 


EASTWARD  from  Jerez,  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Sierra  de  Ronda,  which 
rises  in  a  succession  of  terraces,  as  if 
to  form  a  suitable  pedestal  for  the 
rightly  named  San  Cristobal,  lie  the 
extensive  Llanos  de  Caulina.  A  bare 
and  uniform  road  drags  itself  for  two 
leagues  through  the  palmettoes,  and 
makes  a  halt  at  the  foot  of  the  first 
elevation,  where  a  lazy  rivulet  widens 
in  the  sun,  and,  stagnating  in  sum- 
mer, changes  its  waters  into  mire. 

On  the  right  is  seen  the  castle  of 
Malgarejo,  one  of  the  few  Moorish 
edifices  that  time  and  his  faithful 
auxiliary  in  the  work  of  destruction, 
ignorance,  have  left  standing.  Time 
makes  ruins,  groups  them,  crowns 
them  with  garlands,  and  adorns  them 
with  verdure,  as  if  he  desired  to  have 
them  for  places  of  recreation  and 
rest;  but  the  barbarian  ignorance 
gives  no  quarter — his  only  delight  is 
in  dust ;  his  place  of  repose,  the  de- 
sert waste ;  his  end,  nothingness. 

The  angles  of  the  castle  are  flank- 
ed by  four  large  towers.  These,  as 
well  as  the  walls  of  the  whole  enclo- 
sure, are  surmounted  by  well-formed 
turrets,  perfect  still,  and  without 
notch  or  break  in  their  beautiful  uni- 
formity. The  castle  took  its  name 
of  Malgarejo  from  a  knight  of  Jerez, 
by  whom  its  reduction  was  accom- 
plished in  a  manner  so  curious,  that 
we  cannot  resist  the  inclination  to 
VOL.  xni. — 50 


relate  it,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
are  unacquainted  with  the  tales  of 
partisan  exploits  that  abound  in  the 
annals  of  Jerez. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  a  hundred  and  fifty  Moors, 
with  their  families,  occupied  the  cas- 
tle. They  went  clothed  in  white,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  their  na- 
tion, and  mounted  gray  horses.  Shut 
up  as  they  were,  they  procured  their 
subsistence  by  foraging  the  country 
at  night,  and  carrying  to  their  strong- 
hold whatever  booty  they  could  seize. 

Malgarejo  resolved  to  get  posses- 
sion of  this  formidable  place.  It  was 
surrounded,  at  that  time,  by  a  wide 
moat  This  moat — opened  by  the 
Moors  for  their  protection,  and  after- 
ward serving  them  for  a  sepulchre — 
no  longer  exists. 

The  Christian  cavalier  had  a  slave 
that  was  a  most  accomplished  horse- 
man, and  to  him  he  promised  liberty 
if  he  would  swear  to  devote  himself 
to  the  proposed  undertaking.  The 
slave,  agreeing,  was  entrusted  by  his 
master  with  a  mare  of  singular  agili- 
ty, and  was  directed  to  train  her  to 
leap  a  ditch,  which  was  to  be  en- 
larged, by  degrees,  to  the  width  of 
the  one  that  surrounded  the  Saracen 
castle. 

This  being  accomplished,  Malga- 
rejo called  together  his  followers,  dis- 
guised them  as  Moors,  caused  them 
to  cover  their  horses  with  white 
cloths,  and,  one  night,  when  the  gar- 


;86 


Lucas  Garcia. 


rison  had  sallied  out  upon  a  raid,  ap- 
proached the  fortress.  Those  within, 
taking  his  host  for  the  one  they  were 
expecting,  viewed  its  approach  with- 
out suspicion.  When  the  Christians 
came  nearer,  they  saw  their  mistake, 
and  would  have  raised  the  bridge, 
but  the  slave  of  Malgarejo  had  al- 
ready leaped  the  moat,  and  cut  the 
.cords,  so  that  it  could  not  be  lifted ; 
and  the  Jerezanos  made  themselves 
masters  of  the  castle. 

The  sight  of  this  stronghold,  over 
which  the  destroyer  Time  has  passed 
leaving  as  little  trace  as  would  the 
footstep  of  a  bird,  transports  the  be- 
holder to  the  past  with  such  vivid- 
ness of  illusion,  that  he  is  surprised 
not  to  see  the  pennon  of  the  half- 
moon  fluttering  above  its  towers,  and 
misses  a  snowy  turban  from  behind 
every  one  of  its  turrets.  No  fitter 
place  could  be  found  for  the  repre- 
sentation of  a  fight  or  of  a  tourna- 
ment between  Moors  and  Christians. 

The  road  to  Arcos  leaves  on  its 
left  the  sleeping  stream  and  the 
dead  fortress,  within  whose  precinct, 
like  ants  in  a  skeleton,  laborers  ply- 
ing the  tools  of  peaceful  husbandry 
are  moving. 

Ascending  this  first  step  of  the 
mountain,  the  traveller  crosses  other 
plains,  covered  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
see  with  rich  harvests,  and,  finding 
no  nearer  inn  or  stopping-place,  takes 
his  siesta  at  the  grange  of  La  Penu- 
ela,  formerly  the  property  of  the 
Carthusian  fathers — an  order  so  pi- 
ous, so  severe,  so  worthy  and  re- 
spected, that  the  country  folk  still 
ask  each  other,  "  And  v:as  there  in- 
deed a  power  that  could,  and  a  hand 
that  would  dare  to  touch  such  men 
and  such  things  ?" 

As  the  country  rises,  it  covers  it- 
self with  olive  groves,  as  if  it  would 
shelter  white  and  ancient  Arcos  in 
the  pride  with  which  she  preserves 
her  title  of  city,  her  venerable  privi- 


leges, and  her  state  parchments,  in 
spite  of  decline,  or,  better  said,  in 
spite  of  her  still  life,  in  the  midst  of 
the  progress  that  waits  upon  the 
march  of  time — a  progress  at  once 
gentle,  deliberate,  and  spontaneous. 

True  to  the  guerilla  traits  of  her 
Moorish  founders,  Arcos  appears  to 
the  traveller,  wearied  with  the  ascent, 
alternately  advancing  and  retiring, 
until,  passing  between  two  high  rocks, 
he  enters  unexpectedly  into  a  city  so 
beautiful  for  situation  as  to  astonish 
and  delight  even  those  who  are  rare- 
ly moved  by  the  charms  of  nature 
or  the  enchantments  of  the  pictu- 
resque. 

One  afternoon,  in  the  year  1840 
or  thereabout,  a  crowd  of  people 
might  have  been  seen  entering  a 
poor-looking  house  in  the  barrier  of 
San  Francisco.  From  this  house 
they  had  carried,  on  the  previous 
day,  the  body  of  one  who  had  been 
its  mistress,  and  the  neighbors  were 
now  uniting  for  the  condolcment  re- 
quired by  the  rigorous  etiquette 
which  is  observed  by  the  people,  and 
which  manifests  the  instinctive  cour- 
tesy and  dignity  that  distinguish  them. 
For  all  etiquette  and  all  ceremonial 
are  founded  upon  these  bases,  and 
are  not  the  ridiculous  and  superficial 
things,  either  in  public  or  private 
life,  that  the  revolutionary  spirit  of 
the  age,  and  the  anxiety  to  escape 
from  every  rein,  material  and  moral, 
would  make  us  believe.  Ceremonial 
and  etiquette,  in  the  right  accepta- 
tion of  the  words,  are  external  con- 
duct, disposed  so  as  to  give  worship 
to  things  divine,  consideration  and 
respect  to  things  human. 

On  entering  the  house,  the  women 
assembled  in  the  parlor  of  the  mourn- 
er's liabitation*  Opposite  this  room 
was  another,  which  had  been  lent  by 

*  A  house  sometimes  contains  two  or  three 
suits  of  apartmenfc  for  distinct  families.  Each 
one  forms  a  habitation. 


Lncas  Garcia. 


787 


a  neighbor  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  men. 

Upon  a  mat  in  the  middle  of  the 
apartment  first  mentioned  was  ex- 
tended a  handkerchief,  into  which 
each  person,  as  he  entered,  threw 
one  or  two  copper  coins,  destined 
for  the  stipend  of  the  Mass  of  San 
Bernardino.  This  custom  is  observ- 
ed not  only  among  the  poor,  but 
also  among  those  who  are  well-to- 
do,  for  this  Mass  must  be  owed  to 
charity.  Let  sceptics  and  rational- 
ists explain  this  as  best  suits  them. 
We  look  upon  it  as  an  act  of  humi- 
lity, joined  to  the  desire  of  uniting 
many  suffrages.  And  although  we 
may  be  more  impressed  with  terres- 
trial honors,  such  as  a  splendid  fu- 
neral, a  showy  catafalque,  and  a  proud 
mausoleum,  the  fervent  petition  of 
the  heart,  the  coin  given  in  charity, 
the  prayers  of  the  church,  are  better 
suffrages  for  heaven.  In  a  corner  of 
the  room,  upon  a  low  chair,  was  the 
principal  mourner,  a  little  girl  of 
eight  years.  Wearied  with  weeping 
for  her  mother,  and  with  remaining 
so  long  in  one  position,  she  had 
leaned  her  head  against  the  back  of 
the  chair,  and  fallen  asleep  —  for 
sleep  is  a  lover  of  children,  and  has- 
tens to  their  relief  whenever  they 
suffer  in  body  or  spirit. 

"  Poor  Lucia,"  said  one  of  the 
mourners,  a  kinswoman  of  the  de- 
ceased, glancing  at  the  child,  "  how 
she  will  miss  her  mother !" 

"  This  was  the  thorn  that  poor  Ana 
carried  to  the  grave  fastened  in  her 
heart,"  observed  a  neighbor. 

"  But,"  asked  another,  "  of  what 
did  she  die  ?" 

"  Only  the  ground  that  covers  her 
knows  what  ailed  her,"  answered 
the  relative,  "  for  Ana  did  not  com- 
plain. If  she  had  not  been  so  thin, 
you  might  have  drunk  her ;  as  yellow 
as  a  waxen  flower,  and  so  weak  that 
a  shadow  could  have  knocked  her 


down,  no  one  would  have  thought 
that  she  was  on  her  way  to  Holy- 
field." 

"  She  died  of  a  broken  heart !"  ex- 
claimed an  energetic-looking  young 
matron ;  "  all  the  world  knows  it ;  and 
because  we  have  an  alcalde  that  is 
afraid  to  strap  his  breeches  to  the 
work  and  cast  out  of  town  with  the 
devil's  sling  these  trulls  of  strangers 
who  come  among  us  to  set  up  drink- 
ing-houses,  and  chouse  married  men, 
to  their  perdition  and  the  ruins 
of  their  families !" 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  alcaldes  have  eyes 
of  fishes  for  all  these  things,"  said  the 
relative  of  the  deceased,  "just  as  they 
have  owls'  eyes  for  some  others.  But 
they'll  get  their  pay,  woman;  for 
though  God  consents,  'tis  not  for 
ever !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  first — "  con- 
sents to  the  death  of  the  good,  and 
lets  the  bad  live,  and  crow  on.  God 
reserves  the  justice  of  heaven  for 
himself.  The  rod  of  earthly  justice 
he  puts  into  the  hands  of  men  ;  and 
a  fine  account  they'll  have  to  give 
of  the  way  they  use  it !  I'd  like  to 
break  the  one  our  alcalde  carries 
upon  his  shoulders !" 

"  Neighbor,"  said  an  old  woman, 
"you  are  more  hasty  than  a  spark 
from  the  forge;  you  attack  like  the 
bulls,  with  eyes  shut.  Think  whom 
you  are  speaking  of;  and  bear  in  mind 
that  '  evil  wounds  heal,  but  evil 
fame  kills.'  Poor  Ana  was  never 
well  after  her  last  confinement. 
Death  does  not  come  without  a  pre- 
text: the  summer  pulled  her  down, 
and  September  finished  her;  for 
'from  friar  to  friar,*  God  be  our 
guard !'  " 

"  Of  course,  Aunt  Maria,"  retorted 
the  young  woman,  "  it's  quite  proper 
for  you,  because  you  are  aunt  to 
Juan  Garcia,  and  cousin  to  the  al- 

*  2Sth  of  August,  St.  Augustine  ;  4»i  of  October, 
St.  Krancis. 


;88 


Lucas  Garcia. 


calde,  to  say  so  ;  for  '  with  reason  or 
without  it,  aid  us  God  and  our  kin.' 
But  I  tell  you  that  my  Jose  is  not  to 
set  his  foot  inside  of  La  Leonds* 
gin-shop ;  and  I'll  see  that  he  don't ! 
A  man  may  be  as  honest  as  Job, 
but  in  '  the  house  of  the  soap-maker 
he  that  doesn't  fall  slips.'  And  say 
what  you  please,  you  who  are  a 
widow,  with  the  coolness  of  age  in 
your  veins,  I  shall  not  go  back  of 
what  I  have  said.  '  He  that  jumps 
straight,  falls  on  his  feet,'  and  I  say, 
and  resay  it :  they  ought  to  flay 
alive  the  good-for-nothing  calamary 
of  a  she-sergeant,  with  her  sentry- 
box  figure,  and  face  darker  than  an 
oil-skin,  so  full  of  pock-marks  that  it 
looks  as  if  she  had  fallen  into  a  bed 
of  chick-peas,  and  more  hair  on 
her  lip  than  a  grenadier !  Remem- 
ber the  proverb,  '  Salute  the  bearded 
woman  at  a  distance  !'  " 

"  And  her  children,"  said  the  mour- 
ner— "  little  imps  that  she  keeps  so 
greasy  and  neglected !  They  look 
like  a  nest  of  calamaries." 

"  But  she  thinks  them  little  suns," 
added  another. 

"  Ya !"  exclaimed  the  first  who 
had  spoken ;  "  said  the  black  beetle 
to  her  young  ones,  '  Come  hith- 
er, my  flowers  !'  and  the  owl  calls 
hers  '  drops  of  gold.'  Who  ever 
saw  such  a  thing,  sirs,"  she  contin- 
ued, growing  excited — "  who  ever 
saw  anything  so  wicked  as  to  dupe 
a  married  man,  the  father  of  chil- 
dren, ruin  him,  pull  down  his  house, 
and  murder  his  wife  by  inches  !  And 
this  is  known  and  permitted !  I  tell 
you,  such  a  thing  sinks  deep  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  worse  than  stabbing 
with  a  knife,"  exclaimed  one  woman. 

"  It  cries  to  God !"  added  another. 

"  It  is  a  scandal  of  the  monstrous 
kind,"  proceeded  the  first.  "  Poor 
Ana,  though  I  did  not  see  much  of 

*  La  Le<ma,  the  lioness. 


her,  I  loved  her  well.  Almond-paste 
is  not  milder  than  she  was,  and  as 
meek  and  free  from  malice  as  a  sheep 
in  the  hands  of  the  butcher.  O 
men !  men !  There  is  a  curse  on 
them  that  pull  their  clothes  on  over 
their  feet;  and  that  is  the  reason  our 
dear  Lord  would  not  wear  breeches, 
but  always  dressed  in  a  tunic." 

"  Come,  daughter,"  said  Aunt  Ma- 
ria, "  nothing  is  mended  by  maledic- 
tion, nor  by  spitting  out  the  quinine. 
Let  us  pray  for  the  soul  of  the  de- 
parted, for  that  is  what  will  really 
benefit  her." 

These  words  were  the  signal  for 
complete  silence.  Aunt  Maria  took 
her  rosary,  the  rest  following  her  ex- 
ample, and,  after  saying  the  act  of 
contrition  and  a  solemn  credo,  pro- 
ceeded to  recite  the  rosary  of  souls, 
repeating  three  times  after  the  Pa- 
ternoster, and  instead  of  the  Hail 
Mary, 

"  O  Lord,  by  thy  infinite  mercy," 

the  others  answering  in  chorus, 

"Grant  to  the   souls  of  the  faithful   departed 
peace  and  glory." 

Nothing  was  now  heard  in  the 
mourning  room  of  the  women  but 
the  grave  murmur  of  the  prayers  and 
suppressed  sighs  of  pity  and  sorrow. 

The  other  parlor  presented  a  very 
different  spectacle.  The  widower,  se- 
rene as  a  glass  of  water,  and  cool  as  a 
fresh  lettuce,  now  that  the  day  of  the 
burial  had  passed,  considered  himself 
dispensed  from  the  attitude  of  mourn- 
ing, and  smoked,  listening  and  talk- 
ing to  all,  just  as  usual,  as  if  death 
had  entered  his  house  and  departed 
without  leaving  either  trace  or  im- 
pression of  his  awful  presence. 

The  indifferent  ones  followed  his 
example,  so  that,  had  not  all  worn 
cloaks,  no  one  would  have  supposed 
that  this  was  a  condolement,  a  tri- 
bute of  love  and  respect  to  a  life  that 


Lucas  Garcia. 


789 


had  ended,  and  of  sympathy  with  an 
overwhelming  sorrow.  The  only 
figure  that  appeared  to  be  in  harmo- 
ny with  the  object  of  the  reunion 
was  that  of  a  boy  thirteen  years  old, 
the  son  of  the  deceased,  who  sat 
near  his  father  with  his  elbows  rest- 
ing on  his  knees,  and  his  face  buried 
in  his  hands,  weeping  inconsol- 
ably. 

"  What  kind  of  day  has  it  been  ?" 
asked  the  widower. 

"  Unhealthy,"  answered  one. 

"  And  the  sky  ?" 

"  Patched ;  I  think  the  rain  is  not 
far  off.  There  was  fog  this  morning, 
and  '  fog  is  the  rain's  sponsor  and 
the  sun's  neighbor.'  " 

"  The  wind  will  soon  sweep  the 
cobwebs  from  the  sky,"  said  a  third, 
"  for  it  blows  from  sunset  side.  The 
rain  is  shyer  than  sixpences." 

"  No  matter,"  answered  the  first, 
"  last  year  it  did  not  rain  till  All 
Saints  ;  and  a  better  year,  or  another 
of  the  same  piece,  hasn't  been  seen 
since  the  creation.  Laborers,  farm- 
ers, and  tenants  all  got  tired  of  gath- 
ering, and  had  more  than  enough — 
the  barley,  in  particular,  grew  so 
thick  that  you  couldn't  set  a  spade 
between  the  blades." 

"  The  month  of  January  is  the 
key  of  the  year.  If  the  sky  does  not 
open  in  January,  there  will  be  no 
harvest." 

"  Hola  !  Uncle  Bartolo  !  "  all  ex- 
claimed, as  a  small,  vigorous  old  man 
entered  the  apartment.  "  Where  do 
you  hail  from  ?  where  have  you  been 
ever  since  we  missed  you  from 
here  ?  " 

Uncle  Bartolo,  after  offering  to 
the  mourner  the  usual  condolences, 
seated  himself,  and,  turning  toward 
his  interrogators,  replied : 

"  Where  do  I  come  from  ?  The 
district  of  Donana,  without  varying 
from  the  most  direct  line.  Since  the 
French  war  ended,  and  I  took  the 


road,  I  have  been  water-carrier*  to 
the  You  Sirs.  \  They  have  them  there 
in  Donana  of  all  complexions — legiti- 
mate, grafted,  cross-breed,  and  sup- 
posititious, even  English.  Caballeros  ! 
Deliver  us;  but  those  Swiss  of  the 
French  are  the  ones  !  Stout  fellows ; 
very  white;  very  ruddy;  very  fair- 
haired,  and  very  puffy.  But  as  to 
spirit,  they  have  no  more  than  they 
drink ;  and  grace,  they  have  not  any. 
They  carry  their  arms  like  the  sleeves 
of  a  capote,  and  set  their  feet  down 
like  pestles.  Whenever  I  saw  those 
feet  that  resembled  jabeques,  |  I  used 
to  say  to  myself, 

1  A  good  foot  and  good  ear 
Signs  of  a  good  beast  are.' 

For  talking,  they  make  use  of  a 
kind  of  jargon  that,  in  my  opinion, 
they  themselves  don't  understand. 
These  parleys  that  I  don't  compre- 
hend displease  me,  for  I  never  know 
whether  I  am  being  bought  or  sold. 

"There  was  one — the  size  of  a 
tunny-fish — they  called  Don  'Turo.§ 
He  fell  to  me.  To  see  him  blowing 
and  sweating  over  those  sands  made 
one  pity  him,  for  a  league  finishes 
them ;  the  sun  offends  them ;  the 
heat  makes  them  weak,  and  dissolves 
them  entirely.  That  platter  face 
would  persist  in  doing  everything 
contrariwise,  as  they  do  it  in  his 
country.  Once  he  took  it  into  his 
head  to  use  my  clasp-knife  to  eat 
with,  and  cut  himself.  With  that  he 
got  out  a  medicine-chest  as  big  as  a 
surgeon's.  '  Go  along ! '  said  I  to 
myself,  '  a  spider  bit  me,  and  I  bound 
the  wound  up  in  a  sheet.'  He  was 
as  hard-headed  as  a  corner.  Another 
time  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
ought  to  shoot  a  partridge,  and, 

*  Azacan.  water-carrier,  said  of  a  servant  or 
very  laborious  person. 

•fr  Los  Lrsias,  the  You  Sirs.  That  is  to  say. 
grand  folks  that  must  be  treated  to  the  Usted 
(you),  instead  of  the  tit  (thou)  of  common  people. 

J  Jabeque^  a  clumsy  three-masted  vessel  used 
in  the  Mediterranean. 

§  Arturo. 


790 


Lucas  Garcia. 


though  I  told  him  it  was  against  the 
law  to  shoot  partridges  at  that  season, 
he  fired,  and  would  have  fired  if  his 
father  had  stood  before  the  mouth  of 
his  gun.  He  fired  and  killed  an  ur- 
raca.*  '  Sir,'  said  I,  '  what  has  your 
honor  done  ?  '  Says  he  to  me,  '  Kill- 
ed the  partridge.'  '  Why,  sir,  it  is 
n't  a  partridge,  it's  an  urraca.'  '  It's 
all  right,'  said  the  big  bungler,  quite 
composedly.  '  But  it  is  not  right,' 
answered  I ;  '  the  killing  of  urracas 
is  prohibited.'  '  And  who  prohibits 
it  ? '  he  asked,  putting  on  his  face  of  a 
lion.  '  I  have  my  license,  that  cost 
me  three  thousand  reals.'  '  But,  sir, 
that  is  for  large  game — you  under- 
stand ?  The  urracas  mustn't  be 
killed.  You  comprehend  ?  '  Says  he 
to  me,  '  In  this  country  of  Santisima 
Maria ' — for,  as  I  have  told  you  al- 
ready, he  said  everything  reversed, 
as  they  do  in  his — '  in  this  country 
there's  no  end  of  privileges,  and  do 
the  very  urracas  have  them  ? ' 

"  That  question  was  so  foolish,  or 
else  meant  to  be  ironical,  that  I  did 
n't  care  to  set  him  right;  so  I  told  him, 
'Yes,  privileges  that  were  granted  to 
them  in  very  ancient  times,  by  Dona 
Urraca  herself.'  He  took  out  a  blank- 
book  and  wrote  that  down.  '  Let 
the  ball  roll,'  said  I  in  my  jacket,  'it 
isn't  my  business  to  stop  it.'  " 

"But,  Uncle  Bartolo,  why  may  they 
not  kill  urracas  in  the  district  ? " 
asked  a  young  man. 

"  Because  they  are  the  ones  that 
planted  the  pine  woods,"  answered 
Uncle  Bartolo. 

"  Oh !  none  of  that !  you  are  not 
talking  to  platter- face,"  replied  the 
youth. 

"  So  I  perceive,  since  his  swallow 
for  novelties  was  too  big  ;  and  you — 
for  a  blockhead  of  those  who  believe 
only  what  they  see — haven't  any. 
Nevertheless,  sir,  that  the  urracas  do 

*  Magpie. 


plant  the  pines  is  a  truth  as  evident 
as  a  house.  They  open  the  ripe 
cones,  and  pick  out  the  seeds  for  food. 
Being  very  saving  birds,  they  bury 
those  that  they  can't  eat ;  and,  being 
very  brainless  ones,  they  forget  all 
about  it  and  never  go  back  to  look 
for  them;  and  the  seeds  sprout.  If 
it  were  not  true,  why  would  the 
dukes  prohibit  the  killing  of  urracas, 
when  they  are  thicker  in  the  district 
than  sparrows  on  a  threshing-floor  ? 
Therefore,  Alonso,  no  one  may  say, 
'  This  camel  can't  enter  the  eye  of  my 
needle  ' ;  for,  of  two  silly  birds,  the 
one  that  always  keeps  his  bill  shut  is 
more  silly  than  the  one  that  has  his 
always  open.  But  you  were  a  dunce 
from  the  beginning;  and,  as  you 
grow  older,  you  are  gaining  upon 
Bias,  that  ate  horse-beans." 

"And  at  night,  uncle,  what  did 
those  people  do  with  themselves 
there  in  the  province  ?  "  asked  the 
listeners. 

"The  Englishmen  ate  and  drank, 
for  their  honors  are  made  hollow,  in 
order  that  they  may  always  be  putting 
things  into  their  mouths.  That  is 
the  reason  they  are  so  fat  and  big. 
Platter-face  told  me  one  day — with 
an  air  as  if  God  had  just  revealed  it 
to  him — that  I  was  able  to  go  so 
long  without  getting  tired  because  I 
was  lean ;  and  that  he  would  give  a 
thousand  dollars,  or  some  such  sum, 
to  be  as  lean  as  I.  I  answered — 
shouting  to  make  him  understand 
better — '  Your  worship  has  only  to 
eat  gazpacJio  *  to  dry  up  your  flesh, 
and  raw  onions  and  garlic  to  sharpen 
your  senses." 

"  And  the  Spaniards — how  did  they 
pass  the  evenings,  Uncle  Bartolo  ?  " 

"  The  Spaniards  ?  Talking  through 
the  very  stitches  of  their  garments ; 
bawling  till  you  would  have  thought 
they  were  echoes :  and  quarrelling 

*  A  common  dish  on  the  tables  of  the  country 
people. 


Lucas  Garcia. 


791 


about  things  of  the  government.  For, 
nowadays,  everybody  wants  to 
know  everything  himself,  and  to  com- 
mand :  the  very  beetles  set  up  their 
tails  and  complain  of  a  cough.  I  tell 
you,  sirs,  there  are  no  more  such 
Spaniards  as  there  were  in  the  time  of 
the  French  war.  We  were  as  one  man 
then,  and  all  of  one  mind.  Now 
there  are  moderates  and  extremists.  I, 
who  am  an  extremist  only  when  it 
concerns  my  gun,  my  wife,  and  my 
children,  could  wish  the  devil  would 
fly  away  with  so  much  gab.  It  made 
me  want  to  say  to  them  :  '  Gentlemen, 
where  there  is  less  tongue,  count  on 
more  judgment,'  and  '  so  much  grass 
chokes  the  wheat.' " 

"  One  night,  one  of  the  You  Sirs 
called  me,  and  wanted  to  know  if  I 
was  in  the  war  against  Napoleon. 
'  Yes,  sir,'  I  answered,  '  I  was  a 
guerilla.'  '  Well,  then,'  said  he,  '  you 
just  come  here,  for  I  am  going  to 
read  you  the  will  he  made.' " 

"  What !  did  that  man  make  a  will, 
Uncle  Bartolo  ?  "  asked  some  of  the 
oldest  of  the  listeners. 

"Yes,  and  before  he  died,  it  is 
supposed. 

" '  But,  your  worship,'  I  asked, 
'  what  had  that  kingdom-thief  to 
give  away  ?  Did  they  not  then  make 
him  throw  up  everything  he  had 
taken  ? ' 

"  The  You  Sir  had  an  open  book, 
and  began  to  read.  Gentlemen,  that 
soccarron*  in  his  will,  went  on  distri- 
buting everything,  his  goods,  his 
arms,  his  body,  and  his  heart.  I  was 
perplexed.  'Well,  what  do  you 
think  of  it,  uncle  ? '  said  his  ho- 
nor, when  he  had  ended.  '  Sir,'  I 
answered,  '  from  what  I  can  see, 
that  unbeliever  thought  of  every- 
thing ;  but  neither  in  his  life  nor  in 
his  death  did  he  remember  his  soul.' " 

"  Why  did  you  join  the  guerillas, 


Uncle  Bartolo  ? "  asked  one  of  the 
company. 

"  What  a  question  !  "  exclaimed 
the  guerilla,  looking  at  the  one  who 
had  asked  it,  and  weaving  himself 
backwards  and  forwards  with  much 
composure. 

" '  He  that  asks  does  not  err,' 
Uncle  Bartolo." 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  a  case  of  '  He 
that  asks  does  not  err,  and  I  ask  if 
they  bury  the  dead  with  the  de- 
ceased ? '  " 

"  What  I  mean  is,  when  did  you 
leave  your  house,  and  how  did  you 
happen  to  fall  in  with  the  partida  ?  "* 

"  Ya !  those  are  other  questions, 
Lopez.  Some  French  horsemen 
came  here — they  call  them  colaseros 
(cuirassiers)  —  my  wife  was  more 
afraid  of  them  than  of  a  contagion, 
and  every  time  she  heard  the  clari- 
onets, she  would  say  to  me,  in  a 
fright, '  They  are  sounding  the  charge.' 
'  No,  wife,'  I  would  tell  her,  '  they 
are  sounding  the  premonition!  One 
day  the  cornet — they  used  to  call 
him  Trompi — came  in  tipsy,  and  in- 
sulted my  wife.  I,  who  was  not 
afraid  of  any  three  that  might  come, 
and  never  stopped  to  think  of  con- 
sequences, said  to  him, '  Out  of  here, 
little  soul  of  a  pitcher,  and  Barab- 
bas  cut  a  slice  from  you !'  With  that 
he  drew  his  sword,  and  would  have 
cut  me,  but  I  snatched  my  knife,  and 
finished  him  at  once;  and  then, 
catching  up  mantle  and  blanket,  took 
the  wind  for  the  mountains.  I  stop- 
ped in  Benamahoma  with  the  Padre 
Lovillo — and  there  you  have  it  all." 

"  The  Padre  Lovillo  was  the  cap- 
tain of  the  partida  ?  "  questioned  a 
youth. 

"  Yes,  the  Padre  Lovillo.  Candtla  / 
That  was  a  man  you  could  call  a 
man !  No  talker — not  he ;  but  the 
words  he  used  were  few  and  good. 


*  Offscouring. 


*  Partisans,  or  party. 


792 


Lucas  Garcia. 


If  any  one  wanted  to  brag  of  his 
doings,  he  would  say,  '  Let  them  be 
seen,  not  heard.  You  understand, 
cackler  ?  Stabs  with  steel,  not  with 
the  tongue ;  balls  of  lead,  not  of 
wind.'  Sirs,  that  man  was  ready  for 
everything,  as  you  would  have  de- 
clared with  two  tongues  if  you  had 
had  them.  When  we  were  going  to 
attack  the  French,  he  used  to  say, 
'  Listen,  sons,  our  fathers  died  for 
their  country,  and  we  are  not  to  be 
less  than  they.'  Then,  drawing  his 
sword,  he  would  shout,  '  Now  let  us 
see  who  has  pluck ! '  and  charge  like 
another  Santiago,*  and  we  after  him, 
as  if  he  had  led  us  to  Paris  in  France. 
We  felt  neither  hunger  nor  weari- 
ness ;  it  was  a  fight  without  drum  or 
trumpet,  but  it  made  the  Frenchmen 
shiver.  They  named  us  the  '  Bri- 
ganes  t  of  the  Black  Mountain,'  and 
were  more  afraid  of  us  than  of  the 
trained  soldiery. 

"  Don  'Turo,  who  knew  that  I  had 
been  a  brigan,  called  me  into  the 
parlor  one  evening,  and,  when  he 
had  squeezed  himself  into  a  chair, 
told  me  to  sit  down.  I  began  to 
wonder  where  all  these  Masses  were 
going  to  end.  |  Surely,  I  thought, 
he  cannot  want  me  to  clean  his  gun  ! 
But  I  waited  for  the  mountain  to 
bring  forth,  and  presently  he  asked 
me  to  explain  the  trafica  §.  of  guerilla 
fighting.  When  I  saw  him  come 
out  with  that  ladder,  I  got  angry, 
and  told  him,  '  No ;'  that  my  pro- 
nouncing was  very  bad,  and  his  un- 
derstanding worse.  But  all  the 
others  insisted,  and,  not  to  seem 
disobliging,  I  repeated  a  very  good 
and  well-versed  poem,  that  was  go- 
ing the  rounds  then." 

"And  what  was  it  about,  Uncle 
Bartolo  ?  " 

*  The  patron  of  Spain. 
t  Brigands. 

$  To  have  misgivings  as  to  the  result  of  any- 
thing. 
§  Tactica,  tactics. 


"It  relates  a  conversation  between 
Malapart  *  and  that  Indian,  Munrd, 
Duke  of  Ver."  t 

"  Go  on,  uncle,  say  it,"  exclaimed 
all  present. 

The  following  romance,  which  the 
old  guerilla  recited,  was  very  popu- 
lar at  that  time  among  the  people. 
It  owes  its  humor  to  the  fact  that 
neither  its  unlettered  composer,  nor 
those  who  recited  it,  had  any  suspi- 
cion that  they  were  giving  a  carica- 
ture. They  considered  it  a  simple 
and  probable  account  of  what  would 
take  place  between  Napoleon  and 
Murat  when  they  saw  their  last 
troops  vanquished.  Even  the  con- 
clusion is  in  no  way  inconsistent 
with  their  ideas  of  the  antecedents 
and  characters  of  the  personages'; 

Nap.  How  is  this,  friend  Munrd  I 
Why  are  you  here  again  ? 
Why  have  you  left  your  capital? 
What  sent  you  out  of  Spain  ? 
Speak  on,  and  don't  delay ; 
We  have  no  time  to  spare  ; 
Tell  me,  in  terms  exact, 
What  has  happened  there. 

Mur.  Easy,  sir,  if  you  please  ; 
Sire,  do  not  press  me  so  ; 
Only  let  me  get  breath, 
I'll  tell  you  what  1  know. 
But,  first,  send  for  a  chair, 
That  some  rest  we  may  take 
While  I  tell  you  the  tale, 
For,  indeed,  my  legs  ache. 

Nap.  Right,  for  you  have  grown  fat, 
And  glad  am  I  to  see 
Proof  that  the  airs  of  Spain 
So  well  with  you  agree. 

Mur.  Sire,  you  are  mistaken  ; 
But  let  the  matter  go, 
For  things  of  more  account 
Your  majesty  should  know. 
And,  come  to  what  must  come, 
Without  any  more  ado — 
For,  believe  me  or  not,  sire, 
All  I  tell  you  is  true. 

Nap.  Why,  what  has  happened  now  ? 
Good  Heavens,  man,  speak  out ! 
What  have  you  seen  in  Spain 
To  put  you  so  about  ? 

Mur.  Great  Emperor  of  France, 
Your  force  has  been  in  vain  ; 
Nor  'did  flatteries  avail — 
You  cannot  conquer  Spain. 

*MaZa,  bad;  parte,  part;  name  given  by  the 
Spanish  soldiers  to  Bonaparte, 
t  Murat,  Duke  of  Berg. 


Lucas  Garcia. 


793 


No  notice  will  they  take 
Of  your  promises  of  pay, 
And  peace,  and  rank  to  all, 
And  bull-fights  every  day. 

Nap.  But,  my  soldiers,  do  not  they 
In  the  mountains  still  remain  ? 

Mur.  Yes,  captives  they  remain 
With  their  general,  Dupon, 
And  the  eagles  of  France  ; 
And  every  sword  and  gun 
Might  as  well  be  a  distaff. 
For  Castanos  and  his  men 
Have  settled  their  account. 

Nap.  Peste!  Because  you  tell  it, 
The  tale  I  must  believe  ; 
From  another  I  would  not 
A  word  of  it  receive. 
No  doubt,  in  Zaragoza 
Our  cause  has  better  speed, 
In  humbling  them  at  last 
We  surely  must  succeed. 

Mur.  All  your  force  is  useless ; 
The  knaves  will  not  submit. 
If  you  wish  to  lose  France, 
And  make  an  end  of  it, 
Send  it  to  Zaragoza, 
It  will  find  a  bloody  tomb, 
And  remain  there,  buried, 
Until  the  Day  of  Doom. 

Nap.  Can  nothing,  then,  be  done 
With  those  troops  of  Arragon  ? 

Mur.  We  have  none  that  on  them 
Will  venture  to  advance. 

Nap.  But  Moncey's  triumphant 
In  the  kingdom  of  Valence  ? 

Mur.  Sire,  he  has  dropped  his  ears, 
And  slunk  away,  ashamed  ; 
Those  Valencians  have  a  way 
Their  enemies  to  tame. 
They  mount  on  swiftest  steeds, 
And,  running  a  swift  career, 
Unhorse  the  astonished  foe 
Before  he  is  aware. 

Nap.  It  seems,  then,  that  maxims, 
And  lying,  and  caution 
Have  failed  in  that  country  ; 
But  who  had  a  notion 
That  Spain  would  be  equal 
To  France  in  a  contest  ? 
We  now  can  do  nothing 
But  send  for  Funest.* 

Mur.  And  how  can  he  get  here, 
When  the  Portuguese  men, 
With  the  Spaniards  united, 
Have  him  closely  shut  in, 
With  sentinels  stationed  ? 
No  help  can  avail  him, 
For  surrender  he  must, 
When  eatables  fail  him. 
The  best  thing  to  do,  is 
To  yield  to  their  clamor, 
And  give  back  the  king 
That  Spaniards  all  honor. 


Perhaps,  sire,  if— with  him 
Appeased  and  delighted— 
They  will  let  our  troops  go, 
Your  throne  may  be  righted ; 
For  upset  it  they  will 
At  the  rate  they  are  making, 
And  cut  off  your  head, 
And  from  me  be  taking 
My  fine  dukedom  of  Ver  ; 
Or,  if  we  escape,  sire, 
The  fate  I  am  dreading. 
We'll  have  to  sweep  chimneys 
Again  for  a  living. 
I've  forgotten  the  trade, 
And  lost  my  dexterity  ; 
But  you,  who  were  master, 
Would  mount  with  celerity. 

Nap.  Only  a  pitiful  knave 
Such  memories  would  renew. 

Mur.  WTell,  sire,  if  that  don't  suit, 
I've  another  thing  in  view  ; 
We'll  seek  a  brighter  sphere, 
And  a  foreign  city  find, 
Where  through  the  streets  we'll  rove, 
Crying  "  Sci-i-issors  to  gri-ind." 


"  And  which  did  he  do,  uncle  ?" 
asked  one  —  "  sweep  chimneys  or 
grind  scissors  ?" 

"  He  sweep  chimneys  /"  exclaimed 
Uncle  Bartolo.  "  Such  people  al- 
ways fall  into  feather-beds!  They 
carried  him  to  St.  Helena — beyond 
Gibraltar  —  where  he  had  it  quite 
comfortable  till  he  died  raving,  after 
the  devil  had  helped  him  to  make 
that  will." 

"  Here  comes  Uncle  Cohete,"  said 
a  man  who  sat  by  the  window. 

"  Make  him  a  sign  to  come  in," 
said  the  person  nearest  him,  in  a  low 
tone. 

Uncle  Cohete  was  a  simple,  good 
old  man,  who  acted  the  merry-an- 
drew  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining 
alms  for  a  religious  house  of  which 
he  was demandante*  He  could  mi- 
mic to  perfection  the  songs  of  all 
birds;  the  near  and  distant  barking 
of  the  dog,  the  mewing  of  the  cat ; 
and  so  excelled  in  imitating  the  pe- 
culiar hiss  and  crackling  of  a  kite  in  the 
air,  as  to  have  obtained  the  nickname 
of  cohete  (kite),  by  which  he  was 
known.  He  had,  besides,  a  stock  of 


*  Funrsto.      Nickname  given  by  the  Spanish 
soldiers  to  Junot. 


*  One  who  asks  alms  for  charitable  purposes. 


794 


Lucas  Garcia. 


simple  verses,  ballads,  riddles,  and 
odd  scraps  of  humor,  which  he  would 
repeat  with  inimitable  expression  and 
drollery.  The  sources  from  which 
he  drew  his  supplies  could  not  be 
told.  This,  he  had  learned  in  a 
town  on  the  Llanura ;  that,  in  a  vil- 
lage of  the  Sierra;  another  at  the 
fireside  of  the  manse.  But,  in  his 
mimicry  of  the  birds,  they  themselves 
had  been  the  teachers,  aided  by  un- 
usual flexibility  of  organs,  and  great 
patience  and  perseverance  on  the 
part  of  the  disciple.  For,  in  all 
branches — whether  important  or  in- 
significant— perseverance  yields  great 
results. 

It  having  been  intimated  to  Uncle 
Cohete  that  the  company  wished  him 
to  tell  something  diverting,  he  began 
by  saying  The  Commandments  of  the 
Rich  Man  and  the  Poor  Man — a  col- 
lection of  ironical  precepts,  which 
enjoyed  great  popularity  at  that  time 
— as  follows  : 

"  The  commandments  of  the  rich  man, 
nowadays,  are  five,  namely  : 

"  The  first.  Thou  shall  have  no  end  of 
money. 

"  The  second.  Thou  shalt  despise  all 
tlie  rest  of  the  world. 

"The  third.  Thou  shalt  eat  good  beef 
and  good  mutton. 

"  The  fourth.  Thou  shalt  eat  flesh  on 
Good  Friday. 

"  The  fifth.  Thou  shalt  drink  both  white 
wine  and  red. 

"These  commandments  are  included  in  two  : 
Let  all  be  for  me,  and  nothing  for  you. 

"  The  commandments  of  the  poor  man 
are  five,  namely : 

"  The  first.  Thou  shalt  never  have  any 
money. 

"  The  second.  Thou  shalt  be  despised 
by  all  the  world. 

"  The  third.  Thou  shalt  eat  neither  beef 
nor  mutton. 

"  The  fourth.  Thou  shalt  fast,  even  if 
it  be  not  Good  Friday. 

