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OCTOBER, 1881, TO MARCH, 1882. 



9 Barclay Street, 


Copyright, 1882, by 




A Christmas Tale of 76. William Set on, . 541 
Among the Hills of Morvand M. P. 

Thompson, . . 605, 819 

A Portionless Girl. Mary H, A. Allies, 16, 168, 

314, 504, 640, 784 

At Oka, Province of Quebec. A . M. Pope, 630 
A True Monk the Venerable Bede. The 

Rev. J. J. Dougherty, . . . .558 
Bishop John Dubois. L. W. Reilly, . . 454 
Bourdaloue. The Rev. J. V. CC Conor, . . 220 
Canada, A Scotch Catholic Settlement in. 

A. M. Pope, 70 

Cardinal WoJsey and his Times. S. Hubert 

Burke, 359 

Carthusians (The Last of the) and the Fate 

of the Observant Fathers..?. Hubert 

Burke, 250 

Carthusian (The) Martyrs of England. S. 

Hubert Burke, 43 

Catholic Musings on Tennyson's " In Memo- 

riam." *** 205 

Celtic Languages, The Decay of the. T. O. 

Russell, 563 

Chile and Peru, The late War between. C. 

M. WKeefe, 484 

Christian Conquest (.The) of Africa. .ff. F. 

O'Connor, 102, 227 

Christian Jerusalem. The Rev. A . F. He^vit, 54, 

235, 375 
Christmas Play (A) in the Pyrenees. M. P. 

Thompson, 439 

Church Livings in England and in Spain. 7?. 

F. Farrell, . 245 

Church of Jerusalem (Tradition of the), Con- 
cerning Sacrament and Sacrifice. The 

Rev. A . F. Hewit, .... 529, 619 
Clement I. A Pope of the First Century. 

The Rev. A. F. Hewit, .... 772 
Cornwallis (How) Consolidated the British 

Empire. Margaret F. Sullivan, . . 298 
Crime, Irish and English. Henry Belling- 

ham, ........ i 

Decay (The) of the Celtic Languages. T. O. 

Russell, 563 

Discovery (The) of the East Coast of the 

U. 's.Edmond Mallet, . . . .599 
Dublin, Monastic. William Dennehy, . . 339 
Dublin, The English Prisons of. R. F. Far- 

rell, 433 

Dubois, Bishop John. L. W. Reilly, . . 454 
Early Printing and Wood-Engraving. Mi- 
chael Scanlan, 803 

End of the World, The. The Rev. Geo. M. 

Searle, 493 

English Prisons (The) of Dublin.^. F. Far- 

rell, .433 

English Radicalism, The Sentiment of. A. F. 

Marshall, 145 

Evolution. W. R. Thompson, . . . 683 
Fall of Wolsey, The. S. Hubert Burke, . 465 
Fisher (John), Bishop of Rochester. S. Hu- 
bert Burke 585, 760 

Franciscans, Joan of Arc and the. D. A. 

Casserly, no 

Frequency (The) of Suicide. The Rt. Rev. 

F. S. Chatard, 577 

German (The) Problem The Rev. I. T. 

Hecker, . . . . . . . 289 

Holy Days and Holidays in England. A . F. 

Marshall, 665 

How Cornwallis Consolidated the British Em- 
pire. Margaret F. Sullivan, . . 298 
Impressions of Quebec A nna T. Sadlier, . 402 
In Arcady. Agnes Repplier, .... 120 

Ireland, Six Weeks in. By an Englishman, 732 
Irish and English Crime. Henry Belling- 

ham, ........ i 

Is the United States Government a Nuisance 

to be Abated ? J. T., . . . .62 

Jerusalem, Christian. The Rev. A. F. Hewit, 54, 

235, 375 
Jesuit (A) in Disguise. John R. G. Has- 

sard, 155, 387 

Joan of Arc and the Franciscans. D. A . Cas- 
serly, no 

John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester. 6". Hubert 

Burke, 585, 760 

Kelt and Teuton.//. P. McElrone, . .212 
Lally, The Brave. Douglas Carlisle, . . 673 
Last (The) of the Carthusians and the Fate 
of the Observant Fathers. S. Hubert 

Burke, 250 

Late (The) War between Chile and Peru. C. 

M. O^Keefe, . . . . .484 

Literature, Moles and Warts in. A . y. Faust, 747 
Memorial (A) of the late Lady Blanche Mur- 
phy. Cardinal Manning, ... 40 
Mexico, The United States and. Santiago 

Ainsa, 721 

Mexico ? Was the Apostle St. Thomas in. 

The Rev. J. H. Defouri, . . . .420 
Moles and Warts in Literature. A . y. Faust, 747 
Monastic Dublin. William Dennehy, . . 339 
Monte Vergine. M. P. Thompson, . . 347 
Murphy (the late Lady Blanche), A Memo- 
rial of. Cardinal Manning, ... 40 
Napoleon III. and his Reign. The Rev.H. 