"The  fifth.  Thou  shalt  taste  neither 
the  white  wine  nor  the  red. 


"  These  commandments  are  included  in  two  : 
Scratch  thyself,  and  bear  everything  for  the 
love  of  God." 

"  Uncle,  did  not  the  son  of  Roba- 
Santos*  who  is  heaping  money,  give 
you  an  alms  ?"  asked  one. 

"  No,  he  gave  me  nothing,"  an- 
swered Uncle  Cohete. 

"  Like  father,  like  son,"  said  Uncle 
Bartolo. 

"  Next  year,  uncle,  you  will  get  a 
pile,  for  '  when  the  fields  have,  the 
saints  have.' " 

"  Uncle  Cohete,  take  these  two 
coppers,  and  tell  us  The  Command- 
ments of  the  New  Law"  said  the 
man  who  had  called  him  in  : 

"  The  commandments  of  the  new  law 
are  ten,  namely  : 

"  The  first.  Let  there  be  no  money  in 
Spain. 

"  The  second.  Let  the  world  turn  up- 
side-down. 

"  The  third.  Let  every  one  play  gentle- 
man. 

"  The  fourth.  Let  not  a  single  copper 
come  from  America. 

'  The  fifth.  Let  there  be  no  end  of 
drafting. 

"The  sixth.  Let  the  new  law  come 
from  abroad. 

"  The  seventh.  Let  there  be  fewer  peo- 
ple that  are  not  wanted. 

"The  eighth.  Let  them  distribute  bis- 
cuits in  Navarra. 

"  The  ninth.  Let  every  one  look  out 
for  himself. 

"  The  tenth.  Let  all  be  at  variance. 

"  These  commandments  are  included  in  two: 
Some  say  yes,  and  others  say  no." 

"  Tell  us  a  riddle,  uncle." 
"  Fifty  ladies  and  five  gallants : 
the  fifty  ask  fowl ;  the  five  ask  bread," 
said  the  old  man,  of  whom  nature, 
and  the  kind  of  life  he  led,  had  made 
the  personification  of  ready  and  good- 
humored  odedience. 

"  The  Rosary  !  I  knew  that,"  said 
a  little  boy.  "  Tell  another." 

*  Rob  the  saints. 


Lucas  Garcia. 


795 


"  The  mantle  of  Lady  Leonor 
Sinks  in  the  river,  but  covers  the  shore." 

"  We  give  it  up,  uncle." 

"It  is  the  snow,  gentlemen." 

At  this  moment  they  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  ringing  of  the  sunset 
bell,  and,  all  rising,  stood  with  un- 
covered heads. 

"  Will  you  recite  the  prayer,  Uncle 
Bartolo,"  said  the  widower. 

Uncle  Bartolo  repeated  the  Ange- 
lus,  adding  a  Paternoster  for  the 
deceased.  And  now  the  grief  of 
the  sobbing  child  in  the  corner  broke 
forth  in  bitter  crying. 

"  Stop  that,  Lucas !"  said  his  fa- 
ther. "  You  have  been  going  on  in 
that  way,  hie !  hie !  like  an  old  wo- 
man, for  two  days.  You  ought  to 
have  gone  into  the  women's  room. 
Let  me  hear  you  crying  again  !  You 
understand  ?" 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  Juan  Garcia," 
said  Uncle  Bartolo,  "that  you  are 
the  first  man  I  ever  heard  rebuke 
the  tears  of  a  son  for  his  mother! 
You  see  me,  with  my  years,  my  beard, 
and  my  guerilla  life ;  well,  I  remem- 
ber mine,  and  weep  for  her  still ! 

"But,  uncle,  'frown,  and  frown 
again,  of  a  bad  son  makes  a  good 
one.'  Lucas  here  is  a  regular  Mar- 
da  Fernandez*  brought  up  in  the 
folds  of  his  mother's  skirts.  I  must 
teach  him  that  men  resist,  and  do 
not  allow  themselves  to  be  overcome 
by  tribulations." 

Uncle  Bartolo  shook  his  head. 
"  Time  and  not  ointment  will  cure 
the  patient.  If  you  had  died,  his 
mother  would  not  have  been  the  one 
to  rebuke  your  son  for  the  tears  he 
shed  over  you." 

Juan  Garcia  continued  his  former 
life,  abandoning  himself  with  more 
liberty  to  the  wicked  woman  of  whom 
the  friends  of  his  dead  wife  had  spok- 

*  A  girl-boy. 


en  at  the  condolement.  She  was  call- 
ed La  Leona  in  allusion  to  her  na- 
tive island  of  Leon,  where  she  had 
married  a  sergeant,  who  was  after- 
ward sent  to  serve  in  America.  Like 
all  bad  women,  La  Leona  was  much 
worse  than  men  of  the  same  class, 
inasmuch  as,  in  the  subtle  organi- 
zation of  woman,  the  delicacy  that 
is  given  to  her  for  good  turns  into  a 
refinement  of  evil,  and  her  instinctive 
penetration  into  malignant  sagacity. 
Not  satisfied  with  having  attracted 
to  herself  Juan  Garcia,  who  possess- 
ed a  small  patrimony,  La  Leona,  im- 
pelled by  the  bitter  envy  which  a 
lost  woman  feels  toward  one  who  is 
honest,  undertook  to  render  him  in- 
different to  his  wife,  and  succeeded 
not  only  in  this,  but  also  in  causing 
him  to  ill-treat  and  abandon  her. 
Juan  Garcia  was  a  weak  man,  easily 
subjugated  by  those  who  knew  how 
to  obtain  an  influence  over  him,  and, 
by  way  of  compensating  himself  for 
this  complaisance,  very  obstinate  and 
overbearing  in  his  treatment  of  oth- 
ers. By  degrees,  it  came  to  pass 
that  his  mistress  would  not  receive 
him  with  favor  unless  he  brought 
her,  as  an  offering,  the  relation  of 
some  act  of  coldness  or  cruelty  to 
the  victim  whose  only  crime  was 
that  of  affording,  by  her  right,  and 
by  her  silent  and  prudent  endurance, 
the  most  patent  condemnation  of 
the  conduct  of  these  two,  a  con- 
demnation all  the  more  ignominious 
because  of  the  great  purity  of  man- 
ners which  prevails  in  country  places. 
And  in  order  to  gain  our  assertion 
credit  with  those  who  are  disposed 
to  accuse  us  of  partiality  for  the 
country  people,  we  hasten  to  say 
that  this  purity  may  naturally  be  at- 
tributed to  the  wholesome  influence 
of  labor,  which,  in  putting  indolence 
to  flight,  puts  to  flight  with  it  the 
vices  it  generates,  and  to  the  blessed 
poverty,  which,  being  without  the 


Lucas  Garcia. 


means  of  satisfying  them,  hinders 
their  birth.  Having  convinced  uti- 
litarians with  these  reasons,  we  will 
add  to  them  others  of  our  own; 
namely,  the  salutary  ideas  of  morali- 
ty and  rooted  principles  of  honor 
that  many  centuries  of  Catholicism 
have  fixed  in  the  hearts  of  these 
people — principles  renewed,  in  each 
successive  generation,  by  the  un- 
changing zeal  that  is  the  property 
of  religion,  and  that  never  wearies  or 
grow  lukewarm. 

Like  all  other  general  rules,  the 
above  has  its  exceptions.  Juan 
Garcia  furnished  one.  His  unkind- 
ness,  united  with  the  grief  and  shame 
his  conduct  caused  her,  had  cer- 
tainly hastened  the  death  of  poor 
Ana,  whose  last  act  of  affection  as 
a  wife,  and  duty  as  a  Christian,  had 
been  to  forgive  him.  Alas !  the 
soul  of  the  husband  was  so  deeply  mir- 
ed that  even  this  saintly  death  could 
awaken  in  it  neither  pity  nor  re- 
morse. Not  that  he  was  utterly 
perverse,  but  his  eyes,  like  those  of 
many  another  in  this  world  of  error, 
were  covered  by  one  of  those  veils 
which  must  fall  on  the  day  of  God's 
judgment,  when  the  light  of  truth 
will  be  the  first  punishment  that 
awaits  the  willingly  blind. 

His  boy  and  girl  remained  orphaned 
and  neglected,  and  would  have  been 
entirely  forsaken  but  for  that  active 
charity  which  makes  women  consti- 
tute themselves  fervent  protectors  of 
the  helpless  and  severe  judges  of 
the  wrong-doer.  The  wives  of  Juan's 
neighbors  took  care  of  the  children, 
and  obliged  him  to  feed  and  clothe 
them,  freely  casting  in  his  face  his  evil 
conduct,  while,  with  imperturbable 
coolness,  they  prescribed  to  him  his 
obligations. 

Ah  chanty! — some  proclaim  and 
others  comprehend  thee ;  some  would 
guide  thee,  and  thou  guidest  others ! 
Why  art  thou  not  found  in  the  pal- 


aces that  philanthropy  builds  for 
thee  ?  Why  dost  thou  appear  in  all 
thy  brightness  in  the  dwellings  of  the 
poor,  delighting  thyself  with  the 
widow's  farthing?  It  is  because 
thou  wilt  be  queen  and  not  a  slave ! 

The  children  could  not  be  consol- 
ed for  the  death  of  their  mother. 
Isolated  as  they  were,  all  the  senti- 
ments of  their  hearts  became  con- 
verted into  love  for  each  other,  and 
sorrow  for  their  loss. 

Lucas,  however,  who  was  five 
years  older  than  his  sister,  did  his 
best  to  enliven  and  distract  her. 

"  Don't  cry  so,  Lucia,"  he  said  to 
her  one  night,  not  long  after  the 
condolement.  "  Mother  will  not  come 
back  for  crying,  and  you  make  me 
cry.  What  shall  I  do  to  amuse 
you?" 

The  child  made  no  answer. 

"  Shall  I  sing  you  a  romance  ?" 

Lucia  inclined  her  head  in  token 
of  assent,  and  the  boy  sang  in  his 
clear,  sweet  voice  the  following  bal- 
lad: 


Holy  Saviour  of  La  Luz, 
Teach  a  child's  tongue  how  to  tell 
A  thing  that  happened  in  Seville, 
Right,  and  worthily,  and  well. 
Of  a  mother  who  lived  there, 
And  two  daughters  that  she  had  ; 
One  was  humble,  mild,  and  good, 
The  other  one  was  proud  and  bad. 

They  marry  with  two  brothers, 
Who  are  brothers  but  in  name — 
Under  the  same  roof  nurtured, 
But  in  nothing  else  the  same. 
The  younger  sells  his  portion, 
And  loses  the  whole  in  play  ; 
The  elder  follows  the  plough, 
And  works  in  his  field  all  day. 

Then  the  younger  dies,  and  leaves 
His  wife,  all  alone  and  poor  ; 
Her  children  weep  for  bread, 
And  she  seeks  her  sister's  door, 
Praying,  "In  God's  name,  sister, 
And  for  his  sweet  Mother's  sake, 
Give  my  little  children  bread, 
And  his  word  in  payment  take." 
"  Go,  Mary,"  cries  the  sister, 
"  Beggar,  take  yourself  away  ! 
Was  my  lot  better  than  yours 
Upon  our  wedding-day  ?" 

Weeping  and  broken-hearted, 
The  poor  mother  turns  again ; 
To  know  her  cause  of  sorrow 
The  neighbors  ask  in  vain. 

Of  the  parlor  of  her  house 
She  had  made  a  room  for  prayer 


The  Good  Gerard  of  Cologne. 


797 


To  our  Lady  of  the  Beads: 
And  now  she  enters  there, 
And,  with  her  little  children, 
Before  the  altar  falls 
Of  our  sweet  princess  Mary, 
And  on  her  name  she  calls. 

Now,  homeward  in  the  evening 
The  good  brother  turns  his  feet ; 
Finds  table  spread  and  waiting, 
And  he  sits  him  down  to  eat. 
He  takes  a  loaf  and  breaks  it, 
But  throws  it  away  again, 
For  blood  runs  out  of  the  bread. 
On  his  hand  he  sees  the  stain. 
Then  he  takes  and  breaks  another, 
But  still  the  red  blood  falls— 
"  Oh  !  what  is  this?"  astonished, 
To  his  trembling  wife  he  calls. 
"  Tell  me,  I  say  !  what  is  it  ?" 
For  to  tell  she  is  afraid : 
"  In  vain  to  me,  this  morning. 
For  bread  my  sister  prayed  !'' 
"And  she  that,  without  pity, 
To  a  sister  refuses  bread, 
To  God's  Mother  doth  refuse  it," 
Then  the  angry  husband  said. 

Six  loaves  the  young  man  gathered, 
And  in  haste  to  the  abode 
Of  his  sister  and  her  children 
He  straightway  took  the  road. 

The  window-shutters  were  closed. 
And  locked  were  windows  and  doors ; 
But  the  gleam  of  many  lights 
Shone  out  through  the  apertures — 
Shone  on  six  angels  of  God, 
All  kneeling  upon  the  floor 
Round  six  bodies  of  mother  and  children 
That  would  never  hunger  more. 

"  Farewell,  my  soul's  dear  sister, 
And  sweet  nephews  of  my  heart ! 
Though  gold  I  have,  and  plenty, 
I  would  gladly  give  my  part 
For  yours  in  the  blessed  country 
Where  sorrow  is  all  forgot, 
And  the  labor  of  life  exchanged 
For  the  eternal  better  lot !  " 


"  And  did  she  let  her  sister  starve 
to  death  ?"  asked  the  child,  her 
eyes  refilling  from  her  already  sur- 
charged heart. 

"Yes,  yes;  she  was  a  good-for- 
nothing  ;  but  don't  cry,  Lucia,  a 
story  isn't  a  thing  that  ever  happen- 
ed." 

"  If  it  had  never  happened,  they 
would  not  have  put  it  in  the  ro- 
mance," said  the  little  girl. 

"  They  made  it  up,"  replied  Lu- 
cas. "  Don't  you  believe  it,  dear. 
When  I  am  a  man  and  can  earn, 
the  least  piece  of  bread  I  may  have, 
I  must  divide  with  my  heart's  little 
sister.  You  know  that  before  moth- 
er died  she  put  you  in  my  care,  and 
I  made  her  a  promise  never  to  for- 
sake you." 

"  And  will  you  keep  it  ?" 

"  So  may  God  give  me  his  glory!" 

"  And  if  you  ever  forget  it,  I  am 
to  sing  you  this  romance,  to  put 
you  in  mind  of  what  you  say  now." 

"  That  is  so ;  you  must  learn  it.' " 
And  the  boy  set  himself  to  teach  his 
sister  the  romance. 


TO    BE   CONTINUED. 


THE  GOOD  GERARD  OF  COLOGNE. 

BY   RUDOLF   OF   EMS,  VASSAL   AT  MONTFORT  (THIRTEENTH  CENTURY). 


COMPILED   AFTER  THE   GERMAN   OF  CARL   S1MROCK. 


IN  the  new  cathedral  at  Magde- 
burg the  bells  were  ringing  for  the 
first  time.  A  large  crowd  gathered 
to  witness  the  consecration  of  the 
church,  founded  and  richly  endowed 


by  the  Emperor  Otto  the  Great.  He 
went  up  the  aisle  before  all  the  peo- 
ple, not,  as  was  then  the  cus- 
tom, to  lay  down  gifts  at  the  new 
altar  of  God,  but,  with  erect  brow, 
he  stood,  and  thus  he  spoke  :  "  There 
is  no  gift  in  my  hand  for  thee,  O 


798 


The  Good  Gerard  of  Colo.gnc. 


Lord;  but  when  I  lift  up  my  eyes, 
whatever  I  behold  around  me  is  my 
gift  to  thee !  This  church  I  built  for 
the  glory  of  thy  name,  and  I  endow- 
ed it  and  made  it  so  great  that  the 
sons  of  kings  think  it  an  honor  to 
bow  to  its  prince- bishop,  and  serve 
him.  The  heathen  that  troubled  thy 
people,  see  I  conquered  them  with 
my  strong  arm — the  Wends,  the  Sarbs, 
and  the  Hungarians,  they  bowed 
their  heads  to  my  sword,  and  their 
knees  to  thy  glory;  and  I  made  thy 
name  great  in  all  the  pagan  lands, 
and  erected  churches  and  bishoprics 
to  thy  honor.  And  now  show  me 
to-day,  O  my  Lord,  that  thou  hast 
seen  my  foot  going  in  thy  path,  thou, 
who  wilt  give  glory  from  heaven  to 
him  who  spreads  thy  glory  on  earth." 
Thus  the  emperor  spoke  before  all 
the  people.  And  lo !  a  voice  sound- 
ed from  heaven  as  the  voice  of  an 
angel  in  anger,  and  it  spoke  with  a 
voice  like  thunder  rolling  in  the 
mountains:  "Otto,  king  on  earth, 
see,  the  King  in  heaven  had  put  a 
chair  by  his  side  for  thee  to  sit  upon 
it,  and  thou  hast  despised  it  in  thy 
vanity ;  he  had  prepared  for  thee  a 
crown  of  glory,  and  thou  hast  taken 
the  crown  of  pride  that  made  angels 
fall.  He  has  heard  with  little  plea- 
sure the  thoughts  of  thy  heart,  that 
asks  for  the  highest  place.  Know, 
that  place  is  for  him  who  most  serves 
God  in  humility  and  purity  of  heart ; 
that  is,  for  the  good  Gerard,  the  mer- 
chant in  Cologne,  whose  name  is 
written  in  the  book  of  life.  And  now 
go  and  learn  from  him  what  is  agree- 
able to  God,  and  then  confess  that 
thy  glory  is  vain  and  thy  doing  but 
little.  But  know,  that  not  readily 
will  he  speak  to  thee ;  well  would  he 
lay  down  his  life  rather  than  let  the 
fame  of  his  righteousness  sound  up 
to  God  by  words  from  his  own 
mouth."  When  Otto  had  heard  this, 
he  bowed  his  head  in  shame  and  was 


humbled.  He  mounted  his  good 
horse,  and  with  three  of  his  knights 
rode  over  to  Cologne.  Among  the 
citizens  who  came  to  greet  their  em- 
peror in  the  vast  hall,  Otto  saw  one, 
a  tall  man  with  a  long  white  beard 
and  the  step  of  a  youth ;  and  when 
he  asked  the  bishop  who  sat  by  his 
side  who  that  man  was,  he  received 
in  answer  :  "  That  is  the  good  Ger- 
ard, the  richest  merchant  in  Cologne." 
Then  the  emperor  spoke  to  all  the 
assembled  people :  "  I  came  here  to 
ask  your  advice,  as  I  am  in  great 
need  of  it.  But  I  was  counselled, 
and  even  commanded,  not  to  speak 
but  to  one  of  you,  and  for  that  one 
I  choose  thee,  O  Gerard!  Thou  seem- 
est  to  me  rich  in  wisdom  and  experi- 
ence." And  Gerard  answered,  bow- 
ing before  the  emperor  :  "  Shall  I  go 
alone  to  give  my  advice,  while  there 
are  so  many  worthier  ones  here  ?" 
But  all  the  people  said :  "  O  king ! 
thy  choice  is  good ;  there  is  no  one 
in  this  hall  his  equal  in  wisdom." 
So  the  emperor  took  Gerard  by  the 
hand,  and  led  him  to  a  chamber  near 
by,  and  locked  the  door  after  him, 
and  they  sat  down  on  one  couch, 
Gerard  by  Otto's  side.  Then  Otto 
said :  "  Gerard,  it  was  to  see  thee 
that  I  came  here ;  pray  tell  me,  how 
did  it  happen  that  the  name  '  Good  ' 
was  given  to  thee  ?  I  would  fain 
like  to  know."  "  O  great  king!"  an- 
swered Gerard,  "  I  do  not  know  my- 
self what  that  means;  there  are  so 
many  Gerards  here;  people  only  gave 
me  that  name  to  distinguish  me  from 
them."  "  Gerard,  thou  art  deceiving 
me!"  the  emperor  called  out;  but 
Gerard  answered  :  "  Oh  !  no,  great 
king,  I  should  deceive  thee  if  I  spoke 
otherwise.  Never  did  I  merit  that 
name,  and  it  was  often  a  burden  to 
me ;  because,  while  the  world  called 
me  '  the  Good,'  it  reminded  me  how 
seldom  I  did  what  pleased  God.  Of- 
ten do  I  send  the  poor  man  away 


The  Good  Gerard  of  Cologne. 


799 


with  a  mean  gift,  whilst  God  gives 
me  riches  ;  I  give  him  sour  beer  and 
black  bread,  I  give  him  an  old  gown, 
whilst  many  a  new  one  I  had,  and 
would  not  have  missed  them.  I  al- 
ways have  liked  to  go  to  church 
where  the  service  was  shortest,  and 
when  I  had  once  prayed  with  my 
whole  soul,  I  thought  that  would  do 
for  half  a  year.  Therefore,  O  king ! 
do  not  ask  me  what  I  have  done  to 
deserve  that  high  name."  The  em- 
peror said  :  "  Gerard,  thou  must  give 
me  a  better  answer,  for  I  have  sure 
knowledge  that  thou  hast  done  a 
great  deed  for  God's  sake,  and  I 
came  to  hear  the  account  of  it  from 
thy  own  mouth ;  therefore  speak !" 
"  Oh  !  spare  me,"  called  out  the  good 
man,  "  spare  me,  most  gracious  king !" 
But  Otto  replied  :  "  No,  no  !  thou 
only  awakenest  my  impatience,  and 
I  tell  thee  thou  must  yield  to  me 
at  the  end,  if  even  much  against  thy 
will !"  Then  prayed  the  good  man 
in  his  heart:  "O  God!  look  at  thy 
servant !  My  king  is  angry  with  me, 
and  I  cannot  resist  him  any  longer. 
So  if  I  reckon  with  thee,  O  Lord ! 
and  praise  myself  for  the  little  good 
I  ever  did,  do  not  thou  turn  away 
thy  grace  from  me,  for  what  I  say,  I 
do  it  much  against  my  will."  And 
presently  he  threw  himself  at  the  em- 
peror's feet,  saying  :  "  Ten  thousand 
pounds  of  silver  I  have  in  my  cellar, 
take  it  and  spare  me  the  answer!" 
"  Gerard,"  said  the  rich  emperor,  "  I 
thought  thou  wert  wiser.  Such  a 
speech  only  excites  my  curiosity.  And 
I  will  tell  thee,  thou  canst  reveal  me 
everything,  and  it  will  be  no  sin  to 
thee — so  I  swear  before  God."  Then 
the  good  Gerard  said,  arising  from 
his  knees,  and  sitting  down  :  "  God 
knows  my  heart;  he  knows  that,  when 
I  do  now  as  my  king  commands  me 
to  do,  my  heart  is  full  of  grief,  and 
vanity  is  far  from  it." 


ii. 


THE  GOOD  GERARD'S  STORY. 

"  When  my  father  died,  he  left  no 
small  fortune  to  me,  his  only  heir. 
But  as  I  was  a  merchant,  I  thought 
to  double  and  double  again  my  pos- 
sessions, and  cause  my  son  to  be 
called  '  the  rich  Gerard,'  as  his  fath- 
ers had  been  called  before  him.  So 
I  left  him  such  fortune  as  would  be 
full  enough  for  him,  and  took  all  the 
rest,  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  silver, 
and  carried  it  to  my  ship,  together 
with  food  for  three  years'  voyage. 
Experienced  sailors  were  in  my  pay, 
and  my  clerk  was  with  me,  to  write 
my  accounts  and  read  my  prayers. 
So  I  went  to  Russia,  where  I  found 
sables  in  profusion,  and  to  Prussia's 
rich  amber  strand,  and  from  there, 
by  the  Sea  of  the  Middle,  to  the 
East,  and  there  I  took  in  exchange 
silk  and  woven  goods  from  Damax 
and  Ninive;  and  well  I  thought  a 
threefold  gain  should  be  mine.  Then 
my  heart  began  to  long  for  wife  and 
child,  and  with  great  joy  I  told  the 
mariners  to  turn  the  ship  homeward. 
But  a  storm  arose,  and  water  and 
wind  were  fighting  for  twelve  days 
and  twelve  nights,  and  threw  my 
ship  to  an  unknown  land,  where  a 
beach  gave  us  shelter.  When  the 
sun  shone  again,  and  the  sky  looked 
clear,  I  saw  villages  and  hamlets 
and  fertile  fields  as  far  as  my  eyes 
could  reach,  and  near  the  sea  a  large 
city  with  pinnacles  and  high  walls. 
We  went  to  the  port,  and  I  found  it 
full  of  merchandise,  a  rich  and  state- 
ly place,  not  unlike  the  old  Cologne. 
I  went  on  land,  for  I  saw  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  city  coming  to  view  the 
goods  in  the  port,  and  many  a  knight 
and  vassal  rode  by  his  side ;  and  I 
thought  to  go  up  to  him  and  ask  his 
protection.  But  when  I  came  near 


8co 


The  Good  Gerard  of  Cologne. 


him,  he  approached  me  with  a  quick 
step,  and,  greeting  me  with  his  hand, 
he  thus  spake  :  '  Welcome  the  first 
one  who  comes  to  my  market !  Thou 
art  my  guest,  stranger !  I  see  thou 
comest  from  far  off,  perhaps  from  the 
land  of  the  Christians,  who  seldom 
come  here,  in  false  fear  that  I  would 
harm  them.  But  be  of  good  cheer ! 
I  do  not  harm  the  merchant,  nor 
need  I  covet  his  goods,  for  my  land 
is  rich,  and  all  the  gold  and  precious 
stones  that  it  has  in  its  mountains 
are  mine,  and  the  pearls  in  the  sea, 
and  many  a  rich  vessel  that  the  storm 
throws  on  our  coast.'  Well  was  I 
astonished  at  such  a  greeting ;  but  I 
accepted  gladly;  and  the  governor, 
Stranamur  by  name,  gave  me  the 
best  house,  and  took  care  of  me  that 
nothing  might  harm  me.  Again  and 
again  did  he  show  me  his  love,  and 
soon  friendship  and  confidence  reign- 
ed between  us.  Presently,  he  want- 
ed me  to  show  him  the  treasures  of 
my  ship,  and  I  let  it  be  done  readily. 
I  saw  him  wonder  at  their  splendor, 
and  with  good  cheer  he  said :  '  Ger- 
ard, I  tell  thee,  thou  hast  brought 
riches  to  this  land  so  great  that  no- 
body can  buy  them.  But  I  will  show 
thee  my  treasure  now,  and  then,  if 
it  so  please  thee,  we  will  exchange; 
for  in  this  land  my  treasure  is  of  no 
value,  while  in  the  land  of  the  Chris- 
tians it  might  bring  thee  at  least  a 
twentyfold  gain.'  And  I  answered : 
'  To  seek  gain  is  the  merchant's  duty. 
I  did  show  thee  my  treasure ;  now 
let  me  see  thine.'  Then  my  host 
led  me  by  the  hand  to  a  hall,  and  as 
I  entered  with  a  cheerful  mind,  hop- 
ing to  behold  the  riches  of  India, 
gold  and  spices,  I  found  the  place 
all  empty  of  joy  and  filled  with  but 
misery.  Twelve  young  knights  were 
lying  here  in  chains  so  heavy  that 
their  weight  pulled  them  down  to 
the  low  couches,  and,  though  grief 
and  want  had  disfigured  their  beau- 


ty, I  saw  they  were  of  noble  blood 
and  sons  of  high  lords,  born  to  gov- 
ern the  world.  Then  my  host  beck- 
oned me  to  the  next  hall,  where  I 
found  again  twelve  knights  in  chains, 
but  old  and  pale,  with  venerable  fig- 
ure, and  hair  and  beard  silver-white. 
Then  my  host  led  me  away  by  the 
hand  to  the  third  hall,  and  said: 
'  Behold  my  most  precious  goods  !' 
Well,  I  found  there  goods  great  in 
riches  and  beauty,  for  fifteen  lovely 
maidens  were  what  he  called  the  pre- 
cious merchandise.  And  my  heart 
pained  me  as  I  beheld  them,  for  their 
loveliness  and  gentle  mind  shone 
amid  the  prison  walls  like  stars  in 
the  night;  and  I  saw  one  like  their 
queen,  a  moon  among  the  stars. 
But  Stranamuf  led  me  away  and 
said :  '  Thou  didst  behold  my  goods; 
shall  we  exchange  ?  Thou  mayest 
easily  get  a  rich  ransom  for  each  of 
them,  more  than  one  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  of  silver.  In  England 
they  were  born;  William,  their  king, 
sent  them  over  to  Norway  to  bring 
him  home  his  bride,  King  Reine- 
mund's  daughter,  Irene,  whom  thou 
hast  seen.  Coming  home,  a  storm 
threw  them  on  my  coast,  and  so 
they  were  mine  by  right,  for  after 
the  custom  of  this  land  the  strand  is 
mine.  And  I  offer  these  knights  to 
thee,  together  with  the  fifteen  maid- 
ens, that  thou  mayest  give  me  the 
treasures  I  saw  on  thy  ship.'  I  had 
good  reason  to  be  astonished  at  such 
an  offer,  for  I  saw  clearly  it  would 
be  giving  my  goods  for  mere  blanks, 
and  so  I  asked  the  governor  to  let 
me  please  consider  till  the  next 
morning.  And  when  I  came  to  my 
house  I  sat  down  thinking,  and  though 
my  heart  told  me  to  help  the  prison- 
ers in  their  misery,  there  was  a  voice 
in  my  mind  saying :  '  Do  not  give 
away  the  earnings  of  thy  life  for  a 
mere  idea ' ;  and  well  would  I  have 
passed  that  night  without  coming  to 


The  Good  Gerard  of  Cologne. 


So  i 


an  end,  if  God  in  his  goodness  and 
grace  had  not  given  his  advice  in 
my  heart.  For  I  fell  asleep,  and 
in  my  sleep  I  heard  a  voice  of  God's 
angel,  who  spoke  to  me  these  words : 
'  Awake,  Gerard,  God's  anger  is  call- 
ing thee  !  Did  he  not  say  in  his 
mercy,  "  What  thou  givest  to  the 
poorest  of  my  brethren,  thou  givest 
unto  me  "  ?  What  thou  givest  to  the 
needy  ones,  thou  lendest  to  the 
Lord ;  and  doubt  in  him  is  great  sin 
to  thee !'  Then  I  awoke  and  fell 
on  my  knees,  and  thanked  God  that 
he  had  given  me  shame  and  repen- 
tance in  my  heart,  and  humbled  me 
so  as  to  save  me  from  sin.  The 
next  morning  my  host  met  me  at  the 
gate,  and  with  anxiety  he  asked  what 
it  was  my  wish  to  do.  And  I  an- 
swered :  '  I  am  willing  to  make  ex- 
change with  thee,  O  Stranamur !  if 
thou  allowest  me  one  thing:  give 
back  to  the  prisoners  their  ship  and 
all  they  brought  on  it,  and  give  them 
food  and  mariners,  and  whatever 
they  need  to  go  home.'  And  the 
governor  answered :  '  Dost  thou  think 
me  a  thief,  O  Gerard  ?  I  thought, 
friend,  thou  knewest  me  better.  Not 
one  penny's  worth  will  I  keep  from 
the  prisoners,  and  theirs  shall  be 
whatever  is  needed  for  a  safe  and 
speedy  voyage.'  After  that  he  gave 
me  his  hand,  and  we  changed  thus 
mine  and  thine.  Then  the  prisoners 
were  told  of  what  had  happened, 
and  they  were  clothed  as  became 
them,  and  refreshed,  and  when  they 
beheld  me,  their  thanks  and  tears 
were  such  that  my  eyes  overflowed, 
even  against  my  will.  And  I  saw 
the  women's  great  beauty,  and  Irene 
their  queen,  and  though  the  earthly 
crown  was  taken  from  her,  there  was 
the  crown  of  beauty  and  loveliness 
on  her  brow.  Then  my  clerk  read 
prayers,  and  we  went  to  sea;  the 
right  wind  blew  in  our  sails,  and 
bore  us  quickly  outward.  When  we 
came  near  the  coast  of  England.  I 
VOL.  xiii. — 51 


spoke  to  the  knights :  '  Tell  me,  who 
of  you  were  born  in  England,  that 
they  may  go  on  their  way  home  now.' 
And  they  answered :  '  From  Norway 
only  came  Queen  Irene  with  two 
of  her  maidens ;  all  the  rest  of  us 
were  born  in  England.'  I  said  to 
the  knights  : '  Go  home,  then,  with  my 
blessings,  noble  lords !  and  if  I  did 
what  pleased  you,  think  of  me 
with  a  friendly  heart.  Let  King 
William  know,  and  also  Reinemund 
of  Norway,  that  Queen  Irene  is  in 
my  house  and  under  my  protection, 
and  that  I  am  ready  and  willing  to 
give  her  up  whenever  they  claim  her. 
When  I  send  my  messengers  to  you, 
pay  them  back,  O  knights !  what  I 
left  for  your  sake  in  the  strange  land 
of  the  heathen,  if  it  so  is  convenient 
to  you.  Then  they  thanked  me  so 
that  I  had  to  hide  from  their  embrac- 
es ;  and  we  parted  with  many  tears  ; 
and  they  went  their  way,  I  mine. 

"  Soon  I  was  home  again.  My  wife 
and  son  welcomed  me  gladly  and 
with  thanksgivings,  and  after  I  had 
told  them  all,  they  led  Irene  to  my 
house.  And  Queen  Irene  lived  in 
my  house  like  one  of  us  for  many  a 
month,  and  my  wife  loved  her,  and 
all  the  women  of  my  household  and 
friendship,  and  she  taught  them  many 
a  fine  art,  such  as  to  embroider  with 
gold  and  thread  of  silver  and  pearl. 
And  God  gave  his  blessing  to  my 
trade,  and  I  prospered.  But  every 
day,  Irene's  loveliness  grew  more 
lovely,  and  when  I  saw  her  so  gentle 
and  smiling,  I  forgot  my  losses,  and 
my  joy  was  greater  than  seventy- 
fold  gain  would  have  made  it.  So 
passed  a  year,  and  no  message  came 
from  Reinemund,  nor  from  William, 
the  King  of  England,  and  I  beheld 
with  sorrow  that  my  queen's  mind 
was  grieved,  though  she  hid  her 
tears  from  our  eyes.  That  I  took 
to  my  heart,  and  said  to  myself, 
'  I  bought  our  sweet  queen  free  from 
great  pain,  and  now  I  must  see  her 


802 


The  Good  Gerard  of  Cologne. 


in  greater  grief.  There  is  no  one  here 
kindred  to  her,  and,  when  I  am  gone, 
who  is  there  to  be  her  friend  and  pro- 
tector ?  King  William  is  dead,  and 
so  is  Reinemund,  the  King  of  Norway, 
and  Irene,  their  queen,  will  die  of 
grief  for  them  !  Therefore  I  spoke 
to  her  one  day,  and  I  asked  her  to 
listen  graciously,  and  then  I  said 
thus  :  '  Thou  must  know,  O  queen  ! 
that  there  is  nothing  that  gives  me  so 
much  trouble  than  the  thought  what 
one  day  shall  become  of  thee  when 
I  am  no  more.  It  is  clear  now,  sorry 
as  I  am  for  it,  that  thy  friends  are 
dead,  therefore,  I  think  it  our  duty 
to  counsel  wisely  what  is  best  for  thy 
future,  O  queen !  As  he  is  consider- 
ed a  wise  man  who  tries  to  forget 
what  fortune  took  from  him,  so  I  ad- 
vise thee,  O  my  daughter !  to  choose 
for  a  husband  one  from  among  my 
family,  that  is,  my  son,  as  whose  wife 
honor  and  ample  fortune  will  not  be 
wanting  to  thee.'  At  that,  Irene 
-answered  and  spoke  to  me :  '  O 
dear  father !  I  know  me  no  better  ad- 
viser than  thee  in  this  world;  so  I 
will  do  whatever  pleases  thee.  Only 
let  me  wait  one  year  longer;  if  till 
then  no  tidings  have  come  from  any 
friends  and  kindred,  thy  wish  shall 
be  mine !'  But  the  year  was  soon 
past,  and  no  tidings  had  reached 
us,  neither  from  England  nor  from 
Norway ;  and  so  Irene  the  queen 
was  to  be  the  merchant's  wife.  I  or- 
dered the  wedding  to  be  prepared 
with  the  greatest  splendor,  and  my 
mind's  only  thought  was  to  boast 
with  my  riches ;  and  I  asked  to  the 
feast  many  a  rich  merchant,  and  no- 
bles and  dukes,  and  our  prince  the 
bishop.  So  when  Pentecost  came, 
that  was  to  be  the  day  of  the  wed- 
ding, the  bishop  stood  up  before  the 
altar,  and  eleven  noble  squires  knelt 
down  before  him,  and  the  twelfth 
one,  who  was  Gerard  my  son,  and 
the  bishop  blessed  their  swords,  and 
they  arose  as  noble  lords  and  knights. 


My  eye  rested  on  him,  and  I  saw  he 
was  happy;  he  broke  his  lance  in 
honor  of  his  bride ;  he  watched  for 
the  bell  that  should  call  him  again 
to  the  altar  of  God,  there  to  receive 
Irene  as  his  wife  :  what  could  there 
be  to  make  his  happiness  greater  and 
to  hinder  him  from  drinking  the  cup 
of  bliss  ?  But  lo,  I  beheld  one  stand 
ing  far  aside,  a  stranger  with  a  pale 
face  and  his  eyes  full  of  tears;  he 
gazed  at  Irene,  my  daughter,  and  he 
shuddered,  and  his  arm  was  around 
a  column  that  he  might  not  fall. 
He  was  a  young  man  of  great  beau- 
ty, and  his  skin  was  fine  and  white, 
but  his  beard  gray,  and  his  dress  that 
of  a  beggar.  As  I  saw  him  so  full  of 
woe  and  tears,  I  went  up  to  him,  and 
I  asked  him  the  cause  of  his  grief, 
that  perhaps  I  might  give  help  and 
make  joy  and  happiness  come  back 
to  his  mind.  But  he  would  not 
speak.  At  last,  as  I  pressed  him 
very  much,  he  said  to  me  these 
words  :  '  Such  as  thou  doest  see  me 
here  with  my  hair  gray  before  the 
time,  I  am  William,  King  of  Eng- 
land. I  went  to  sea  to  meet  my  bride 
coming  from  Norway,  where  I  had 
sent  twelve  maidens  and  twenty- 
four  knights  to  escort  her  over  to 
me.  But  a  storm  arose  and  threw 
my  ship  against  the  rocks  while  I 
was  already  in  sight  of  them,  the 
tempest  carried  me  to  the  shore  and 
I  was  thus  saved,  but  not  a  word  I 
ever  heard  of  the  knights,  or  the  mai- 
dens, or  of  Irene  my  bride,  the  King 
of  Norway's  daughter.  For  years 
and  years  I  have  wandered  about  in 
search  of  her,  with  my  heart  full  of 
despair  and  my  hair  and  beard  gray, 
till  at  last  I  found  her  to-day,  the 
bride  of  another  man.  What  shall 
I  tell  thee  more  ?  My  soul  and  bo- 
dy are  hers  whom  I  love,  and  for  her 
sake  I  will  now  give  them  up  into 
death  !'  AVhen  I  heard  these  words 
from  my  guest,  him  who  destroyed 
all  my  joys,  I  said  unto  him :  '  The 


TV/.?  Good  Gerard  of  Cologne. 


803 


Lord  has  done  great  things;  honor 
and  fortune  he  might  still  give  thee 
back;  wait  here  awhile,  and  be  of 
good  cheer!'  And  I  sent  my  va- 
let to  him,  to  attend  to  all  his  needs 
and  wants,  but  I  went  to  my  prince 
the  bishop  and  told  him  the  wonder 
God  had  shown  to  us,  and  asked 
him  to  help  me  with  my  son  Gerard 
and  teach  him  a  Christian's  duty. 
So  I  called  my  son  away  from  the 
side  of  his  bride,  and  after  he  had 
heard  the  tale,  so  full  of  marvel, 
the  bishop  asked  him:  'Wilt  thou 
then  separate,  Gerard,  what  before 
God  is  united  ?'  Then  he  answered 
us,  and  he  said  :  '  What  do  you  think 
of  me  ?  Shall  I  give  up  my  love  and 
happiness  and  rest  and  peace  ?' 
But  the  bishop  spoke  :  '  Yes,  my  son, 
thou  shalt !'  And  my  child  began 
to  cry  at  these  words,  and  I  cried 
with  him,  and  he  put  his  arms  around 
my  neck  and  said,  '  My  father,  then 
let  it  be  so  !'  and  my  heart  felt  joy  at 
these  words.  Shall  I  tell  thee  what 
my  heart  felt  when  I  saw  King  Wil- 
liam greet  his  bride  ?  I  am  old  as 
thou  art,  O  emperor !  but  I  know 
not  without  jealousy  thou  wouldst 
have  beheld  it.  And  in  my  heart  I 
thanked  the  God  of  goodness  who 
had  given  so  wise  counsel  in  my  mind 
that  my  blessings  now  were  greater 
than  what  gold  or  silver  could  ever 
have  bought  for  me.  After  that  I 
filled  my  ship  and  took  them  over 
to  England,  and  great  was  the  joy 
of  the  four-and-twenty  knights  on  be- 
holding their  king  and  queen,  and 
of  the  whole  people,  and  great  were 
their  thanks  to  me,  and  only  with 
great  pain  could  I  hinder  them  from 
bestowing  all  their  riches  on  me,  and 
making  me  a  prince  and  a  great  man 
among  them.  But  I  will  not  repeat 
to  thee  all  they  meant  to  do  to  me, 
and  the  praises  they  gave  me;  for 
God  knows,  in  all  my  life  I  cannot 
deserve  them.  And  when  I  came 
home,  the  people  made  much  of  me, 


and  called  me  '  the  good ' ;  though 
thou  knowest  now,  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  I  am  not  good.  It  was  only 
by  the  angel's  voice  that  my  doubts 
were  taken,  from  me;  I  was  full  of 
fear  to  lose  my  goods,  and  weak. 
Besides,  I  am  a  sinner  and  am  proud 
and  vain,  so  that  I  have  been  prais- 
ing myself  before  thee,  O  emperor ! 
while,  couldst  thou  see  my  heart, 
many  a  fault  thou  wouldst  observe 
within." 


in. 