A. Brann, D.D., 261 

Observant Fathers (and the Fate of the), The 
last of the Carthusians. S. Hubert 

Burke, 250 

Oka (At), Province of Quebec. /i . M. Pope,. 630 
Phase of Protestantism, A Singular. The 

Rev. Geo. M. Searle, . . . .835 
Pope (A) of the First Century Clement I. 

The Rev. A. F. Hewit, . . . - 772 




Pyrenees, A Christmas Play in the. M, I\ 

Thompson ........ 439 

Quebec, Impressions of. Anna T. Sadlicr, . 402 
Scotch (A) Catholic Settlement in Canada. 

A.M. Pope, ...... 7 

Sentiment (The) of English Radicalism.^. 

F. Marshall, ...... 

Singular (A) Phase of Protestantism. The 

Rev. Geo. M. Scarle, . . . . 
Sires (The) of Chastellux. M. P Thompson, 

Six Weeks in Ireland. By an Englishman, 732 
Some Scottish Superstitions The late Lady 

Blanche Murphy, ..... 693 
St. Thomas (the Apostle) Was, in Mexico ? 

The Rev. J. H. Defouri, . . . . 
Suicide, The Frequency of. The Rt. Rev. 

F. S. Chaiard, ...... 

Tennyson's " In Memoriam," Catholic Mus- 

ings on. * * * . . . . . 

The Brave Lally. Douglas Carlisle, . . 




Tradition of the Church of Jerusalem concern- 
ing Sacrament and Sacrifice. The Rev. 
A.F.Heivit, 529,619 

United States (The) and Mexico. Santiago 

A insa, ........ 721 

Vaucluse. M. P. Thompson. .... 91 

145 Was the Apostle St. Thomas in Mexico ? 

The Rev. J. If. Defouri, . . . .420 

835 What does the Public-School Question mean ? 
194 The Rev. I. T. Hecker, ... 84 

Wolsey (Cardinal) and his Times. S. Hubert 

Burke, ....... 359 

Wolsey, The Fall of. S. Hubert Burke, . 465 
Wood-Engraving and Early Printing. Mi- 

ckael Scanlan, ...... 803 

World, The End of the. The Rev. Geo. M. 

Searle, 493 

Yorktown (The) Centennial Celebration. The 

Rt. Rev. J. J. Keane, D.D., . . .274 


A Christmas Card. Edith W. Cook, . . 501 
A Christian Legend. Alice Wilmot Chet- 

wode, ....... 527 

Allegoria Maritima. Wm. Gibson, Com. U. 

S.N. 7" 

A Prayer of Doubt. Margaret F. Sullivan. 771 

Ireland 1882. Mary E. Manntx, . . 834 
Purgatorio, Canto XXI. T. IV. Parsons, 461 
To the Blessed Giuseppe Labre. The Rev. 

J d. D. Lynch 426 

Who Shall Say 1 Eliot Ryder, . . .453 


Ancient History ; Roman History ; History 

of the Middle Ages; Modern History, 140 

An Instruction on Mixed Marriages, . . 851 

Campaigns of the Civil War, .... 718 

Cathedra Petri, 856 

Catholic Controversy, 285 

Centennial Celebration of the First Mass in 

Connecticut, 854 

Crowned with Stars, 143 

Decennial Souvenir of St. Francis Xavier's 

Church 142 

Household Science, 576 

Institutiones Theologicse in Usum Scholarum 428 

Ireland of To-day, ...... 852 

Irish Faith in America, ..... 857 

La Situation du Pape, 157 

Leaves from the Annals of the Sisters of 

Mercy, ' . . 428 

Leaves of Grass, 719 

Letters and Writings of Marie Lataste, . . 287 
Letters, Speeches, and 1'racts on Irish Af- 
fairs, 141 

Madeleine de S. Pol, 857 

Maidens of Hallowed Names, . . . .430 

Manx Gaelic, 857 

Nach Rom und Jerusalem, .... 288 

Original, Short, and Practical Sermons, . . 858 

Patron Saints, 14* 

Protestantism and the Church, . . . 859 

Picturesque Ireland, 855 

Ranthorpe, 288 

Rituale Romanum Pauli V., . 
Safeguards of Divine r 1 aith, 
Sanctuary Boy's Illustrated Manual, 
St. Bernard on the Love of God, 
St. Mary Magdalen, 
The Art of Thinking Well. 
The Beauties of the Catholic Church, 
The Bible and Science, 
The Bloody Chasm, 



. 856 
. 427 

. 576 

The Criminal History of the British Empire, 575 

The Emperor, 138 

The History of the Primitive Yankees, . 
The Household Library of Catholic Poets, 
The Illustrated Catholic Family Annual for 



The Life of the Angelic Doctor, St. Thomas 

Aquinas, 855 

The Life of the Rev. Mary John Baptist 

Muard, 853 

The Life of the Venerable Mother Mary of 

the Incarnation, 431 

The Nature and Function of Art, more espe- 
cially of Architecture, .... 717 
The Poets and Poetry of Ireland, . . . 429 

The Portrait of a Lady 716 

The Practice of Interior Recollection, . . 576 

The Problem of Religious Progress, . . 286 

The Twit-T wats, 287 

Tutti-Frutti, 432 

Which is the True Church ? . . . .856 



VOL. XXXIV. OCTOBER, 1881. No. 199. 


THE question as to the prevalence and character of crime in 
Ireland as compared with that in England, Wales, and Scotland 
has long formed an interesting subject for discussion. Those 
who are imbued with the idea that Ireland is a nation composed 
of assassins, thieves, and communists naturally refuse to take 
note of the fact that crime in that country is of a peculiar cha- 
racter and almost invariably connected with agrarian questions, 
whilst social crime of the brutal nature that is unhappily so com- 
mon in Great Britain is comparatively rare. Crimes of impur- 
ity, for instance, though comparatively frequent in England and 
extremely frequent in Scotland, are very rare in Ireland. The 
modesty of Irishwomen has been proverbial for centuries, and 
has been admitted by men of all classes who are strongly oppos- 
ed to everything Irish and everything Catholic. The present con- 
dition of Ireland, with her people paralyzed by a series of excep- 
tionally bad seasons and their hopes strung to the highest pitch 
of excitement by the land agitation of the past fifteen months, is 
abnormal, and it is undoubtedly true that during this period 
there has been an increase of crime, but not by any means to the 
extent that has been frequently stated. In spite of the agitation 
and distress, the murders have been fewer than in previous bad 
years. Last year (1880), for instance, there were but five mur- 
ders, whilst in 1849 there were two hundred and three. 

An interesting article by Mr. T. P. O'Connor, M.P., in the 
Contemporary Review a few months ago, showed that in the year 
1833 there were 172 homicides, 460 robberies, 455 houghings of; 

Copyright. REV. I. T. HECKER. 1881. 



cattle, 2,095 illegal notices, 425 illegal meetings, 796 malicious 
injuries to property, 753 attacks on houses, 3,156 serious as- 
saults, the aggregate of crime being 9,000, and that in the year 
1836 crime assumed even greater proportions. Comparing Eng- 
land and Wales in this latter year with Ireland, the Irish aggre- 
gate of crime was actually greater :* 


England and 


I Q^6 


Against property, with violence 

I 5 10 


without violence. . 

16 167 





Forgery and coining . 


Not included in above classes 

I O24 

" 2i 4 

g TAA 



The following are the statistics of Irish crime in still later 
years : 









Conspiracy to murder ... . 





To which adding various other crimes, we find the total of of- 
fences against the person were, in 1845, 1*093, and in 1846, 1,923 ; 
and for offences against the public peace, including arson, demands 
or robbery of arms, riots, threatening notices, firing into dwell- 
ings, and the like, 1845, 4*645 ; 1846, 4,766. The following table 
shows a steady decrease of crime since the year 1850 : 



I8 S I. 




















Attempts to murder. . 
Shooting at, stabbing. 
Solicitation to murder. 
Conspiracy to murder. 






















I an 








1 02 

During these years, which were years of progressive prosperity 
and good seasons after the frightful famine of 1847 an d the sub- 

* Contemporary Review, December, 1880. 


sequent disturbed period of 1848 and 1849, tne crime of murder 
declined by more than half, and attempts to murder almost alto- 
gether. The fact that so few murders have been committed dur- 
ing the past twelve months seems to indicate that the masses of 
the people deem the Land League a better security against oppres- 
sion than they could have in the landlord's dread of assassination. 
A return was presented to the House of Commons, during the 
last session of Parliament (1880), of the " agrarian outrages report- 
ed to the constabulary between the ist of January, 1879, an< ^ the 
3 ist of January, 1880," the total oi crimes being 977 ; and when we 
consider that the greater part of that period was a period when 
crops had failed, when a third bad harvest had brought a great 
many of the people to the verge of famine, and when many of 
them had lived for months on the charity of the public, it will be 
seen that the amount of crime is small. Mr. Gladstone himself 
admitted, during the fervor of his Midlothian campaign in the 
winter of 1879-80, that Ireland was in a most satisfactory condi- 
tion, with little or no crime. Another return presented this ses- 
sion, and ordered to be printed, by the Rt. Hon. W. E. Forster, 
Chief Secretary for Ireland, of all the agrarian outrages reported 
by the Royal Irish Constabulary for the month of November, 
1880, is instructive. It must be borne in mind that at that period 
the land agitation was in full swing, that the government were 
then undecided as to the wisdom of adopting a policy of coer- 
cion, and that the law of the Land League practically reigned 
supreme. This return * shows that in the province of Leinster 
there were 58 crimes, in Munster 280, in Ulster 41, and in Con- 
naught 182, making a grand total of 561 crimes, a very large pro- 
portion of which were threatening notices only and intimidations 
of a similar character, but which included also, i. Offences against 
the person, such as assault and murder ; 2. Offences against pro- 
perty, such as incendiary fires, and taking forcible posses- 
sion, killing, cutting, and maiming cattle ; 3. Offences against 
the public peace, such as riots and affrays, injury to property, fir- 
ing into dwelhngs, and general intimidations. Much was made 
of these returns, and the English public were loud in their denun- 
ciations of such atrocious crimes ; but they must have forgotten 
the beam in their own eye, for a perusal of even an imperfect list 
of crimes committed in one week in England, taken hap-hazard 
from the newspapers, is startling. The following are a few cases 
selected in this way : 