Before  Gerard  had  finished  speak- 
ing, the  emperor's  heart  .grew  large 
within  him  and  made  his  eyes  over- 
flow ;  for  tears  are  a  blessing  which 
God  sends  from  heaven.  He  felt 
shame  and  repentance,  and  these 
two  re-created  his  heart,  and  his  mind 
was  healed  from  all  false  glory.  And 
he  said :  "  Gerard,  I  tell  thee,  better  a 
good  deal  than  silence  is  what  thou 
hast  made  known  to  me;  for  my 
heart  was  sick  with  vainglory,  and 
pride  overgrew  the  good  deed.  I 
had  built  a  great  house  to  the  Lord, 
and  the  thought  of  that  poisoned  my 
heart,  so  that  it  asked  for  reward. 
But  what  I  asked  has  turned  against 
me  as  a  punishment,  for  no  heart  is 
pure  that  seeks  for  glory  only.  When 
I  then  praised  myself  at  my  good 
deed,  God  sent  me  to  thee  to  learn 
true  humility  and  charity.  Truly 
thou  art  good;  for  thy  heart  was  not 
moved  by  the  praise  of  this  world. 
Thou  hast  given  thy  goods  for 
poor  prisoners,  thou  hast  taken  the 
wife  from  thy  son,  and  refused  the 
riches  of  England  in  humility  and 
charity,  only  for  the  sake  of  the  Lord 
thy  God.  Well,  my  ride  to  thee 
has  brought  me  benefit.  But  thou, 
O  Gerard!  pray  the  Lord  to  have 
mercy  upon  him  that  prides  in  vain- 
glory; pray  for  thy  emperor  to  our 
God  in  heaven." 


804 


Egyptian  Civilization  according  to 


EGYPTIAN     CIVILIZATION     ACCORDING     TO     THE     MOST 
RECENT    DISCOVERIES. 


FROM   THE   CORRESPONDANT. 


PRELIMINARY  OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE 
ANTIQUITY  OF  EGYPTIAN  CIVILI- 
ZATION. 

THE  most  striking  fact  respecting 
the  Egyptian  monarchy  is  its  anti- 
quity. "  Forty  centuries  look  down 
upon  you  from  these  pyramids,"  were 
the  sublime  words  of  Bonaparte ;  but 
they  do  not  express  enough.  The 
progress  of  archaeological  science 
shows  that  the  reign  of  the  Pha- 
raohs began  more  than  three  thou- 
sand years  before  Christ.  M.  Bun- 
sen  gives  the  date  as  4245  B.C.,  and 
M.  Mariette  5004,  but  with  some 
qualifications  that  should  be  men- 
tioned. "  Egyptian  chronology," 
says  he,  "presents  difficulties  which 
no  one,  as  yet,  has  surmounted. 

.  .  To  all  dates  before  the 
time  of  Psammetichus  I.  (665  B.C), 
it  is  impossible  to  give  anything 
but  approximations,  which  become 
more  and  more  uncertain  as  we  re- 
cede. .  .  .  This  uncertainty  in- 
creases in  proportion  as  we  go  back 
from  the  present  age;  so  that,  ac- 
cording to  the  methods  of  computa- 
tion, there  may  be  two  thousand 
years'  difference  in  assigning  the  date 
of  the  Egyptian  monarchy."  * 

While  fully  admitting  the  reason- 
able qualifications  of  the  learned 

*  Mariette,  Notice  des  principciux  Monuments 
exposes  dans  les  Galeries  provisoires  du  Musce 
(TAntiquites  Egyptiennes  de  S.  A.  le  Vice-Roi,h 
Boulaq.  Alexandrie.  1864.  It  may  be  well  to 
remark  here  that  the  antiquity  of  the  Egyptian 
nation  is  by  no  means  irreconcilable  with  the 
Septuagint,  as  Mgr.  Meignan  shows  in  his  learn- 
ed work  on  Le  Monde  primitif,  pp.  164  and  151. 
Paris.  1869.  Palme". 


director  of  the  Egyptian  antiquities, 
it  is  no  less  certain,  from  the  dis- 
coveries already  made,  that  the  reign 
of  the  Pharaohs  extends  back  about 
thirty  centuries  before  the  Christian 
era. 

Another  characteristic  of  this  an- 
cient nation,  which  is  no  less  remark- 
able, is  that  it  manifests  all  the  signs 
of  civilization  from  the  beginning. 
"It  is  a  phenomenon  worthy  of  the 
most  serious  attention,"  says  Cham- 
pcllion-Figeac,  "  that  Egypt  possess- 
ed in  those  remote  ages  all  the  civil, 
religious,  and  military  institutions  in- 
dispensable to  the  prosperity  of  a 
great  nation,  and  all  the  enjoyments 
resulting  from  the  perfection  of  the 
arts,  the  advantages  assured  by  the 
authority  of  the  civil  and  religious 
laws,  the  culture  of  the  sciences,  and 
a  profound  sentiment  of  the  dignity 
and  destination  of  man."* 

"  Egyptian  civilization  manifests 
itself  to  us  fully  developed  from 
the  earliest  ages,  and  succeeding 
ones,  however  numerous,  taught  it 
little  more,"  f  says  M.  Mariette. 

"  What  is  most  extraordinary  about 
this  mysterious  civilization  is  that  it 
had  no  infancy.  .  .  .  Egypt,  in 
this  respect  as  in  so  many  others,  is 
an  exception  to  the  laws  to  which 
the  Indo-European  and  Semitic  races 
have  accustomed  us.  It  does  not  be- 

*  Egypt  ana'enne,  by  Champollion-Figeac. 
Paris.  1859. 

t  Aperfu  de  FHistoirc  d?  Egypt  e  depuis  lei 
Temps  les  plus  recutts  jusqiSb  la  Conqueie  Mu- 
sulmane.  By  Auguste  Mariette-Bey,  Director  of 
the  Company  for  the  Preservation  of  Egyptian 
Antiquities.  Alexandria.  1864. 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries. 


805 


gin  with  myths,  heroic  exploits,  and 
barbarism."*  The  author  we  have 
just  quoted  sought  in  vain,  with  all 
his  mind  and  learning,  for  the  cause 
of  this  strange  phenomenon.  "  Egypt," 
says  he,  "is  another  China,  mature 
and  almost  decrepit  from  its  birth, 
and  in  its  monuments  and  history 
there  is  something  at  once  childlike 
and  old." 

This  ingenious  explanation  excites 
a  smile,  but  not  conviction.  Rather 
than  admit  revelation — that  is  to  say, 
the  intervention  of  the  divine  agency 
in  the  creation  of  man  and  the  forma- 
tion of  primitive  nations — many  learn- 
ed men  of  our  day  prefer  to  take  refuge 
in  the  most  singular  and  inadmissible 
theories.  According  to  them,  human 
society  must  "commence  with  myths 
and  barbarism,"  and  man  himself  with 
the  savage  nature  of  the  brutes.  But 
they  are  forced  to  acknowledge  that 
Egypt  is  a  decided  exception  to  this 
theory. 

"  The  gigantic  labors  of  the  Suez 
Canal  in  removing  the  immense  accu- 
mulations of  sand,  so  often  amassed 
as  if  to  preserve  the  past  history  of 
the  world,  have  not  revealed  a  single 
vestige  of  uncivilized  men  who,  be- 
fore the  deluge,  were  scattered  over 
the  rest  of  the  earth."  f 

To  resolve  the  problem  of  ancient 
Egyptian  civilization,  we  propose  an 
explanation  more  conformable  to  the 
traditions  and  the  dignity  of  the  hu- 
man race.  It  is  true,  this  explanation 
is  not  new,  for  it  was  evident  to  the 
sages  of  pagan  times  a  long  time  be- 
fore it  was  fully  unfolded  by  Christian 
philosophers.  Socrates  taught  that 
"the  ancients,  better  than  we  and 
nearer  the  gods,  had  transmitted  by 
tradition  the  sublime  knowledge  they 


*  E.  Renan.  Les  Antiquites  et  les  Fouilles 
(TEgypte  (Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  for  April  i, 
1865). 

t  H.  Dufresne,  Moniteur  Officiel  for  July  2, 
1867. 


had  received  from  them."  Plato 
adds  that  "  the  earliest  of  mankind, 
issuing  from  the  hands  of  the  gods, 
must  have  known  them  as  well  as  we 
know  our  own  fathers,  and  that  it  is 
truly  impossible  not  to  believe  the 
testimony  of  the  children  of  the 
gods." 

What  the  wise  men  of  Greece  per- 
ceived through  the  thick  veil  of  pa- 
ganism, we  behold  clearly  by  the 
light  of  Christianity  and  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  It  seems  to  us  a  simple 
thing  to  believe  that  the  Egyptian 
nation,  the  first  founded,  ndl  many 
centuries  after  the  deluge,  must  have 
been  organized  according  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  national  law  of  which 
the  descendants  of  Noah  had  not  yet 
lost  the  tradition.  "  If  we  believe  in 
the  truth  of  the  Scriptural  accounts," 
says  an  illustrious  promoter  of  social 
reforms  in  England,*  "  we  must  also 
believe  that  when  the  families  de- 
scended from  Ham  and  Japheth  be- 
gan their  long  migrations,  they  bore 
with  them  the  religious  traditions 
they  possessed  in  common  with  the 
children  of  Shem. 

"  As  to  those  who  will  not  accept 
the  testimony  of  the  book  which,  to 
give  it  the  most  unpretending  of  its 
august  titles,  is  the  most  ancient  and 
most  venerable  document  of  human 
history,  we  could  reply  that  the  rea- 
soning still  remains  the  same.  The 
progress  of  ethnological  and  philolo- 
gical researches  furnishes  us  with  evi- 
dent proofs  of  a  continued  migration 
of  the  Touranian  and  Aryan  races 
towards  the  north  and  west  from 
places  necessarily  undefined,  but  cer- 
tainly from  the  vicinity  of  the  nomad 
patriarchs.  On  the  other  hand,  no- 
thing shows  that  their  traditions  have 
a  different  source  from  that  given  in 
the  Book  of  Genesis — the  three  divi- 
sions of  Noah's  family.  If,  then, 

*  Gladstone. 


8o6 


Egyptian  Civilization  according  to 


everything  seems  to  demonstrate  the 
intimate  connection  of  these  primi- 
tive races  with  the  Semitic  tribes, 
how  could  the  descendants  of  Ham 
and  Japheth  have  left  behind  the  irre- 
ligious traditions  when,  for  the  first 
time,  they  left  their  brethren  ?" 

The  descendants  of  Ham,  ances- 
tors of  the  first  Egyptians,  doubtless 
preserved,  with  their  religious  tradi- 
tions, the  moral  principles  that  guar- 
antee the  existence  and  perpetuity 
of  domestic  life,  and  the  notions  of 
the  arts  indispensable  to  its  comfort. 
"  Withwthe  human  race,"  says  Bos- 
suet,  "  Noah  preserved  the  arts ;  not 
only  those  necessary  to  life  which  man 
knew  from  the  beginning,  but  those 
subsequently  invented.  The  first  arts 
which  man  learned,  apparently  from 
his  Creator,  were  agriculture,  the  du- 
ties of  pastoral  life,  the  fabrication  of 
clothing,  and  perhaps  the  construc- 
tion of  habitations.  Therefore  we  do 
not  see  the  rudiments  of  these  arts  in 
the  East,  in  those  regions  whence  the 
human  race  was  dispersed.  This  is 
why  everything  springs  from  those 
lands,  always  inhabited,  where  the  fun- 
damental arts  remained.  The  know- 
ledge of  God  and  memories  of  crea- 
tion are  there  preserved."* 

The  ruins  of  the  Tower  of  Babel 
still  show  to  what  a  degree  of  ad- 
vancement the  art  of  building  had  ar- 
rived, and  the  details  given  us  in  the 
Bible  about  the  construction  of  the 
ark  display  an  amount  of  nautical 
knowledge  which  must  have  been 
transmitted  to  the  skilful  boatmen  of 
the  Nile  and  the  bold  navigators  of 
ancient  Phoenicia. 

We  will  not  extend  these  prelimi- 
nary observations,  which  we  think 
throw  sufficient  light  on  the  origin  of 
Egyptian  civilization,  the  incontest- 
able antiquity  of  which  is  as  enigma- 
tical as  that  of  the  Sphynx  to  the  as- 

*  Bossuet,  Discours  sur  CHistoire  universelle. 


tonished  eyes  of  the  modern  QEdipus. 
A  truly  learned  man,  who  shows  him- 
self by  his  conferences  in  the  Rue  Bo- 
naparte thoroughly  conversant  with 
the  discoveries  of  contemporaneous 
Egyptology,  and  who  is  not  ashamed 
to  seek  light  from  revelation  as  well 
as  from  science,  has  resolved  the  prob- 
lem in  the  following  terms  :  "  There 
is  not,  in  the  first  ages  of  the  Egyp- 
tian monarchy,  the  least  trace  of  the 
rude  beginnings  of  a  nation  in  its  in- 
fancy. Indeed,  we  should  not  forget 
that  this  country  never  passed  through 
the  savage  state,  and  that,  if  the 
truths  revealed  to  the  patriarchs  were 
adulterated  by  the  race  of  Ham,  they 
still  retained  sufficient  light  not  to 
remain  satisfied  with  material  enjoy- 
ments alone."* 

Let  us  now  endeavor  to  pene- 
trate, by  the  light  of  these  principles, 
as  far  as  we  can  into  the  labyrinth 
of  Egyptian  antiquities. 


BOOK  FIRST. 

THE   SOCIAL  ORGANIZATION. 

I. 
DOMESTIC     REGULATIONS. 

The  institutions  which  are  the  safe- 
guards of  family  life  and  of  property 
are  essential  to  society  and  the  per- 
petuity of  a  nation,  and  these  founda- 
tions of  the  social  life  seem  to  have 
been  as  firmly  established  among  the 
ancient  Egyptians  as  their  own  pyra- 
mids. The  sacredness  of  the  family 
tie  was  the  result  of  unity  of  marriage 
and  respect  to  parents,  and  its  perpe- 
tuity was  assured  by  the  rights  of  pri- 
mogeniture, which  were  universally 
admitted  from  the  royal  family  down 
to  that  of  the  most  humble  laborer. 
This  was  the  fundamental  principle 


*  Robiau,    Histoire    ancienne    du    Pe:ip2e  d> 
t  Orient,  p.  83. 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries. 


807 


of  family  life  and  of  society.  There- 
fore we  see  Pharaoh  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures  resist  all  the  plagues  God 
sent  upon  Egypt  for  the  deliverance 
of  the  Israelites;  but  when  the  first- 
born of  the  Egyptians  were  smitten 
in  one  night,  the  king  yielded  at  once, 
for  the  whole  nation  felt  that  a  blow 
had  been  given  to  the  very  source  of 
its  existence. 

The  Egyptian  monuments  of  every 
age  prove  that  the  paternal  authority 
was  universally  regarded  with  great 
respect.  On  a  great  number  of  stelae 
collected  by  M.  Mariette  in  the  mu- 
seum of  Boulak  are  these  words: 
"  Oblation  in  honor  of  the  head  of 
the  house."  (Here  follows  the  name.) 

"  The  religious  laws  of  Egypt  ob- 
liged families  on  certain  days  in  the 
year  to  present  offerings  to  deceased 
parents.  One  stela,  consecrated  to 
the  memory  of  Entef,  who  lived  at 
the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  dynasty, 
is  only  a  representation  of  one  of 
these  festivals.  Entef  is  seated  be- 
side his  wife.  His  sons  and  daugh- 
ters present  themselves  before  him. 
Some  are  saying  the  prescribed  pray- 
ers; others  bringing  food  and  per- 
fumes. The  last  scene  depicted  is 
interesting  from  the  variety  of  repre- 
sentations. Besides  parts  of  animals 
already  sacrificed,  the  servants  are 
bringing  live  animals."* 

We  may  judge  of  the  sentiments 
of  the  ancient  Egyptians  with  re- 
gard to  paternal  authority  by  the 
following  passages  from  an  ancient 
document,  the  authenticity  of  which 
has  never  been  contested : 

"  The  son  who  receives  his  father's 
advice  will  live  to  be  old.  Beloved 
by  God  is  obedience.  Disobedience 
is  hated  by  God.  The  obedience  of 
a  son  to  his  father  is  a  joy,  .  .  . 

*  Mariette,  Notice  des  principaux  Monuments 
du  MusiSe  if  AntiquiUs  Egyptiennes  a  Boulaq,  by  M.  Chabas  in  the  Revue  Archeol.^  vol.  xxix., 


he  is  beloved  by  his  father,  and  his 
renown  is  on  the  lips  of  the  living 
who  walk  the,  earth.  The  rebellious 
son  sees  knowledge  in  ignorance,  and 
virtue  in  vice;  he  daily  commits  all 
kinds  of  frauds  with  impunity,  and 
lives  thereby  as  if  he  were  dead. 
What  wise  men  consider  death  is 
his  daily  life.  He  keeps  on  his  way 
laden  with  maledictions.  A  son 
docile  in  the  service  of  God  will  be 
happy  in  consequence  of  his  obedi- 
ence. .  .  .  "* 

We  cannot  help  recognizing  in 
this  precious  document  the  moral 
ideas  of  primitive  times,  the  tradition 
of  which  is  so  faithfully  preserved  in 
the  Bible.  The  fourth  precept  of 
the  Decalogue  is  found  here  almost 
literally :  "  Honor  thy  father  and 
thy  mother,  that  thou  mayest  be 
long-lived  upon  the  land." 

Upon  a  mortuary  stela  described 
by  M.  Mariette  in  his  Notice  du 
Muse'e  de  Boulaq  (No.  44,  p.  72), 
Mai,  the  defunct,  is  seen  receiving  the 
homage  of  the  members  of  his  family. 
"  One  of  the  sons  of  Ma'i  is  called 
Men-Nefer.  For  some  unknown  rea- 
son, his  name  is  erased  from  the  list 
of  the  family,  and,  in  fact,  his  whole 
image  is  hammered  down.  Another 
son  likewise  incurred  this  mark  of 
infamy,  which  is  only  given  to  the 
proper  name  of  the  personage." 

Respect  to  parents  naturally  leads 
to  that  for  the  aged.  "  The  Egyp- 
tians have  this  custom  in  common 
with  the  Lacedaemonians,"  says  He- 
rodotus ;  "  young  men,  when  they 
meet  their  elders,  turn  aside  for  them 
to  pass ;  at  their  approach  they  rise 
from  their  seats." 

The  obligations  of  parents  towards 
their  children  were  strictly  enjoined 


*  Little  moral  treatise  by  Phtah-Hotep.  who 
lived  in  the  reign  of  Assa-Tatkera,  the  last  king 
but  one  of  the  fifth  dynasty— partly  translated 


P-  75- 


first  series. 


SoS 


Egyptian  Civilisation  according  to 


in  ancient  Egypt,  as  is  evident  from 
a  curious  passage  from  Diodorus, 
which,  at  the  same  time,  shows  how 
the  manners  and  laws  favored  the 
fecundity  of  marriage,  the  only 
source  of  a  robust  and  numerous 
population  : 

"  Parents  are  obliged  to  rear  all 
their  offspring  in  order  to  increase 
the  population,  which  is  regarded  as 
the  chief  source  of  the  prosperity  of 
a  kingdom.  .  .  .  They  provide 
for  the  support  of  their  children  at 
little  expense,  and  with  incredible 
frugality.  They  give  them  very  sim- 
ple food  :  the  stems  of  the  papyrus 
which  can  be  roasted,  roots  and 
stems  of  palustrine  plants,  sometimes 
raw,  sometimes  boiled  and  roasted, 
and  as  all  children  go  unshod  in 
that  temperate  climate,  the  parents 
do  not  estimate  the  expense  of  a 
child  before  the  age  of  puberty  to 
be  more  than  twenty  drachmae  (a 
little  less  than  twenty  francs). 

"The  children  of  the  common  peo- 
ple are  taught  the  trade  of  their  pa- 
rents, which  they  are  to  practise  for 
life,  as  we  have  remarked.  Those  who 
are  initiated  into  the  arts  are  alone 
charged  with  teaching  others  to 
read." 

So  simple  and  natural  a  system  of 
education  must  have  singularly  fa- 
vored the  fruitfulness  of  marriage 
among  the  masses,  and  the  number 
of  children  was  not  less  among  the 
aristocracy.  We  see  from  the  sim- 
plest monuments,  where  the  funeral 
honors  rendered  to  the  head  of  a 
family  by  all  his  children  are  painted 
on  a  wood  panel,  or  sculptured  on  a 
slab  of  calcareous  stone,  that  their 
number,  including  both  sexes,amount- 
ed  to  eight  or  a  dozen,  or  even  more, 
and  the  more  elaborate  monuments, 
indicating  distinguished  families  and 
the  upper  classes,  render  the  same 
testimony  as  to  the  large  number  of 
children  in  each  family — as  in  the 


sculpture  at  Thebes,  which  gives  a 
list  of  nine  male  children  of  Rameses 
Meiamoun,  and  a  greater  number  of 
daughters.  In  this  respect  the  an- 
cient Egyptian  nation  differed  from 
people  of  modern  times."  * 

The  inequality  that  weighed  so 
heavily  upon  woman  among  ancient 
nations  is  not  found  in  Egypt.  "  Wo- 
men, on  the  contrary,"  says  M.  Mari- 
ette,  "  held  a  prominent  position  in 
a  family.  The  rights  they  inherited 
were  not  absorbed  in  those  of  their 
husbands,  and  they  were  transmitted 
intact  to  their  children.  At  certain 
epochs,  the  family  monuments  often 
named  the  mother  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  father.  In  the  inscriptions  of 
the  ancient  empire,  conjugal  affec- 
tion is  frequently  expressed  in  a  de- 
licate and  touching  manner."  And 
it  has  been  remarked,  and  with  rea- 
son, that  the  women  who  played  a 
great  role  in  the  history  of  the  ancient 
dynasties  enjoyed  in  private  life  a 
liberty  of  action  quite  foreign  to  the 
manners  of  most  Oriental  nations.* 

"  It  is  by  the  social  position  of  wo- 
man," says  M.  de  Bonald,  "  that  we 
can  always  determine  the  nature  of  the 
political  institutions  of  a  people.  In 
Egypt,  where  we  find  the  type  of  the 
social  organization,  the  law  submit- 
ted the  husband  to  his  wife  in  honor 
of  Isis,  which  means  that  this  depen- 
dence was  inspired  by  religion  and 
morals,  rather  than  commanded  by 
law.  Neither  divorce  nor  polyg- 
amy was  known  there."  t 

The  elevated  condition  of  woman 
in  Egypt  is  attested  by  the  monu- 
ments, which  show  her  sharing  with 
her  husband  in  the  direction  of  the 
family.  § 

Champollion-Figeac  has  given  us 
curious  details  respecting  the  private 


*  Champo.lion-Figeac,  Egyfitc  ancienne,  173. 
t  Robiau,  Histoire  anc.  dcs  Peuples  de  t  Orient. 
\  De  Bonald,  Tkeoriedu  Pouvoir,  vol.  i.  p   253. 
§  Champollion-Figeac. 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries. 


809 


customs  of  wealthy  families,  the  garb 
and  toilet  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, and  the  peculiar  characteristics 
of  the  Egyptian  race : 

"  The  head  was  habitually  uncov- 
ered; the  hair  curled  or  plaited;  a 
woollen  mantle  was  sometimes  worn 
over  the  tunic,  and  laid  aside  when 
they  entered  the  temples.  The  wo- 
men, besides  the  tunic,  wore  ample 
vestments  of  linen  or  cotton,  with 
large  sleeves,  plain  or  striped,  white, 
or  of  some  uniform  color.  Their 
hair  was  artistically  arranged.  Their 
heads  were  ornamented  with  ban- 
deaux, and  their  ears  and  hands  with 
rings.  A  light  slipper  was  worn  on 
the  feet.  They  went  out  with  un- 
covered faces,  accompanied  by  some 
of  the  numerous  female  servants  of 
the  house.  Dressed  also  in  ample 
robes  of  striped  cloth,  these  servants 
had  their  hair  braided  and  hanging 
down  over  the  shoulders.  They 
also  wore  a  large  apron,  like  their 
dress,  with  no  jewels  or  other  orna- 
ments, and  held  themselves  in  a  re- 
spectful posture  in  the  presence  of 
the  lady  of  the  house.  Girls  issuing 
from  childhood  were  dressed  like 
their  mothers,  with  the  exception  of 
the  ornaments  of  the  head,  and  chil- 
dren of  both  sexes  wore  ear-rings  as 
their  only  ornament  (or  dress)  for 
the  first  five  or  six  years. 

"They  were  a  fine  race,  tall  in 
stature,  generally  somewhat  slender, 
and  long-lived,  as  is  proved  by  the 
sepulchral  inscriptions  of  those  over 
eighty  years  of  age.  But  exceptions 
to  these  general  statements  are  found 
among  the  Egyptians  as  among 
other  nations.  We  only  make  a 
general  statement  of  the  principal 
features  of  their  physical  nature,  ac- 
cording to  the  monuments,  in  accord 
with  historical  accounts.  Herodotus, 
who  saw  Egypt  before  its  complete 
decadence,  declares  that,  next  to  the 
Lybians,  the  Egyptians  were  the 


healthiest  of  people.  The  great 
number  of  mummies  of  men  and 
women  which  have  been  opened  cor- 
roborate this  testimony."  * 

Bossuet,  in  his  Discours  sur  I'His- 
toire  untierselle,  gives  a  bold  sketch 
of  the  physiognomy  of  the  Egyp- 
tians, and  shows  the  result  of  their 
manly  training  :  "  These  wise  Egyp- 
tians," says  he,  "  studied  the  regimen 
that  produces  solid  minds,  robust 
bodies,  fruitful  women,  and  vigorous 
children.  Consequently,  the  people 
increased  in  number  and  strength. 
The  country  was  naturally  healthy, 
but  philosophy  taught  them  that  na- 
ture wishes  to  be  aided.  There  is  an 
art  of  forming  the  body  as  well  as 
the  mind.t  This  art,  which  we  have 
lost  through  our  indifference,  was 
well  known  to  the  ancients,  and 
Egypt  acquired  it.  For  this  lauda- 
ble end,  the  inhabitants  had  recourse 
to  exercise  and  frugality.  .  .  .  Races 
on  foot,  horseback,  and  in  chariots 
were  practised  with  admirable  skill 
in  Egypt.  There  were  not  finer 
horsemen  in  the  world  than  the 
Egyptians. 

"  When  Diodorus  tells  us  they  re- 
jected wrestling  as  giving  a  dajger- 
ous  and  factitious  strength,  he  had 
reference  to  the  excessive  feats  of  the 
athletes,  which  Greece  herself,  though 
she  crowned  the  victorious  wrestler 
in  her  games,  disapproved  of  as  un- 
suitable for  free  persons ;  and  Diodo- 
rus himself  informs  us  that  the  Mer- 
cury of  the  Egyptians  invented  the 
rules  as  well  as  the  art  of  forming  the 
body. 

"  We  must  similarly  modify  the 
statement  of  the  same  author  re- 
specting music.  That  which  the 
Egyptians  despised,  according  to 
him,  as  tending  to  lessen  courage, 
was  doubtless  soft,  effeminate  music, 
which  only  excites  to  pleasure  and 

*  Champollion-Figeac,  Egyptt  aitcienne,  p.  173- 
t  Diodorus. 


8io 


Egyptian  Civilization  according  to 


false  tenderness.  For  the  Egyptians, 
so  far  from  despising  music  of  an 
elevated  character,  whose  noble  ac- 
cords exalt  the  mind  and  heart, 
ascribed  its  invention,  according  to 
Diodorus  himself,  to  their  Mercury, 
as  well  as  the  gravest  of  musical  in- 
struments.* 

"Among  the  varied  exercises 
which  formed  a  part  of  the  military 
education,  and  are  sculptured  on  the 
numerous  monuments,  are  found 
complete  gymnastic  rules.  Nothing 
could  be  more  varied  than  the  atti- 
tudes and  positions  of  the  wrestlers, 
attacking,  defending  themselves,  re- 
ceding and  advancing  by  turns, 
bending  down  or  turning  over,  rising 
up  again,  and  triumphing  over  the 
opponents  by  dint  of  strength,  art, 
and  skill.  In  these  exercises  the 
wrestlers  only  wore  a  large  girdle, 
that  supported  and  favored  their 
efforts." 

A  fortunate  discovery  by  M.  Mari- 
ette  enables  us  to  complete  the  por- 
trait of  the  Egyptian  race.  A  statue 
found  in  the  Necropolis  of  Sakkarah, 
near  Memphis,  represents  a  person 
standing  wearing  a  plain  wig,t  the 
armPclose  to  the  body.  He  is  walk- 
ing, with  the  left  leg  advanced. 
"  This  fine  monument,"  says  M.  Ma- 
riette,  "  is  at  once  a  perfect  model  of 
the  Fellah  of  the  middle  provinces 
of  Egypt  and  a  specimen  of  the 
works  of  art  in  the  ancient  kingdom. 
The  person  represented  is  tall  and 
slender,  with  a  small  hand,  the  eyes 


*  Bossuet,  Discours  sur  THistoire  univ.  The 
passage  from  Diodorus  which  inspired  the  saga- 
cious reflections  of  the  illustrious  Bishop  of 
Meaux  is  this  :  "  Wrestling  and  music  are  not 
allowed  to  be  taught,  for,  according  to  the  Egyp- 
tian belief,  the  daily  exercise  of  the  body  gives 
young  men  not  health,  but  a  transient  strength 
which  is  prejudicial.  As  to  music,  it  is  consid- 
ered not  only  useless,  but  injurious,  as  rendering 
the  mind  of  man  effeminate." 

t  The  large  wigs  so  often  found  on  the  monu- 
ments of  the  ancient  monarchy,  worn  by  both 
sexes,  like  the  turban, were  a  preservative  against 
the  ardor  of  the  sun's  rays. 


wide  open,  the  nose  short  and  full, 
the  lips  somewhat  thick,  but  pleasant 
in  expression,  and  the  cheeks  plump. 
The  breadth  of  the'  shoulders  is  re- 
markable. The  breast  is  full,  but, 
like  the  race  itself,  the  hips  are  small, 
and  the  lean  and  muscular  limbs 
seem  formed  for  racing." 


ii. 


THE  CLASSIFICATION  OF  THE   PEOPLE. 

The  Egyptians,  the  first  to  organ- 
ize a  truly  civilized  society,  were 
divided  into  distinct  classes,  in  which 
the  occupations  of  the  different  fami- 
lies were  hereditary.  The  two  dom- 
inant classes  were  the  sacerdotal  and 
military.  Inferior  to  them  were  the 
agriculturists,  shepherds,  merchants, 
artisans,  and  boatmen,  on  whom  de- 
volved the  cultivation  of  the  land, 
the  care  of  the  flocks,  commerce,  the 
trades,  the  means  of  communication 
and  transportation  on  the  Nile,  and 
the  canals  that  covered  the  land.* 

To  understand  the  strength  and 
permanence  of  this  organization,  we 
must  revert  to  its  origin.  The  social 
institutions  of  ancient  nations  in  the 
beginning  depended  essentially  on 
the  family — the  foundation  of  all 
society.  The  children  were  naturally 
inclined  to  follow  the  occupations  of 
their  parents.  The  necessity  of  pro- 
viding for  their  own  livelihood  as 
soon  as  they  were  able,  and  the 
facility  of  working  under  the  direc- 
tion of  their  fathers,  induced  them  to 
embrace  the  occupation  to  which 
they  had  been  accustomed  from  in- 
fancy. It  was  thus  that  not  only 
agriculture,  but  all  the  arts,  trades, 
and  sciences,  became  hereditary  in 
the  family.  Once  having  a  means 
of  subsistence,  it  was  natural  to  en- 
deavor to  preserve  it.  Identity  of 
interests  drew  together  those  who 

*  Herodotus ;  Diodorus  Siculus. 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries. 


811 


followed  the  same  trades,  which  led 
to  the  formation  of  corporations 
united  by  ties  of  blood  and  similarity 
of  pursuits. 

The  Egyptians  were  probably  the 
first  nation  to  systematically  apply 
these  principles.  "  They  were  not  al- 
lowed," says  Bossuet,  "  to  be  useless 
to  the  country.  The  law  assigned 
every  one  his  employment,  which  was 
transmitted  from  father  to  son.  They 
could  not  have  two  professions,  or 
change  the  one  they  had;  but  then 
every  employment  was  honored. 
There  must  be  some  pursuits  and 
some  people  of  a  more  elevated  con- 
dition, as  eyes  are  needed  in  the 
body,  but  their  brilliancy  does  not 
make  them  despise  the  feet  or  the 
baser  parts.  Thus,  among  the  Egyp- 
tians, the  priests  and  warriors 
were  particularly  honored;  but  all 
trades,  even  the  lowest,  were  esteem- 
ed. It  was  considered  culpable  to 
despise  citizens  whose  labors,  what- 
ever they  might  be,  contributed  to 
the  public  welfare.  By  this  means 
all  the  arts  were  brought  to  perfection. 
The  honor  which  tended  to  develop 
them  was  everywhere  manifested, 
and  that  was  done  better  to  which 
they  had  been  accustomed  and  in 
which  they  had  been  experienced 
from  childhood. 

"  But  there  was  one  pursuit  com- 
mon to  all — the  study  of  the  civil 
laws  and  the  requirements  of  religion. 
Ignorance  of  religion  and  of  the  re- 
gulations of  the  land  was  inexcusable 
in  any  rank.  Each  profession  had 
its  own  district.  No  inconvenience 
resulted  from  this,  as  the  country 
was  not  extensive,  and  with  so  much 
system  the  indolent  had  nowhere  to 
hide  themselves. "  * 

We  recognize  the  genius  of  Bos- 
suet  in  the  clear  outlines  he  has  drawn 
of  the  plan  of  organized  labor,  suited 

*Bossuet,  Histoire  universellt. 


to  the  state  of  things,  as  well  as  the 
fundamental  principles  of  all  society. 
The  respect  for  family  life  and  tradi- 
tion, the  maintenance  of  social  har- 
mony and  the  grades  of  society,  the 
protection  of  honored  labor,  are  all 
remembered  in  this  admirable  sketch 
of  the  political  economy  of  the  an- 
cient Egyptians. 

But  we  must  not,  nevertheless,  con- 
clude that  professions  were  rigorously 
hereditary  and  the  castes  unchange- 
able. Ampere  proves  the  contrary 
by  means  of  the  sepulchral  inscrip- 
tions discovered  in  the  tombs  con- 
temporary with  the  ancient  dynasties. 
They  show,  in  fact,  that  a  great 
number  of  marriages  were  contracted 
between  persons  of  different  classes. 
"What  destroys  the  hypotheses  of 
exclusive  professions,"  says  that 
learned  academician,  "  to  which  each 
family,  and  consequently  each  caste, 
was  supposed  to  be  devoted,  is,  find- 
ing one  member  of  a  family  in  the 
sacerdotal  state,  another  pursuing  the 
military  life,  and  the  remainder  en- 
gaged in  some  civil  profession."  * 

It  is  true  the  monuments,  a  fune- 
real distinction  of  the  upper  class- 
es, never  mention  the  laborer  or  the 
artisan ;  but  it  is  reasonable  to  be- 
lieve that,  among  a  people  so  regu- 

*  Des  Castes  et  de  la  Transmission  he"reditaire 
des  Professions  dans  fancienne  Egypte :  a 
memoir  published  in  the  Journal  general  de 
t Instruction  putlique,  and  in  Vol.  X.  of  the 
Revue  ArchMogique.  Ampere  proves  by  this 
learned  etude  that  "  there  were  no  castes  among 
the  ancient  Egyptians  in  the  strict  sense  of  that 
word,  as  it  is  used  in  India,  for  example."  He 
very  satisfactorily  explains  how  a  slight  inexact- 
ness in  the  histories  of  Herodotus  and  Diodorus 
respecting  hereditary  transmission  in  the  class 
of  priests  and  warriors,  "  sufficed  to  found  on 
this  inheritance  of  pursuits  and  the  separation  of 
classes  in  Egypt,  a  theory  that  ended  by  be- 
coming completely  erroneous."  M.  Egger,  in 
speaking  of  hereditary  professions,  says :  "  It  is 
known  that  every  degree  of  the  social  scale  in 
ancient  Egypt  rested  on  this  foundation.  It  was 
for  a  long  time  believed,  according  to  Herodotus 
and  Diodorus,  that  the  Egyptian  castes  were 
absolutely  exclusive  ;  but  an  interesting  memoir 
by  J.  J.  Ampere  (1848)  proves  the  contrary,  and 
scientific  discoveries  daily  confirm  the  truth  of 
his  observations."  {Bulletin  de  la  Socie'le"  d' Eco- 
nomic Socialf,  June,  1868.) 


812 


Egyptian  Civilization  according  to 


larly  organized,  the  different  classes 
were  governed  by  the  same  laws  and 
customs.  In  large  families,  like  those 
of  primitive  times  generally,  liberty 
of  vocation  easily  harmonized  with 
hereditary  professions.  One  alone — 
that  of  the  swineherd — was  rigorously 
hereditary.  Those  who  pursued  this 
employment  were  obliged  to  marry 
among  themselves,  on  account  of  the 
invincible  repugnance  felt  for  the  un- 
clean animals  they  had  charge  of. 
Herodotus  says  the  Egyptian  swine- 
herd alone,  of  all  the  nation,  could 
not  enter  into  any  temple  in  the 
country.  No  one  would  marry  their 
daughters  or  give  their  children  to 
them  in  marriage.  They  could  only 
marry  among  themselves." 

in. 

DIVISION    OF    LANDED    PROPERTY. 

The  law  concerning  the  landed 
property  contributed  no  less  than  the 
hereditary  professions  to  preserve  a 
distinction  of  classes  and  the  social 
gradations.  "All  the  land,"  says 
Diodorus,  speaking  of  the  institu- 
tions of  ancient  Egypt,  "  is  divided 
into  three  parts.  The  first  and 
largest  belongs  to  the  priesthood, 
who  are  greatly  respected  by  the 
native  population  on  account  of  their 
religious  functions  as  well  as  for 
their  thorough  education.  Their 
revenues  are  expended  for  the  sacri- 
fices, the  maintenance  of  their  subor- 
dinates, and  their  own  wants.  The 
Egyptians  think  the  religious  cere- 
monies should  not  be  changed,  that 
they  should  always  be  performed  by 
the  same  functionaries,  and  that 
these  sovereign  counsellors  should 
be  above  want.  In  fact,  the  priests 
are  the  chief  counsellors  of  the  king, 
whom  they  aid  by  their  labors,  their 
advice,  and  their  knowledge.  By 
means  of  astrology  and  the  inspec- 


tion of  the  sacrificial  victims,  they 
foretell  the  future,  and  they  relate 
useful  examples  of  deeds  taken  from 
the  sacred  books.  It  is  not  here  as 
in  Greece,  where  a  single  man  or 
woman  has  charge  of  the  sacerdotal 
functions.  In  Egypt,  those  who  are 
occupied  in  the  sacrifices  and  con- 
duct the  worship  of  the  gods  are 
numerous,  and  they  transmit  their 
profession  to  their  descendants. 
They  are  exempted  from  taxes,  and 
they  rank  next  to  the  king  in  posi- 
tion and  privileges. 

"  The  second  part  of  the  land  be- 
longs to  the  king,  the  revenues  of 
which  are  employed  for  the  expenses 
of  war  and  the  maintenance  of  the 
court.  The  king  rewards  merit  from 
his  own  income,  without  having  re- 
course to  the  purse  of  any  private 
individual. 

"  The  remaining  portion  of  the 
land  belongs  to  the  soldiers  and  all 
those  who  are  under  command  of 
the  military  leaders.  Strongly  at- 
tached to  their  country,  on  account 
of  the  wealth  they  possess,  they 
brave  all  the  dangers  of  war  to  de- 
fend it.  It  is,  in  fact,  absurd  to 
entrust  the  safety  of  a  nation  to 
men  who  have  no  interest  in  the 
common  welfare.  What  is  especially 
remarkable,  the  soldiers,  living  thus 
at  their  ease,  increase  the  popula- 
tion to  such  a  degree  that  the  gov- 
ernment is  able  to  dispense  with 
foreign  troops.  And  the  children, 
encouraged  by  the  example  of  their 
fathers,  eagerly  embrace  the  military 
life,  and  are  invincible  by  their 
bravery  and  experience."  * 

*  Diodorus.  With  the  exception  of  certain 
fabulous  relations,  easily  recognized  by  their 
mythological  character,  we  consider  as  perfectly 
credible  the  interesting  details  Diodorus  has  lett 
concerning  the  manners,  laws,  and  institutions 
of  ancient  Egypt.  He  had  visited  that  country 
himself,  and  did  not  depend  on  the  testimony  of 
others.  "  We  give,"  says  he,  "  the  facts  we  have 
carefully  examined,  which  are  preserved  in  the 
records  of  the  Egyptian  priesthood."  After 
stating  that  he  visited  that  country  under  Ptole- 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries. 


Diodorus,  as  is  known,  was  a  con- 
temporary of  Julius  Caesar  and  Au- 
gustus. 

In  addition  to  what  Diodorus  says 
of  the  military  class,  we  will  add  the 
following  extracts  from  Herodotus: 
"  Twelve  acres  of  excellent  land  were 
given,  under  the  first  kings,  to  each 
head  of  a  family."  (He  is  speaking 
of  the  same  class.)  And  a  little 
further  on  :  "  Each  soldier  possesses 
twelve  acres  of  land,  exempt  from 
taxation." 

This  distribution  of  the  landed 
property  is  similar  to  that  in  France 
in  feudal  times,  and  which  still  exists, 
to  a  degree,  in  England,  where  the 
clergy  and  aristocracy  possess  the 
greater  part  of  the  land. 