" At Crewe a man was committed for having set fire to his master's pre- 
mises. At Manchester a man named Mayne was charged with having mur- 

* Return to an order of the House of Commons dated 6th January, 1881. 


dered his sweetheart. In London a blacksmith named Palmer was charged 
with attacking his wife in a brutal way with a hammer. At Camberwell an 
attempt by four men to drown a policeman. At Northampton [the consti- 
tuency which has immortalized itself by twice returning a notorious atheist 
as its representative] a man called Lichfield cut his wife's throat with a 
razor. At Westminster a man called Clarke killed his wife by stabbing her 
in the chest with a knife, while another in Battersea kicked his wife to 
death. At Hammersmith and Scarborough mothers were charged with 
having attempted to drown their daughters, at Norwich two soldiers with 
an attempt to suffocate a comrade, and at Liverpool a watchman is alleged 
to have beaten a boy to death. To crown all a man was charged with hav- 
ing killed his wife by running a red-hot poker into her body when asleep." 

The London Graphic of October, 1880, says: 

" Burglaries around London are as numerous as ever, notwithstanding 
the fact that extra police patrols and plain-clothes men have been placed on 
duty in the various districts. The Home Secretary has offered a reward of 
;ioo for the conviction of the recent burglaries and attempted murders at 
Lewisham and Blackheath, with a free pardon to any accomplices. It is 
said that the announcement contains a special clause excluding policemen 
from participation in reward. Robberies from churches and schools have 
also been very frequent in the southern suburbs, and three young men have 
been arrested on suspicion of being concerned in them." 

No sensible person supposes for a moment that crime in Eng- 
land excuses crime in Ireland ; but when extravagant charges 
against Irishmen are made by Froude and other writers of ability 
and distinction, and are repeated in the daily press, it is well that 
the attention of the public should be directed to the fact that 
Great Britain is not immaculate. The Pall Mall Gazette (May 2, 
1881) contained the following reference to crime in England: 

" No fewer than four murders are reported in the papers this morning. 
A superannuated excise officer near Norwich quarrelled with his wife about 
religious questions, kicked her senseless, and then hacked her head to 
pieces with a hatchet. At Manchester a telegraph-clerk, provoked by his 
wife's aggravating temper, stabbed his thirteen-months-old daughter six 
times through the heart and lungs with a chisel. On Saturday two laborers 
were committed for trial at Southwark police court for murdering their 
paramours ; in both cases the victim of brutality.was kicked to death. To 
this grim and ghastly record must be added the fact that* a laborer in 
Wandsworth Road deliberately shot a passer-by with a revolver, wounding 
him so seriously that it is feared his right arm will have to be amputated. 
It must be admitted that the merry month of May has hardly opened auspi- 
ciously for the genial optimists who are perpetually prattling about the 
progress of humanity and the advancing civilization of the nineteenth 

We mention such atrocities to show that England, which pro- 
fesses to read a lecture on morality and virtue to her sister 
country, does not come into court with clean hands. 


The greatest difference between English and Irish crime con- 
sists in the fact that in England crime lacks the excuse of suffer- 
ing, and springs from mere brutality, whilst in Ireland it is noto- 
rious that by far the greater number of crimes can be distinctly 
traced to the disastrous condition in which that country has been 
placed by centuries of continuous bad legislation. . In Great Bri- 
tain and Scotland men kick their wives to death, cut each other's 
throats with razors, drown one another, and commit acts of im- 
purity from mere wantonness and sensuality, whilst women, for 
the same reason, ruthlessly murder their illegitimate offspring. 
In Ireland, on the contrary, such things are almost unknown, and 
those who commit crimes of this character are scouted by public 
sentiment and held up to the reproach of the parish. 

In nothing is the contrast between Great Britain and Ireland 
so remarkable as in the matter of divorce. The revelations of 
the Divorce Court disclose the unpleasant and alarming fact that 
every class in English society is leavened with immorality. The 
judges who have to try the cases in London are so overwhelmed 
with a work which is perpetually increasing that it is deemed 
necessary to appoint fresh ones in order to prevent a complete 
block of business. 