The  two  first  classes  were  exempt 
from  taxation,  but  the  priests  were  at 
all  the  expense  of  public  worship, 
and,  although  the  royal  treasury  pro- 
vided for  the  expenses  of  war,  the 
soldiers  evidently  had  to  provide,  not 
only  their  own  supplies, and  equip- 
ment, but  also  for  the  expenses  of 
military  organization;  and,  like  our 
ancient  noblesse,  they  alone  had  the 
glorious  privilege  of  paying  a  tribute 
of  blood. 

We  have  not  a  sufficiently  clear 
knowledge  of  Egyptian  civilization 
to  state  the  law  of  succession  with 
certainty,  or  how  the  preservation  of 
the  patrimony  of  each  family  was 
preserved. 

Modern  publicists,  confounding 
stability  with  immovableness,  have 
thought  the  power  of  bequeathing 
property  did  not  exist  under  the  an- 
cient laws  of  the  East.  This  opinion 
seems  incompatible  with  the  nature 

my,  son  of  Lagus,  during  the  iSoth  Olympiad,  he 
adds :  "  During  our  travels  in  Egypt  we  had  in- 
tercourse with  many  priests,  and  conversed  with 
a  great  number  of  Ethiopian  envoys.  After 
carefully  collecting  all  the  information  we  could 
find  on  the  subject,  and  examining  the  ac- 
counts of  historians,  we  have  only  admitted  into 
our  narration  facts  generally  received."  Lib. 
iii. 


of  the  paternal  authority,  which  was 
carried  to  a  sovereign  degree  in  the 
families  of  primitive  times.  Does 
not  the  Bible  represent  the  patriarch 
Jacob  on  his  deathbed  disinheriting 
Reuben,  the  oldest  of  his  twelve 
sons,  and  giving  his  inheritance  to 
Judah  ?  And  this  scene,  so  well  re- 
lated in  Holy  Scripture,  took  place 
in  Egypt  itself.  It  is  true,  the  de- 
scendants of  Abraham  had  preserved 
the  traditions  of  the  patriarchal  life 
more  perfectly  than  the  Egyptians, 
but  the  latter,  as  we  have  seen,  also 
professed  great  respect  for  the  pater- 
nal authority,  the  rights  of  which 
must  have  harmonized  with  the  re- 
quirements of  the  principle  of  heredi- 
tary professions.  A  passage  from 
Diodorus  seems  to  decide  the  ques- 
tion in  this  sense:  "The  legislator 
regarded  property  as  belonging  to 
those  who  had  acquired  it  by  their 
labor,  by  transmission,  or  by  gift." 
However  this  may  be,  it  is  certain 
that  all  the  land,  according  to  Hero- 
dotus and  Diodorus,  belonged  origi- 
nally to  the  king,  the  priesthood,  and 
the  military  class.  This  division  of 
the  landed  property  must  have  great- 
ly contributed  to  the  stability  which 
is  so  distinctive  a  characteristic  of 
the  Egyptian  nation.  The  hereditary 
transmission  of  the  land  in  the  sacer- 
dotal and  military  classes  effectually 
assured  a  solid  basis  for  their  prepon- 
derance, and  at  the  same  time  gua- 
ranteed the  independence  and  dig- 
nity of  the  aristocratic  classes.  They 
were  thus  fully  enabled  to  second  the 
king  in  the  government,  administra- 
tion, and  defence  of  the  country. 

IV. 
ORGANIZATION   OF   LABOR. 

Ancient  Egypt,  from  an  agricul- 
tural point'  of  view,  is  in  some  re- 
spects worthy  of  attention.  Certain 


814 


Egyptian  Civilization  according  to 


modern  writers  have  supposed  the 
members  of  the  military  class  culti- 
vated their  own  lands,  as  the  legio- 
naries of  ancient  Rome,  but  this  sup- 
position is  irreconcilable  with  the  tes- 
timony of  the  ancient  historians  who 
visited  Egypt.  Herodotus  says  they 
were  "  not  allowed  to  practise  any 
mechanical  art,  but  were  skilled  in 
the  art  of  war,  which  they  transmit 
from  father  to  son."  This  point  is 
settled  by  the  following  passage  from 
Diodorus  :  "  The  agriculturists  pass 
their  lives  in  cultivating  the  lands, 
which  are  leased  them  at  a  mode- 
rate price  by  the  king,  priests,  and 
warriors." 

As  to  the  sacerdotal  class,  absorbed 
in  the  religious  observances,  the  admin- 
istration, the  study  of  the  laws  and  the 
sciences,  it  was  impossible  for  its  mem- 
bers to  engage  in  the  cultivation  of  the 
land,  which,  as  we  have  seen,  they  leas- 
ed. Notwithstanding  great  research,  no 
information  has  been  obtained  about 
the  economic  condition  of  the  agri- 
cultural class.  We  only  know,  from 
the  extract  quoted  from  Diodorus, 
that  the  land  was  leased  at  a  mode- 
rate price.  The  stability  which  pre- 
vailed in  Egypt,  and  the  principle 
of  hereditary  professions,  induce  us 
to  believe  that  private  estates  general- 
ly had  a  kind  of  entail,  so  the  same  fa- 
mily of  husbandmen  lived  from  gene- 
ration to  generation  on  the  same  land. 
This  principle  of  stability  was  emi- 
nently favorable  to  the  moral  and 
material  welfare  of  the  family,  as  well 
as  to  the  progress  of  agriculture. 
"  Reared  from  childhood  amid  ru- 
ral occupations,  they  acquired  more 
experience  in  them  than  any  other 
nation.  They  perfectly  understood 
the  nature  of  the  soil,  the  art  of  irri- 
gation, and  the  time  for  sowing  and 
harvesting,  a  knowledge  they  acquired 
partly  from  their  ancestors  and  partly 
by  their  own  experience.  The  same 
observation  may  be  applied  to  the 


shepherds,  who  inherited  the  care  of 
their  flocks,  and  passed  their  whole 
lives  in  rearing  them  ;  thus  perfecting 
the  knowledge  acquired  from  their 
fathers. 

The  other  industrial  classes  were 
no  less  prosperous.  They  also  in- 
herited their  occupations.  A  cele- 
brated publicist  states  that  "  the 
Egyptian  artisans  held  no  property."* 

To  prove  the  truth  of  such  an  as- 
sertion, it  must  be  shown  that  they 
were  reduced  to  a  state  of  slavery : 
which  is  formally  contradicted  by 
Diodorus,  as  we  shall  see  presently, 
and  it  is  not  confirmed  by  any  of  the 
recently  discovered  monuments.  It 
may  be  safely  affirmed  that  the  arti- 
sans of  ancient  Egypt,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  those  attached  to  the  tem- 
ples or  public  works,  had  a,  complete 
right  over  their  trades  and  tile  fruit 
of  their  labors.  The  possession  of 
land  was  denied  them,  but  there  is 
reason  to  believe  they  could  own 
their  dwellings  and  the  little  gardens 
that  surrounded  them. 

Champollion-Figeac,  who  rivalled 
his  brother  in  the  sciences  and  the 
profound  knowledge  of  the  arts  and 
pursuits  of  ancient  Egypt,  represents 
the  people  of  that  country  with  their 
"  plates  of  glazed  earthenware,  their 
rush-baskets,  and  their  shoes  of  pa- 
pyrus." "  The  lower  classes,"  says  he 
in  another  place,  "  generally  wore  a 
short  linen  tunic  called  a  calasiris, 
confined  by  a  girdle  around  the  hips, 
and  sometimes  with  short  sleeves 
trimmed  with  fringe  at  the  end." 


v. 


SOCIAL   CONDITION  OF  THE  LABORING 
CLASSES. 

Notwithstanding  the  light  which 
the  wonderful  discoveries  of  modern 
science  have  thrown  on  the  history 

*  M.  Troplong. 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries. 


815 


of  ancient  Egypt,  we  still  lack  precise 
information  respecting  the  internal 
organization  of  the  corporations  oc- 
cupied in  manual  labor.  We  only 
know  from  Diodorus  that  they  be- 
longed to  the  class  of  citizens — that 
is,  they  were  .//re  men.  "  There  are 
in  the  kingdom,"  says  he,  after  hav- 
ing spoken  of  the  two  dominant 
classes,  "  three  classes  of  citizens  : 
shepherds,  husbandmen,  and  arti- 
sans." 

Labor  among  the  ancients  was 
not  always  a  mark  of  servitude. 
In  retracing  the  origin  of  the  ancient 
nations,  as  far  as  the  light  of  history 
diffuses  its  rays,  we  find  agriculture 
and  the  industrial  pursuits  carried 
on  everywhere  by  free  labor. 

The  monarchical  and  aristocratical 
government  contributed  not  a  little 
to  the  maintenance  of  stability  in  the 
artisan  families,  by  preserving  them 
from  the  fruitless  agitations  into 
which  the  working-classes  are  fatally 
drawn  under  democratic  governments. 
Diodorus  shows  this  admirably  in 
the  following  passage,  to  which  we 
invite  the  attention  of  the  reader : 

"  It  must  be  considered  that  the 
arts  have  greatly  developed  among 
the  Egyptians,  and  arrived  at  a  high 
degree  of  perfection.  It  is  the  only 
country  in  which  a  workman  is  not 
permitted  to  fill  any  public  office,  or 
employ  himself  in  any  other  way 
than  that  assigned  him  by  law  or  by 
inheritance.  By  this  restriction,  the 
workman  is  not  diverted  from  his  oc- 
cupations either  by  the  jealousy  of 
his  masters  *  or  b^y  political  affairs. 
Among  other  nations,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  artisan  is  almost  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  idea  of  making  a 
fortune,  some  by  agriculture,  others 
through  commerce,  and  some  carry 
on  several  trades  at  once.  And  in  de- 
mocratic countries,  most  of  them  fre- 

*  Probably  superintendents  is  meant. 


quent  the  popular  assemblies  and  in- 
crease disorder  by  selling  their  votes, 
whereas  an  Egyptian  artisan  who 
should  take  a  part  in  public  affairs, 
or  worked  at  several  trades  at  once, 
would  incur  a  large  fine.  Such  are 
the  social  divisions  and  political 
constitutions  the  ancient  Egyptians 
transmitted  from  father  to  son." 

What  a  contrast  between  the  arti- 
san of  the  old  Greek  republics,  "  fre- 
quenting public  assemblies  and  ex- 
tending   disorder    by    selling    their 
votes,"   and    the    workman   of   the 
Egyptian  monarchy,  peacefully  pur- 
suing the  occupation  of  his  fathers, 
happy  and  contented  amid  political 
agitations  which  must  have  been  very 
rare  under  a  regime  in  which  tradi- 
tional customs  were   religiously  ob- 
served !     Thus,  with  the  exception  of 
enforced  labor  on  the  public  works, 
we  are  not  unwilling  to  admit  the 
fidelity  of  the  picture  Champollion- 
Figeac  has  drawn  of  the  condition 
of  the   laboring   classes   in  ancient 
Egypt :  "  The  extraordinary  fertility 
of  the  soil,  the  beneficent  climate, 
the  wise  laws  perfected  by  experience 
and  sanctioned  by  time,  the  active 
and  benevolent  administration,  con- 
stantly occupied   in  promoting  and 
sustaining  public  order  in  the  coun- 
try as  well  as  the  city,  the  inevitable 
influence  of  religion  upon  a  people 
naturally  religious  and  impressiona- 
ble— the  most  religious  of  men,  ac- 
cording to  Herodotus — allow  us  to 
believe  that  the  masses    in  ancient 
Egypt  were  happy,  and  that,  occupi- 
ed  and  laborious,   modest   in  their 
manners  and  wishes,  they  found  in 
labor  a  source  of  durable  pleasure." 
By  this   wise  social   organization, 
which  kept  each  one  in  his  place, 
the  artisan   remained   faithfully  de- 
voted  to  his   pursuits,   as   the   hus- 
bandman to  his  labor.     They  both 
fully  enjoyed  the  stability  so  neces- 
sary to  success.     But,   as   we   shall 


8x6 


Egyptian  Civilisation  according  to 


see,  the  liberty  and  well-being  of'the 
workmen  of  all  classes  were  affected 
by  the  frightful  labors  imposed  on 
them  in  the  public  works. 


BOOK   SECOND. 

THE  POLITICAL,   LEGAL,  AND   ADMINISTRA- 
TIVE   INSTITUTIONS. 


ROYALTY. 

The  keystone  of  the  social  edi- 
fice in  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Egypt 
may  be  regarded  as  royalty.  The 
crown  was  hereditary  in  the  male 
line  in  the  order  of  primogeniture — 
brother  succeeding  to  brother  with- 
out surviving  children.  In  case  of 
no  son,  the  daughter  succeeded  her 
father,  and  he  whom  she  espoused 
was  the  queen's  husband,  but  not  the 
king. 

The  king,  through  the  different 
members  of  his  family,  presided  in 
all  the  branches  of  the  government 
and  public  administration,  thus  giv- 
ing perfect  unity  and  complete  mo- 
narchical power.  "  In  fact,"  says 
Champollion,  "  the  dignities  of  the 
different  orders  were  reserved  for  the 
king's  sons  by  the  laws  of  the  coun- 
try. The  oldest  son  of  Sesostris 
bore  the  titles  of  Fan-bearer  of  the 
king's  left  hand,  Royal  Secretary, 
Basilico-grammatist,  and  Commander- 
in-chief  of  the  Army.  The  second 
son  was  also  Fan-bearer  of  the  king's 
left  hand,  Royal  Secretary,  and  Com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Royal  Guard. 
The  third  son  added  to  the  two  first  ti- 
tles that  of  Commander-in-chief  of  the 
Cavalry.  The  same  qualifications 
were  also  given  to  other  princes,  and 
seem  to  have  belonged  to  all  the 
royal  generations,  as  well  as  several 
sacerdotal  and  civil  titles,  such  as 
prophets  (a  class  of  priests)  of  dif- 
ferent gods,  high-priest  of  Ammon, 


and  supreme  head  of  different  civil 
functions."  Thus  the  king  concen- 
trated in  his  family  the  most  impor- 
tant offices  in  the  army,  the  civil  ad- 
ministration, and  the  priesthood. 

Finally,  the  better  to  consecrate 
the  principle  that  all  power  and  dig- 
nity had  their  source  in  the  throne, 
the  principal  leaders  in  the  army  and 
administration  received  the  title  of 
the  king's  cousin,  relative,  or  friend.* 
Such  was  the  real  nature  of  the 
royal  power  in  the  eyes  of  ancient 
Egypt. 

"  The  Egyptians  were  generally 
considered  the  most  grateful  of  men 
toward  their  benefactors.  They  con- 
sidered the  best  guarantee  of  society 
to  be  a  reciprocal  interchange  of  ser- 
vices and  gratitude.  It  is  true,  men 
are  more  inclined  to  be  useful  to 
others  when  a  real  benefit  is  to  be 
derived  from  the  gratitude  of  the 
obliged.  It  was  from  these  motives 
the  Egyptians  respected  and  adored 
their  kings  as  if  they  were  gods.  The 
sovereign  authority,  divinely  confer- 
red, according  to  their  belief,  with 
will  and  power  to  diffuse  benefits, 
was  to  them  a  godlike  attribute."  f 

While  giving  the  consecration  of  a 
divine  character  to  the  royal  authori- 
ty, the  wise  legislators  of  old  Egypt 
did  not  the  less  take  the  precautions, 
suggested  by  a  profound  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  of  restricting  the 
monarchical  power  within  just  limits, 
of  inspiring  the  king  with  virtuous 
inclinations,  and  of  preventing  him 
from  evil-doing.  "  In  the  first  place, 
the  kings  of  Egypt  did  not  lead  as 
free  and  independent  a  life  as  the 
kings  of  other  nations.  They  could 
not  act  according  to  their  own  will. 
Everything  was  regulated  by  law, 
not  only  their  public,  but  their  daily 
private  life.  They  were  served,  not  by 


*  Champollion-Figeac. 
t  Diodorus. 


the  most  Recent  Discoveries, 


817 


bondsmen  or  slaves,  but  by  the  sons 
of  the  chief  priests,  reared  with  the 
greatest  care,  and  more  than  twenty 
years  of  age.  The  king,  thus  served 
day  and  night  by  real  models  of  vir- 
tue, would  never  be  countenanced  in 
any  blamable  action.  For  a  sove- 
reign would  not  be  worse  than  any 
other  man  if  he  had  not  around  him 
those  who  flattered  his  desires.  The 
precise  duties  of  the  king  for  every 
hour  of  the  day  and  night  were  fixed 
by  law,  and  not  left  to  his  own  in- 
clinations. His  first  act  in  the  morn- 
ing was  to  read  the  letters  sent  from 
every  direction,  that  he  might  be 
thoroughly  informed  of  all  that  had 
occurred  in  the  kingdom,  and  act  in 
consequence.  Then,  after  bathing, 
putting  on  magnificent  garments,  and 
assuming  the  insignia  of  royalty,  he 
offered  a  sacrifice  to  the  gods.  The 
victims  were  led  to  the  altar;  the 
high-priest,  according  to  custom, 
stood  near  the  king,  and,  in  presence 
of  the  people,  prayed  the  gods  aloud 
to  preserve  the  king  in  health  and  all 
other  blessings  as  long  as  he  fulfilled 
the  laws.  At  the  same  time,  the  high- 
priest  was  obliged  to  enumerate  the 
virtues  of  the  king,  and  dwell  on  his 
piety  towards  the  gods  and  his  meek- 
ness towards  man,  representing  him 
as  temperate,  just,  magnanimous,  op- 
posed to  lying,  loving  to  do  good, 
the  complete  master  of  his  passions, 
inflicting  on  the  guilty  the  least  pun- 
ishment merited,  and  recompensing 
good  actions  beyond  their  value. 
After  the  addition  of  similar  praises, 
the  priest  ended  by  an  imprecation 
against  all  faults  committed  through 
ignorance;  for  the  king,  being  irre- 
sponsible, imputed  all  his  faults  to  his 
ministers  and  counsellors,  on  whom 
was  invoked  the  merited  chastise- 
ment. The  high-priest  acted  thus  in 
order  to  inspire  the  king  with  a  fear 
of  the  gods,  and  habituate  him  to  a 
pious  and  exemplary  life,  not  by  a 
VOL.  xm. — 52 


bitter  exhortation,  but  by  attractive 
praises  of  the  practice  of  virtue. 
Finally,  the  king  inspected  the  en- 
trails of  the  victim,  and  declared  the 
favorable  auspices.  The  hierogram- 
matist  read  some  sentences  and  use- 
ful accounts  of  celebrated  men  from 
the  sacred  books,  that  the  sovereign 
might  select  an  example  by  which  to 
regulate  his  actions.  There  was  a 
fixed  time  not  only  for  audiences, 
but  for  exercise,  the  bath,  and,  in 
short,  for  every  act  of  life.  The  king 
was  accustomed  to  live  on  simple 
food.  He  was  allowed  veal  and 
goose  for  meat.  He  could  only 
drink  a  certain  quantity  of  wine  that 
would  neither  produce  repletion  nor 
intoxication.  In  a  word,  the  pre- 
scribed regimen  was  so  regular  that 
it  might  be  supposed  ordained  not 
by  legislators,  but  by  the  best  physi- 
cians, aiming  only  at  the  preservation 
of  health. 

"  It  seems  strange  for  a  king  not 
to  be  at  liberty  to  choose  his  daily 
food,  and  still  more  so  that  he  could 
not  pronounce  a  judgment  or  take 
a  decision,  or  punish  any  one  through 
passion  or  caprice,  or  any  other  un- 
just reason,  but  be  forced  to  act 
according  to  the  laws  fixed  for  each 
particular  case.  As  it  was  an  esta- 
blished custom,  the  king  could  not 
take  offence,  and  he  was  not  discon- 
tented with  his  lot.  On  the  contrary, 
he  considered  his  a  very  happy  life, 
while  other  men,  abandoned  without 
restraint  to  their  natural  passions, 
were  exposed  to  many  inconveni- 
ences and  dangers.  He  thought 
himself  fortunate  in  often  seeing 
other  men  violate  their  consciences 
by  persisting  in  bad  designs,  influ- 
enced by  love,  hatred,  or  some  other 
passion,  while  he  himself,  emulous  of 
living  after  the  example  of  the  wisest 
of  men,  could  only  fall  into  venial 
errors.  Animated  with  such  just  sen- 
timents, the  king  conciliated  the 


8i8 


Egyptian  Civilisation  according  to 


affection  of  his  people  as  that  of  his 
family.  Not  only  the  priesthood, 
but  all  the  Egyptian  nation  were 
less  solicitous  about  their  own  fami- 
lies and  possessions  than  about  the 
safety  of  the  king.*  All  the  kings 
mentioned  followed  this  political  rt- 
gitne  for  a  long  time,  and  led  a 
happy  life  under  these  laws.  Be- 
sides, they  conquered  many  nations, 
acquired  great  wealth,  adorned  the 
country  with  wonderful  works  and 
monuments,  and  the  cities  with  rich 
and  varied  ornaments."  t 

We  have  thought  proper  to  quote 
this  long  passage  from  Diodorus,  be- 
cause it  clearly  shows  how  the  Egyp- 
tians regarded  the  duties  and  attri- 
butes of  royalty.  A  limited  know- 
ledge of  their  sentiments  makes  us 
feel  that  Diodorus  must  have  faith- 
fully described  the  regulations  main- 
tained by  the  priests  from  the  begin- 
ning of  this  ancient  monarchy.  Until 
the  latest  times,  that  is,  till  the  Roman 
conquest,  the  prince,  called  to  the 
throne  by  his  birth,  was  enthroned 
and  consecrated  in  a  general  assem- 
bly of  the  priesthood  convoked  at 
Memphis,  "  in  order  to  observe  the 
legal  ceremonies  prescribed  for  the 
coronation."  $ 

When  we  examine  the  sacerdotal 
order,  the  influence  it  exercised  over 
the  king,  in  keeping  him  within  the 
limits  of  moderation  and  justice,  will 
be  perceived. 

The  veneration  of  the  Egyptians 
for  their  kings  led  them  from  the 
first  to  render  them  divine  honors. 
"Egypt,"  says  M  Mariette,  "had  a 
genuine  worship  for  its  kings,  whom 
they  styled  beneficent  gods,  and  re- 
garded as  the  '  Sons  of  the  Sun.'  " 

*  The  ritual  of  the  dead  puts  the  following  beau- 
tiful words  into  the  mouth  of  the  deceased,  when 
he  justifies  himself  before  the  tribunal  of  Osiris: 
"  I  have  spoken  ill  neither  of  the  king  nor  my 
own  father." 

t  Diodorus. 

$  Decree  of  196  B.C.,  found  on  the  Rosetta 
Stone. . 


"  The  ureus  (the  asp)  ornamented 
the  brows  of  all  the  kings.  It  is  also 
found  adorning  the  foreheads  of  some 
of  the  gods.  '  The  asp  does  not 
grow  old,'  says  Plutarch  (Isis  and 
Osiris),  'and,  though  without  organs 
of  locomotion,  it  moves  with  great 
facility.'  The  Egyptians  considered 
it  as  the  emblem  of  the  eternal  youth 
of  the  sun  and  its  course  in  the 
heavens." 

The  sentiment  of  loyalty  was  car- 
ried so  far  among  the  Egyptians  that 
it  was  considered  a  duty  to  obey  their 
kings  even  in  the  caprices  of  their 
fantasy  and  pride.  They  respected 
those  who  were  bad  while  they  lived, 
reserving  the  right  of  judging  them 
after  their  death. 

"  What  took  place  at  the  death  of 
their  kings  was  not  one  of  the  least 
proofs  of  their  attachment  to  them, 
for  the  honors  rendered  to  the  dead 
are  an  incontestable  proof  of  sincerity 
of  affection.  When  one  of  the  kings 
died,  all  the  inhabitants  mourned, 
rent  their  garments,  closed  the  tem- 
ples, abstained  from  sacrifices,  and 
celebrated  no  festivals  for  seventy- 
two  days.  Every  one  passed  the 
prescribed  number  of  days  in  afflic- 
tion and  mourning,  as  for  the  death 
of  a  cherished  child.  During  this 
time  preparations  were  made  for  a  mag. 
nificent  funeral,  and  on  the  last  day 
they  placed  the  chest  containing  the 
body  of  the  deceased  at  the  entrance 
of  the  tomb.  They  then  proceeded, 
according  to  the  law,  to  pass  judg- 
ment on  all  the  king  had  done  during 
his  life.  Every  one  had  the  right  of 
making  his  accusation.  The  priests 
pronounced  a  panegyric,  relating 
the  praisevvort'hy  deeds  of  the  king. 
Thousands  of  auditors  applauded  it 
if  the  king's  life  had  been  without 
reproach;  if  otherwise,  they  expres- 
sed their  disapproval  by  murmurs. 
Many  kings,  through  the  opposition 
of  the  people,  were  deprived  of  suit- 


the   most  Recent  Discoveries. 


819 


abL  burial.  This  led  their  succes- 
sors to  deal  justly,  not  only  for  rea- 
sons already  mentioned,  but  for  fear 
their  bodies  might  be  treated  ignomi- 
niously  after  death,  and  their  memory 
be  for  ever  cursed."  * 

"There  are  still  to  be  seen  in 
Egypt,"  says  Champollion-Figeac, 
"  testimonies  significant  of  this  custom. 
The  names  of  some  sovereigns  are 
carefully  effaced  from  the  monuments 
they  had  erected  during  their  reign. 
They  are  carefully  hammered  down 
even  on  their  tombs."  Among  the 
names  of  the  kings  thus  condemned 
after  death,  Champollion  mentions 
that  of  Pharaoh  Mandouei,  of  the 
eighteenth  dynasty.  Wherever  this 
name  stood,  on  all  representations 
of  the  king,  or  on  the  edifices  he 
had  erected,  it  is  carefully  effaced 
and  hammered,  though  expressed  by 
the  image  of  the  god  Mandou,  whose 
name  he  bore.  The  systematic  sup- 
pression of  this  king's  name  on  all 
the  public  monuments  can  only  be 
explained  as  the  result  of  one  of 
those  severe  judgments  passed  by 
the  Egyptian  nation  upon  wicked 
kings  after  their  death.t 

"  There  was  in  Egypt,"  says  Bos- 
suet,  "a  kind  of  judgment,  quite 


*  Diodorus. 

\  It  could  also  be  explained  as  the  effect  ot  a 
reaction  which  often  accompanies  a  change  of 
dynasty.  M.  F.  Lenormant  regards  this  judg- 
ment of  kings  as  a  mere  fable.  "  The  king  when 
dead,"  says  he,  "  was  as  much  of  a  god  as  when 
living."  Doubtless,  but  the  Caesars  were  also 
during  their  lives  raised  to  the  rank  of  divinities, 
which  did  not  prevent  the  Romans  from  killing 
several.  We  see  no  difficulty  in  admitting  the 
explicit  testimony  of  Diodorus,  corroborated  by 
the  opinion  of  Champollion  the  Younger  as  well 
as  his  brother. 


extraordinary,  which  no  one  escaped. 
.  .  .  This  custom  of  judging  kings 
after  their  death  appeared  so  sacred 
to  the  people  of  God,  that  they  al- 
ways practised  it.  We  see  in  the 
Scriptures  that  wicked  kings  were 
deprived  of  burial  among  their  an- 
cestors, and  we  learn  from  Josephus 
that  this  custom  was  still  kept  up  in 
the  time  of  the  Asmoneans.  It  led 
kings  to  remember  that,  if  above 
human  judgment  during  their  lives, 
they  must  be  subjected  thereto  when 
death  reduced  them  to  the  level  of 
ordinary  mortals."  * 

Notwithstanding  so  many  wise 
precautions,  the  kings  of  Egypt  did 
not  always  pursue  the  course  so 
clearly  marked  out  by  the  national 
traditions  and  the  interests  of  the 
nation.  More  than  one  Pharaoh, 
intoxicated  by  sovereign,,  authority, 
made  his  subjects  experience  the 
heavy  hand  of  tyranny.  The  nu- 
merous changes  of  dynasties  (thirty- 
one  are  reckoned  before  the  conquest 
by  Alexander  the  Great)  also  show 
that  the  nation  more  than  once  suc- 
ceeded in  overthrowing  the  despotic 
government  of  those  that  abused 
their  power.  But,  through  all  chan- 
ges of  dynasties,  and  in  spite  of  the 
struggles  of  rival  families,  the  Egyp- 
tians always  remained  faithful  to  the 
monarchical  principle,  indissolubly 
attached  to  its  institutions,  customs, 
and  manners.  "  At  no  time,"  says 
Herodotus,  "  have  the  Egyptians 
been  able  to  live  without  kings." 

*  Bossuet,  Hisioire  »»zV.,  ii.  177.  The  Israel 
ites  probably  borrowed  this  custom  from  the 
Egyptians. 


820 


Mr.  Carlyle  and  Pere  Bouhours. 


MR.    CARLYLE   AND   PERE   BOUHOURS. 


CRYING  injustice  and  endless 
heartburnings  are  caused  in  social 
life  by  the  falsehoods  which  mali- 
cious or  foolish  people  shelter  under 
the  familiar  quotation  rubric,  "  said 
he "  or  "  said  she."  For  these  we 
may  charitably  and  to  some  extent 
.allow  uncertainty  of  human  memory 
ito  go  in  extenuation. 

Rising  above  the  circle  of  cack- 
ling gossip,  we  know  that,  out  of  a 
dozen  witnesses  solemnly  adjured  to 
testify  as  to  words  spoken  in  simul- 
taneous hearing  of  all  the  twelve,  it 
is  rare  to  find  any  three  of  them 
.agreeing  as  to  the  precise  form  of 
locution  used,  even  where  they  accord 
.as  to  meaning  and  signification  of 
the  phrase  they  report. 

We  pass  from  the  spoken  to  the 
written  word,  and  are  struck  with  the 
fact  that,  even  in  literature  and  in 
history,  the  too  common  neglect  of 
conscientious  accuracy  of  citations, 
in  .accepting  them  at  second  hand  or 
from  a  questionable  source,  is  the 
fruitful  cause  of  wrong  judgment  of 
events,,  false  estimate  of  men,  and 
uncharitableness  without  end. 

If  it  is  sought  to  hold  a  man  re- 
sponsible for  opinions  which  he  has 
deliberately  written  and  printed,  he 
is  in  justice  to  be  held  answerable 
solely  by  his  own  record,  neither 
more  nor  less.  No  occasion  is  there 
here  for  conflicting  testimony.  If 
arraigned  for  those  opinions,  let  the 
accusation  run  —  ipsissimis  verbis  — 
with  what  he  has  written.  Other- 
wise, flaw  fatal  will  be  found,  and 
indictment  sternly  quashed.  Scripta 
manent — his  opinions  are  recorded, 
and  no  subsequent  version  may  be 


heard  from  him  to  vary  the  obliga- 
tion therein  assumed.  Neither,  there- 
fore, in  justice,  shall  you  admit  ad- 
verse parol  testimony  in  guise  of 
unfriendly  gloss  or  explanation  to 
hold  him  responsible  for  more  than 
he  has  advanced  or  assumed. 

With  swift  instinct,  we  all  mistrust 
reported  verbal  utterances  made  by 
a  man  whose  prejudice  or  whose 
passion  evidently  colors  his  memory 
and  stimulates  his  imagination.  And, 
although  the  excuse  of  mistake  or 
misunderstanding  is  not  admissible 
where  the  repetition  or  citation  of 
printed  words  is  concerned,  yet, 
when  a  writer  is  quoted  in  the  spirit 
of  ridicule,  blame,  or  sarcasm,  it 
should  suffice  to  put  the  reader  on 
inquiry.  Before  he  adopts  and  there- 
by vouches  for  the  attributed  phrase, 
let  him  look  well  to  it  that  the  text 
is  not  tampered  with,  and  that  the 
passage,  as  given,  be  not  modified — 
not  to  say  changed — by  omission  or 
addition.  A  mere  comma  too  much 
or  too  little,  as  we  well  know,  may 
make  sad  havoc  with  a  sentence, 
and  turn  truth  into  falsehood. 

Old  authors,  and  even  some  few 
careful  writers  down  to  the  present 
day,  show  their  appreciation  of  this 
responsibility  in  quotation  by  in- 
trenching themselves  behind  an  apud 
in  cases  where,  from  any  cause,  they 
are  unable  to  verify  the  correctness 
of  the  passage  cited ;  thus  throwing 
the  burden  of  proof  on  the  reporter 
named  by  them. 

A  remarkable  instance  of  the  neg- 
lect of  some  such  precautions  as  are 
here  mentioned  may  be  found  in  a 
somewhat  familiar  citation  made — 


Mr.  Carlyle  and  Pere  Bouhours. 


and,  we  may  add,  made  celebrated — 
by  no  less  a  literary  authority  than 
Mr.  Carlyle. 

It  occurs  in  one  of  his  most  admi- 
rable productions,  entitled  The  State 
of  German  Literature. 

This  essay,  which  originally  ap- 
peared, in  1827,  as  an  article  in  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  is  rich  in  literary 
research  and  vigorous  thought. 

It  is  valuable  not  only  for  what  it 
says  concerning  German  literature, 
but  concerning  all  literature,  and  is 
most  generally  enjoyed  and  best 
remembered  by  reason  of  its  elo- 
quent pillorying  and  remorseless 
flagellation  of  one  Pere  Bouhours, 
who,  as  Mr.  Carlyle  informs  us,  pro- 
pounded to  himself  the  pregnant 
question  :  Si  un  Allemand  pent  avoir 
de  r esprit?  Indignantly  the  great 
Scotch  essayist  thus  bursts  out  upon 
the  unfortunate  Frenchman  :  "  Had 
the  Pere  Bouhours  bethought  him  of 
what  country  Kepler  and  Leibnitz 
were  born,  or  who  it  was  that  gave 
to  mankind  the  three  great  elements 
of  modern  civilization,  gunpowder, 
printing,  and  the  Protestant  religion, 
it  might  have  thrown  light  on  his 
inquiry.  Had  he  known  the  Niebe- 
lungen-Lied,  and  where  Reinecke- 
Fuchs,  and  Faust,  and  the  Ship  of 
Fools,  and  four-fifths  of  all  the  popu- 
lar mythology,  humor,  and  romance 
to  be  found  in  Europe  in  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries, 
took  its  rise ;  had  he  read  a  page  or 
two  of  Ulrich  Hutten,  Opitz,  Paul 
Flemming,  Logan,  or  even  Loben- 
stein  and  Hoffmanswaldau,  all  of 
whom  had  already  lived  and  written 
even  in  his  day ;  had  the  Pere  Bou- 
hours taken  this  trouble,  who  knows 
but  he  might  have  found,  with  what- 
ever amazement,  that  a  German 
could  actually  have  a  little  esprit,  or, 
perhaps,  even  something  better  ?  No 
such  trouble  was  requisite  for  the 
Pere  Bouhours.  Motion  in  vacua  is 


well  known  to  be  speedier  and  surer 
than  through  a  resisting  medium, 
especially  to  imponderable  bodies; 
and  so  the  light  Jesuit,  unimpeded 
by  facts  or  principles  of  any  kind, 
failed  not  to  reach  his  conclusions ; 
and,  in  a  comfortable  frame  of  mind, 
to  decide  negatively  that  a  German 
could  not  have  any  literary  talent." 

Now,  if  Pere  Bouhours  really  said 
what  is  here  attributed  to  him,  this 
fulmination,  all  obvious  as  it  is,  can- 
not be  looked  upon  as  unprovoked, 
and  we  may  listen  with  sense  of  sat- 
isfied justice  to  the  dreadful  sentence 
pronounced  upon  him,  which  is  sub- 
stantially that,  incarcerated  in  the 
immortal  amber  of  this  one  untimely 
joke,  the  helpless  Jesuit  be  doomed 
therein  to  live;  "  for  the  blessing  of 
full  oblivion  is  denied  him,  and  so 
he  hangs  suspended  to  his  own  noose, 
over  the  dusky  pool  which  he  strug- 
gles toward,  but  for  a  great  while 
will  not  reach."  To  these  remarks 
Mr.  Carlyle  adds  the  very  sensible 
reflection  :  "  For  surely  the  pleasure 
of  despising,  at  all  times  and  in  it- 
self a  dangerous  luxury,  is  much 
safer  after  the  toil  of  examining  than 
before  it." 

This  condemnation  and  sentence 
are  based  on  a  detached  phrase  se- 
parated from  its  contexts,  and  Mr. 
Carlyle  fails  to  tell  us  in  what  con- 
nection or  in  what  work  was  made 
the  unfortunate  speech  for  which  the 
French  writer  is  thus  beaten  with  many 
stripes. 

Might  it  not  be  that,  read  in  its 
proper  relation,  his  words  signify 
something  very  different  from  the  in- 
terpretation placed  upon  them  as 
here  severed?  So  true  is  this  that 
what  Pere  Bouhours  really  wrote 
has  a  very  different  signification. 
Investigation  demonstrates  this  and 
more,  and  shows  that  Pere  Bouhours 
not  only  did  not  mean  to  express 
what  is  here  attributed  to  him,  but  that 


822 


Mr.  Carlyle  and  Pere  Bouhours. 


he  did  not  even  use  the  words  thus 
thrust  upon  him  as  his  own. 

Indeed,  the  ill-used  Bouhours  is 
introduced  and  dispatched  so  very 
summarily,  that  the  reader  of  the  Ed- 
inburgh essay  scarcely  obtains  more 
than  a  glance  of  a  literary  criminal 
rapidly  judged  and  sent  to  swift  exe- 
cution. 

Let  us  see  for  a  moment  what 
manner  of  man  this  Bouhours  ap- 
peared to  the  people  of  his  day  and 
generation.  As  then  known,  he  was 
a  writer  of  high  reputation  (hors 
ligne]  and  the  author  of  several  works, 
some  of  which  are  still  read  and  re- 
published.  We  find  certain  of  his 
books  on  the  shelves  of  our  largest 
American  libraries,  and  a  few  days 
since,  in  looking  casually  through  a 
catalogue  of  publications  made  (1869) 
at  the  Armenian  convent  in  Venice, 
an  interesting  spot  well  known  to 
American  travellers,  we  noted  two 
editions  of  Bouhours's  Christian  Me- 
ditations, one  in  French  and  one  in  a 
Turkish  translation. 

Bouhours  is  also  the  author  of  a 
French  translation  of  the  entire  New 
Testament,  which  is  remarkable  for 
its  fidelity  and  its  purity  of  dic- 
tion. 

It  is  the  version  adopted  by  Lalle- 
mant  in  his  Reflections  on  the  New 
Testament.  He  also  wrote  Remarks 
•and  Doubts  concerning  the  French 
Language,  and  Ingenious  Thoughts  of 
the  Fathers.  His  Maniere  de  bien 
Penser  is  held  by  the  best  critics  to 
contain  much  that  evinces  acuteness 
and  delicacy  of  discrimination .  Bou- 
hours was  always  quoted  and  refer- 
red to  by  his  contemporaries  with 
deference. 

His  Life  of  St.  Francis  Xavier  was 
found  worthy  of  an  English  trans- 
lation by  no  less  a  celebrity  than 
the  English  poet  Dry  den ;  and  La 
Harpe,  who  is  openly  unfriendly  to 
Bouhours,  says  of  him,  "  C'etait  un 


homme  lettre  qui  savait  1'Italien 
et  1'Espagnol." 

The  passage  incorrectly  cited  by 
Mr.  Carlyle  occurs  in  Les  Entretiens 
a'Ariste  et  d' Eugene,  a  small  duode- 
cimo volume  published  in  1671. 

These  Entretiens  or  conversations 
are  supposed  to  be  held  by  two  gen- 
tlemen of  literary  taste,  who  discuss 
a  variety  of  subjects  pertaining  to 
polite  literature. 

One  of  these  topics  is  the  French 
language,  which  is  assumed  to  be 
the  best  of  all  modern  languages, 
possessing,  as  it  does,  the  secret  of 
uniting  conciseness  with  clearness, 
and  purity  with  politeness.  On  this 
question  of  his  native  tongue,  the 
patriotism  of  Pere  Bouhours  hurries 
him  into  terms  of  excessive  praise. 
The  French  language,  in  his  opinion, 
combines  every  excellence.  The 
Spanish  he  characterizes  as  a  noisy 
torrent  flooding  its  banks  and  over- 
spreading the  country;  the  Italian, 
as  a  gentle  rivulet ;  the  French,  a  ma- 
jestic stream  that  never  quits  its  level. 

The  Spanish,  again,  he  compares  to 
a  proud  beauty,  bold  in  demeanor 
and  splendid  in  attire ;  the  Italian, 
to  a  painted  coquette,  ever  ornament- 
ed for  effect;  the  French,  to  a  mo- 
dest, agreeable  lady,  who,  if  appar- 
ently prudish,  is  neither  uncivil  nor 
repulsive.  Then,  he  adds,  our  own 
pronunciation  is  the  most  natural 
and  pleasing. 

Patriotism  of  so  warm  a  character 
as  this,  after  elevating  French  lan- 
guage and  literature  so  freely  at  the 
expense  of  the  Spanish  and  Italian, 
would  hardly  be  likely  to  rate  the 
German  very  high. 

Accordingly,  in  vie'w  of  the  great 
preponderance  of  heavy  though 
learned  disquisition  over  that  branch 
of  German  literature  which  might 
be  classed  as  polished  and  witty, 
Pere  Bouhours  did  really  propose 
the  question, 


Mr.  Carlyle  and  Pere  Bouhours. 


823 


SI     UN      ALLEMAND     PEUT    ETRE 
ESPRIT  ? 


BEL 


— a  proposition  very  far  from  iden- 
tical with  that  which  is  attributed 
to  him  by  Mr.  Carlyle,  namely  : 

SI    UN   ALLEMAND  PEUT    AVOIR   DE 
L'ESPRIT  ? 