" In numberless divorce cases," says the London Standard, " not only 
are the meanness and cowardice and dishonesty of the human race 
brought out just as strongly as they are in ordinary litigation, but the 
depths of grossness to which it is possible for human beings to sink are re- 
vealed to us with hideous plainness. When a man goes to law he often be-, 
trays that he is either a rogue or a very foolish person. When he is tried 
for any crime of violence he is as often shown to be an utter brute. When 
he is brought up before a magistrate for being drunk we sometimes see his 
sensual and animal propensities exhibited in a strong light. But in many 
divorce cases we find all three combined knavery, cruelty, and profligacy. 
How any kind of faith in human nature or in the purity of man or woman 
can survive a long experience of such business it is difficult to compre- 

In the period between the Michaelmas sittings of 1879 and the 
Trinity sittings of 1880 there were no less than 643 cases disposed 
of by Sir James Hannen, and yet the number that were obliged 
to stand over was such as to cause general comment. 

The last argument invariably made use of by those who are 
prejudiced against Ireland is that, even granting crime in Ireland 
is less than in England or Scotland, the criminal is not screened in 
the latter countries, but invariably reaps the reward of his crime. 
Now, we are not prepared to assert that crime in Ireland is not 
frequently undetected, for in many cases, such as the assassina- 


tion of Lord Leitrim and Lord Montmorres, no clue to the perpe- 
trators of the deed has been discovered ; but it is a mistake to sup- 
pose that crime is always detected in England and the guilty per- 
son punished. The following extract from the Pall Mall Gazette 
(April, 1881) shows this clearly : 

"Yesterday three charges of murder were tried in the English courts, 
and in each case the trial resulted in a verdict of acquittal. If similar fail- 
ures of justice had occurred in Ireland every one knows what would be 
said, but as they only took place in England they escape attention. No 
stress need be laid on the acquittal of the young woman charged with mur- 
dering her child at Bromley. The evidence was slight, and the painful 
scene in court might naturally incline the jury to mercy. George Richings, 
at Aylesbury, was accused on his own confession of having burned his para- 
mour to death in the middle of his room ; but as the poor woman, like Des- 
demona, declared with her dying breath that her lover was innocent, he was 
acquitted. In the case of the Slough murder, as the evidence against the 
butcher-boy accused of killing his mistress consisted solely of an apparent 
similarity between his handwriting and that of the murderer, it is not sur- 
prising the jury refused to convict. But it is decidedly unpleasant to think 
of the number of undiscovered murderers who are at large just now." 

It would be well for those persons who imagine that the influ- 
ence and teaching of the Catholic Church are injurious to the 
Irish people to study the opinions of impartial writers as to the 
power of Catholicity to check crime. Dr. Forbes, one of Queen 
Victoria's physicians, in a work entitled Memorandums made in 
Ireland in the Autumn 0/1852, writes : 

"At any rate, the result of my inquiries is that, whether right or wrong 
in a theological or rational point of view, this instrument of confession is, 
among the Irish of the humbler classes, a direct preservative against certain 
forms of immorality. . . . Amongst other charges preferred against confes- 
sion in Ireland and elsewhere is the facility it affords for corrupting the fe- 
male mind, and of its actually leading to such corruption. ... So far from 
such corruption resulting from the confessional, the singular purity of fe- 
male life among the lower classes is in a considerable degree dependent on 
this very circumstance. . . . With a view of testing as far as was practicable 
the truth of the theory respecting the influence of confession on this branch 
of morals, I obtained through the courtesy of the Poor-Law Commissioners 
a return of the number of legitimate and illegitimate children in the work- 
houses of each of the four provinces of Ireland on a particular day viz., 27th 
November, 1852. It is curious to mark how strikingly the results there 
conveyed correspond with the confession theory ; the proportion of ille- 
gitimate children coinciding almost exactly with the relative proportions 
of the two religions in each province, being large where the Protestant ele- 
ment is large, and small where it is small." 

A leading Presbyterian organ (the Scotsman) had the honesty 
to admit some years ago that England was nearly twice as bad, 
and Scotland nearly three times as bad, as Ireland, with re- 



gard to crimes against morality, and that in Ireland itself even the 
proportion of illegitimacy was very unequally distributed, for the 
division showing the highest proportion was the northeastern, 
which comprised the semi-English and Scotch plantation of 

In the following tables * offences are divided into three classes: 
i. Those which are in England and Ireland punishable after trial 
by jury only, and in Scotland are usually so punished ; 2. Those 
which are punishable either after trial by jury or after summary 
conviction before justices or borough magistrates ; 3. Offences 
punishable after summary conviction only. This division corre- 
sponds to the mode of trial in Scotland as well as in England and 
Ireland, and has the practical advantage of classing offences, in 
the order of importance, into (i) more serious offences ; (2) less 
serious offences; (3) minor offences. In these tables the more 
serious offences in Ireland in the year 1878 are compared with 
proportionate figures for an equal population calculated from 
the English criminal statistics for 1877 by dividing the Eng- 
lish figures by 4.5, and from the Scotch criminal statistics 
for 1877 by multiplying the Scotch figures by 1.5. Suicide 
is added, the figures being taken from those compiled by the 
registrar-general of the three countries. The more serious of- 
fences committed in Ireland in 1878 are compared with propor- 
tional English and Scotch figures for 1877 for an equal popula- 


Classes of more serious 




Difference be- 
tween Irish 
and English 

Offences in 

numbers in 
1877 for same 

numbers in 
1877 for same 



Irish numbers less than 
English and Scotch total 
of more serious offences. . 