The  variation  simply  being  that 
Bouhours  did  not,  as  here  alleged,  de- 
cide negatively  that  a  German  could 
not  have  any  literary  talent,  but  que- 
ried if  a  German  could  be  a  wit. 

Truly  a  distinction  with  a  differ- 
ence. 

Hallam,  seldom  incorrect  in  such 
matters,  presents  the  matter  fairly 
in  stating  that  the  Pere  Bouhours 
"  proposed  the  question  whether  a 
German  can  by  the  nature  of  things 
possess  any  wit." 

The  misrepresentation  made  is  a 
serious  one,  and  the  citation  as  correct- 
ed deprives  Mr.  Carlyle's  thunder  of 
its  noise,  and  extracts  from  his  sar- 
casm all  its  sting. 

We  believe  it  was  Thackeray  who 
said  that,  notwithstanding  his  pro- 
found respect  and  deep  veneration 
for  the  twelve  apostles,  they  really 
were  not  the  sort  of  persons  he 
should  care  to  invite  to  a  festive 
dinner  party. 

Pere  Bouhours  would  doubtless, 
as  readily  as  Mr.  Carlyle,  concede  to 
Kepler  and  Leibnitz  all  the  merit 
the  most  enthusiastic  German  could 
claim  for  these  great  men  as  shining 
lights  of  science,  but  would  hardly 
credit  them  with  the  ability  to  write 
the  Xenien  or  edit  the  KladtUradatsch. 

When  Bouhours  published  his  En- 
tretiens,  it  is  very  certain  that,  if  Ger- 
man literature  shone  in  wit,  the  fact 
was  not  known  west  of  the  Rhine. 
Indeed,  Mr.  Carlyle  himself,  a  few 
paragraphs  further  on,  unconscious- 
ly records  the  fullest  vindication  of 


Pere  Bouhours.  With  a  patriotism 
quite  as  fervent  as  that  of  his  victim, 
he  informs  us  that  "  centuries  ago 
translations  from  the  German  were 
comparatively  frequent  in  England," 
but  to  support  this  statement  can 
only  cite  Luther's  Table  Talk  and 
Jacob  Broehme.  Enumeration  most 
scant  and  melancholy!  The  essay- 
ist then  goes  on  to  say:  "In  the 
next  century,  indeed,  translation  ceas- 
ed ;  but  then  it  was,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, because  there  was  little  worth 
translating.  The  horrors  of  the 
Thirty  Years'  War  had  desolated 
the  country;  French  influence,  ex- 
tending from  the  courts  of  princes 
to  the  closets  of  the  learned,  lay 
like  a  baleful  incubus  over  the  far 
nobler  ruins  of  Germany;  and  all 
free  nationality  vanished  from  its 
literature,  or  was  heard  only  in  faint 
tones,  which  lived  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people,  but  could  not  reach  with 
any  effect  to  the  ears  of  foreigners." 

But  as  though  not  satisfied  with 
a  general  statement  which  should 
justify  Pere  Bouhours,  Mr.  Carlyle 
continues  until  he  makes  the  justifi- 
cation clear  in  terms  and  specific  by 
dates,  telling  us  :  "  From  the  time  of 
Opitz  and  Flemming  to  that  of  Klop- 
stock  and  Lessing,  that  is,  from  the 
early  part  of  the  seventeenth  to  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
they  [the  Germans]  had  scarcely  any 
literature  known  abroad,  or  deserving 
to  be  &nown." 

Now,  Dominic  Bouhours,  born  in 
Paris,  1628,  asked  the  famous  ques- 
tion, Si  un  Allemand  peut  etre  bel 
esprit?  in  1671,  and  died  in  1702. 
Thus  his  earthly  career  was  com- 
prised precisely  within  the  period 
specified  by  Mr.  Carlyle  as  that  dur- 
ing which  the  Germans  were  with- 
out not  only  belles-lettres,  but  any 
literature  whatever  deserving  to  be 
known. 

But,   going    back  to   the  middle 


824 


Mr.  Carlyle  and  Pere  BouJiours. 


ages,  Mr.  Carlyle,  strangely  enough 
holds  Bouhours  responsible,  because 
of  his  want  of  familiarity  with  the 
Niebelungen-Lied,  Reinecke-Fuchs,  and 
other  monuments  of  early  German 
literature.  "  Had  he  known  the 
Niebelungen-Lied"  is  asked  mock- 
ingly. This  is  hardly  just,  when  we 
reflect  that  no  one  better  than  Mr. 
Carlyle  knows  that  Germany  of  the 
Bouhours  period  was  itself,  in  the 
main,  ignorant  of  and  profoundly 
indifferent  to  the  merits  of  these  re- 
markable productions.  Only  long 
years  afterward,  following  on  ages  of 
oblivion  as  to  their  very  existence  in 
their  own  country,  were  they  brought 
to  light,  and  it  is  principally  owing 
to  the  exertions  of  the  comparatively 
new  Romantic  school  that  modern 
Germany  has  been  made  acquainted 
with  the  Niebelungen-Lied  and  other 
great  middle-age  poems. 

It  is  true  that  Bodmer  in  Switzer- 
land first  put  a  portion  of  the  Niebe- 
lungen  ("  Chrimhilde's  Revenge  ")  in 
print,  in  1757;  but,  as  Mr.  Carlyle 
has  elsewhere  informed  us,  it  was 
August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  who  "  suc- 
ceeded in  awakening  something  like 
a  universal  popular  feeling  on  the 
subject,"  and  he  refers  to  this  and 
the  like  poems  as  "  manuscripts  that 
for  ages  have  lain  dormant,"  and 
now  come  "  from  their  archives  into 
public  view,"  "  a  phenomenon  unex- 
pected till  of  late  " — stating  that  "  the 
Nibelungen  is  welcomed  as  a  pre- 
cious national  possession — recovered 
after  six  centuries  of  neglect"  From 
which  it  would  appear  that,  at  his 
peril,  Bouhours,  in  1671,  must  be  fa- 
miliar with  "  a  precious  national  pos- 
session" of  the  Germans,  which  they 
themselves,  before  and  after  that 
period,  treated  with  "centuries  of 
neglect."  Being  a  Jesuit,  it  is,  of 
course,  eminently  proper,  according 
to  a  time-honored  custom  in  English 
literature,  that  he  should  be  made 


responsible  for  everything — the  Span- 
ish Inquisition  and  Original  Sin  in- 
cluded. 

Mr.  Carlyle  patriotically  closes  his 
eyes  to  English  ignorance  and  indif- 
ference touching  German  literature, 
even  when  claiming  for  Great  Britain 
only  a  lesser  density  of  ignorance 
concerning  it  than  afflicted  France. 

Writing  as  late  as  1827,  he  fairly 
admits  that  the  literature  and  charac- 
ter of  Germany  "  are  still  very  gene- 
rally unknown  to  us,  or,  what  is 
worse,  misknown,"  that  its  "  false 
and  tawdry  ware  "  reached  England 
before  "  the  chaste  and  truly  excel- 
lent," and  that  "  Kotzebue's  insanity 
spread  faster  by  some  fifty  years 
than  Lessing's  wisdom."  And  the 
British  ignorance,  it  is  admitted,  is 
not  confined  to  German  literature. 
"  For  what  more  do  we  know  " — 
thus  Mr.  Carlyle  clinches  the  ques- 
tion— "  of  recent  Spanish  or  Italian 
literature  than  of  German  ;  of  Grossi 
and  Manzoni,  of  Campomanos  or 
Jovellanos,  than  of  Tieck  and  Rich- 
ter  ?  " 

Really,  when  we  contemplate  the 
enlightened  Englishman  of  1827 
thus  held  up  to  our  gaze,  how  can  we 
withhold  from  the  abused  Frenchman 
of  1671  our  profound  admiration  ? 

Now,  if,  on  reflection,  Mr.  Carlyle 
estimates  the  imputation  on  German 
literature  of  a  lack  of  wit  and  humor 
as  a  serious  offence — if  he  considers 
actionable  and  punishable  Father 
Bouhours's  query, 

SI    UN    ALLEMAND    PEUT    ETRE     BEL 
ESPRIT  ? 

he  need  not  go  back  two  centuries 
for  a  criminal  of  whom  to  make  an 
example.  We  have  in  custody  for 
him  one  of  this  century — of  this 
decade — nay,  of  this  very  year.  He 
is  a  living  culprit,  and,  moreover,  a> 
distinguished  one.  Here  is  a  copy 


Our  Lady  of  Lonrdcs. 


825 


of  the  words  in  which  he  offends,  and,     mor  is  so  low  as  with  the  Germans 
if  we  are  not  mistaken,  he  may  be     —no  other  people  at   least   are   so 


found  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  bailiwick: 
"  There  is,  perhaps,  no  nation  where 
the  general  standard  of  wit  and  hu- 


easily  entertained  with  indifferent 
jokes"  (Saturday  Review,  London, 
March  18,  1871). 


OUR    LADY     OF    LOURDES. 


FROM   THE   FRENCH    OF  HENRI   LASSERRE. 


PART    IX. 
VII. 

PASTORAL  LETTER  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF 
TARBES,  GIVING  HIS  DECISION  REGARD- 
ING THE  APPARITIONS  WHICH  TOOK 
PLACE  AT  THE  GROTTO  OF  LOURDES. 

"  BERTRAND-SEVERE  LAURENCE.,  by  the 
divine  mercy,  and  the  favor  of  the  Apos- 
tolic See,  Bishop  of  Tarbes,  Assistant  at 
the  Pontifical  Throne,  etc.  To  the  clergy 
and  faithful  of  our  diocese,  health  and 
benediction  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Chnst. 

"  Beloved  co-laborers  and  most  dear 
brethren  :  In  all  epochs  of  humanity,  mar- 
vellous communications  have  taken  place 
between  earth  and  heaven.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  world,  the  Lord  ap- 
peared to  our  first  parents  to  reproach 
them  with  their  disobedience.  During 
the  ages  which  succeeded,  we  see  him 
conversing  with  the  patriarchs  and  pro- 
phets. The  Old  Testament  is  often  noth- 
ing more  than  a  history  of  the  heavenly 
apparitions  with  which  the  children  of 
Israel  were  favored.  These  favors  did 
not  cease  with  the  Mosaic  law ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  became,  under  the  law  of 
grace,  more  striking,  more  numerous. 
In  the  infancy  of  the  church,  those  times 
of  bloody  persecution,  the  Christians  re- 
ceived visits  from  Jesus  Christ  and  the 
angels,  who  came,  sometimes,  to  reveal 
to  them  secrets  of  the  future  or  to  deliver 
them  from  their  chains  ;  at  other  times, 
to  strengthen  them  for  combat.  Thus  it 
was,  according  to  a  judicious  writer,  that 
God  encouraged  those  illustrious  confes- 
sors of  the  faith,  when  the  powers  of  earth 


united  to  strangle  in  its  cradle  that  truth 
which  was  to  save  the  world. 

"  These  manifestations  from  the  other 
world  were  not  the  exclusive  lot  of  the 
first  centuries  of  Christianity.  History 
attests  that  they  have  been  continued 
from  age  to  age,  for  the  glory  of  religion 
and  the  edification  of  the  faithful.  Among 
these  heavenly  apparitions,  those  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  occupy  a  prominent  place, 
and  have  been  an  abundant  source  of 
blessing  to  the  world.  As  the  traveller 
journeys  over  that  part  of  the  earth 
which  has  been  the  home  of  Christianity, 
he  everywhere  meets  temples  consecrated 
to  the  Mother  of  God  ;  and  many  of  then 
owe  their  origin  to  an  apparition  of  the 
Queen  of  heaven.  We  already  possess 
one  of  these  blessed  sanctuaries,  founded 
four  centuries  ago,  on  account  of  revela- 
tions made  to  a  young  shepherdess, 
where  thousands  of  pilgrims  repair  yearly 
to  kneel  before  the  throne  of  the  glori- 
ous Virgin  Mother  Mary  to  implore  her 
for  special  favors.* 

"Thanks  be  to  God  Almighty! — for, 
among  the  treasures  of  his  infinite  bounty, 
he  has  reserved  for  us  another  favor.  He 
desires  that,  in  our  diocese  of  Tarbes,  a 
new  sanctuary  should  rise  to  the  glory  of 
Mary.  And  what  instrument  has  he  made 
use  of  to  communicate  his  merciful  de- 
signs? One  which  would  be  the  very 
weakest  in  the  eyes  of  the  world — a  child 
of  fourteen  years,  Bernadette  Soubirous, 
one  of  the  daughters  of  a  poor  family  of 
Lourdes." 

Here  the  bishop  gives  a  summary 
of  the  apparitions.  The  reader  is 

*  Notre  Dame  de  Garaison. 


826 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


aware  of  them  already.  Mgr.  Lau- 
rence then  proceeds  to  discuss  the 
facts : 

"  Such,  in  substance,"  he  further  con- 
tinues, "  is  the  account  we  ourselves 
heard  from  Bernadette,  before  the  com- 
missioners assembled  to  re  examine  the 
affair. 

"  Thus,  this  3'oung  girl  has  seen  a  being 
calling  herself  the  Immaculate  Concep- 
tion, who,  although  appearing  in  human 
form,  was  neither  seen  nor  heard  by  any 
of  the  numerous  spectators  present  at  the 
scene.  It  was  consequently  some  kind 
of  a  supernatural  being.  What  is  to  be 
thought  of  such  an  event? 

"  You  are  well  aware,  dearly  beloved 
brethren,  that  the  church  exercises  a  wise 
deliberation  in  determining  supernatural 
facts,  and  that  she  demands  certain  proof 
before  admitting  them  to  be  divine.  Since 
the  original  fall,  man  has  been  liable  to 
many  errors,  particularly  in  this  matter. 
If  not  led  astray  by  his  reason,  now  weak- 
ened, he  bas  suffered  himself  to  become 
the  dupe  of  the  evil  one.  Who  does  not 
know  that  the  devil  sometimes  transforms 
himself  into  an  angel  of  light,  in  order 
to  draw  us  into  his  snares  ?  Thus  the 
beloved  disciple  warns  us  not  to  believe 
every  spirit,  but  to  try  the  spirits  if  they 
come  from  God.  This  trial  we  have 
made.  The  event  of  which  we  are  treat- 
ing has  been,  for  four  years,  the  object 
of  our  solicitude  ;  we  have  followed  it 
throughout  its  various  phases.  We  have 
consulted  the  commission,  made  up  of 
pious,  learned,  and  experienced  priests, 
who  have  examined  facts,  questioned  the 
little  girl,  weighed  and  deliberated  con- 
cerning all.  We  have,  also,  invoked  the 
authority  of  science,  and  remain  firmly 
convinced  that  the  apparition  was  super- 
natural and  divine,  and,  consequently, 
that  what  Bernadette  saw  was  really  and 
truly  the  Most  Blessed  Virgin  Mary. 
Our  conviction  is  based  upon  the  testi- 
mony of  Bernadette,  but,  more  especially, 
upon  the  events  which  have  transpired, 
and  which  can  be  explained  only  by  sup- 
posing some  heavenly  intervention. 

"The  testimony  of  the  little  girl  affords 
all  the  securi'ty  that  can  be  desired.  Her 
sincerity  cannot  be  doubted.  No  one 
who  comes  in  contact  with  her  can  fail  to 
admire  her  childish  simplicity,  candor, 
and  modesty.  While  everybody  is  en- 
gaged in  discussing  these  marvels,  she 


keeps  silence  ;  she  speaks  only  when 
questioned,  and  then  relates  everything 
without  affectation,  and  with  touching  in- 
genuousness. She  returns  unhesitating, 
clear,  and  precise  answers  to  the  ques- 
tions which  are  put  to  her,  and  conveys 
'  the  impression  of  most  perfect  conviction 
of  what  she  says. 

"  Though  subjected  to  rude  trials,  she 
has  never  been  shaken  by  threats.  The 
most  generous  offers  she  has  rejected 
with  perfect  disinterestedness.  Always 
perfectly  consistent,  she  has  maintained 
her  original  statements  throughout  the 
numberless  examinations  she  has  under- 
gone, without  adding  or  withdrawing 
anything.  The  sincerity  of  Bernadette 
is,  therefore,  incontestable.  We  may  add, 
it  is  uncontested.  Those  who  have  op- 
posed her  have  rendered  her  this  homage 
at  least. 

"But,  admitting  that  she  has  not  in- 
tended to  deceive  others,  has  she  not 
been  herself  deceived  ?  Has  she  not  im- 
agined that  she  saw  something  where 
nothing,  in  fact,  existed  ?  Has  she  not  been 
the  victim  of  a  hallucination?  The  good 
sense  displayed  in  her  answers  reveals  an 
accurate  mind,  a  quiet  imagination,  and 
a  sound  judgment,  surpassing  her  age. 
Her  religious  sentiments  have  never  pos- 
sessed the  character  of  enthusiasm  ;  noth- 
ing has  been  remarked  about  the  young 
girl  indicating  intellectual  disorder,  or  any 
eccentricity  of  character,  any  alteration 
of  the  senses  or  morbid  affection  which 
predispose  her  to  imaginations  of  this 
kind.  She  has  had  this  vision,  not  once, 
but  eighteen  times  ;  then,  it  has  appeared 
suddenly,  when  nothing  could  have  pre- 
pared her  for  what  was  about  to  take 
place  ;  and,  during  the  fortnight  when  she 
daily  expected  it,  she  saw  nothing  for  two 
days,  though  placed  in  circumstances  en- 
tirely similar  to  those  of  the  previous 
occasion. 

"  But  what  took  place  during  the  time 
of  these  apparitions?  A  complete  trans- 
formation was  effected  in  Bernadette  her- 
self. Her  countenance  assumed  a  new 
expression,  her  features  were  lit  up  ;  she 
saw  things  which  she  had.  never  seen  be- 
fore, and  heard  a  language  which  she 
does  not  ordinarily  understand,  but  of 
which  she  preserved  the  memory.  These 
combined  circumstances  do  not  admit 
the  possibility  of  hallucination.  The 
little  girl  has  really  seen  and  heard  a 
being  who  calls  herself  the^  Immaculate 
Conception  ;  and,  since  we  cannot  ex- 


Our  Lady  of  Lour  ties. 


827 


plain  this  phenomenon  naturally,  we  are 
forced  to  attribute  it  to  a  supernatural 
cause. 

"  The  testimony  of  Bernadette  derives 
additional  force,  its  confirmation,  we 
should  say,  from  the-  wonderful  events 
which  have  accompanied  it  throughout. 

"  If  the  tree  is  to  be  judged  by  its  fruits, 
we  can  certainly  say  that  the  apparition 
described  by  the  little  girl  is  supernatural 
and  divine.  For  it  has  produced  super- 
natural and  divine  effects.  What,  then, 
has  happened,  dearly  beloved  ?  Scarcely 
was  the  apparition  made  known,  when 
the  news  spread  with  the  rapidity  of 
lightning.  It  was  known  that  Bernadette 
was  to  visit  the  grotto  daily  for  a  fort- 
night. The  whole  land  is  astir.  Streams 
of  people  flow  to  the  place  of  apparition. 
They  await,  with  religious  impatience,  the 
solemn  hour.  And  when  the  girl  appears, 
rapt  and  absorbed  in  the  object  of  her 
ecstasy,  the  witnesses  of  this  prodigy, 
moved  and  softened,  are  melted  in  a  sen- 
timent of  admiration  and  prayer.  The 
apparitions  have  now  ceased,  but  the 
•  throng  continues.  Pilgrims  come  from 
distant  lands.  Every  age  and  rank  and 
condition  is  to  be  seen  kneeling  before 
the  grotto.  What  sentiment  moves  these 
countless  visitors  ?  Ah  !  they  come  to  the 
grotto  to  implore  the  special  help  of  the 
Immaculate  Mary.  They  prove  by  their 
recollected  mien  that  they  breathe  the 
divine  atmosphere  which  surrounds  these 
hallowed  rocks,  already  become  famous. 
Christian  souls  are  strengthened  in  vir- 
tue ;  men  frozen  up  by  indifference  are 
brought  back  to  the  practice  of  religion  ; 
hardened  sinners  are  reconciled  to  God 
when  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes  has  been  in- 
voked in  their  behalf.  These  wonders  of 
grace,  which  are  complet  and  lasting, 
can  have  no  author  save  God.  Do  they 
not  strikingly  confirm  the  truth  of  the 
apparitions  ?  If  we  now  pass  from  effects 
wrought  for  the  salvation  of  souls  to 
those  which  concern  the  healing  of  bodily 
ills,  how  many  prodigies  must  we  not 
recount?  " 


Our  readers  have  not  forgotten  the 
breaking  forth  of  the  spring,  at  which 
Bernadette  drank  and  washed,  be- 
fore the  assembled  crowds.  It  will 
be  superfluous  to  repeat  these  de- 
tails. The  bishop  continues : 


"  Sick  persons  have  made  use  of  the 
water,  and  not  without  success.  Many, 
whose  diseases  have  resisted  most  ener- 
getic treatment,  have  suddenly  recovered 
health.  These  extraordinary  cures  have 
been  noised  abroad.  Invalids  from  all 
quarters  have  sent  for  this  Massabielle 
water,  when  unable  to  transport  them- 
selves to  the  grotto. 

"  How  many  infirm  have  been  cured, 
how  many  afflicted  families  have  been 
consoled  ! 

"  If  we  wished  to  call  for  their  testimo- 
ny, countless  voices  would  be  lifted  up 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  sovereign  ef- 
ficacy of  this  water.  We  cannot  here 
enumerate  all  the  favors  obtained  ;  but 
what  we  are  obliged  to  say,  is,  that  the 
Massabielle  water  has  cured  desperate 
invalids  who  had  been  declared  incura- 
ble. These  cures  have  been  worked  by 
the  use  of  water  devoid  of  any  healing 
properties,  according  to  the  acknowledg- 
ments of  skilful  chemists,  after  rigorous 
analysis.  Some  cures  have  been  wrought 
instantaneously,  others  after  using  the 
water  twice  or  thrice  as  a  drink  or  lotion. 
Moreover,  these  cures  are  permanent. 
What  power  has  wrought  them  ?  Some 
organic  power?  Science  answers  nega- 
tively. They  are,  therefore,  the  work  of 
God.  But,  they  refer  to  the  apparitions  ; 
these  are  their  source  ;  these  have  inspired 
the  sick  people  with  confidence.  Hence, 
there  is  an  intimate  connection  between 
the  cures  and  the  apparitions.  The  appa- 
rition is  divine,  because  the  cures  bear 
the  seal  of  divine  power.  But  that  which 
comes  from  God  is  true  ;  and,  therefore, 
the  apparition  which  Bernadette  saw  and 
heard,  and  which  gave  itself  the  name  of 
the  Immaculate  Conception,  is  the  Bless- 
ed Virgin  herself.  Well  may  we  cry  out : 
The  finger  of  God  is  here  !  Digiius  Dei 
est  hie. 

"  How,  then,  can  any  one  fail  to  ad- 
mire the  economy  of  divine  Providence  ? 
At  the  end  of  the  year  1854,  the  immortal 
Pius  IX.  proclaimed  the  dogma  of  the  Im- 
maculate Conception.  The  whole  earth  re- 
schoed  the  words  of  its  supreme  pastor  ; 
Catholic  hearts  trembled  with  joy,  and 
everywhere  the  glorious  privilege  of  Ma- 
ry was  celebrated  by  fetes,  which  will 
ever  remain  graven  in  the  memory  of 
those  who  witnessed  them.  And,  behold, 
three  years  afterward,  the  Blessed  Virgin 
appears  to  one  of  our  children,  and  says  : 
I  am  the  Immaculate  Conception:  here 
will  I  have  a  chapel  built  in  my  honor. 


828 


Our'  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


Does  she  not  seem  to  desire  to  conse- 
crate by  this  monument  the  infallible 
oracle  of  St.  Peter? 

"  Where  will  she  have  this  monument 
erected  ?  At  the  foot  of  our  own  Pyrenees, 
where  many  strangers  meet  from  all  parts 
of  the  world  to  seek  health  at  our  waters. 
May  we  not  say  that  she  invites  the  faith- 
ful of  all  nations  to  come  and  honor  her  in 
the  new  temple  which  shall  be  built  to  her  ? 

"Citizens  of  Lourdes,  rejoice!  The 
august  Mary  condescends  to  cast  upon 
you  her  merciful  eyes.  She  desires  to 
build  beside  your  walls  a  sanctuary  stored 
with  blessings.  Thank  her  for  this  token 
of  predilection  ;  and,  since  she  lavishes 
her  motherly  tenderness  upon  you,  show 
yourselves  her  children  by  imitating  her 
virtues,  and  by  a  fixed  attachment  to  re- 
ligion. 

"  It  is  with  joy  that  we  acknowledge 
the  fruits  of  salvation  which  the  appari- 
tion has  already  caused  to  spring  up 
abundantly  among  you.  Eye-witnesses 
of  the  events  at  the  grotto  and  their  hap- 
py results,  your  confidence  has  been  as 
great  as  your  conviction  has  been  strong. 
We  have  ever  admired  your  prudence 
and  docility  in  following  our  counsels  of 
obedience  and  submission  to  the  civil 
authority,  when  for  some  weeks  you  were 
hindered  from  visiting  the  grotto,  and 
were  forced  to  restrain  in  your  own  hearts 
the  sentiments  inspired  by  what  you  had 
there  beheld  during  the  fortnight  of  the 
apparitions. 

"  And  you,  our  well-beloved  children, 
open  your  hearts  to  hope.  A  new  era  of 
grace  and  benediction  has  dawned  upon 
you  ;  you  are  called  to  share  in  what  has 
been  promised  to  all.  In  your  prayers 
and  canticles,  henceforth,  you  will  min- 
gle the  name  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes 
with  the  blessed  titles  of  Our  Lady  of 
Garaison,  of  Poeylaun,  of  Heas,  and  of 
Pietat. 

"  From  these  sanctuaries  the  Immacu- 
late Virgin  will  watch  over  }?ou,  and 
cover  you  with  the  shield  of  her  protec- 
tion. Yes,  beloved  co-laborers  and  dear- 
est brethren,  if,  with  hearts  full  of  confi- 
dence, we  fix  our  glance  upon  this  '  Star 
of  the  Sea,'  we  shall  pass  without  fear  of 
shipwreck  through  the  tempests  of  life,  and 
arrive  safely  in  the  haven  of  eternal  bliss. 

"  WHEREFORE  : 

"  Having  consulted  with  our  venerable 
brethren,  the  dignitaries,  canons,  and 
chapter  of  our  cathedral  church  ; 


"  The  holy  name  of  God  having  been 
invoked  ;  following  the  rules  laid  down 
by  Benedict  XIV.,  in  his  work  on  Beati- 
fication and  Canonization  of  Saints,  for 
discerning  true  and  false  apparitions ; 
seeing  the  favorable  report  of  the  com- 
mission charged  with  the  examination  of 
the  apparition  at  the  grotto  of  Lourdes, 
and  the  facts  connected  with  it ; 

"Seeing  the  written  testimony  of  the 
medical  doctors,  whom  we  have  consult- 
ed in  reference  to  the  numerous  cures 
obtained  by  use  of  water  from  this  grot- 
to ; 

"  Considering,  in  the  first  place,  that 
the  fact  of  the  apparition,  whether  in  re- 
gard to  the  effects  produced  upon  her 
who  saw  it,  or  its  other  extraordinary  re- 
sults, cannot  be  explained  by  natural 
means  ; 

"  Considering,  secondly,  that  the  cause 
cannot  be  other  than  divine,  by  reason 
of  the  effects  which  have  followed  its 
operation,  such  as  the  conversion  of  sin- 
ners and  derogation  from  the  fixed  laws 
of  nature,  namely,  miraculous  cures, 
which  can  only  come  from  him  who  is 
the  author  of  grace  and  nature  ; 

"  Considering,  finally,  that  our  own 
conviction  is  strengthened  by  the  im- 
mense and  spontaneous  concourse  of  the 
faithful,  which  has  never  ceased  at  the 
grotto  since  the  first  apparitions,  and 
whose  only  object  is  to  implore  favors  or 
return  thanks  for  those  which  have  been 
already  obtained ; 

"  In  response  to  the  just  impatience  of 
our  venerable  chapter,  of  the  clergy  and 
laity  of  our  diocese,  and  of  so  many  pi- 
ous souls  who  have  long  been  calling 
upon  the  ecclesiastical  authority  for  a 
decision  which  prudence  has  caused  us 
hitherto  to  refrain  from  giving  ; 

"  Desiring,  also,  to  satisfy  the  wishes 
of  several  of  our  colleagues  in  the  epis- 
copate, and  of  many  distinguished  stran- 
gers to  our  diocese  ; 

"  Having  invoked  the  light  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  the  assistance  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin, 

WE   HAVE    DECLARED,   AND    HEREBY 
DECLARE  AS  FOLLOWS  : 

"Art.  I.  We  decide  that  the  Immacu- 
late Mary,  the  Mother  of  God,  really  did 
appear  to  Bernadette  Soubirous,  on  the 
eleventh  of  February,  1858,  and  on  seve- 
ral days  following,  altogether  eighteen 
times,  in  the  Massabielle  Grotto,  near  the 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes. 


829 


town  of  Lourdes  ;  that  this  apparition  has 
every  guarantee  of  truth,  and  that  the 
faithful  have  solid  reason  for  believing  it 
to  be  certain. 

"  We  submit  ourselves  humbly  to  the 
judgment  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,  to 
whom  belongs  the  government  of  the 
universal  church. 

"Art.  2.  We  authorize  in  our  diocese 
the  worship  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Grotto 
of  Lourdes  ;  but  we  prohibit  any  particu- 
lar prayers,  any  canticle,  any  book  of  de- 
votion, to  be  published  on  this  subject 
without  our  written  approbation. 

"  Art.  3.  In  conformity  with  the  desire 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  several  times  ex- 
pressed during  her  apparitions,  we  pro 
pose  to  build  a  shrine  on  the  site  of  the 
grotto,  which  has  now  become  the  pro 
perty  of  the  Bishop  of  Tarbes. 

"This  edifice,  on  account  of  its  steep 
and  rocky  foundation,  will  require  great 
labor  and  expense.  We  need,  therefore, 
to  carry  out  our  design,  the  assistance  of 
the  priests  and  faithful  of  our  own  dio- 
cese, of  OUT  country,  France,  and  also 
from  abroad.  We  appeal  to  all  generous 
hearts,  and  particularly  to  all  persons  of 
every  country  who  are  devoted  to  the 
worship  of  the  Immaculate  Virgin  Mary. 

"Art.  4.  We  address  with  confidence 
all  institutions  of  either  sex  consecrated 
to  the  education  of  youth,  to  the  congre- 
gations of  the  '  Children  of  Mary,'  to  the 
confraternities  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
other  pious  societies  of  our  own  diocese, 
and  throughout  France. 

"This,  our  pastoral,  shall  be  read  and 
published  in  all  the  churches,  chapels,  se- 
minaries, colleges,  and  hospices  of  our  dio- 
cese on  the  Sunday  following  its  reception. 

"  Given  at  Tarbes,  in  our  episcopal  pa- 
lace, under  our  seal  and  signature,  and 
the  counter-signature  of  our  secretary, 
January  18.  1862,  being  the  feast  of  the 
Chair  of  St.  Peter  at  Rome. 

"  •£•  BERTRAXD-SRE.,  Bishop  of  Tarbes. 
"  By  order,  FOURCADE,  Canon- Secretary. 

VIII. 

In  the  name  of  his  see,  or,  rather, 
in  that  of  the  church,  Mgr.  Laurence 
purchased  from  the  town  of  Lourdes 
the  grotto  and  the  surrounding  lands, 
and  the  whole  group  of  Massabielle 
rocks.  M.  Lacade  was  still  mayor. 
He  it  was  who  proposed  to  the  mu- 


nicipal council  to  cede  to  the  church, 
the  bride  of  Christ,  those  places 
which  had  been  consecrated  for  ever 
by  the  appearance  of  his  heavenly 
Mother.  He,  also,  signed  the  deed 
of  transfer. 

M.  Rouland  authorized  the  sale, 
and  also  the  erection  of  a  church  in 
perpetual  memory  of  the  apparition 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  Bernadette 
Soubirous,  in  memory  of  the  foun- 
tain and  the  numberless  miracles 
which  had  attested  the  heavenly  vis- 
ions. 

While  the  vast  temple  dedicated 
to  the  Immaculate  Conception  was 
slowly  rising,  stone  upon  stone,  Our 
Lady  of  Lourdes  continued  to  show- 
er blessings  and  graces  upon  her 
clients.  At  Paris  and  Bordeaux,  in 
Perigord,  Brittany,  and  Anjou,  amid 
solitary  and  rural  scenes  and  in  the 
heart  of  popular  cities,  Our  Lady  of 
Lourdes  was  invoked,  and  answered 
with  unquestionable  signs  of  her 
power  and  goodness. 

Before  closing  our  recital  and  pre- 
senting the  picture  of  things  as  they 
now  exist,  let  us  narrate  two  of  these 
divine  histories.  One  of  them  forms 
an  episode  in  the  life  of  the  writer 
of  these  pages  which  nothing  can 
ever  efface  from  his  memory.  We 
give  it  as  we  wrote  it  down  nearly 
seven  years  ago. 

PART    X. 


During  my  whole  life,  I  had  always 
enjoyed  the  blessing  of  good  sight. 
I  was  able  to  distinguish  objects  at  a 
great  distance,  and  also  to  read  with 
ease  when  my  book  was  close  to  my 
eyes.  I  never  suffered  the  least 
weakness  of  sight  after  whole  nights 
passed  in  study.  I  often  wondered 
and  rejoiced  at  the  strength  and 
clearness  of  my  vision.  Thus,  it  was 


830 


Our  Lady  of  LoiLrdes. 


a  great  surprise  and  a  cruel  disen- 
chantment when  in  June  and  July, 
1862,  I  felt  my  eyesight  becoming 
gradually  weak,  unable  to  work  at 
night,  and,  finally,  incapable  of  any 
use,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  give  up 
altogether  reading  and  writing.  If 
I  chanced  to  pick  up  a  book,  after 
reading  three  or  four  lines,  some- 
times at  the  first  glance,  I  felt  such 
weakness  in  the  upper  part  of  my 
eyes  as  to  render  it  impossible  to 
continue.  I  consulted  several  physi- 
cians, arid  principally  the  two  famous 
oculists,  Desmares  and  Giraud-Teu- 
lon. 

The  remedies  prescribed  by  them 
were  of  little  or  no  avail.  After  a 
slight  rest,  and  a  treatment  principal- 
ly composed  of  iron,  I  had  a  slight 
respite,  and  once  read  during  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  afternoon. 
But,  the  following  day,  I  relapsed 
into  my  former  condition.  Then  I 
began  to  try  local  remedies,  applica- 
tions of  cold  water  on  the  ball  of 
the  eye,  cupping  on  the  neck,  a  ge- 
neral hydropathic  treatment,  and 
alcoholic  lotions  around  the  eyes. 
Sometimes  I  experienced  a  slight  re- 
lief from  the  weariness  which  general- 
ly oppressed  them,  but  this  was  only 
for  a  moment.  In  short,  my  disease 
assumed  all  the  appearances  of  a 
chronic  and  incurable  malady. 

According  to  advice,  I  condemn- 
ed my  eyes  to  absolute  repose.  Not 
content  with  putting  on  blue  eye- 
glasses, I  had  left  Paris,  and  was  liv- 
ing in  the  country  with  my  mother, 
at  Coux,  on  the  banks  of  the  Dor- 
dogne.  I  had  taken  with  me  a  young 
person,  who  acted  as  my  secretary, 
writing  at  my  dictation,  and  who 
read  to  me  the  books  which  I  wish- 
ed to  consult. 

September  had  arrived.  This 
state  had  lasted  for  three  months.  I 
began  to  be  seriously  alarmed.  I 
felt  a  gloomy  foreboding  which  I  dared 


not  communicate  to  any  one.  My 
family  shared  the  same  apprehen- 
sions, but  likewise  shrank  from  ma- 
nifesting them.  We  were  both  con- 
vinced that  my  sight  was  gone,  but 
both  sought  to  reassure  one  another, 
and  to  conceal  our  mutual  anxi- 
ety. 

I  had  a  most  intimate  friend,  in 
whom  I  had  confided  from  boyhood 
all  my  joys  and  sorrows.  I  dictated 
to  my  secretary  a  letter  to  him,  in 
which  I  described  my  sad  condition, 
and  the  fears  which  I  had  for  the  fu- 
ture. The  friend  of  whom  I  speak  is  a 
Protestant,  as  is  also  his  wife.  This 
twofold  circumstance  requires  to  be 
mentioned.  Grave  reasons  prevent 
me  from  giving  his  name.  We  shall 
call  him  M.  de . 

He  answered  my  letter  a  few  days 
afterward.  His  letter  reached  me  on 
the  fifteenth  of  September,  and  sur- 
prised me  greatly.  I  transcribe  it 
here,  without  changing  a  word  : 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  Your  few  lines 
gave  me  great  pleasure ;  but,  as  I 
have  told  you  before,  I  long  to  hear 
from  you  in  your  own  handwriting. 
A  few  days  ago,  as  I  returned  from 
Cauterets,  I  passed  through  Lourdes 
(in  the  neighborhood  of  Tarbes).  I 
visited  the  famous  grotto,  and  heard 
about  the  extraordinary  things  that 
have  been  taking  place  there,  and 
the  cures  produced  by  the  waters  in 
cases  of  diseased  eyes.  I  earnestly 
recommend  you  to  try  it.  If  I  were 
like  you,  a  believing  Catholic,  and  la- 
boring under  any  illness,  I  would  cer- 
tainly try  this  chance.  If  it  be  true 
that  invalids  have  been  suddenly  cur- 
ed, perhaps  your  name  may  swell  the 
number.  If  it  be  not  true,  where  is 
the  risk  ?  I  may  add  that  I  am  per- 
sonally interested  in  this  matter.  If 
the  experiment  succeeds,  what  an 
important  fact  for  me  to  face !  I 
would  be  in  the  presence  of  a  mira- 
culous event,  or,  at  any  rate,  an  event 


Our  Lady  of  Lour  ties* 


831 


whose  principal  witness  would  be 
above  all  suspicion." 

"  It  appears,"  he  added  in  post- 
script, "  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  go 
to  Lourdes  itself  to  take  the  water 
there,  since  you  can  have  it  sent. 
It  is  only  necessary  to  ask  the  cure 
of  Lourdes;  he  will  forward  it  with- 
out delay.  Certain  conditions  have 
to  be  fulfilled  of  which  I  am  not 
perfectly  informed,  but  of  which  the 
cure  of  Lourdes  will  tell  you.  Ask 
him  also  to  send  you  the  little  pam- 
phlet by  the  vicar-general  of  Tarbes, 
which  gives  an  account  of  the  mira- 
cles that  have  been  most  thorough- 
ly proved." 

This  letter  of  my  friend  was  well 
calculated  to  fill  me  with  astonish- 
ment. His  was  an  exact,  positive,  and 
at  the  same  time  a  lofty  mind,  not  at 
all  liable  to  the  illusions  of  enthusiasm, 
and,  besides,  he  was  a  Protestant. 
Such  a  piece  of  advice  coming  from 
him,  in  such  an  urgent  manner,  filled 
me  with  amazement.  However,  I 
resolved  not  to  follow  it. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  replied,  "  that 
I  am  to-day  a  little  better.  If  this 
improvement  continues,  I  shall  not 
have  need  of  your  proposed  and  ex- 
traordinary remedy,  for  which,  be- 
sides, I  have  not,  perhaps,  the  neces- 
sary faith." 

And  here,  I  must  confess,  not 
without  a  blush,  the  secret  motives  of 
my  resistance. 

Whatever  I  may  have  said,  it  was 
not  faith  which  was  lacking ;  and,  al- 
though ignorant  of  particulars  con- 
cerning the  water  of  Lourdes,  except 
through  the  impertinent  remarks  of 
certain  ill-disposed  journals,  I  was 
certain  that  the  power  of  God  could 
be  manifested  by  cures  here  as  well 
as  elsewhere.  I  will  say  more  :  I  had 
a  secret  presentiment  that  if  I  tried 
this  water,  springing,  as  some  said, 
in  consequence  of  an  apparition 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  I  should  be 


cured.  But,  to  tell  the  simple  truth, 
I  feared  the  responsibility  of  such  a 
favor.  "If  the  doctor  cures  you," 
I  said  to  myself,  "  every  account  is 
squared  as  soon  as  you  have  handed 
him  his  fee.  You  will  be  in  the  same 
condition  as  everybody  else.  But  if 
God  cures  you  by  a  special  act  of 
his  providence,  it  will  be  quite  an- 
other affair,  and  you  will  have  to 
amend  your  life  and  become  a  saint. 
If  God  gives  you  back  those  eyes  of 
yours  with  his  own  hands,  how  can  you 
ever  let  them  rest  upon  objects  which 
draw  you  away  from  him  ?  God  will 
demand  his  fee;  and  it  will  amount  to 
more  than  the  doctor's.  You  must 
give  up  this  and  that  bad  habit,  you 
must  acquire  such  and  such  virtues, 
and  others  that  you  know  nothing  of. 
How  will  you  do  all  this  ?  Ah  ! 
this  is  too  hard!  "  And  my  misera- 
ble heart,  fearing  its  own  weakness, 
nevertheless  resisted  the  grace 
of  God. 

Thus  it  was  I  rebelled  against  the 
counsel  given  me  to  have  recourse 
to  this  miraculous  intervention  — 
against  that  counsel  which  Provi- 
dence, ever  hidden  in  its  ways,  sent 
me  by  two  Protestants,  two  heretics, 
outside  the  church.  But  my  strug- 
gles and  resistance  were  vain.  An 
interior  voice  told  me  that  the  hand 
of  man  was  powerless  to  cure  me, 
and  that  the  Master  whom  I  had  of- 
fended would  return  me  my  sight, 
and  lead  me  to  a  new  life,  if  I  would 
make  up  my  mind  to  use  it  well. 

Meanwhile,  my  condition  was  either 
stationary  or  slowly  becoming  worse. 

In  the  early  part  of  October,  I  was 
obliged  to  go  to  Paris.  By  an  un- 
looked-for chance,  M.  de and 

his  wife  were  there  at  the  same  time. 
My  first  visit  was  to  them.  My 
friend  was  staying  at  his  sister's, 

Madame  P ,  who  lived,  together 

with  her  husband,  in  Paris. 

"  And  how  are  your  eyes  ?"  asked 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdes, 


Madame  de 


as  soon  as  I  had 


entered  the  parlor. 

"  They  are  always  in  the  same  con- 
dition; 1  begin  to  fear  that  they  are 
gone." 

"  But  why  have  you  not  tried  the 
remedy  that  I  proposed  ?  I  have 
a  strange  hope  that  you  will  be  cur- 
ed." 

"Pshaw!"  I  replied;  "I  confess 
that,  without  precisely  denying  or 
showing  myself  hostile,  I  have  but  lit- 
tle faith  in  this  water  and  apparition. 
It  is  perfectly  possible,  I  admit ;  but 
as  I  have  not  examined  the  matter,  I 
neither  assert  nor  contest ;  I  wash  my 
hands  of  the  whole  affair,  and  do  not 
intend  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
it." 

"  You  have  no  valid  objections,','  he 
answered.  "  According  to  your  re- 
ligious principles,  you  are  bound  to 
believe  at  least  the  possibility  of  such 
things.  Very  well,  then,  what  is  to 
prevent  you  from  making  a  trial  ? 
What  is  it  going  to  cost  you  ?  It 
can't  do  you  any  harm,  for  it  is  no- 
thing but  natural  water.  Now,  since 
you  believe  in  miracles  and  in  your 
religion,  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
ought  to  be  moved  by  two  Protes- 
tants ;  and  I  frankly  confess  that,  if 
you  are  cured,  it  will  be  a  terrible 
argument  against  me."  Madame 
de  — '' —  joined  her  entreaties  to  those 
of  her  husband.  M.  and  Madame 
P— — ,  who  are  Catholics,  insisted  as 
warmly.  I  was  driven  to  my  last 
entrenchments. 

"  Well,"  said  I  at  last,  "  let  me  tell 
you  the  whole  truth.  I  do  not  lack 
faith,  but  I  am  full  of  weaknesses, 
faults,  and  a  thousand  miseries  which 
are  entwined  with  the  most  sensitive 
fibres  of  my  nature.  Now,  a  miracle 
would  lay  upon  me  the  obligation 
of  giving  up  everything  and  trying 
to  become  a  saint ;  and  I  do  not  feel 
equal  to  the  responsibility.  If  God 
cures  me,  how  do  I  know  what  he 


will  ask  of  me  ?  But  if  the  doctor 
succeeds,  we  can  settle  the  matter 
with  money.  You  think  this  is  dis- 
graceful, I  know ;  but  it  is  nothing 
but  the  truth.  You  have  supposed 
that  my  faith  has  been  wavering. 
You  have  thought  that  I  feared  lest 
the  miracle  should  not  succeed.  It 
is  not  so.  I  should  be  only  afraid 
that  it  might  succeed." 

My  friends  vainly  tried  to  convince 
me  that  I  was  exaggerating  the  re- 
sponsibility of  which  I  spoke. 

"  You  are  none  the  less  obliged  to 
seek  after  virtue  now  than  if  the  mi- 
racle had  been  already  worked,"  said 

M.  de  .  "  Besides,  supposing 

the  physician  does  cure  you,  it  will 
be  none  the  less  a  favor  from  God ; 
and  you  will  have  just  the  same  rea- 
sons for  struggling  against  your  faults 
and  passions." 

This  did  not  seem  to  me  perfectly 
true;  and  the  logical  mind  of  M. 

de probably  admitted  as  much 

to  itself;  but  he  was  bent  upon 
calming  my  apprehensions  and  in- 
ducing me  to  follow  his  advice. 

Vainly  did  I  endeavor  to  combat 
the  pressing  earnestness  of  my  host 
and  his  wife,  and  my  friends.  I  end- 
ed by  promising  to  do  whatever  they 
desired. 

"  As  soon  as  I  get  a  secretary,  I 
will  write  to  Lourdes ;  but  it  is  too 
late  at  this  hour  of  the  day." 

"  But  I  will  do,  will  I  not  ?"  an- 
swered my  friend. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  "  come  and 
breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  at  the 
Cafe  de  Foy,  I  will  dictate  the  letter 
after  breakfast." 

"  Why  not  do  it  now  ?  We  will 
save  one  day." 

Paper  and  ink  were  at  hand.  I 
dictated  a  letter  to  the  cure  of  Lourdes. 
It  was  posted  that  evening. 

The  next  day,  M.  de  came 

to  see  me.  "  My  dear  friend,"  he 
said,  "  since  the  die  is  cast,  and  you 


Our  Lady  of  Lonrdcs. 


833 


are  going  to  try  this  experiment,  you 
ought  to  go  seriously  to  work,  and 
fulfil  the  conditions  which  are  requir- 
ed in  order  to  make  a  success.  You 
must  pray.  You  will  have  to  go  to 
confession,  and  put  your  mind  in  the 
proper  state.  You  know  that  all  this 
is  a  prime  necessity." 

"  You  are  right,"  I  replied;  "  I  will 
do  as  you  say.  '  But  you  must  ac- 
knowledge that  you  are  a  queer  Pro- 
testant. The  tables  are  turned;  to- 
day you  are  preaching  to  me  my 
own  faith  and  religion,  and  I  own 
the  contrast  is  not  much  to  my  ad- 
vantage." 

"  I  am  a  man  of  science,"  he  an 
swered.  "  It  is  perfectly  natural  that 
I  should  wish  to  see  all  the  condi- 
tions carried  out,  since  we  have 
agreed  to  try  an  experiment.  I 
should  act  in  this  manner  if  we  were 
dealing  with  physics  or  chemistry." 

I  confess,  to  my  shame,  I  did  not 
prepare  myself  as  my  friend  had  so 
wisely  advised  me.  I  was  in  a  very 
poor  spiritual  condition;  my  soul 
was  distracted  and  turned  to  evil. 
I  recognized  the  necessity  of  throw- 
ing myself  at  the  feet  of  God ;  but, 
as  I  had  not  been  guilty  of  gross 
and  brutal  sins,  against  which  nature 
reacts  with  such  violence,  I  delayed 
from  day  to  day.  Man  is  more  re- 
bellious against  the  sacrament  of  pe- 
nance while  he  is  being  tempted,  than 
after  he  has  been  crushed  and  hum- 
bled by  the  sight  of  his  crime.  It  is 
more  difficult  to  combat  and  resist 
than  to  ask  for  mercy  after  defeat. 
Who  does  not  know  this  ? 

A  week   passed   in   this   manner. 

M.  and  Mme.  de inquired  daily 

if  I  had  heard  any  news  of  the  mi- 
raculous water,  or  any  word  from  the 
cure"  of  Lourdes.  Finally,  I  receiv- 
ed a  note  from  him  to  the  effect  that 
the  water  had  been  forwarded  by 
rail,  and  would  shortly  reach  me. 

We  awaited  its  arrival  with  great 
VOL.  xiir. — 53 


eagerness  ;  but,  strange  to  say,  my 
Protestant  friends  were  much  more 
impatient  than  I.  The  state  of  my 
eyes  continued  the  same.  It  was  ab- 
solutely impossible  for  me  to  read 
or  write. 

One  morning,  Friday,  October  10, 

1862,  I  was  waiting  for  M.  de 

in  the  Orleans  Gallery  at  the  Palais 
Royal.  We  breakfasted  together. 
As  I  had  come  to  the  place  of  meet- 
ing some  time  in  advance  of  him, 
I  employed  myself  in  looking  about 
the  shops  and  reading  the  list  of 
new  books  in  front  of  Dentu's  li- 
brary. This  was  enough  to  weary 
my  eyes.  They  had  become  so  weak 
that  I  could  not  let  them  rest  upon 
the  largest  signs  without  feeling  them 
overpowered  by  lassitude.  This  lit- 
tle circumstance  made  me  quite  sad, 
as  it  showed  me  the  extent  of  my 
malady. 

In  the  afternoon  I  dictated  three 

letters  to  De  ,  and,  at  four 

o'clock,  having  left  him,  returned  to 
my  lodgings.  As  I  was  going  up- 
stairs, the  porter  called  to  me. 

"  A  little  box  has  come  for  you 
from  the  railroad."  I  entered  his 
store-room  eagerly.  There  was  a 
small  pine  box,  bearing  my  name  and 
address  on  one  end,  and  on  the  oth- 
er these  words,  doubtless  intended 
for  the  custom-house  officials,  '•'  Na- 
tural Water." 

It  was  from  Lourdes. 

I  felt  greatly  excited ;  but  did  not 
betray  any  emotion. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I  to  the  porter, 
"  I  will  take  it  in  a  few  moments ;  I 
will  return  shortly."  I  stepped  out 
again  into  the  street. 

"  This  matter  is  becoming  serious," 

I  said  to  myself.  "  De is  right; 

I  must  prepare  myself.  In  my  pre- 
sent state,  I  have  no  right  to  ask  God 
to  work  a  miracle.  I  must  set  to 
work  to  heal  my  own  soul  before  I 
can  ask  him  to  heal  my  body." 


334 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


Reflecting  on  these  considerations, 
I  directed  my  steps  toward  the  house 
of  my  confessor,  the  Abbe  Ferrand  de 
Missol,  who  lived  quite  near  me.  I 
felt  certain  of  finding  him  in,  for  it 
was  Friday,  and  he  is  always  at  home 
on  that  day.  So  indeed  he  was 
upon  this  occasion. 

But  several  persons  were  waiting 
to  see  him,  whose  turn  would  natu- 
rally come  before  mine.  Some  mem- 
ber of  his  family  had  just  arrived  on 
an  unexpected  visit.  His  servant 
informed  me  of  all  this,  and  asked  me 
to  call  again  in  the  evening  about 
seven  o'clock. 

I  resigned  myself  to  my  lot. 

As  I  came  to  the  street-door,  I 
paused  for  an  instant.  I  wavered 
between  the  desire  of  paying  a  visit 
which  I  had  greatly  at  heart  and  the 
thought  of  returning  home  to  pray. 
I  was  very  much  inclined  to  the  dis- 
traction, but  finally  the  good  inspira- 
tion carried  the  day,  and  I  returned 
toward  the  Rue  Seine. 

I  took  from  the  porter  the  little 
box,  to  which  was  attached  a  notice 
of  the  apparition  at  Lourdes,  and, 
with  both  in  my  hand,  I  hastened  up- 
stairs. On  reaching  my  room,  I 
knelt  down  at  my  bedside  and  pray- 
ed, all  unworthy  as  I  was  to  turn  my 
eyes  toward  heaven;  Then  I  arose. 
On  entering,  I  had  placed  the  little 
box  and  the  pamphlet  upon  the  man- 
telpiece. I  gazed  a  moment  upon 
the  little  case  which  contained  the 
mysterious  water,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  some  great  event  was 
about  to  transpire  in  this  lonely 
chamber.  I  feared  to  touch  with 
impure  hands  the  wood  which  con- 
tained this  hallowed  water,  and  yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  felt  a  lively  de- 
sire to  open  it  at  once,  and  not  wait 
until  after  I  had  been  to  confession. 
This  indecision  lasted  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  ended  with  this  prayer : 

"  O  my  God  !  I  am  a  wretched  sin- 


ner, unworthy  of  raising  my  voice  to 
you,  or  of  touching  that  which  you 
have  blessed.  But  this  very  excess 
of  misery  ought  to  excite  your  com- 
passion. My  God,  I  come  to  you 
and  to  the  Most  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary,  full  of  faith  and  reliance  upon 
you,  and  from  the  depths  I  cry  to 
you.  This  evening  I  will  confess 
my  sins  to  your  minister,  but  my 
faith  will  not  suffer  me  to  wait.  Par- 
don me,  Lord,  and  heal  me.  And 
you,  O  Mother  of  Mercy !  come  to 
the  help  of  your  unhappy  child  !" 

And,  feeling  strengthened  by  my 
prayer,  I  opened  the  box.  It  con- 
tained a  bottle  of  pure  water.  I  un- 
corked it,  poxired  some  of  the  water 
into  a  glass,  and  took  a  napkin  from 
the  drawer. 

These  commonplace  preparations, 
which  I  made  with  care,  were  ac- 
companied by  a  secret  solemnity,  the 
memory  of  which  still  haunts  me. 
In  that  room  I  was  not  alone.  God 
was  there  certainly ;  and  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  whom  I  had  invoked,  was  also 
there. 

Ardent  faith  inflamed  my  soul. 
When  all  was  ready,  I  knelt  down 
again.  "  O  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  !" 
I  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  "  heal  my 
physical  and  spiritual  blindness."  Say- 
ing these  words,  with  a  heart  full  of 
confidence,  I  bathed  successively 
both  eyes  and  my  forehead  with  the 
napkin  which  I  had  dipped  in  the 
water.  This  did  not  occupy  more 
than  half  a  minute. 

Judge  of  my  astonishment — I  had 
almost  said  my  terror !  Scarcely  had 
I  touched  my  eyes  and  forehead 
with  the  miraculous  water  than  I 
felt  myself  cured,  at  once,  without 
transition,  with  a  suddenness  which  I 
can  compare  only  to  lightning. 

Strange  contradiction  of  human 
nature!  A  moment  before  I  had 
trusted  my  faith,  which  promised  me 
a  cure ;  now,  I  ccruld  not  believe  my 


Our  Lady  of  Lourdcs. 


835 


senses,  which  assured  me  that  the 
cure  had  been  worked. 

No  !  I  did  not  believe  my  senses. 
In  spite  of  the  startling  effect  which 
had  been  wrought  upon  me,  I  com- 
mitted the  fault  of  which  Moses  was 
guilty,  and  struck  the  rock  twice.  I 
continued  to  bathe  my  eyes  and 
forehead,  not  daring  to  open  them, 
not  daring  to  verify  my  cure.  At 
the  end  of  ten  minutes,  however,  the 
strength  which  I  felt  in  my  eyes,  and 
the  absence  of  all  heaviness,  left  no 
chance  for  doubt.  "  I  am  cured  !" 

So  saying,  I  snatched  up  a  book. 
"  No,"  said  I,  "  that  is  not  the  book 
for  me  to  be  reading  at  this  moment." 
Then  I  took  from  the  mantelpiece 
the  Account  of  the  Apparitions  at 
Lourdes.  I  read  a  hundred  and  four 
pages  without  stopping  or  feeling 
the  least  fatigue.  Twenty  minutes 
before,  I  could  not  have  read  three 
lines.  Indeed,  if  I  stopped  at  the 
hundred-and-fourth  page,  it  was  only 
because  it  was  thirty-five  minutes 
past  five  o'clock,  and  at  this  hour  in 
October  it  is  almost  dark  in  Paris. 
When  I  laid  aside  my  book,  the  gas 
was  being  lighted  in  the  shops  of 
the  street  in  which  I  lived. 

That  evening,  I  made  my  confes- 
sion to  the  Abbe  Ferrand,  and  ac- 
quainted him  with  the  great  gift 
which  I  had  received  from  the  Bless- 
ed Virgin.  Although  in  no  degree 
prepared,  he  wished  me  to  go  to 
communion  the  next  day,  to  thank 
God  for  such  an  extraordinary  favor, 
and  to  strengthen  the  good  resolu- 


tions which  it  had  caused  to  spring 
up  in  my  soul. 

M.  and  Mme.  de  were,  as 

one  may  imagine,  greatly  moved  by 
this  event,  in  which  Providence  had 
assigned  them  so  direct  a  part. 
What  did  they  think  of  it  ?  What 
reflections  were  suggested  to  their 
minds  ?  What  took  place  in  the 
depth  of  their  hearts  ?  That  secret 
belongs  only  to  them  and  to  God. 
What  little  I  have  been  able  to  make 
out,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  pub- 
lish. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  I  know  my 
friend's  nature.  I  left  him  to  his 
own  thoughts,  without  urging  him  to 
the  conclusion.  I  knew,  and  still 
know,  that  God  has  his  own  time 
and  his  own  ways.  His  action  was 
so  manifest  throughout  the  whole 
affair  that  I  did  not  wish  to  interfere, 
although  my  friends  have  never  been 
ignorant  of  my  desire  to  see  them 
enter  the  only  church  which  contains 
God  in  his  fulness. 

I  regret  not  being  able  to  consider 
these  two  beings — so  dear  to  me — as 
receiving  from  the  reaction  of  the 
miracle  of  which  I  had  been  the  ob- 
ject the  first  shocks  which  truth  gives 
to  those  whom  it  seeks  to  conquer. 

Seven  years  have  now  passed  since 
my  miraculous  cure.  My  sight  is 
excellent.  Neither  reading  nor  hard 
work,  even  when  kept  up  late  at 
night,  wearies  my  eyes.  God  grant 
me  never  to  use  them  save  in  the 
cause  of  right. 


836 


America 's  Obligations  to  France. 


AMERICA'S    OBLIGATIONS    TO    FRANCE. 


THE  woes  and  crimes  of  unhappy 
France  have  attracted  the  mixed  re- 
gards of  die  world;  it  has  become 
an  agreeable  and  timely  diversion  to 
look  away  from  the  distressing  pic- 
ture, to  find  whatever  there  is  of 
compensation  in  the  glories  and  vir- 
tues of  her  past ;  and  the  occasion  is 
thus  created  to  review  our  own  ob- 
ligations as  a  nation  to  this  now 
stricken  and  humbled  European 
power,  and  to  determine  how  much 
we  are  indebted  to  France  for  our 
own  independence  and  liberty.  An- 
other interest  is  added  to  the  oc- 
casion in  the  fact  that  this  part  of 
our  history  has  been  but  scantily  told, 
and  that,  as  the  writer  is  persuaded, 
our  national  vanity,  notoriously  ac- 
cumulated as  it  is  about  everything 
belonging  to  the  Revolutionary  pe- 
riod, has  hitherto  prevented  a  fair 
and  full  confession  of  the  obligations 
referred  to — has  diminished  the  story, 
if  not  actually  misrepresented  it.  But 
it  is  a  mistaken  vanity,  the  very  op- 
posite of  a  manly  pride.  A  sentiment 
of  the  illustrious  Lafayette  fits  in  here. 
A  citizen  of  both  France  and  America, 
he  stood  between  the  two,  and  spoke 
happily  for  each,  saying :  "  Comme 
un  Frangais,  dont  le  coeur  brule  de 
patriotisme,  je  me  rejouis  du  role  que 
la  France  a  joue,  et  de  1'alliance 
qu'elle  a  fait.  Comme  Americain,  je 
reconnais  1'obligation,  et  je  crois  qu'en 
cela  consiste  la  vraie  dignite." 

The  severe  truth  of  history  and  the 
constraints  of  true  dignity  alike  com- 
pel the  statement,  that  but  for  the 
French  interposition  the  cause  of  the 
American  colonists  was  likely  to  be 


lost ;  at  least,  that  our  independence 
would  not  have  been  obtained  when 
it  was,  and  as  completely  as  it  was, 
but  for  the  succors  of  France.  And 
this  proposition,  the  writer  thinks, 
may  be  made  out  from  a  summary 
view  of  the  history  of  the  period,  yet 
calling  attention  to  some  facts  that 
do  not  appear  hitherto  to  have  been 
calculated. 

Accustomed  as  we  are,  in  looking 
back  upon  the  history  of  our  Revolu- 
tionary struggle,  to  dwell  upon  its 
last  signal  triumphs,  and  naturally 
disposed  to  measure  the  preceding 
events  by  the  conclusion,  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  of  this  day  to  realize  how 
narrowly  it  avoided  defeat,  and  in 
what  extremity  it  at  one  time  hesitat- 
ed. In  the  winter  of  1780,  and  at  a 
time  when  the  aid  of  France  was 
most  urgently  implored,  the  American 
cause  was  almost  at  its  last  gasp. 
Many  of  its  leaders  had  secretly  de- 
spaired of  it,  and  found  it  difficult  to 
impose  upon  the  public  the  counte- 
nace  of  hope.  In  a  private  letter, 
Mr.  Madison  wrote  :  "  Hovx  a  total 
dissolution  of  the  army  can  be  pre- 
vented in  the  course  of  the  winter " 
[1780-1781]  "is,  for  any  resources 
now  in  prospect,  utterly  inexplicable." 
There  was  no  money  to  pay  the 
troops ;  and  the  fact  was  that  the 
war  was  no  longer  kept  up  but  by 
ill-digested  and  dilatory  expedients. 
Meanwhile,  the  fate  of  arms  accumu- 
lated against  the  colonists,  and  the 
fortunes  of  the  field  were  as  bad  as 
the  embarrassments  of  the  interior 
administration.  The  more  Southern 
States  appeared  to  be  already  lost  by 


America 's  Obligations  to  France. 


837 


the  irruptions  of  the  enemy  upon  an 
indefensible  coast;  and  the  whole 
army  of  General  Greene  was  soon  to 
be  in  full  retreat  before  Lord  Corn- 
wallis  through  the  State  of  North 
Carolina. 

The  two  great  wants  of  the  colo- 
nists, and  which  had  become  vital, 
were  money  and  &  fleet.  "  The  sinews 
of  war "  were  nearly  spent.  The 
paper  money  of  Congress  was  fast 
becoming  worthless  ;  the  resource  to 
specific  requisitions  was  a  mere  indi- 
rection as  long  as  the  states  supplied 
them  by  paper  emissions  of  their  own ; 
and  of  this  resource  it  was  prophesied 
in  Congress  that  "  what  was  intended 
for  our  relief  will  only  hasten  our 
destruction." 

The  want  of  a  counterpoise  to  the 
naval  power  of  England  was  the 
main  point  of  the  military  situation. 
Here  was  a  fatal  weakness;  and 
events  had  progressed  far  enough  to 
show  that  the  hope  of  a  decisive  field 
anywhere  in  the  colonies  depended 
upon  their  maintaining  a  naval  supe- 
riority in  the  American  seas.  In 
weighing  the  chances  of  the  war,  the 
configuration  of  the  American  ter- 
ritory is  to  be  studied ;  and  how  vul- 
nerable it  was  from  the  water  had 
already  been  proved  by  the  events 
of  the  war.  At  the  time  of  the  Revo- 
lution, the  breadth  of  the  American 
settlements  from  the  Penobscot  to  the 
Altamaha  did  not  average  more  than 
a  hundred  miles  from  the  sea-line. 
This  jagged  strip  of  territory,  traversed 
by  estuaries  and  navigable  streams, 
was  so  accessible  to  the  enemy's  ves- 
sels, that  his  navy  might  be  considered 
as  constantly  equivalent  to  a  second 
army  operating  on  the  flank  of  that 
engaged  on  shore.  Wherever  Wash- 
ington might  move,  this  apparition 
would  cling  to  him — his  flank  con- 
stantly threatened,  and  every  move- 
ment he  made  on  land  compelled  to 
calculate  the  possibility  of  a  counter- 


movement  by  the  English  fleet  that 
hovered  on  the  coast,  and  might 
develop  an  attack  with  greater  ex- 
pedition than  he  could  change  his 
front  to  meet  it.  It  was  the  thorn  in 
his  side.  When  the  baffled  American 
commander  spoke  of  retiring  into  the 
mountains  of  Virginia  for  a  last  des- 
perate stand,  it  was  not  a  rhetorical 
flourish,  as  it  has  generally  been  ac- 
counted, but  a  true  military  apprecia- 
tion of  the  situation — the  necessity 
of  a  barrier  against  the  naval  power 
of  the  enemy.  If  that  barrier  could 
be  made  on  the  water  by  the  inter- 
position of  a  fleet,  then  he  would  be 
(what  he  had  not  hitherto  been)  free 
to  operate  on  the  land,  and  make 
there  a  field  that  might  be  decisive. 
But  the  element  of  any  such  strategic 
combination  was  naval  supremacy, 
and,  until  that  was  obtained,  he  could 
only  hope  at  best  for  a  desultory 
warfare,  with  constant  exposure  to  a 
risk  that  he  could  neither  meet  nor 
avoid. 

Now,  the  two  vital  wants  of  Ame- 
rica— a  foreign  loan  and  a  naval  ar- 
mament— were  those  which  were  pre- 
cisely supplied  by  France.  A  foreign 
loan  of  specie,  to  the  amount  of  twen- 
ty-five millions  of  livres,  was  asked 
of  his  Most  Christian  Majesty ;  and 
Franklin,  reinforced  by  Col.  Laurens, 
was  instructed  to  impress  the  French 
king  and  his  ministers  with  the  es- 
pecial need  of  a  demonstration  against 
the  naval  power  of  England.  The 
succors  were  granted,  and  were  be- 
yond the  expectations  of  the  colonists. 
In  July,  1780,  the  first  French  expe- 
dition, under  the  command  of  the 
Count  Rochambeau,  landed  at  New- 
port. And  from  that  moment  a  new 
hope  commenced  for  America,  and  a 
new  inspiration  was  to  bring  to  sud- 
den buoyancy  a  sinking  cause.  The 
French  force,  however,  was  held 
inoperative  for  some  time  for  the 
want  of  a  sufficient  navy  to  co-ope- 


838 


Americas  Obligations  to  France. 


rate;  and  to  this  end  the  supplica- 
tions of  Congress  to  the  French 
monarch  had  been  redoubled.  The 
expedition  of  Rochambeau  consisted 
of  five  thousand  men.  It  was  to  be 
reinforced  by  a  fleet  from  the  West 
Indies  ;  but  the  orders  had  miscarri- 
ed; and  it  was  more  than  a  year 
later  when  the  second  instalment  of 
French  aid  was  made  available,  and 
the  conditions  realized  which  fixed 
the  last  field  of  the  war,  and  se- 
cured that  final  victory  to  which 
the  French  aids,  by  land  and  by  wa- 
ter, were  each  indispensable.  To 
this  second  aid  reference  will  be 
made  in  its  order. 

Usually,  a  foreign  contingent  is  not 
the  best  of  the  military  material  which 
a  country  may  afford.  The  hireling 
and  the  adventurer  enter  largely  into 
its  composition,  and  its  standard  of 
service  is  low  and  suspicious.  But 
this  common  imputation  could  not  be 
cast  on  the  expeditionary  corps  under 
Rochambeau.  It  was  of  the  flower 
of  the  French  army,  and  nobility  did 
not  disdain  the  service  of  the  infant 
Republic.  The  illustrious  Lafayette 
stood  by  himself,  being  a  volunteer, 
and  independent  of  the  action  of  the 
royal  forces.  "  The  Marquis,"  as 
Washington  never  failed  to  punctili- 
ously call  him,  won  all  hearts  in 
America;  and,  though  accused  by 
Thomas  Jefferson,  who,  however,  was 
habitually  envious,  of  having  "  a  ca- 
nine thirst  for  popularity,"  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe  that  he  was 
actuated  by  a  solid  attachment  to 
liberty  and  inspired  by  generous 
motives.  Anyhow,  he  was  destined, 
as  we  shall  see,  to  perform  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  and  critical  services  of 
the  Revolution.  The  Count  Rocham- 
beau was  never  popular  in  America ; 
his  manners  were  haughty,  and  he  had 
a  military  exclusiveness ;  but  he  was 
an  excellent  soldier,  and  at  one  time 
he  gave  a  striking  example  of  his 


deference  to  republican  principles  in 
submitting  to  be  arrested,  in  a  group 
of  his  officers,  at  the  hands  of  a  petty 
county  constable,  on  the  complaint 
of  a  New  England  farmer  for  some 
acts  of  petty  "  trespass  "  on  his  fields ! 
In  his  command,  landed  at  Newport, 
there  were  names  already  illustrious 
in  France,  or  destined  to  become  so. 
Of  such  names  were  the  Chevalier 
de  Chastellux,  performing  the  duties 
of  major-general  in  the  expeditionary 
corps,  an  encyclopaedist  and  the  friend 
of  Voltaire ;  Berthier,  afterwards  risen 
from  the  rank  of  an  under-officer  to 
be  a  marshal  of  France  and  minister 
of  war ;  the  Count  de  Segur,  cele- 
brated in  literary  as  well  as  military 
life  ;  the  Duke  de  Lauzun,  afterwards 
a  general  of  the  French  Republic ; 
the  Count  de  Dillon,  who,  a  few  years 
later,  met  a  tragic  fate  at  the  hands 
of  the  Revolutionary  party  in  France; 
Pichegru,  then  a  private  in  the  ranks 
of  the  artillery ;  Matthieu  Dumas, 
subsequently  a  peer  of  France  ;  Au- 
bert-Dubayet,  afterwards  minister  of 
war  under  the  French  Republic; 
the  Prince  de  Broglie,  afterwards 
field-marshal,  and  one  of  the  vic- 
tims of  the  Revolutionary  tribunal  of 
1794,  etc. 

Of  the  character  of  the  soldiers  we 
have  some  pleasant  and  vivid  contem- 
porary testimony.  The  idea  which 
the  sturdy  American  colonist,  the 
backwoodsman  with  his  Tower  mus- 
ket, had  formed  in  advance  of  the 
French  soldier,  was  not  altogether  a 
complimentary  one.  It  was  generally 
a  caricature,  popular  at  that  day,  of  a 
dapper,  ill  contrived  individual  who 
made  ridiculous  mistakes  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  ate  frogs,  memorable 
in  the  lampoon  of  Hogarth  as  toast- 
ing one  of  the  amphibious  at  the  end 
of  a  rapier,  and  had  but  the  one  vir- 
tue to  make  amends  for  his  eccen- 
tricities— a  courage  that  was  unques- 
tionable, though  grotesque  and  physi- 


Americas  Obligations  to  France. 


839 


cally  inefficient.  The  picture  was 
dispelled  at  the  sight  of  Rocham- 
beau's  veterans — men  who  equalled 
in  stature  and  in  strength  the  best 
that  England  could  display,  who 
were  inured  to  hardship  and  fatigue 
such  as  were  scarcely  supported  by 
the  green  backwoodsman,  and  who 
marched  hundreds  of  miles  with  an 
order  and  steadiness  that  never  failed 
to  be  admirable.  Mr.  Madison,  who 
saw  these  troops  file  through  Phila- 
delphia, after  the  fatigues  of  a  march 
from  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  River, 
thus  testifies  his  impressions  of  the 
spectacle  :  "  Nothing  can  exceed  the 
appearance  of  this  specimen  which 
our  ally  has  sent  us  of  his  army,  whe- 
ther we  regard  the  figure  of  the  men 
or  the  exactness  of  their  discipline." 

Such  was  the  brilliancy  and  the 
solid  worth  of  the  first  contributions 
of  France  to  her  feeble  ally.  To  es- 
timate the  motives  and  spirit  of  such 
aids,  what  influences  ranged  an  old 
and  brilliant  monarchy  by  the  side 
of  an  infant  Republic  branded  with 
"  rebellion,"  and  intertwined  flags  so 
opposite,  it  will  be  well  to  review  the 
relations  of  the  parties  to  an  alliance 
so  strange  and  exceptional. 

France  had  no  interests  to  cultivate 
in  America,  no  objects  of  ambition 
to  secure  in  a  quarter  of  the  world 
from  which  she  had  deliberately  with- 
drawn. Her  flag  had  not  appeared 
there  since  the  Treaty  of  Paris  in 
1756,  and  her  subsequent  cession  to 
Spain  of  her  possessions  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi left  her,  for  the  present,  dis- 
embarrassed of  all  territorial  claims 
and  interests  in  America.  She  had 
no  reason  for  any  affection  for  the 
English  colonists  now  asserting  their 
independence ;  they  were  the  sons 
of  those  who  had  fought  against  her ; 
the  traditions  of  the  colonial  wars  in 
America  were  yet  fresh.  On  the  side 
of  the  rebel  colonists  themselves,  there 
was  a  suspicion  of  France — at  least, 


no  disposition  to  expect  any  gene- 
rosity from  her  in  the  struggle  that 
was  to  ensue.  So  little  was  that  part 
expected  which  she  did  eventually 
take  in  the  American  Revolution, 
that  Patrick  Henry  (incredible  as  the 
fact  may  appear  to  those  who  have 
read  only  eulogiums  on  this  person) 
actually  retreated  at  the  last  from  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  from 
fear  of  France  and  her  co-operation 
to  subdue  the  colonies.  In  a  letter 
to  John  Adams,  written  five  days 
after  the  Virginia  Convention  had 
adopted  the  famous  resolution  of  the 
1 5th  May,  1776,  for  independence, 
he  dwells  upon  the  apprehension  that 
France  might  be  seduced  to  take 
sides  against  the  colonies  by  an  offer 
from  England  to  divide  the  territories 
of  America  between  them.  It  was  an 
unworthy  suspicion  ;  but  Mr.  Henry, 
who  had  but  little  originality,  and 
was  a  characteristic  retailer  of  popu- 
lar impressions,  was  probably  in  this 
imputation  upon  France  the  echo  of 
a  thought  common  at  the  time. 

No  grounds  of  sympathy  were  yet 
apparent  between  France  and  the 
struggling  colonists ;  nothing,  as  far 
as  the  men  of  1776  should  see,  but 
recollections  of  old  animosity  and 
present  causes  for  distrust  Even  the 
sympathy  of  religion,  which  has 
proved  such  a  fruitful  source  of  inter- 
national friendships  and  alliances, 
where  there  have  been  no  other  points 
of  coincidence,  was  wanting  ;  instead 
of  it,  a  sharp  antagonism  was  the 
fact.  Protestant  America,  many  parts 
of  it  yet  fresh  with  the  persecution 
of  Catholics,  had  no  reason  to  expect 
favors  from  Catholic  France.  In- 
deed, when  those  favors  were  given, 
there  was  some  discontented  and  un- 
grateful outcry  that  it  was  a  design 
upon  the  religion  of  the  colonists ; 
so  deeply  sown  was  the  distrust  of 
France.  There  were  those  to  object 
that  Congress  had  attended  a  Mass, 


840 


Americas  Obligations  to  France. 


and  that  the  municipal  authorities  of 
Boston  had,  on  some  occasion,  walk- 
ed in  a  Catholic  procession.  The 
traitor,  Benedict  Arnold,  in  casting 
about  for  reasons  to  defend  his  trea- 
son, could  find  none  more  plausible, 
or,  in  his  estimation,  more  likely  to 
be  received,  than  that  the  French 
alliance  was  about  to  betray  the  reli- 
gion of  the  colonists,  and  that  he, 
therefore,  had  determined  to  take 
refuge  in  Protestant  England  !  Such 
an  appeal  to  popular  prejudice  was 
doubtless  extravagant,  even  more  so 
than  that  of  Patrick  Henry  accusing 
France ;  but  both  show  the  extent  of 
estrangement  and  suspicion  which 
France  had  to  overcome  before  she 
could  convince  America  of  her  friend- 
ship and  generosity.  And,  unfortu- 
nately, as  we  shall  presently  painfully 
see,  such  suspicion  was  never  entirely 
overcome,  but  was  to  remain  to  dis- 
figure the  last  page  of  the  history  of 
the  Revolution,  and  to  attach  to  it  a 
story  of  permanent  disgrace  to  Ame- 
rica. 

When  the  colonies  implored  the 
aid  of  France,  through  an  address  of 
Congress  in  November,  1780,  the 
appeal  showed  an  extremity  and  tem- 
per of  the  colonists  which  suggested 
that  almost  any  price  would  be  paid 
for  the  necessary  succors.  How  far 
the  French  monarch  might  have 
availed  himself  of  the  necessities  of 
his  suppliant  ally,  had  he  been  selfish 
enough  to  make  these  the  measure 
of  his  demands,  is  a  conjecture  almost 
illimitable.  To  purchase  the  aid  of 
Spain,  the  American  Congress  had 
been  willing  to  retract  former  resolu- 
tions, and  to  offer  the  almost  priceless 
boon  of  the  exclusive  navigation  of 
the  Mississippi ;  and  it  was  only  the 
fatuity  and  blindness  of  that  power 
that  had  prevented  the  fatal  conces- 
sion. Was  the  aid  of  France  worth 
less  ?  and  was  the  temper  of  concession 
not  to  be  practised  upon  by  herself? 


It  has  been  usual  to  give  a  very 
summary  and  cold  explanation  of  the 
aids  which  France  furnished  the 
American  cause,  by  pointing  cut  its 
effect  to  cripple  her  powerful  and 
hereditary  foe,  England ;  thus  de- 
tracting from  the  generosity  of  the 
contribution,  and  representing  it  as  a 
mere  move  on  the  diplomatic  chess- 
board which  the  French  monarch 
could  not  do  otherwise  than  make. 
But  this  detraction  does  not  hold 
good.  Admitting  the  full  force  of 
the  reasons  which  it  imputes  to 
France,  there  is  much  in  her  alliance 
with  America  that  is  yet  left  unex- 
plained ;  and  there  are  circumstances 
which  make  it  one  of  the  most  pecu- 
liar and  unique  examples  of  genero- 
sity recorded  in  history.  It  has  not 
been  unusual  for  powerful  nations  to 
assist  the  weak  on  no  other  ground 
of  sympathy  than  having  a  foe  in 
common  ;  but  it  has  seldom  been  the 
case  that  such  aid  has  been  rendered 
without  the  powerful  ally  exacting 
terms  for  her  own  contribution,  and 
turning  to  her  own  advantage  the 
necessities  she  has  been  called  upon 
to  aid.  England  herself  had  afforded 
a  precedent  for  the  price  of  such 
concessions.  She  had  asked  of  the 
United  Provinces,  for  the  price  of  her 
support  against  Spain,  that  all  her 
expenses  should  be  repaid,  and  that 
the  towns  and  fortresses  of  Holland 
should  be  held  by  her  as  pledges  for 
the  conditions  of  the  alliance.  France 
would  have  been  sustained  by  his- 
torical example,  and  by  moral  right, 
in  exacting  very  important  conces- 
sions for  her  aid  of  the  American 
cause  in  circumstances  in  which  that 
aid  was  deemed  vital  for  the  success 
of  a  struggle  that  already  bordered 
on  despair.  She  asked  nothing.  She 
gave  an  army  and  a  fleet,  and  bore 
all  the  expenses  of  both  armaments. 
She  advanced  money  and  replenished 
the  almost  empty  treasury  of  her  ally. 


Americas  Obligations  to  France. 


841 


And  she  yet  enlarged  the  generosity 
of  her  alliance  by  devoting  her  arms, 
not  only  to  a  common  operation,  but 
pledging  at  the  outset  the  indispens- 
able conclusion  of  her  exertions  in 
the  independence  of  America  and  the 
territorial  integrity  of  the  States.  In 
the  Treaty  of  1778,  "the  direct  and 
essential  end "  of  the  alliance  was 
declared  to  be  "  the  liberty,  sovereign- 
ty, and  independence,  absolute  and 
unlimited,  of  the  United  States." 

The  arms  of  France  were  thus 
given  directly  to  a  cause  of  republi- 
can liberty  rather  than  merely  in- 
volved in  a  diplomatic  complication. 
What  reasons  could  have  induced 
this  apparent  excess  of  generosity, 
this  singular  spectacle  of  the  ancient 
monarchy  of  the  Franks  taking  sides 
with  the  infant  republic  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  colonists  of  America  ? 

The  explanation  is  that  the  French 
aid  was  a  contribution  of  the  people  of 
France  rather  than  that  of  its  crown. 
It  sprung  out  of  the  popular  heart 
rather  than  the  grace  of  a  kind  and 
munificent  monarch  ;  and  it  has  this 
circumstance  of  a  tender  and  imper- 
ishable souvenir  to  the  American 
people.  It  was  a  free  love-offering, 
the  first  dedication  of  their  cause  in 
the  sympathies  of  the  world.  That 
republican  sentiment  which  a  few 
years  later  in  France  sprang  into 
such  fierce  life,  was  already  deeply 
harbored  in  the  hearts  of  her  people ; 
and  the  movement  of  the  American 
colonists  gave  it  an  opportunity  of 
comparatively  safe  expression  ;  while 
all  the  romance  of  such  a  sentiment 
found  abundant  material  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  struggle,  the  dis- 
tance of  the  theatre,  its  scenery  bor- 
dered by  savage  life,  the  novelty  of 
a  people  whose  history  was  entirely 
unique,  and  whose  simplicity  of  man- 
ners suggested  comparisons  with  clas- 
sical antiquity.  The  enthusiasm  of 
the  French  mind  seized  every  attrac- 


tive circumstance  of  the  occasion. 
It  was  entitled  "  the  crusade  of  the 
eighteenth  century."  Again,  it  was 
adorned  with  recollections  more  an- 
tique, and  it  was  said  that  "  the  Re- 
public of  Plato  "  had  at  last  found 
realization  in  the  midst  of  a  people 
whose  exclusive  situation  had  been  a 
school  for  virtues  hitherto  unknown, 
and  was  to  afford  an  experiment  that 
had  until  then  lingered  in  the  specu- 
lations of  philosophy  and  the  dreams 
of  poetry.  The  simplicity  of  Ameri- 
can manners  was  taken  as  a  charming 
contrast  to  the  court  splendors  of 
Paris  and  Versailles.  It  was  not 
only  Franklin's  cotton  stockings,  but 
every  peculiarity  of  the  American 
citizen  became  a  picturesque  study 
and  the  symbol  of  a  new  political 
life.  The  memoirs  of  the  Count  de 
Segur  are  among  the  contemporary 
testimonies  of  the  rage  in  the  French 
capital  for  everything  American ;  and 
we  are  specially  told  of  "  cet  air  an- 
tique qui  semblant  transporter  tout- 
a-coup  dans  nos  murs,  au  milieu  de 
la  civilisation  amollie  et  servile  au 
dix-huitieme  siecle,  quelques  sages 
contemporans  de  Platon,  on  des  re- 
publicains  du  temps  de  Caton  et  de 
Fabius ! " 

Of  the  operations  of  the  allied 
arms,  our  space  only  affords  such  a 
sketch  as  may  give  some  general 
idea  of  the  extent  and  value  of  the 
French  aid.  Washington  had  at  first 
proposed,  on  the  arrival  of  Rocham- 
beau,  to  attempt  the  repossession  of 
New  York  City,  and  to  crush  there 
the  main  body  of  the  British  army. 
But  the  failure  to  arrive  of  the  naval 
forces  expected  from  Brest  and  the 
West  Indies  disconcerted  the  plan; 
and  events  were  preparing  another 
theatre  for  the  final  catastrophe. 
The  British  post  and  army  in  Virgi- 
nia became  the  objective  point  of 
the  allied  arms.  The  long-expected 
French  fleet  was  at  last  assured ;  it 


842 


Americas  Obligations  to  France. 


was  to  make  its  appearance  in  the 
Chesapeake;  and  Washington  pre- 
pared to  move  his  army  from  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson  to  the  distant 
scene  of  co-operation.  From  a  tem- 
porary observatory  on  the  heights 
near  Newburg,  the  anxious  com- 
mander watched  his  army  crossing 
the  blue  stream  ;  and  as  he  mounted 
his  horse,  to  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  a  march  that  was  to  toil  over  many 
hundreds  of  miles  to  find  a  last  and 
effulgent  field,  far  away  in  Virginia, 
he  wrung  the  hand  of  a  French  officer 
who  stood  in  the  group  around  him, 
as  expressing  the  new  hope  that  had 
dawned  in  his  face,  and  repledging 
the  alliance  that  was  to  win  its  reali- 
zation. And  now  ensued  a  combina- 
tion of  circumstances,  in  each  one  of 
which  the  French  arms  determined 
a  crisis,  and  displayed  a  dramatic 
spectacle. 