Offences against property, 
without violence 

















6 7 


Offences against property, 
with violence 


Attempts to commit suicide. 
Forgery, etc 

Offences against purity 
Periury.. . 

* Judicial Statistics, Criminal Statistics, House of Commons, vol. Ixxvi. 


The general result of this table is, therefore, favorable to Ire- 
land as compared with both England and Scotland, the Irish 
number of more serious offences being 2,886 i.e., 1,303 less than 
the English proportionate number (4,189) and 3,039 less than the 
Scotch proportionate number (5,925). 

The Scotch come out very unfavorably in offences against 
purity, which are about double the number in Ireland 281 as 
compared with 142. 

In Class II., of offences punishable either after trial by jury or 
summary conviction, the unfavorable features of more serious of- 
fences in Ireland are carried into the les.s serious, there being a 
marked excess of malicious offences of a minor character 6,936, as 
compared with 5,165 in England and 4,709 in Scotland; and 618 
of assault and inflicting bodily harm, as compared with 112 in 
England. In morals, on the other hand, Ireland comes out favor- 
ably, the aggravated assaults on women and children being only 
337, as compared with 597 in England. In both assault and inflict- 
ing bodily harm and in aggravated assaults on women the defi- 
cient classification of the Scotch statistics is supplied by esti- 

In Class III., of offences punishable by summary conviction 
only, the Irish figures come out unfavorably, the number (212,903) 
being more than the English (101,640) and the Scotch (85,709) fig- 
ures added together (187,349). This great excess rests on three 
figures: punishable drunkenness, which was 63,238 in excess of 
the English figure ; road and way offences, which were 32,138, and 
unclassed offences, which were 22,084, in excess of the English 
figure. With a view to check the temptation to punishable 
drunkenness, Parliament, in the session of 1878, extended to the 
greater part of Ireland the Scotch law as to Sunday closing ; 
and though the act was in operation for only the last three 
months of the year 1878, the number of offences of punishable 
drunkenness was reduced from 110,000 in 1877 to 107,000 in the 
year 1878. 

In a return * moved for in the House of Commons August 
9, 1880 (by the writer of this article), of persons found guilty 
of murder in England, Wales, and Ireland in each of the under- 
mentioned years, it will be found that Ireland well bears the 

* These returns were made out by the kindness of the Secretary of State for the Home De- 
partment, but have not been officially printed and presented to the House. 



England and 








l87Q. . 



And in another return of the number of aggravated assaults on 
women and children that is to say, persons found guilty of such 
assaults in England and Wales, and in Ireland, in each of the un- 
dermentioned years (also moved for by the writer of this article) 
Ireland stands well : 


England and 



2 374 


1878 . 

2 243 


1870. . 

I Q8q 


The increase of these assaults in Ireland in the year 1879 ma y 
be attributed to the crisis which the country was then beginning 
to enter upon a crisis' of such severity that it practically ended 
in famine and was mitigated by the hand of charity only, admin- 
istered through four funds. 

Those who are loudest in denouncing Irish crime in general, 
and those crimes in particular which have been committed with- 
in the past twelve months, should not forget the state in which 
Ireland found itself during the winter of 1879-80. The special 
correspondent of the Daily Telegraph (a London Conservative 
journal) wrote thus : 

" What with smoke and the lack of openings the cabins of the poor are 
almost dark even at midday. Such, ye gentlemen of England, is a Donegal 
cabin in this present advanced year of grace, and in such a manner do 
thousands live within two days' journey of the capital of your mighty em- 
pire. The fact, you will admit, is not one to boast of. I verily believe that 
Cetewayo would not have permitted his Zulus to be housed like these 
wretched people. Uniformly miserable as are the cabins, the misery of 
their inmates is a little diversified. In one place we find the mother pre- 
paring what do you think? a dish of seaweed wherewith to flavor the 
Indian meal obtained from the relief funds ! I am not joking God forbid ! 
Her children have gone to the shore and gathered the stuff, and while I 
look on she prepares it for cooking." 


The English public are slow to realize the truth that Ireland 
is a constant prey to famine, but they are ready and willing to 
give ear to her misdemeanors. It is a remarkable fact that at the 
very time English ministers were urging the necessity of strin- 
gent coercion, and the English press were holding up Ireland 
as an island of assassins, its own criminal records showed it to 
be in a state comparatively satisfactory. The following are a 
few cases in point : The chairman of the Cavan Quarter Sessions, 
in addressing the grand jury in March, 1881, declared that there 
had only been one year in the last eight or nine in which the 
criminal business was so light. In the County Louth there were 
but two cases at Quarter Sessions, and those both at the crown 
side of the court. At Tralee, in the County Kerry, the report 
states that there were only a few trivial cases and one of forcible 

The summer assizes of 1880 are remarkable for the testimony 
of judges in all parts of the country as to the absence of crime. 
In Wexford there were only three cases to go before the grand 
jury ; in Galway, a county situated in the centre of the poorest 
and most disturbed districts, only four; in Derry, five ; in Wicklow, 
one ; in Donegal, five ; in Louth, two ; in the city of Cork, none. At 
Drogheda Judge Fitzgibbon declared that the complete absence 
of crime was not in any way owing to the inability of the police 
authorities to detect offences, for that ample supervision had been 
exercised ; and in North Tipperary, a district long celebrated for 
the excitable temper of its people, Judge O'Brien said that he was 
happy to find there were no agrarian outrages at all. 

The statement so frequently made in Parliament and on pub- 
lic platforms during the discussion on the late Coercion Bill, that 
agrarian crime was never so rife, is refuted by one single fact. 
In the year 1870 the number of agrarian outrages was 1,329. 
According to a return (No. 131) presented to the House of Com- 
mons on the motion of the late Chief Secretary for Ireland (Mr. 
J. Lowther), and already referred to, the number of agrarian 
crimes from January i, 1879, to January 31, 1880, was 977, thus 
showing that in the thirteen months during all of which the dis- 
tress was most severe, and during part of which the land agita- 
tion had begun, the number of outrages was far below the total 
of 1870. 

One of the charges most frequently made against the Irish, 
especially since the commencement of the land agitation, has been 
that of cruelty to dumb animals. Now, many brutal cases have 
undoubtedly occurred in Ireland which no right-minded person 


could condone ; but England is not immaculate on this score, and, 
though cruelty in England to the brute creation does not, as we 
have said before, excuse cruelty in Ireland, it is nevertheless some- 
what punctilious of Englishmen to expend so much energy in 
showing up the faults of their neighbors, when they are not free 
of blame themselves. In the report of the Society for the Pre- 
vention of Cruelty to Animals for the year 1876 it is stated that 
there were altogether 2,468 convictions for cruelty to animals in 
Great Britain, 953 of which were for cruelty to horses in England. 
The same report states that the manager of the London General 
Omnibus Co. acknowledges that of the 8,000 horses employed by 
this company three out of every five have to be sold to knackers, 
two out of every five to agriculturists, after fifty-four months, and 
that this fact justly enough involves agony of terrible intensity. 
In the year 1877 there were 2,726 convictions, and in the year 
1878 there were 3,533 convictions, of which 2,156 were for 
cruelty to horses, 148 to donkeys, 86 to dogs, and 64 to cats. 
Sir Charles Dilke, the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Af- 
fairs, in a speech made in November, 1880, gave as one of the rea- 
sons why the government might be obliged to adopt measures 
of coercion for Ireland the fact that forty-seven cattle had been 
killed or maimed in Ireland during the preceding ten months. 
Whether or no this statement was accurate we do not know, but 
as he founded his reasoning on the said forty-seven reported cases 
of cruelty to animals, and as it is reasonable to suppose that few 
cases of cruelty to large and valuable animals, such as cattle, horses, 
or sheep, are likely to have passed unreported in Ireland, we may 
assume that the number is correct. It is, therefore, instructive to 
note the advertised return of convictions obtained in England by the 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals for one single 
month (November, 1880): 

Horses working in an unfit state 167 

beating kicking, stabbing, etc 28 

overdriving and overloading 4 

starving by withholding food i 

Donkeys working in an unfit state 7 

beating, kicking, etc 9 

Cattle beating, kicking, etc 4 

overstocking (distending udders) 2 

cutting for identification I 

improperly killing 2 

Sheep beating, kicking, stabbing, etc 3 

Pigs " " " i 

Dogs " " " , 7 

" starving by withholding food. 2 


Cats setting dogs to worry i 

" cutting tails off 3 

F ow l s beating, kicking, stabbing, etc I 

' ' overcrowding in baskets 2 

" allowing to remain in toothed trap. I 

Geese beating, kicking, etc I 

Pigeons improperly conveying 4 

Hyenas burning during menagerie performance I 

A rgall beating, kicking, etc I 

Various owners causing offences , 70 

Total 323 

In the year 1879 the convictions for cruelty to animals in Eng- 
land reached the total of 3,725, which included such atrocities as 
pulling the tongues out of horses, burning cats alive, and pouring 
turpentine down dogs' throats. 