Lafayette,  "  the  boy  "  in  Cornwal- 
lis's  estimation,  "  the  tutelary  genius 
of  American  independence,"  as  he 
has  been  designated  by  a  Virginian 
historian  and  statesman  (William  C. 
Rives),  was  sent  forward  to  Virginia, 
to  hold  in  check  there  the  haughty 
enemy.  Washington  had  given  to 
this  young  Frenchman  supreme  com- 
mand of  the  operations  in  Virginia. 
He  justified  a  trust  which  the  pride 
of  the  state  might  possibly  resent,  in 
his  own  estimate  of  the  qualities  of 
the  noble  foreigner.  In  a  private 
letter  to  a  Congressman  of  Virginia 
(Jones)  he  wrote :  "  The  Marquis 
possesses  uncommon  military  talents; 
is  of  a  quick  and  sound  judgment; 
persevering  and  enterprising  without 
rashness  ;  and,  besides  these,  he  is  of 
a  very  conciliating  temper,  and  per- 
fectly sober — which  are  qualities  that 
rarely  combine  in  the  same  person. 
And  were  I  to  add  that  some  men 
will  gain  as  much  experience  in  the 
course  of  three  or  four  years  as  some 
others  will  in  ten  or  a  dozen,  you 


cannot  deny  the  fact,  and  attack  me 
upon  that  ground."  Lafayette  was 
elevated  over  the  heads  of  both  Gen- 
eral Wayne  and  the  Baron  deSteuben. 
When  the  Frenchman  came  to  the 
defence  of  Virginia,  she  was  Avell- 
nigh  conquered.  She  was  open  in 
every  direction  to  the  enterprise  of 
the  invader.  Her  public  men  were 
recreant,  and  under  the  suspicion  of 
cowardice.  One  of  her  most  faithful 
censors  has  recorded  the  delinquency 
of  the  times.  In  a  letter  dated  the 
6th  November,  1780,  Judge  Pendle- 
ton  wrote :  "  We  had  no  House  of 
Delegates  on  Saturday  last,  which, 
with  our  empty  treasury,  are  circum- 
stances unfavorable  at  this  juncture. 
Mr.  Henry  has  resigned  his  seat  in 
Congress;  and  I  hear  Mr.  Jones 
intends  it.  It  is  also  said  the  gover- 
nor intends  to  resign.  It  is  a  little 
cowardly  to  quit  our  posts  in  a  bus- 
tling time."  The  city  of  Richmond, 
for  which  was  to  be  reserved  in  his- 
tory stains  beyond  any  other  Ameri- 
can city,  was  ready  to  submit  tamely 
to  another  occupation.  The  fact  is, 
painful  as  the  confession  may  be  to 
the  Virginian  of  to-day — offending  the 
pride  of  a  state  that  has  almost  invi- 
diously claimed  her  part  in  the  Re- 
volution— Virginia  had  grown  reluc- 
tant in  the  war,  and  disposed  to  have 
recourse  to  unworthy  expedients. 
She  had  been  prominent  in  Congress 
to  recommend  the  surrender  of  the 
navigation  of  the  Mississippi  in  order 
to  buy  the  alliance  of  Spain.  She 
had  twice  proposed  a  dictatorship; 
and  now,  when  Cornwallis  was  ad- 
vancing, and  Mr.  Jefferson  was  resign- 
ing the  governorship,  and  suspicion, 
as  we  have  seen,  had  fallen  on  other 
leaders  in  the  "  bustling  times,"  no 
less  a  person  than  Richard  Henry 
Lee,  then  in  retirement  at  Westmore- 
land, was  willing  to  surrender  the 
liberties  of  Virginia  to  a  dictator 
as  the  only  resource  of  safety !  Now, 


America's  Obligations  to  France. 


843 


the  state  had  nothing  between  her 
and  the  public  enemy  than  the  twelve 
hundred  bayonets  of  Lafayette.  The 
address  and  skill  of  the  young  French- 
man saved  the  Old  Dominion  from 
a  subjection  that  would,  otherwise, 
have  been  complete,  as  far  as  the 
swift  arms  of  Cormvallis  could  have 
overrun  the  state. 

Lafayette  had  retired  to  the  Rapi- 
dan  as  the  imposing  and  triumphant 
army  of  Cornwallis  advanced  on 
Richmond.  Here,  joined  by  the 
Pennsylvania  troops  under  General 
Wayne  and  a  body  of  riflemen  from 
the  western  part  of  Virginia,  he  was 
able  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  to  press 
Cornwallis's  retreat  towards  the  Ches- 
apeake. Extricating  himself  from  an 
unequal  engagement  at  Jamestown, 
he  moved  up  the  river,  and  reposed 
at  Malvern  Hill — since  celebrated  as 
a  refuge  in  a  greater  contest  of  arms. 
Subsequently,  at  Williamsburg,  he 
was  joined  by  the  allied  forces  under 
Washington  and  Rochambeau — and 
then  commenced  the  combination 
that  was  to  compass  Cornwallis,  and 
to  constitute  the  last  splendid  scene 
of  the  war. 

It  was  a  broad  scene.  On  the  30th 
of  August,  1781,  twenty-eight  line- 
of-battle  ships,  bearing  the  flag  of 
France,  rode  on  the  beautiful  expanse 
of  the  Chesapeake.  They  had  come 
from  the  West  Indies.  Eight  other 
ships  suddenly  appeared  from  the 
opposite  point  of  the  compass :  the 
French  squadron  from  Rhode  Island, 
which  had  entered  the  Chesapeake, 
in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  English 
admirals  to  intercept  it.  The  Ville 
de  Paris,  the  flag-ship  of  the  French 
admiral,  had  held  in  council  the  great 
actors  of  the  drama — Washington, 
Rochambeau,  and  the  Count  de 
Grasse ;  and  it  only  remained  to  draw 
the  lines,  by  sea  and  land,  around 
the  despairing  enemy.  The  splendid 
fleet  of  France  was  the  barrier  be- 


tween Cornwallis  and  the  succors 
that  Sir  Henry  Clinton  had  promised 
from  New  York.  It  was  the  element 
of  victory — the  apparition  of  a  new 
hope  risen  from  the  seas.  On  the 
other  wing  of  the  scene  floated  the 
flags  of  Washington  and  Rocham- 
beau. On  the  land  were  the  splen- 
did armies  of  France  side  by  side 
with  the  militia  of  the  young  republic, 
and  almost  as  numerous  as  the  sol- 
diers, a  vast  concourse  of  country 
people,  watching  the  sublime  wonders 
of  a  bombardment  that  laced  the 
night  skies,  and  enchanted  by  the 
music  of  the  French  timbrel,  an  in- 
strument then  unknown  in  America, 
Three  French  commands,  those  of 
the  Count  Rochambeau,  the  Marquis 
de  Lafayette,  and  the  Marquis  de 
Saint-Simon,  stood  on  the  field  of 
Yorktown. 

In  this  circle,  made  possible  only 
by  the  links  of  the  French  aid,  went 
down  the  flag  of  Cornwallis  and  the 
hopes  of  England.  It  was  a  memor- 
able scene,  and  one  which  brought 
into  strong  relief  the  assistance  of  our 
ally.  In  a  letter  to  General  Wash- 
ington from  Mr.  Jefferson,  who  had 
just  retired  from  the  gubernatorial 
chair  of  Virginia,  the  distinguished 
patriot,  after  offering  his  congratula- 
tions, justly  wrote :  "  If  in  the  minds 
of  any,  the  motives  of  gratitude  to 
our  good  allies  were  not  sufficiently 
apparent,  the  part  they  have  borne 
in  this  action  must  amply  evince 
them."  At  the  height  of  its  emotions 
of  joy  and  gratitude,  Congress  pro- 
mised a  monument  for  the  scene.  It 
was  resolved  that  it  would  "  cause  to 
be  erected  at  York,  in  Virginia,  a 
marble  column,  adorned  with  em- 
blems of  the  alliance  between  the 
United  States  and  his  Most  Christian 
Majesty,  and  inscribed  with  a  suc- 
cinct narrative."  The  pledge  to  this 
day  remains  unfulfilled ;  and  no  monu- 
ment testifies  our  early  and  imperish- 


844 


America 's  Obligations  to  France, 


able  obligations  to  France,  except 
such  as  may  yet  exist  in  the  hearts 
of  our  people. 

Here,  with  the  illumination  of  York- 
town,  we  would  willingly  conclude 
the  history  of  the  Franco-American 
alliance.  But  there  is  a  sequel  not 
to  be  omitted — a  painful  story  that 
belongs  yet  to  the  justice  of  history. 

In  the  negotiations  for  peace  that 
followed  Yorktown,  the  American 
Congress,  new  and  timorous  in  diplo- 
macy, betook  itself  to  a  refuge,  the 
shallowness  of  which  is  especially 
conspicuous  in  diplomacy — that  of 
supposing  wisdom  in  a  multitude  of 
counsellors.  It  constituted  no  less 
than  five  commissioners  to  treat  at 
Paris.  The  selections  were  ill ;  and 
in  some  instances  the  worst  that 
could  have  been  made.  Of  the  five, 
Mr.  Jefferson  did  not  attend.  Mr. 
Adams  was  personally  distasteful  to 
the  French  government.  How  far 
Mr.  Henry  Laurens  might  be  sus- 
pected of  undue  deference  to  England 
might  have  been  judged  from  his 
famous  Tower  letter,  the  cringing 
humiliations  of  which  had  opened 
the  doors  of  his  prison ;  and  it  is  said 
that  when  this  letter  was  divulged  to 
Congress  it  would  have  recalled  his 
commission,  had  there  not  been 
doubts  of  the  authenticity  of  the  docu- 
ment, so  extraordinary  was  its  tone. 
But  it  is  justice  to  add  that  the  sub- 
sequent conduct  of  Mr.  Laurens  re- 
pelled the  charge  of  partiality  for 
England ;  however,  the  French  Gov- 
ernment may  have  had  reason  to  be 
displeased  at  his  antecedents.  Mr. 
Jay  was  of  a  suspicious  temper,  an 
intrigant  rather  than  a  diplomatist; 
illustrating  precisely  that  lowest  notion 
of  diplomacy,  that  it  is  essentially  a 
game  of  deceptions — a  part  that  can 
be  performed  only  with  a  false  face. 
Happily,  the  world  has  outlived  this 
degrading  idea  of  a  really  august  of- 
fice, and  has  come  to  question  why 


deception  should  be  considered  more 
necessary  in  diplomacy  than  in  any 
other  branch  of  public  service.  In- 
deed, there  is  room  in  diplomacy  for 
the  exercise  of  the  highest  abilities, 
an  arena  for  the  busiest  and  most 
exacting  competitions  of  intellectual 
skill,  without  calling  into  requisition 
the  weapons  of  chicanery  and  fraud. 
There  is  no  political  service  that  more 
strongly  than  the  office  of  the  diplo- 
matist tests  that  sum  of  powers  which 
the  world  calls  character :  the  clear, 
strong  purpose,  with  its  quick  and 
happy  selection  of  opportunities,  the 
instinct,  the  tact,  and  the  decisive- 
ness which  hold  the  secret  of  what  is 
greatness  in  history,  rather  than  any 
amount  of  learned  accomplishments 
or  any  training  of  the  intellectual 
closet.  The  diplomatist  must  be 
quick,  yet  strong  and  unremitting ;  he 
must  have  unbounded  confidence  in 
himself,  without  the  weakness  of 
vanity ;  he  must  be  patient,  yet  not 
dilatory ;  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  true  spirit  of  the  French  proverb, 
that  "  he  who  learns  to  wait  is  mas- 
ter of  his  fortune."  He  must  have 
the  faculty  of'  putting  things  in  the 
strongest  possible  light — that  best 
and  rarest  of  rhetorical  talents,  the 
power  of  statement.  He  must  have 
a  nice  sense  of  opportunities ;  the 
delicate  touch  with  the  iron  will ;  he 
must  practise  what  Byron  numbered 
among  the  cardinal  virtues,  "  tact  " ; 
of  all  men  he  must  wear  that  excel- 
lent motto,  snaviter  in  modo,  fortiter 
in  re.  Here,  surely,  is  a  theatre  for 
many  virtues  and  abilities,  without 
calling  to  aid  the  mask  and  sinister 
weapons  of  professional  deceit.  The 
greatest  diplomatist  of  modern  times, 
the  unequalled  Bismarck,  is  said  to 
be  remarkable  for  the  bluntness  and 
directness  that  have  overcome  by  the 
very  surprises  of  openness  the  chica- 
nery of  his  opponents.  The  robust- 
ness of  his  dealings  with  the  finesse 


America  s  Obligations  to  France. 


845 


of  the  old  traditional  school  of  Euro- 
pean diplomacy  reminds  one  of  the 
duel  in  "  Peter  Simple."  A  sturdy 
Englishman  engages  a  master  offence, 
and  while  the  latter  practises  the 
most  scientific  attitude  and  has  his 
rapier  poised  according  to  the  figures 
of  the  science,  he  is  infinitely  sur- 
prised to  have  it  seized  in  mid -air  by 
the  naked  hand  of  his  antagonist, 
and  himself  run  through  the  body. 
Not  secundum  ar/um,  but  a  most  effi- 
cient way  of  concluding  the  combat. 
Of  the  open  and  best  school  of  dip- 
lomacy, Franklin  at  the  French  court 
was  a  fair  representative,  the  very 
opposite  of  Jay.  The  philosopher 
of  Pennsylvania  has  never  been  justly 
measured  as  a  diplomatist ;  he  had 
been  successful  beyond  all  other 
American  envoys ;  he  was  now  the 
Bismarck  of  the  diplomatic  collection 
at  Paris,  although  he  unhappily  gave 
way  to  the  leadership  of  Jay. 

In  the  negotiations  for  peace  that 
ensued,  Mr.  Jay,  leading  more  or 
less  willingly  the  other  commission- 
ers, was  soon  over  head  and  ears  in 
an  intrigue  with  the  English  ministry ; 
acting  on  that  lowest  supposition  of 
tyroism  in  diplomacy — that  the  other 
party  must  necessarily  design  a  fraud, 
and  that  a  counter-fraud  must  be  pre- 
pared to  meet  it.  Congress  had  in- 
structed that  there  should  be  made 
"  the  most  candid  and  confidential 
communications  upon  all  subjects  to 
the  ministers  of  our  generous  ally, 
the  King  of  France";  and  it  took 
occasion  to  give  a  remarkable  ex- 
pression of  gratitude  to  France,  its 
resolutions  declaring  "  how  much  we 
rely  on  his  majesty's  influence  for 
effectual  support  in  everything  that 
may  be  necessary  to  the  present  se- 
curity or  future  prosperity  of  the 
United  States  of  America."  Mr. 
Jay,  who  had  taken  the  lead  in  the 
negotiations,  willingly  followed  by 
Adams,  "  dragging  in  Franklin,"  and 


resisted  to  some  extent  by  Laurens 
proceeded  deliberately  to  violate 
these  instructions.  He  had  con- 
ceived the  suspicion  that  France 
was  secretly  hostile  to  an  early  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  independence 
of  America,  and  wished  to  postpone 
it  until  she  had  extorted  objects  of 
her  own  from  the  dependence  of 
her  ally.  It  is  now  known  that 
this  suspicion  was  wholly  imaginary. 
But  Mr.  Jay  and  his  colleagues  act- 
ed upon  it,  and  were  twisted  around 
the  fingers  of  the  English  ministry 
to  the  extent  of  treating  with  them, 
without  giving  the  French  govern- 
ment knowledge  of  the  steps  and 
progress  of  the  negotiation,  thus 
contributing  to  the  adroit  purpose 
of  England  to  sow  distrust  in  the  al- 
liance that  had  humbled  her.  While 
the  American  commissioners  were 
professing  to  the  French  minister 
that  negotiations  were  yet  at  a  dis- 
tance, they  had  actually  signed  the 
provisional  articles  of  a  treaty  of 
peace  with  the  crown  of  Great  Bri- 
tain. Worse  than  this,  they  had 
agreed  to  a  secret  article,  which  stip- 
ulated a  more  favorable  northern 
boundary  for  Florida,  in  the  event 
of  its  conquest  by  the  arms  of  Great 
Britain,  than  if  it  should  remain  in 
the  possession  of  Spain  at  the  termi- 
nation of  the  war.  Spain  was  at 
that  time  an  ally  of  France ;  and  so 
it  may  be  imagined  how  the  latter 
would  be  embarrassed  by  this  secret 
article,  and  how  England  might  med- 
itate in  it  an  advantage  in  disturbing 
the  understanding  of  France  and 
America. 

Mr.  Jay,  unconscious  that  he  had 
been  made  a  catspaw  of  British  di- 
plomacy, felicitated  himself  that  he 
had  made  an  excellent  bargain  and 
done  an  acute  thing;  possessed  as 
he  was  with  that  fatuity  of  all  de- 
ceivers, that  omits  to  calculate  the 
time  when  the  deception  must  ne- 


846 


Americas  Obligations  to  France, 


cessarily  become  known.  When  the 
game  that  had  been  played  upon  its 
ally  became  known  to  Congress,  it 
plunged  that  body  into  the  most 
painful  embarrassment.  Mr.  Madi- 
son, in  his  diary  of  the  proceedings 
of  Congress,  thus  records  its  im- 
pressions :  "  The  separate  and  secret 
manner  in  which  our  ministers  had 
proceeded  with  respect  to  France, 
and  the  confidential  manner  with 
respect  to  the  British  ministers,  af- 
fected different  members  of  Con- 
gress differently.  Many  of  the  most 
judicious  members  thought  they  had 
all  been  in  some  measure  ensnared 
by  the  dexterity  of  the  British  minis- 
ter, and  particularly  disapproved  of 
the  conduct  of  Mr.  Jay  in  submit- 
ting to  the  enemy  his  jealousy  of  the 
French,  without  even  the  knowledge 
of  Dr.  Franklin,  and  of  the  unguard- 
ed manner  in  which  he,  Mr.  Adams, 
and  Dr.  Franklin  had  given,  in  writ- 
ing, sentiments  unfriendly  to  our  ally, 
and  serving  as  weapons  for  the  in- 
sidious policy  of  the  enemy.  The 
separate  article  was  most  offensive, 
being  considered  as  obtained  by 
Great  Britain,  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  territory  ceded  to  her,  but  as  a 
means  of  disuniting  the  United  States 
and  France,  as  inconsistent  with  the 
spirit  of  the  alliance,  and  as  a  dis- 
honorable departure  from  the  can- 
dor, rectitude,  and  plain  dealing  pro- 
fessed by  Congress." 

Congress  did  not  extricate  itself 
from  the  dilemma;  it  could  not  do 


it.  Suppression  of  what  had  been 
done  could  not  be  continued;  still 
less  was  it  possible  to  make  explana- 
tions to  France;  the  only  thing  to 
do  was  to  say  nothing,  and  to  let 
the  painful  exposure  work  itself  out. 
The  King  of  France  had  acted  with 
an  openness  and  an  attention  to  his 
allies,  the  contrasts  of  which  made 
the  exposure  one  of  great  bitterness 
and  shame.  The  Count  de  Vergennes 
had  assured  the  American  commis- 
sioners :  "  The  king  has  been  re- 
solved that  all  his  allies  should  be 
satisfied,  being  determined  to  con- 
tinue the  war,  whatever  advantages 
may  be  offered  to  him,  if  England 
is  disposed  to  wrong  any  of  them." 
Now,  when  the  articles  were  brought 
into  council  to  be  signed,  the  French 
monarch  could  not  be  other  than 
surprised  and  indignant.  He  put 
royal  restraint  upon  his  speech;  but 
he  could  not  forbear  saying,  with  a 
bluntness  that  must  have  bruised 
American  pride,  and  staggered  the 
self-felicitations  of  Mr.  Jay,  that  "  he 
did  not  think  he  had  such  allies  to 
deal  with." 

The  court  of  France  sustained  the 
insult  with  dignity,  and  yet  with  evi- 
dence of  a  deep  sense  of  wrong. 
When  inquiry  was  made  whether  ex- 
postulations would  be  made  to  the 
American  Congress,  the  reply  of  M. 
Marbois  was  heroic:  "A  great  na- 
tion," he  answered,  "  does  not  com- 
plain; but  it  feels  and  remem- 
bers." 


The  Catholic  Church  in  Geneva. 


847 


THE    CATHOLIC    CHURCH    IN    GENEVA. 


IN  order  to  understand  the  events 
which  have  lately  taken  place  in 
Geneva,  and  those  that  are  preparing 
there,  it  is  necessary  to  cast  a  gene- 
ral glance  over  the  past  and  present 
state  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  that 
little  commonwealth. 

Most  people  know  what  Geneva 
was  prior  to  the  French  Revolution  : 
an  independent  state,  separate  from 
the  Swiss  Cantons,  reduced  by  Cal- 
vinism to  an  aristocratic  theocracy, 
and  shorn  of  those  ancient  democra- 
tic franchises  which  it  had  enjoyed 
before  breaking  away  from    Rome. 
The  dominant  principle  in  its   cus- 
toms  and   legislation  was  fear   and 
hatred   of    the    proscribed   worship. 
A  minute  and  jealous  care  was  taken 
to  repress  the  expansion  of  Catholi- 
cism— one   exhibition  of  which  was 
seen  in  the  strict  closing  of  the  city 
gates  on  the  grand  festivals  of  the 
church,  and   the  fine  of  ten  crowns 
imposed  on  those  who   held   inter- 
course with  the  Bishop  of  Annecy 
on  the  occasion  of  his  pastoral  visits. 
Under  these  circumstances,  only  a 
small    number   of    Catholics    clung 
with  heroic  constancy  to  the  ancient 
faith,  and  secretly  practised  their  re- 
ligious duties  in  the  recesses  of  their 
houses.      There   were   in    1759   but 
two  hundred  and  twenty-seven  Ca- 
tholics in  Geneva — and  in  this  num- 
ber even  Voltaire  and  his  hangers-on 
were  included. 

It  was  the  French  Revolution  that 
forced  open  the  gates,  up  to  that 
period  so  carefully  closed,  of  this 
Protestant  Rome.  Geneva  became 
under  the  Empire  a  French  de- 


partment, and  the  Catholic  religion 
in  the  persons  of  the  imperial  func- 
tionaries   was    officially   recognized. 
Permission   to   erect   a  church   was 
granted ;  but  this  first  move  toward 
a  less  hostile  attitude  was  not  taken 
without  the  bitterest  opposition  from 
the  old  Protestant  party.     In  the  re- 
modelling of  Europe,  after  Napoleon's 
downfall,  it  was  found  desirable  to 
provide   against   the    absorption  of 
Geneva  by  uniting  it  to  the  Swiss 
Confederation ;  but  in  order  to  over- 
come the  difficulties  of  geographical 
position,  and  make  such  an  acquisi- 
tion of  territory  acceptable  to  Berne, 
it  became  necessary  to  join  to  Gene- 
va  certain   strips  of  land  from  the 
Catholic  districts  of  Gex  and  Savoy. 
The    Genevans,   who    looked    with 
dread  upon  this  annexation,  strove 
to  assure  in  any  case  their  own  su- 
premacy, but    the   Catholics   found 
defenders  in  diplomatic  circles,  and 
their  cause  was  protected  by  the  se- 
veral treaties  of  Paris,  Vienna,  and 
Turin    (1814-1816).      In  virtue  of 
these,   all   civil   and  political  rights 
were  guaranteed  to  the  new  citizens, 
the  Catholic  religion  was  recognized, 
its  exercise  in  Geneva  permitted,  re- 
ligious freedom  solemnly  pledged  to 
the    annexed    populations,  and  the 
expenses  of  their  public  worship  as- 
sumed by  the  state. 

At  this  period  the  Catholics  were 
not  over  a  third  of  the  whole  can- 
ton ;  but  they  rapidly  increased,  less, 
indeed,  through  conversions  than  by 
immigration.  In  1834,  there  were 
25,000  Protestants  and  18,000  Ca- 
tholics. What  was  the  attitude  of 
the  Genevan  government  then  ?  Pow- 
er was  still  in  the  hands  of  the  old 


The  Catholic  Church  in   Geneva. 


Protestant  aristocracy — the  strongest 
and  only  organized  party,  and  a 
singular  admixture  of  good  qualities 
and  defects.  The  patrician  of  Gene- 
va was,  indeed,  a  strange  and  now 
fast-disappearing  type.  Living  in 
his  old  town  surrounded  by  ram- 
parts, and  in  his  old  society  even 
more  stringently  closed,  clad  in  som- 
bre colors,  speaking  little  and  laugh- 
ing less,  vain,  stiff  in  his  manners, 
with  a  stony  cast  of  countenance, 
he  was  devoid  of  generous  sympathy 
and  largeness  of  heart,  without,  how- 
ever, being  altogether  incapable  of  a 
certain  pecuniary  liberality;  benign 
to  his  clients,  implacable  to  rivals, 
marking  out  in  everything  a  conven- 
tional line,  and  merciless  to  the  one 
who  should  cross  it;  a  man  of  letters, 
but  an  enemy  to  literary  liberty,  the 
friend  of  order,  respecting  traditions, 
an  ardent  patriot,  but  of  a  narrow 
and  exclusive  patriotism,  he  was  at- 
tached more  to  his  caste  and  party 
than  to  his  country.  Often  sincerely 
pious,  this  Genevan  gentleman  of 
the  old  school  was  sometimes  a  hy- 
pocrite and  Pharisee;  a  formalist 
himself,  he  was  quick  to  cast  the  first 
stone  at  the  transgressors  of  the  law. 
But  what  was  strongest  in  this  class 
of  men  was  the  Protestant  sentiment 
in  its  most  odious  and  intolerant 
shape.  Having  seen  with  displeasure 
the  annexation  of  the  Catholic  dis- 
tricts, and  agreed  very  unwillingly  to 
the  religious  liberty  insured  by  treaty, 
this  party  found  it  hard  to  extinguish 
its  traditional  spirit  of  bigotry.  Eve- 
ry movement  of  vitality  on  the  part 
of  Catholics  excited  distrust,  and 
looked  like  a  revolt ;  and  proceeding 
to  open  acts,  it  struck  successively  at 
the  liberty  of  instruction,  the  freedom 
of  the  pulpit,  and  the  right  of  endow- 
ment. The  attempt  to  enforce  civil 
marriage  failed  only  when  Sardinia 
threatened  to  intervene.  Catholics 
were  eyed  with  disfavor,  and  of  the 


thousand  servants  of  the  government, 
only  fifty-nine  belonged  to  their 
creed.  Finally,  if  Protestants  were 
obliged  to  endure  the  official  exis- 
tence of  the  Roman  Church,  it  seem- 
ed to  them  quite  proper  to  try  and 
make  it  a  state  affair.  They  obtain- 
ed from  the  Pope  in  1819  the  trans- 
fer of  jurisdiction  over  Geneva  from 
the  Archbishop  of  Chambery  to  the 
Bishop  of  Lausanne — their  secret 
object  being  to  subject  the  Catholic 
clergy  to  the  direct  influence  of  gov- 
ernment, through  the  dependence  on 
the  state  to  which  the  bishops  of 
Switzerland  had  long  been  accustom- 
ed, and  in  particular  by  using  the 
conciliatory  and  somewhat  weak  cha- 
racter of  Monseigneur  de  Lausanne. 
In  fact,  an  agreement  was  drawn 
up  with  the  bishop,  by  which  the 
civil  power  was  permitted  to  inter- 
fere in  the  nomination  of  pastors,  ex- 
act from  them  an  oath,  publish 
and  circulate  episcopal  charges.  Soon 
after,  a  law  made  the  placet  obligato- 
ry for  all  documents  emanating  from 
the  diocesan  or  papal  authorities.  A 
few  official  honors  and  some  pecu- 
niary advantages  were  the  only  com- 
pensation made  to  Catholics  for  the 
prejudice  done  their  liberty.  These, 
however,  struggled  perseveringly 
against  all  exertions  to  enthrall  them, 
and  continued  in  spite  of  every  diffi- 
culty to  increase  and  gain  strength. 
This  success  they  owed  chiefly  to  their 
courageous  pastor,  the  Abbe  Vuarin, 
"  an  admirable  man  for  a  conflict," 
as  his  friend  Lamennais  used  to  say 
of  him  :  one  whose  indefatigable  in- 
dustry, fearlessness,  and  devotion  to 
duty  made  every  sacrifice  light.  He 
travelled  Europe  in  the  interests  of 
his  flock,  and  Turin,  Berne,  Paris, 
Munich,  Rome,  heard  him  defend 
their  cause.  He  had  friends, in  all 
places,  and  corresponded  with  popes, 
kings,  and  the  great  men  of  his  day  ; 
and,  during  the  continual  hostili- 


The  CatJiolic  Church  in  Geneva. 


849 


ties  which  he  carried  on  against  Pro- 
testants, wrote  some  severe  things, 
for  the  most  part  anonymously,  but 
other  times  under  his  own  name, 
wherein  the  only  subject  of  regret 
is  too  great  fieriness  and  irony.  He 
used  to  watch  the  ballot-boxes  while 
reciting  his  breviary,  which  drew  from 
M.  de  Maistre  the  remark,  "  When  I 
see  his  way  of  working,  it  recalls  the 
success  of  the  apostles."  M.  Vuarin 
had  said,  "  A  priest  who  is  nam- 
ed pastor  at  Geneva  should  go, 
should  remain,  and  should  end 
there  "  ;  and,  true  to  his  own  word,  he 
died  there,  parish  priest,  in  1843, 
having  been  appointed  under  the  Em- 
pire. Before  his  time,  it  was  only 
now  and  then  that  a  cassock  ventur- 
ed to  appear  in  Geneva  :  at  his  fune- 
ral, two  bishops,  two  hundred  priests, 
and  thousands  of  Catholic  laymen 
denied  through  the  streets  of  the  old 
Protestant  city. 

It  turned  out,  however,  that  Ca- 
tholic progress  only  irritated  the  in- 
tolerant spirit  of  opposition,  and  at 
the  centennial  jubilee  of  the  Refor- 
mation, in  1835,  the  inflamed  pas- 
sions of  the  multitude  broke  out  in 
insults  and  deeds  of  violence  against 
the  faith  of  the  minority.  The  Pro- 
testant Union,  a  sort  of  secret  socie- 
ty, was  formed  to  sustain  and  encour- 
age exclusivism  and  and- Catholic 
feelings ;  and  when  a  collective  ad- 
dress, signed  by  the  clergy  of  Geneva, 
denounced  the  movement  to  the  bi- 
shop, the  council  of  state,  ii\  retalia- 
tion, refused  to  admit  the  nomination 
of  any  priest  who  should  not  have 
expressed  regret  for  appending  his 
name  to  the  paper.  At  M.  Vuarin's 
death,  Geneva  was  for  several  years 
deprived  of  the  ministrations  of  his 
successor,  M.  Marilley,  who  had 
been  arrested  by  the  public  officers 
and  conducted  to  the  frontier.  Such, 
in  1846,  was  the  position  of  the 
church  :  misunderstood  in  her  spirit, 
VOL.  xm. — 54 


the  full  measure  of  her  rights  with- 
held, strong  only  in  the  energy  of 
her  defenders.  Then  a  political 
change  took  place,  which  considera- 
bly modified  the  situation. 

In  the  plain  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Rhone,  facing  the  steep  hill  where- 
on are  the  dwellings  of  the  Ge- 
nevan aristocracy,  along  which  are 
drawn  out  the  narrow  streets  of  the 
old  town,  and  on  the  summit  of  which 
rise  the  city  hall  and  St.  Peter's 
church — that  Acropolis  of  Calvinism 
— extends  the  democratic  and  labor- 
ing suburb  of  Saint  Gervais.  Here 
for  several  years  a  work  had  been 
going  on  whose  gravity  the  ruling 
class  of  Geneva  did  not  comprehend. 
A  radical  and  demagogical  party,  in- 
timately connected  with  the  revolu- 
tionists of  other  countries,  was  being 
organized.  Its  newspapers,  pamph- 
lets, and  the  affair  of  "  Young  Italy  " 
in  1836  revealed  its  boldness  and 
vigorous  action.  On  the  occasion 
of  the  Sonderbund  disturbances  in 
1846,  the  radicals  got  excited,  the 
Faubourg  St.  Gervais  rose  in  tumult, 
and  after  a  sanguinary  struggle  the 
conservatives  were  put  down,  the 
old  town  was  occupied  by  the  victo- 
rious workmen,  and  the  power  of  the 
state  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
leaders  of  the  insurrection  —  M 
Fazy  and  his  friends.  The  extinc- 
tion of  the  ancient  oligarchy  was 
known  to  be  their  object.  Catholics 
had  kept  aloof  from  this  conflict,  feel- 
ing little  sympathy  with  the  revo- 
lutionary passions  of  the  radicals, 
whose  pretext,  moreover,  for  rising 
had  been  the  aid  extended  by  the 
Genevan  government  to  their  co-re- 
ligionists of  the  Sonderbund.  But 
when  once  in  power,  the  new  party, 
more  astute  than  its  predecessor,  un- 
derstood the  importance  of  the  Ca- 
tholic element  when  it  came  to  a 
question  of  votes. 

M.  Fazy,  although  ultra  in  politics, 


850 


The  Catholic  CJiurcJi  in  Geneva. 


had  no  religious  prejudices,  and, 
neither  Catholic  nor  Protestant,  all 
he  cared  for  was  to  bring  about  the 
ruin  of  the  Calvinist  aristocracy.  In 
so  much  (as  the  Bishop  of  Lausanne 
observed  in  1849),  he  was  acting  to 
the  advantage  of  Catholics.  After 
the  radicals  had  destroyed  the  ram- 
parts of  the  old  town,  Geneva  began 
rapidly  to  change  appearance :  en- 
tirely new  quarters  were  soon  laid 
out,  strangers  came  in  large  numbers, 
and  the  Catholic  population  visibly 
increased  with  the  immigration.  In 
1850,  the  canton  counted  34,212  Pro- 
testants and  29,764  Catholics;  ten 
years  later,  the  figures  stood  42,099 
of  the  latter  to  40,069  of  the 
former. 

The  radicals  had  the  good  sense 
also  to  respect  the  liberty  of  Catho- 
lics ;  they  gave  them  ground  to  build 
another  church  on,  and  in  the  cen- 
tral part  of  the  new  districts,  hard 
by  the  railway-station,  a  Gothic  edi- 
fice, which  people  used  to  ca41  the 
cathedral-citadel — the  temple  of  lib- 
erty— was  erected.  Thus  little  by 
little  the  two  classes  were  drawn  to- 
gether, despite  so  many  profound 
differences.  The  conservatives  them- 
selves contributed  to  this,  for  the  con- 
cessions to  Catholics  were  their  chief 
point  of  opposition ;  and  in  the  next 
electoral  campaign  they  took  for 
rally  ing -cry,  "  Fazy  sold  to  the  pa- 
pists." Thereupon  it  became  a  ne- 
cessity, if  Catholics  would  keep  their 
rights,  to  vote  with  the  radicals ;  they 
did  so  in  1855,  and  the  conservatives 
were  utterly  defeated.  Things  re- 
mained in  this  state  until  1860,  the 
government  continuing  to  respect 
Catholic  liberty ;  the  bishop  also  was 
allowed  to  return  to  Geneva,  and 
Fazy  ably  defended  him  against  the 
narrow  prejudices  of  a  few  friends. 
When  the  church  of  Our  Lady  was 
finished,  the  consecration  sermon  was 
preached  by  the  eloquent  mouth  of 


the  man  who  to-day  exercises  over 
the  faithful  of  Geneva,  although  with 
different  qualities,  the  influence  that 
M.  Vuarin  once  had.  This  was  the 
Abbe  Mermillod.  Untrammelled  by 
attachments  either  to  person  or  par- 
ty, clever,  firm,  yet  pacific,  uniting  to 
the  authority  of  -virtue  all  the  charms 
of  talent  and  character,  his  liberal 
ideas  no  one  could  gainsay,  and  his 
devotion  to  the  church  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther has  on  more  than  one  occasion 
publicly  recognized.  Nevertheless, 
if  the  rule  of  the  radicals  was  in 
some  respects  profitable  to  Catholics, 
it  was  baneful  to  them  on  more  than 
one  account.  The  sources  of  moral 
and  intellectual  corruption  were  mul- 
tiplied in  the  canton ;  freemasonry 
received  the  same  concessions  as  re- 
ligion ;  the  professorships  in  the  aca- 
demy were  bestowed  upon  the  ene- 
mies of  every  form  of  Christianity; 
and  all  the  while  an  active  prosely- 
tism  was  spreading  immoral  senti- 
ments and  infidelity  among  the  peo- 
ple. In  this  state  of  affairs,  the  op- 
position daily  waxed  stronger,  and 
after  fifteen  years  of  administration, 
the  radicals  were  defeated  (1861)  by 
the  conservatives,  rejuvenated  and 
transformed  into  an  independent 
party. 


ii. 


The  party  that  now  came  in  was 
no  longer  the  same  old  purely  aristo- 
cratic one  of  former  times;  it  had 
allies  among  the  democrats.  A  po- 
pular society,  known  as  The  String, 
established  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
working  Quartier  de  Saint  Gervais, 
furnished  it  with  brawny  arms  and 
clubs  to  repel  at  the  polls  the  vio- 
lence which  the  radicals  had  initiat- 
ed. From  1 86 1  to  1864,  the  indepen- 
dents gained  ground  rapidly,  and  the 
bloody  riots  that  disturbed  Geneva 
in  the  last-named  year  only  served 


The  C at J LO lie  Church  in  Geneva. 


851 


to  assure  their  success.  It  may  be 
asked,  What  did  the  Catholics  do 
during  this  political  change  ?  They 
could  not  aspire  to  rule :  they  were 
forced  to  choose  between  the  Protes- 
tant haters  of  their  faith  and  the  ra- 
dical indifferentists  who  treated  all 
religions  alike — one  might  say  with 
equal  contempt — but  which  had  at 
least  the  merit  of  respecting  liberty 
of  conscience.  A  handful  of  Catho- 
lics, disgusted  with  the  subversive 
doctrines  of  the  radicals,  sought  alli- 
ance with  the  independents ;  but  the 
mass  remained  liege  to  their  first  pro- 
tectors. Some  of  the  leaders,  too, 
of  that  party  belonged  to  Catholic 
families,  and  were,  nominally,  Catho- 
lics themselves  ;  whereas  all  the  chief 
men  of  the  independents  were  Pro- 
testants. 

At  this  period,  a  great  event  in 
the  Catholic  life  of  Geneva  took 
place.  Pius  IX.  in  1864  raised  the 
Abbe  Mermillod  to  the  episcopal 
dignity;  only  by  a  prudent  reserve 
he  did  not  immediately  confer  upon 
him  the  title  of  bishop  of  that  city, 
but  of  Hebron  in  partibus  infidelium. 
In  order  not  to  encounter  too  many 
obstacles  at  the  outset,  the  authori- 
ties of  the  canton  were  not  official- 
ly notified  of  the  fact,  which  was 
brought  to  their  knowledge  indirect- 
ly. The  independents  affected  to 
ignore  the  new  arrangement,  and 
consider  Mgr.  Mermillod  as  only  the 
vicar-general  of  Bishop  Marilley. 
Whenever  he  spoke  as  a  prelate,  they 
showed  themselves  surprised  and  an- 
gry. The  radicals,  on  their  part,  saw 
the  establishment  of  an  episcopal 
see  with  the  same  unconcern  as  they 
had  witnessed  the  erection  of  the 
cathedral.  And  yet  a  few  were  pro- 
voked ;  they  were  principally  leaders 
from  the  Catholic  ranks,  who  fore- 
saw the  blow  their  influence  would 
receive  from  such  a  quarter.  On  the 
other  hand,  Mgr.  Mermillod's  Euro- 


pean reputation  flattered  the  self-love 
of  the  Genevans,  thus  lessening  poli- 
tical and  religious  repugnances;  while 
his  amenity,  conciliatory  spirit,  the 
irresistible  seduction  of  his  ways,  his 
political  prudence,  which  caused  him 
to  avoid  the  entanglements  of  party 
strife,  helped  to  surmount  many  ob- 
stacles. 