It should never be forgotten that crime in Ireland is of a pe- 
culiar and indigenous character, and that circumstances rather 
than inclination have made it. The Howard Association recently 
published a pamphlet on the subject in connection with Irish 
prisons, which, amongst a great deal of interesting matter, con- 
tained the following passage : " The remedy may be ultimately 
proved to consist not so much in either penal or parliamentary 
as in religious, moral, and scientific agencies." This may or may 
not be true, but our belief has always been that if the causes that 
now engender agrarian crime in Ireland were removed crime itself 
would soon dwindle to insignificant proportions. 

The following table, compiled by Mr. Sexton, member for 
Sligo, from the Annual Statistics published by Dr. Hancock, is 
significant as indicating what we have endeavored to point out 
viz., that agrarian crime (and there is comparatively little other 
crime] in Ireland depends upon the pressure of distress and pov- 

Crime in England marches onward and every day brings new 
developments. One of the latest is the sale of wives. Not many 
years ago a woman was sold in Runcorn by her husband for a 
mere trifle. Wigan and Bolton have witnessed similar scenes. 
Bury owned a woman who was sold in the market-place, whither 
her husband had brought her with her neck in a rope, imagining 
that there was some law which required that form to make the 
transaction legal. In Prescota man who became the purchaser of 
a spouse from a friend actually tried to get an advertisement into 
the local papers formally announcing the fact, believing that such 
publication would place the validity of the contract beyond cavil. 



At Bedford Leigh a fireman gave away his wife, child, and fur- 
niture to a friend, and the woman accepted the change as com- 
placently as if she were some slave to be disposed of at pleasure 
a transaction which was reported in a respectable daily paper as 
" an amusing affair." 


Number of agrarian 
crimes specially _ re- 
ported by the police. 

Remarks of the official statistician. 

*i86 3 



/ Years of pressure through distress. Report 
f fot 1868. 







Greater pressure of distress. Report for 




The number of offences against property, 

with violence, seems to vary in each year 

with the extent of distress prevailing in 

the country. Report for 1868. 

*i86 9 


*i8 7 o 






x 1873 








*i8 7 7 


The winter of 1877 and spring of 1878 have 

been periods of exceptional pressure on 

the poor. Report for 1878. 





The last year when there was a similar in- 

crease of crime was 1862. In the report for 1863 the observation is made 

that the change from decrease to increase was owing to the amount of dis- 

tress in these two years. The special measures which became necessary to 

relieve distress in 1879 indicated that the pressure was greater than in 1862, 

and more nearly approached in some districts the famine of 1847. These 

figures indicate the effect of the pressure of distress in producing crime. 

Report for 1879. 

We do not give these cases simply as items of news, but be- 
cause they reveal an ominous state of society, and because the 
Pharisees of the British press are perpetually dilating on the sins 
of their neighbors whilst they gloss over their own. 

An article appeared in the Friend of India (of November, 
1880) which may be taken as typical of the general feeling ex- 
pressed by those who look at Ireland from a distance. Having 
stated that the terrorism and outrages attributed to the action of 
the Land League were not to be compared with the crimes in 
vogue in Sheffield and elsewhere, where trades-unions were out- 
side the pale of the law, it proceeded as follows : 

* Years of distress. 


" In Ireland every amelioration in the condition of her people has had 
to be extracted out of England almost by physical force, and has only then 
been conceded when there seemed no alternative but civil war. It is all 
very well for Englishmen to declare they will not be bullied into yielding to 
the desires of the Irish people. The Irish know better; they know that if 
bullied sufficiently they are certain to yield, and that without bullying they 
would do nothing. These methods may be lawless, but English law has 
been to Ireland for centuries the negation of justice, an organized system 
of lawlessness." 

Language of this character is very significant and illustrates 
forcibly the theory we have always held that if Ireland were gov- 
erned in a manner more just and more in harmony with the wishes 
of her people the amount of crime would be but small. 

Many persons are firmly persuaded that the Irish, as being a 
Celtic race, are, by some perverse ordinance of nature, prone to 
violence and disorder. We would draw the attention of such to 
the following : Mr. Gladstone asked the House of Commons in 
the year 1870 to investigate where in Ireland the ratio of agrarian 
crime to the number of evictions was highest and where it was 
the lowest, and they would find that in Connaught, where the 
Celtic race largely preponderated, the ratio of agrarian crime to 
evictions was far less than in Ulster, where, as is well known, there 
is the largest infusion of non-Celtic blood. 

In an essay on crime in England and Ireland it is only right 
to note the wide prominence given by the English press to ac- 
counts of Irish outrages and crime accounts which editors have 
not hesitated to insert, whilst they have refused to publish the 
contradictions that have been sent them. Not once or twice but 
many times during the past twelve months the writer of this ar- 
ticle felt it his duty to call attention to gross exaggerations and 
actual misstatements that appeared in English papers regard- 
ing Irish crime, but, with very