A  question  of  great  importance  to 
Catholics  soon  came  up.  In  1815, 
when  parts  of  Savoy  and  the  Pays- 
de  -  Gex  were  annexed,  although 
the  religious  liberty  of  the  new-com- 
ers had  been  diplomatically  secured, 
Geneva  reserved  to  her  own  sons, 
under  the  modest  designation 
"rights  of  property,  burghership, 
and  district  residence,"  the  enjoyment 
of  considerable  wealth  coming  from 
old  foundations,  and  destined  par- 
ticularly for  hospitals  and  other  char- 
itable institutions.  The  new-comers 
had  no  share  in  the  distribution  of 
these  funds  :  hence  arose  the  distinc- 
tion in  the  community  of  elder  and 
younger  brothers.  About  the  year 
1866,  a  motion  was  put  forward  to 
abolish  this  privilege  of  the  ancient 
citizens,  and  to  induce  the  new  ones 
to  renounce  the  treaty  stipulations  in 
their  favor  and  come  under  the  com- 
mon law.  The  project  fell  through 
at  the  time,  but  was  finally  adopted 
in  1868.  The  Catholics  took  a  lib- 
eral and  generous  stand.  They 
might  regret  the  international  engage- 
ments to  respect  their  religious  liber- 
ty ;  they  could  loudly  complain  that 
by  a  provision  of  the  bill  the  inde- 
pendents endowed  the  Protestant 
Church  with  a  part  of  this  appro- 
priation, consequently  securing  it 
against  loss  in  the  event  of  a  sepa- 
ration between  church  and  state, 
whereas  nothing  was  set  apart  to  de- 
fray the  expenses  of  Catholic  wor- 
ship; nevertheless,  the  great  majori- 
ty voted  to  let  it  pass.  God  grant 
that  they  may  not  have  been  deceiv- 


852 


The  Catholic  Church  in  Geneva. 


ed  !  If  they  had  been  organized  in- 
to a  political  party,  they  could  and 
they  should  have  had  inserted  some 
similar  allowance  in  their  favor.  For 
all  this,  the  Catholics,  while  they  con- 
tinued to  make  rapid  progress,  as- 
sumed an  attitude  of  moderation 
and  straightforward  liberality.  Mgr. 
Mermillod  openly  declared,  "  The 
Catholics  have  not  the  preponder- 
ance, or  the  means  of  obtaining  it ; 
they  do  not  think  of  it,  they  can- 
not have  it,  they  do  not  desire  it. 
They  have  no  privileges  to  petition 
for,  but  all  more  than  ever  must  love 
our  native  Switzerland,  which  turns 
now  her  eyes  upon  us,  and  must 
cling  to  our  institutions  and  to  that 
liberty  which  they  secure  us."  The 
bishop's  adversaries  could  not  find 
fault  with  him,  and  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  was  obliged,  however  unwill- 
ingly and  tardily,  to  acknowledge  his 
.liberal  tone.  And  yet  this  attitude 
of  Catholics  and  their  progress  only 
excited  greater  distrust  and  hatred. 
The  society  of  The  String  raised  in  its 
.manifestoes  the  phantom  of  ultra- 
montanism,  the  press  insulted  them, 
;and  they  were  threatened  in  their 
rights  of  association,  of  burial,  of  in- 
struction, and  of  preaching.  It  is 
principally  at  Carouge  that  they 
have  had  to  suffer.  This  place  is 
under  the  influence  of  certain  so-call- 
ed Catholic  radicals,  who  in  truth 
are  more  anti-Catholic  than  the  Pro- 
testants themselves.  When  these 
people  attack  the  church,  the  inde- 


pendents support  them;  sometimes, 
however,  the  latter  have  known  how 
to  maintain  an  at  least  apparent  neu- 
trality. 

It  is  chiefly  in  view  of  the  even- 
tual re-establishment  of  the  bishop- 
ric of  Geneva  that  anti-Catholic  pre- 
judices are  manifested.  The  Protes- 
tants understand  that  Hebron  is  only 
a  first  step,  and  they  recoil  at  the 
idea  of  having  at  Geneva  itself  a  Bi- 
shop of  Geneva.  Several  times  al- 
ready the  question  has  been  discuss- 
ed in  the  council  of  state,  and  the 
opponents  of  the  church  seek  in  Gal- 
lican  and  Josephine  traditions,  in  the 
text  of  treaties,  everywhere,  for  rea- 
sons to  deny  to  Catholics  the  right 
of  having  a  bishop.  Common  sense, 
equity,  treaties,  all  is  against  them, 
but  prejudice  prevails.  The  Catho- 
lics on  their  side  are  determined  that 
they  shall  have  their  own  bishop, 
and  this  to-day  is  the  great  dispute 
between  them  and  the  Protestants. 
Mgr.  Mermillod  acts  in  all  these  trou- 
bles more  like  an  apostle  than  a  po- 
litician. He  is  right.  He  believes 
in  his  mission;  and,  without  being 
able  exactly  to  point  out  the  course 
which  Providence  will  keep,  he  is 
convinced  that  the  church  will  pros- 
per in  Geneva.  May  his  hope  be 
realized  !  At  any  rate,  the  Genevan 
Catholics  are  fortunate  to  have  such 
a  bishop.  To  conclude,  their  present 
situation  is  a  critical  one.  It  is 
fraught  with  dangers  and  yet  full  of 
hope. 


New  Publications. 


853 


NEW     PUBLICATIONS. 


PATRON  SAINTS.     By  Eliza  Allen  Starr,  informed  to  profit  by  them.    There 

Baltimore:  John  Murphy  &  Co.    New  are  twelve  illustrations.     The  book 

York  :    The  Catholic  Publication   So-  js  well  printed  and  elegantly  bound, 
ciety.     1871. 


This  is  an  uncommonly  interest- 
ing and  readable  book.  Lives  of 
saints,  especially  of  such  as  those 
who  form  its  subject,  ought,  of 
course,  always  to  be  interesting  to 
Catholics,  and  even  to  others  ;  but, 
unfortunately,  the  abundance  of 
facts  which  are  often  put  in  a  small 
space,  and  the  dry  and  sometimes 
unsystematic  way  in  which  they  are 
presented,  make  them  usually,  per- 
haps, unattractive  to  any  except 
those  who  wish  to  make  what  is 
called  spiritual  reading,  and  put 
them,  if  not  entirely  beyond  the 
reach  of  children,  at  least  much  less 
useful  to  them  than  they  might  be 
made,  and  than  they  have  been  made 
in  the  present  work.  The  aim  of  the 
author  has  been  to  bring  out  the 
lives  of  the  servants  of  God  in  their 
true  light,  as  something  more  won- 
derful than  any  fairy  tales  or  fictions, 
as,  indeed,  they  are ;  to  satisfy  the 
natural  desire  of  the  young  for  the 
marvellous  with  what  is  not  only 
wonderful  but  admirable,  and  to  sup- 
ply the  place  of  fiction — to  some  ex- 
tent, at  least — with  truth.  And  in 
order  that  they  may  answer  this  end, 
they  are  told  in  an  attractive  and 
conversational  way,  with  occasional 
digressions  and  episodes,  and  the 
style  is  such  that,  instead  of  search- 
ing about  for  the  most  interesting  of 
the  lives  to  begin  with,  one  begins 
at  once  wherever  he  may  happen  to 
open,  and  keeps  on  till  it  is  more 
than  time  to  leave  off.  For,  though 
these  sketches  seem  to  have  been 
intended  principally  for  children  and 
young  people,  there  can  be  no  one 
who  will  not  be  pleased  with  them 
or  who  is  too  far  advanced  and  well 


NEVER  FORGOTTEN  ;  OR,  THE  HOME  OF 
THE  LOST  CHILD.  By  Cecilia  Mary 
Caddell.  London :  Burns,  Gates  & 
Co.  1871.  For  sale  by  The  Catholic 
Publication  Society,  9  Warren  Street, 
New  York. 

Details  of  the  self-denying  lives 
of  those  who  devote  themselves  to 
works  of  charity,  under  the  rules  of 
a  religious  order,  are  always  inter- 
esting to  the  earnest  Catholic.  In 
this  attractive  volume,  we  have  a 
touching  record  of  the  devoted 
lives  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Good 
Shepherd,  woven  with  the  story  of 
one  who  came  to  them  dead  in  sin, 
but  was  brought  to  life,  faith,  and 
peace,  by  the  blessing  of  God  on 
their  unfailing  efforts.  There  is  no 
charity  that  calls  more  urgently  in 
these  times  for  the  countenance  and 
help  of  pious  souls  living  in  the  world 
than  this  twofold  task  undertaken  by 
these  good  sisters — the  raising  of  fal- 
len women  to  lives  of  purity,  and  pro- 
viding a  place  of  refuge  from  temp- 
tation for  destitute  young  girls. 
All  other  efforts  to  reform  aban-^ 
doned  women  seem  to  bring  forth 
but  little  fruit,  while  the  nuns  of 
the  "  Good  Shepherd,"  both  in  this 
country  and  abroad,  have  been  in- 
strumental in  rescuing  a  vast  num- 
ber from  lives  of  infamy,  and  bring- 
ing them  to  true  penance.  This 
volume  is  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive, and  cannot  fail  to  impress  the 
reader  with  its  truthfulness.  May 
our  dear  Lord,  through  its  pages, 
excite  in  many  souls  asking  for 
work  in  his  vineyard,  the  desire  to 
assist  in  bringing  back  these  lost 
sheep  to  his  fold  ! 


854 


New  Publications. 


THE  CATECHISM  ILLUSTRATED  BY  PAS- 
SAGES FROM  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 
Compiled  by  the  Rev.  John  B.  Bag- 
shawe,  Missionary  Rector  of  St.  Eliza- 
beth's, Richmond,  England.  Boston : 
Patrick  Donahoe.  1871. 

"This  compilation  is  intended," 
says  the  author,  in  his  preface,  "  to 
assist  our  children  in  acquiring  a 
better  knowledge  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture." But  it  will  also  prove  use- 
ful and  suggestive  to  those  who 
have  to  teach  children,  even  shou-ld 
the  latter  not  use  it  themselves.  Its 
plan  is  very  simple  and  good,  the 
most  appropriate  passages  of  Scrip- 
ture being  selected  in  illustration  of 
the  successive  questions  and  answers 
of  the  catechism,  and  appended  to 
them,  the  text  being  in  one  column 
and  the  illustrations  in  a  parallel 
one.  Such  a  plan  is,  of  course,  very 
difficult  to  carry  out  with  perfect 
success,  and  the  author  does  not 
claim  to  have  always  made  abso- 
lutely the  most  appropriate  selec- 
tion ;  but  one  would  be  very  foolish 
not  to  duly  appreciate  what  is  good 
where  perfection  is  evidently  next 
to  impossible.  An  appendix  is  add- 
ed, with  references  to  the  principal 
texts  quoted,  which  can  be  used  in- 
dependently. 


THE  HOLY  EXERCISE  OF  THE  PRESENCE 
OF  GOD.  In  three  parts.  Translated 
from  the  French  of  T.  F.  Vaubert,  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus.  St.  Louis :  P. 
Fox,  Publisher,  No.  14  South  Fifth 
Street.  1871.  For  sale  by  The  Catho- 
lic Publication  Society,  9  Warren  Street, 
New  York. 

This  is  a  beautiful  little  book,  and 
contains  a  great  deal  in  a  very  small 
space.  Its  purpose  is  sufficiently  ex- 
plained by  its  title :  to  make  Chris- 
tians practically  familiar  with,  and 
constantly  attentive  to,  the  presence 
of  God,  surely  one  of  the  greatest  of 
all  means  of  sanctification,  and  one 
specially  necessary  in  this  age  and 
•countrv,  in  which  there  is  such  a 


tendency  to  distraction  and  useless 
occupation  of  mind.  The  transla- 
tion is  good,  and  the  type  clear. 


A  BRIEF  HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  THE  CA- 
THOLIC CHURCH  ON  LONG  ISLAND.  BY 
Patrick  Mulrenan,  Professor  of  Rheto- 
ric, etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  New  York  : 
P.  O'Shea.  1871. 

Truly  this  is  a  world  of  disappoint- 
ments. When  this  book,  handsomely 
bound  and  printed  in  bold  type  on 
delicately  tinted  paper,  was  placed 
before  us,  and  upon  reading  the  nu- 
merous titles  of  honor  Avhich  the 
author,  with  more  frankness  than 
modesty,  had  appended  to  his  name, 
we  hastily  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  Catholic  Church  on  Long 
Island  had  at  last  found  a  worthy 
and  erudite  historian.  Alas  for  the 
vanity  of  human  hopes  !  Ere  we 
had  perused  a  dozen  of  its  hundred 
and  thirty  pages,  we  discovered  that 
the  brilliant  and  costly  setting, 
which  we  fondly  hoped  contained  a 
literary  gem  beyond  price,  enclosed 
nothing  but  a  paltry  imitation  in 
paste.  Our  chagrin  was  the  greater 
on  account  of  the  importance  of 
the  subject,  affording,  as  it  does, 
many  salient  points  of  interest  that 
deserve  to  be  perpetuated  in  some- 
thing like  good  language  and  in  pro- 
per method  ;  but  candor  compels  us 
to  say  that  this  book  seems  more 
like  a  scrap-book,  made  up  of  slip- 
shod newspaper  paragraphs  unartis- 
tically  retouched  and  strung  toge- 
ther. And  then  the  reckless  scat- 
tering of  polyglot  adjectives,  the 
continuous  recurrence  of  the  same 
words  and  forms  of  expression,  the 
forgetfulness  of  facts  within  the 
knowledge  of  most  of  the  school 
children  of  Brooklyn,  and  the  inex- 
cusable ignoring  of  the  simplest  rules 
of  grammar,  which  characterize  this 
production,  are,  we  venture  to  affirm, 
unparalleled  in  the  history  of  modern 
book-making.  The  last  chapter, 
however,  surpasses  all  the  others  in 
verbosity.  In  thus  coming  before 


New  Publications. 


855 


the  public  as  the  historian  of  the 
Catholics  of  Long  Island,  the  author 
seems  to  have  forgotten  that  the  art 
of  book-writing  can  only  be  learned 
by  years  of  patient  study,  and  that 
the  high-sounding  phrases  which 
would  do  well  enough  for  a  class  of 
young  students  are  altogether  out  of 
place  in  the  pages  of  a  book  intended 
to  be  placed  in  the  libraries  of  our 
most  intelligent  citizens.  Literary 
vanity  is  generally  a  harmless  and 
sometimes  an  amusing  weakness, 
but,  when  gratified  at  the  expense  of 
serious  subjects,  it  deserves  neither 
encouragement  nor  the  charity  of 
our  silence. 


THE  HISTORICAL  EEADER.  By  John  J. 
Anderson,  A.M.  i  vol.  I2mo,  pp.  544. 
New  York  :  Clark  &  Maynard.  1871. 

This  work,  compiled  for  the  use  of 
schools,  has  many  merits  and  some 
grave  defects.  The  task  of  culling 
from  the  best  writers  choice  pas- 
sages descriptive  of  striking  histori- 
cal incidents  is  one  that  requires  much 
judgment  and  experience  for  its  pro- 
per performance  ;  while  the  difficulty 
of  avoiding  even  the  appearance  of 
national  prejudice  or  religious  bias 
is  almost  insurmountable.  Most  of 
us  have  our  favorite  authors,  whose 
merits  we  are  apt  to  exaggerate,  and 
whose  peculiar  views  we  too  often 
accept  without  much  investigation. 
Professor  Anderson  is  not  free  from 
this  weakness,  though,  as  a  rule,  his 
selections  are  made  with  discretion 
and  fairness.  Milton's  eulogy  on 
Cromwell  is  one  of  the  exceptions, 
for  we  hold  it  not  good  that  our 
children  should  be  taught  to  reve- 
rence the  memory  of  that  monstro- 
sity whose  hands  were  so  repeatedly 
imbrued  in  innocent  blood.  Froude's 
"  Coronation  of  Anne  Boleyn  "  is  an- 
other, for,  as  the  readers  of  THE  CA- 
THOLIC WORLD  well  know,  very  little 
dependence  can  be  placed  on  the 
historical  veracity  of  that  gentle- 
man. But  the  most  serious  mistake 


of  the  compiler  lies  in  the  fact  that 
only  American,  English,  Scotch,  and 
French  history,  with  a  few  passages 
from  ancient  authors,  is  presented  ; 
Ireland,  Spain,  Germany,  and  other 
European  countries  being  com- 
pletely ignored.  Taking  into  ac- 
count the  vast  number  of  children 
of  German  and  Irish  descent  in  our 
public  and  private  schools,  who 
ought,  we  think,  to  be  taught  some- 
thing of  the  history  of  their  ances- 
tors, we  should  expect  that  at  least 
one-half  of  this  book  would  be  de- 
voted to  extracts  from  the  historians 
of  these  races,  whose  writings  are 
now  as  accessible  to  compilers  of 
history  as  those  of  any  other  nation- 
ality. Of  Spain,  the  discoverer  and 
first  colonizer  of  the  New  World,  we 
have  not  a  word  ;  and  Italy,  the  birth- 
place of  Christopher  Columbus  and 
Amerigo  Vespucci,  the  cradle  of  mo- 
dern art  and  poetry,  is  altogether 
overlooked.  In  this  respect,  there- 
fore, The  Historical  Reader  is  sadly 
deficient  in  universality  and  com- 
pleteness. The  Vocabulary  attached 
will  be  found  useful,  and  the  Biogra- 
phical Index  would  be  more  interest- 
ing if  the  writer  had  used  his  adjec- 
tives less  generously,  and  more  reli- 
able if  he  had  not  insisted  on  calling 
Burke  a  British  statesman  and  Gold- 
smith an  "English"  writer. 


A  HISTORY  OF  THE  KINGDOM  OF  KERRY. 
ByM.  F.  Cusack.  Boston:  P.  Donahoe. 
London :  Longmans,  Green  &  Co. 
1871.  8vo,  pp.  512. 

This  latest  contribution  to  the 
historical  literature  of  Ireland  is  in 
every  respect  worthy  the  genius  and 
industry  of  the  accomplished  author 
of  The  Illustrated  History  of  Ireland, 
and  other  works  of  an  historical  and 
biographical  character.  Hitherto 
the  remote  county  of  Kerry  has 
been  known  to  tourists  and  artists 
for  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  Kil- 
larney  Lakes,  and  to  the  general 
reader  only  as  the  home  of  the  great 


856 


Arciv  Publications, 


orator  and  politician  O'Connell ;  for 
the  meagre  and  antiquated  history 
of  the  county  by  Smith  has  long 
since  passed  into  oblivion,  and  can 
scarcely  be  found  in  any  of  those 
receptacles  for  worn-out  authors, 
called  second-hand  book  stores.  It 
remained  for  Miss  Cusack  (Sister 
Mary  Frances  Clare),  who,  of  all 
contemporary  Irish  writers,  seems 
most  imbued  with  a  passionate  de- 
sire to  produce  and  reproduce  inci- 
dents illustrative  of  the  past  glories 
and  sufferings  of  her  native  country, 
to  undertake  the  task  of  writing  a 
history  of  this,  in  many  respects,  the 
most  interesting  of  the  thirty-two 
counties  of  Ireland,  and  it  must  be 
confessed  that,  considering  the  un- 
promising and  limited  nature  of  the 
subject,  she  has  performed  it  with 
wonderful  accuracy  and  success. 
The  large  and  handsome  volume 
before  us,  as  a  local  history,  may  be 
considered  a  complete  narrative  of 
every  event  connected  with  Kerry, 
from  the  very  earliest  period  of  the 
traditional  epoch  down  to  the  close 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  with 
occasional  glances  at  the  affairs  of 
adjacent  counties,  when  necessarily 
connected  with  those  of  her  favorite 
locality.  Several,  and  not  the  least 
attractive  of  the  chapters  to  a  scien- 
tific student,  are  devoted  to  the  geo- 
logy, topography,  and  archaeology  of 
Kerry  and  other  kindred  topics,  in 
the  preparation  of  which  the  author 
has  been  assisted  by  some  of  the 
best  scholars  in  Ireland,  whose 
readiness  in  thus  contributing  the 
result  of  long  years  of  study  and  ex- 
perience not  only  does  credit  to 
their  generosity  and  gallantry,  but 
demonstrates  that  Miss  Cusack's  pa- 
triotic and  charitable  efforts  are  fully 
appreciated  by  those  who  know  her 
well  and  are  best  fitted  to  appreciate 
the  value  of  her  labors.  The  ap- 
pendix, which  is  very  full,  will  be 
found  particularly  interesting  to 
such  of  our  readers  as  derive  their 
descent  from  the  ancient  Kerry 
families,  containing,  as  it  does,  a 
minute  and  doubtless  correct  pedi- 


grees of  the  O'Connors,  O'Dono- 
ghues,  O'Connells,  O'Mahonys, 
McCarthys,  and  other  septs  whose 
names  are  indelibly  associated  with 
the  history  and  topography  of  the 
county. 

The  illustrations  of  local  scenery 
are  passable,  we  have  seen  better, 
but  the  letterpress  is  excellent,  and 
the  whole  mechanical  execution  of 
the  work  is  worthy  of  the  subject, 
and  very  creditable  to  the  taste  and 
enterprise  of  the  publishers. 


MANUAL  OF  GEOMETRICAL  AND  INFINI- 
TESIMAL ANALYSIS.  By  B.  Sestini, 
S.J.,  author  of  Analytical  Geometry, 
Elementary  Geometry,  and  a  Treatise 
on  Algebra  ;  Professor  of  Mathematics 
in  Woodstock  College.  Baltimore  : 
John  Murphy  &  Co.  1871. 


"  We  leave  it  to  the  reader,"  says 
Father  Sestini  in  his  preface,  which, 
by  the  way,  corresponds  to  the  book 
in  shortness,  "  to  judge  whether, 
without  detriment  to  lucidity,  our 
efforts  to  combine  comprehensive- 
ness with  brevity  and  exactness 
have  been  successful."  It  seems  to 
us  that  they  have.  It  is  impossible 
to  understand  analytical  geometry 
and  the  calculus,  the  principles  of 
which  are  developed  in  this  work, 
without  patient  thought  and  appli- 
cation of  mind  ;  diffuse  explanations 
may  be  written,  no  doubt,  which  will 
enable  an  ordinary  student  to  master 
the  actual  text  of  his  lesson,  but  they 
will  not  be  likely  to  set  his  mind  to 
working  on  its  own  account ;  and 
the  discovery  of  the  meaning  of  a 
sentence  which  seems  obscure,  but 
is  only  so  from  the  student's  want 
of  mental  exercise  in  these  matters, 
is  of  more  real  service,  and  at  the 
same  time  gives  more  pleasure,  than 
the  most  copious  elucidations.  To 
use  these  is  like  taking  a  light  into 
a  dark  place  ;  it  shows  clearly  what 
is  immediately  around,  but  does  not 
allow  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  to  ex- 


New  Publications. 


857 


pand.  And  without  a  similar  de- 
velopment of  the  mathematical 
faculty,  which  is  probably  really 
more  common  than  is  generally  sup- 
posed, needing  only  proper  exercise 
to  bring  it  out,  the  study  of  the 
science  will  be  comparatively  fruit- 
less, and  a  mere  labor  instead  of  a 
pleasure. 

It  is,  of  course,  possible  to  carry 
this  principle  too  far,  and  make  a 
book  which  will  be  incomprehensible 
without  profuse  oral  explanations, 
which  will  equally  prevent  a  profit- 
able exercise  of  the  mind.  The  au- 
thor seems  to  have  carried  it  just  far 
enough.  No  one  to  whom  the  study 
of  the  higher  mathematics  will  be 
profitable  at  all  can  find  a  better 
work  to  set  him  upon  the  track  and 
give  him  a  grasp  of  the  subject  than 
F.  Sestini's  manual.  The  expert 
also,  as  well  as  the  student,  will  be 
pleased  with  the  neatness  of  its  exe- 
cution, both  in  the  mathematical  and 
in  the  ordinary  sense. 


VERMONT  HISTORICAL  GAZETTEER.  A 
Magazine  embracing  a  Digest  of  the 
History  of  each  Town,  Civil,  Educa- 
tional, Religious,  Geological,  and  Lite- 
rary. Edited  by  Abby  Maria  Hemen- 
way,  compiler  of  the  Poets  and  Poetry 
of  Vermont.  Burlington.  1870. 

New  England  is  the  home  of 
American  local  history,  for,  of  the 
works  devoted  to  the  annals  of 
cities,  counties,  and  towns,  there  are 
more  relating  to  New  England  than 
to  all  other  parts  of  the  United 
States  ;  and  outside  of  New  England 
limits  the  cultivation  of  local  his- 
tory is,  in  many  cases,  due  to  natives 
of  that  division. 

Miss  Hemenway  has  done  good 
service  by  her  gazetteer,  which  is 
really  a  general  local  history  of  the 
Green  Mountain  State.  Known  fa- 
vorably already,  she  has  succeeded 
in  obtaining  the  hearty  co-operation 
of  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  all  parts 
of  the  state,  and  she  thus  gives  the 


history  of  each  county  in  turn.  The 
history  of  each  church  is  given  by 
some  one  connected  with  it,  and 
full  justice  done  to  all.  In  some 
local  histories,  the  prejudice  of  the 
author  sometimes  leads  him  to  ig- 
nore all  but  his  own  church,  or  give 
only  such  notices  as  he  cannot 
avoid.  We  have  in  our  eye  a  His- 
tory of  Elizabeth,  New  Jersey,  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Hatfield,  in  which 
other  denominations  than  his  own 
are  very  slightingly  treated.  There 
are  three  Catholic  churches,  a  Ben- 
edictine convent,  a  House  of  Sisters 
of  Charity,  and  an  orphan  asylum 
in  the  place,  yet  the  reverend  au- 
thor sums  up  their  history  in  five 
lines,  and  quotes  as  his  authority 
for  their  annals  the  City  Directory. 
If  any  institution,  church,  or  au- 
thor fails  to  receive  due  space  in 
the  Vermont  Historical  Gazetteer, 
it  is  not  the  fault  of  Miss  Hemen- 
way, who  has  labored  most  indefa- 
tigably  to  extract  their  history,  and 
given  them  wherein  to  lay  it  before 
the  world,  impartially  allowing  each 
to  give  their  own  version  of  affairs. 
Her  work  is,  of  course,  not  of  equal 
merit ;  but  it  contains  many  articles 
of  far  more  than  local  interest  and 
value.  Her  state  owes  her  a  debt 
of  thanks ;  and  in  her  plan  and 
scheme  of  the  work,  as  well  as  in 
her  untiring  industry,  she  sets  an 
example  that  may  well  be  imitated 
in  other  states. 


HISTORY  OF  FLORIDA,  FROM  ITS  DIS- 
COVERY BY  PONCE  DE  LEON,  IN  1512, 
TO  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  FLORIDA  WAR, 
IN  1842.  By  George  R.  Fairbanks. 
Philadelphia:  J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co. 
1871. 

Mr.  Fairbanks  is  not  unknown  as 
an  author,  and  this  little  volume, 
handsomely  issued  by  an  eminent 
publishing-house,  would  seem  to  be 
a  welcome  addition,  as  furnishing, 
in  a  compendious  form,  the  roman- 
tic annals  of  the  oldest  settled, 
though  not  the  oldest,  state  in  the 


858 


New  Publications. 


Union.  We  regret  to  say  that  we 
regret  the  appearance  of  the  work. 
There  is  such  abundance  of  mate- 
rial accessible  to  the  ordinary  stu- 
dent, even  without  entering  upon 
the  vast  manuscript  material  which 
the  late  Buckingham  Smith  spent 
his  life  in  delving,  that  exactness  is 
of  the  utmost  necessity. 

Mr.  Fairbanks  evidently  quotes 
his  Spanish  authors  at  second-hand, 
and  must  be  unfamiliar  with  the 
Spanish  language.  No  one  at  all 
conversant  with  it  would  quote 
Cabeza  de  Vaca,  as  he  repeatedly 
does,  under  the  name  of  De  Vaca. 
Cabeza  de  Vaca  is  the  family  name, 
meaning  Head  of  Cow— an  odd 
name,  but  with  its  analogy  in  our 
Whitehead,  Mulford  (mule-ford), 
Armstrong,  etc.  To  quote  him  as 
"Of  Cow  "  is  like  citing  one  of  the 
English  names  as  Head,  Ford,  or 
Strong.  Quoting  Garcelasso  as 
L'Inca  also  betrays  ignorance.  The 
Spanish  article  is  El,  while  the  ele- 
vation of  Menendez  Marques  to 
the  Marquis  de  Menendez  is  equal 
to  Puss  in  Boots,  who  made  mar- 
quises offhand. 

It  is  not  surprising,  then,  to  find 
the  period  from  1568  to  1722  em- 
braced in  34  pages,  and  in  those 
only  four  references  to  Barcia,  and 
these  not  all  correct,  though  in  the 
228  pages  given  by  the  Spanish  his- 
torian of  Florida  to  that  period 
much  interesting  matter  might  have 
been  found. 

Nor  is  his  acquaintance  with  the 
works  that  have  appeared  in  Eng- 
lish such  as  we  should  expect. 

The  later  portion  of  the  history 
seems  more  within  his  grasp ;  but 
without  entering  into  too  great  de- 
tail, we  miss  any  reference  to  Far- 
mer's account  of  the  siege  of  Pen- 
sacola. 

Much  of  the  space  in  the  earlier 
portion  is  devoted  to  the  French 
colony  and  its  bloody  extinction  by 
Menendez,  and  to  Gourgues's  attack. 
In  this  matter  he  does  not  treat  the 
matter  as  Sparks  did  years  ago,  or 
Parkman  recently.  By  all  these 


writers,  moreover,  some  points  are 
overlooked.  The  piratical  charac- 
ter of  the  French  cruisers,  who, 
after  the  Reformation,  made  religion 
a  cloak  for  their  murders  and  pira- 
cy ;  the  object  in  selecting  Florida, 
which  was  to  form  a  base  for  opera- 
tions against  Spanish  commerce ; 
the  long-settled  determination  of 
the  Spanish  crown  to  root  out  any 
colony  planted  in  Florida,  upon  the 
most  plausible  pretext  the  occasion 
would  give  ;  the  overt  acts  of  pira- 
cy of  the  new  French  colony  in 
Florida ;  and,  finally,  the  critical 
position  of  both  parties,  neither  of 
whom,  in  case  of  victory,  would 
have  dared  to  keep  any  of  the  ene- 
my as  prisoners. 

He  takes  the  De  Gourgues  account 
as  the  French  give  it,  and,  with 
them,  multiplies  forts  at  San  Mateo  ; 
but  we  must  confess  that  there  are 
discrepancies  in  it  which  have  al- 
ways excited  our  distrust,  although 
the  story  is  accepted  generally  by 
French  Catholic  writers. 


PINK  AND  WHITE  \TYRANNY.  A  Society 
Novel.  By  Mrs.  Harriet  B.  Stowe. 
Boston  :  Roberts  Brothers. 

Mrs.  Stowe  has  given  us  in  this 
volume,  with  her  usual  distinctness 
of  purpose,  a  true  picture,  not  over- 
drawn, of  fashionable  life  as  display- 
ed at  our  popular  watering-places 
and  in  many  of  our  fashionable 
homes.  The  author's  "views,"  so 
pronounced  on  all  subjects,  are  ge- 
nerally given  with  characteristic  en- 
ergy and  earnestness,  if  not  always 
with  discrimination.  So  graphic  are 
her  descriptions  that  the  reader  can 
see  the  places  she  describes,  and  has 
a  clear  insight  into  the  hearts  of  her 
characters. 

It  is  well  that  one  whose  writ- 
ings are  always  so  extensively  read 
should  show  up  the  corrupt  condi- 
tion of  manners  and  morals  that 
prevail  in  what  is  technically  called 
"  high  life,"  and  in  this  book  Mrs. 
Stowe  has  given  an  interesting  and 


New  Publications. 


859 


lifelike  picture  of  the  everyday  well- 
known  scandals  that  are  sapping 
the  very  foundation  of  our  existence 
as  a  nation. 

It  is  hardly  just,  however,  to  put 
all  the  folly,  all  the  extravagance, 
and  all  the  sin  of  our  demoralized 
belles  and  beauty  to  the  credit  of 
France  ;  poor  France  has  enough  of 
her  own  to  bear.  French  morals, 
French  manners,  French  novels, 
French  literature,  and  even  the 
French  language  are  put  down  in 
this  volume  as  the  source  of  all  in 
the  morals  of  this  country  that  is 
not  pure  and  elevating.  The  root 
of  the  trouble  lies  nearer  home,  and 
spreads  far  back  to  the  childhood  of 
these  vain  men  and  women,  when 
they  were  taught  that  to  enjoy  them- 
selves was  the  great  end  for  which 
they  were  made.  "  Have  a  jolly 
time  in  life,  honestly  if  you  can,  but 
have  the  jolly  time  any  way,"  is  the 
chief  lesson  given  to  the  children 
and  young  persons  belonging  to  the 
world  of  to-day ;  and  this  peoples 
our  places  of  public  resort  with  the 
"  fast"  and  the  shameless. 

A  poetic  picture  of  New  England 
life  is  Mrs.  Stowe's  specialty,  and 
refined,  cultivated,  quiet  Springdale 
is  refreshing  after  the  flirtations  and 
assignations  of  the  watering-places. 

We  find  in  these  pages  a  just  and 
charming  tribute  to  the  Irish  char- 
acter as  wife  and  mother;  while  the 
author's  views  of  marriage  are  in 
accordance  with  the  teachings  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  and  it  is  no  small 
merit  in  the  book  that  it  strongly 
advocates  the  doctrine,  "  one  with 
one  exclusively,  and  for  ever." 


THE  LIFE  AND  REVELATIONS  OF  SAINT 
GERTRUDE.  By  the  author  of  "  St. 
Francis  and  the  Franciscans,"  etc. 
London  :  Burns,  Gates  &  Co.  Boston; 
P.  Donahoe.  1871. 

This  is  another  of  the  ''  Kenmare 
series  of  books  for  spiritual  reading." 
It  needs  no  other  recommendation. 
The  profit  to  be  derived  from  a  de- 


vout reading  of  the  revelations  of 
this  great  saint  is  inestimable.  They 
cannot  fail  to  have  a  lasting  influ- 
ence on  the  mind  that  opens  itself 
to  their  teaching.  If  some  may  ob- 
ject that  such  a  book  as  this  is  too 
mediaeval  for  the  nineteenth  century, 
we  answer  that  there  are  plenty  of 
chosen  souls  who  look  back  to  the 
middle  ages  as  the  millennium  of 
the  Church,  when  earth  was  nearest 
heaven. 


ST.  PETER  :  HIS  NAME  AND  HIS  OFFICF. 
By  Thomas  W.  Allies,  M.A.,  Author  of 
"  The  See  of  St.  Peter  the  Rock  of  the 
Church," and  other  Works,  i  vol.  i2mo, 
pp.  299.  London  :  R.  Washbourne  ; 
New  York  :  The  Catholic  Publication 
Society.  1871. 

This  work,  partly  drawn  from  the 
Commentary  on  the  Prerogatives  qf 
St.  Peter,  Prince  of  the  Apostles,  of 
Passaglia,  and  partly  the  composi- 
tion of  the  learned  author,  was 
first  published  in  1852,  and  elicited 
the  highest  encomiums  from  the 
most  learned  portion  of  the  Chris- 
tian world.  Its  republication  at  this 
time,  when  so  much  is  said,  and  so 
little  is  actually  known,  by  persons 
not  Catholics,  of  the  apostolic  suc- 
cession, and  the  divine  power  vested 
in  the  visible  head  of  the  church,  is 
exceedingly  well  timed.  The  book, 
though  small  in  compass,  contains 
not  only  all  the  leading  incidents  of 
St.  Peter's  life,  but  irrefutable  proofs 
of  his  holy  mission  and  supremacy 
in  the  church.  Those  who  have  any 
doubts  of  the  primacy  of  the  See  of 
Rome,  or  who  wish  to  satisfy  them- 
selves as  to  the  extent  of  the  power 
delegated  to  our  Holy  Father,  should 
give  Mr.  Allies's  book  a  careful  and 
serious  perusal." 

GOLDEN  WORDS  ;  OR,  MAXIMS  OF  THE 
CROSS.  By  F.  H.  Hamilton,  M.A.  i 
vol.  pp.  78.  London  :  Burns,  Gates  & 
Co.  ;  New  York  :  The  Catholic  Publi- 
cation Society. 

This  beautifully  printed  little  book 


86o 


New  Publications. 


is,  as  the  author  candidly  confesses, 
made  up  mainly  from  selections  made 
from  the  writings  of  the  cele- 
brated Thomas  a  Kempis.  To  say 
this  is  to  pronounce  the  highest 
eulogy  that  can  be  expressed,  for  we 
believe  there  is  no  person  who 
claims  to  be  Christian,  and  who  has 
read  The  Following  of  Christ,  but 
admits  that,-  of  all  the  uninspired 
writers,  its  author  is  foremost  in 
Avisdom,  piety,  and  practical  illus- 
tration. Though  in  large,  clear  type, 
this  work  is  so  judiciously  condens- 
ed that  any  person  can  carry  it  in 
his  pocket,  and  thus  have  it  at  all 
times  for  reference  and  edification. 

THE  Catholic  Publication  Society 
has  just  published  new  editions  of 
Gahan 's  History  of  the  Catholic  Church 
and  My  Ints' s  History  of  England.  Both 
works  are  continued  down  to  the 
present  time.  The  Society  also  pub- 
lishes a  new  and  improved  edition 
of  Fleury's  Historical  Catechism,  re- 
vised, corrected,  and  edited  by  Rev. 
Henry  Formby.  This  excellent  work 
is  intended  as  a  class-book  for 
schools,  and,  if  ordered  in  quantities, 
the  Society  is  prepared  to  furnish  it 
at  an  extraordinarily  low  price.  The 
Society  has  also  in  the  hands  of  the 
binder  Fr.  Formby's  Pictorial  Bible 
and  Church  History  Stories,  This 
work  ought  to  be  introduced  into 
our  schools. 

Mr.  P.  F.  Cunningham,  Philadel- 
phia, has  in  press  Cineas,  a  story  of 
the  time  of  Nero,  the  burning  of 
Rome  by  that  tyrant,  and  the  de- 
struction of  Jerusalem.  Mr.  Dona- 
hoe,  Boston,  announces  as  in  press 
a  Compendium  of  Irish  History,  Ned 
Rusheen,  and  The  Spouse  of  Christ — 
all  by  Sister  Mary  Francis  Clare; 
also,  The  Monks  of  the  West,  by  Mon- 
talembert  ;  a  Life  of  Pius  IX.,  and 
Ballads  of  Irish  Chivalry,  etc.,  by  R. 
D.  Joyce.  Messrs.  Kelly,  Piet  & 
Co.,  Baltimore,  announce  as  in  press 
Mary  Benedicta  and  the  Pearl  of  An- 
tioch.  Messrs.  Murphy  &  Co.,  Balti- 


more, have  just  completed  their 
Church  Registers,  comprising  Bap- 
tism, Matrimony,  Confirmation,  In- 
terments, etc. — in  all,  three  Latin 
Registers  and  four  Church  Records, 
uniformly  bound  and  put  up  in  neat 
boxes. 


A  MISTAKE  CORRECTED. — Mr.  Robert 
A.  Bakewell  desires  us  to  correct  a  state- 
ment which  was  made  in  our  last  number, 
in  the  article  "The  Secular  not  Supreme," 
respecting  the  views  formerly  expressed 
by  that  gentleman  in  The  Sliepherd  of  the 
Valley,  on  the  subject  discussed  in  the 
aforesaid  article.  Mr.  Bakewell  has  fre- 
quently contradicted  a  misquotation  and 
misinterpretation  of  his  language  by  secu- 
lar and  sectarian  papers,  which  has  made 
him  say  that  Catholics,  if  they  ever  be- 
came a  large  majority  of  the  people  of  this 
country,  would  suppress  religious  liberty. 
What  he  really  did  say  was  that,  in  the 
event  supposed,  they  would,  in  accord- 
ance with  Catholic  principles,  restrain  by 
law  the  teaching  of  those  errors  which  are 
subversive  of  natural  religion  and  morality. 
Mr.  Bakewell  states,  also,  that  he  has 
never  retracted  the  views  which  he  ex- 
pressed in  his  published  writings  on  this 
subject,  and  says  that  they  were  impugn- 
ed by  two  only  of  the  Catholic  newspa- 
pers at  the  time. 

BOOKS   RECEIVED. 

From  GEORGE  ROUTLEDGE  &  SONS,  New  York : 
The  Coolie:  His  Rights  and  Wrongs,  i  vol. 
paper. 

From  LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  Co.,  London:  Igna- 
tius Loyola  and  the  Early  Jesuits.  By  Stew- 
art Rose,  i  vol.  8vo,  pp.  548. 

From  R.  WASHBOURNE,  London:  The  Men  and 
Women  of  the  English  Reformation,  from 
the  Days  of  Wolsey  to  the  Death  of  Cran- 
mer.  Papal  and  Anti-Papal  Notables.  By 
S.  H.  Burke,  author  of  The  Monastic  Houses 
of  England.  Vol.  I. 

From  BURNS,  GATES  &  Co.,  London :  The  Life 
of  St.  Ignatius  Loyola.  By  Father  Genelli, 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus.  Translated  from  the 
German  of  M.  Charles  Sainte-Foi,  and  ren- 
dered from  the  French  by  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Meyrick,  S.J.  i  vol.  i2mo,  pp.357. — Of  Ado- 
ration in  Spirit  and  Truth.  VVritten  in  Four 
Books.  By  John  Eusebius  Neremberg,  S.J., 
native  of  Madrid,  and  translated  into  Eng- 
lish by  R.  S.,  S.J.,  in  which  is  disclosed  the 
pith  and  marrow  of  a  spiritual  life  of  Christ's 
imitation,  and  mystical  theology  ;  extracted 
out  of  the  Holy  Fathers,  and  greatest  mas- 
ters of  spirit,  Diadochus,  Dorotheus,  Clim- 
achus,  Rusbrochius,  Suso.  Thaulerus,  a 
Kempis,  Gerson;  and  not  a  little  both  pious 
and  effectual  is  superadded.  With  a  pre- 
face by  Rev.  Peter  Galloway,  S.J.  i  vol. 
i2ino,  pp.  438. 


AP  The  Catholic  world 

2 

C3 

v.13 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY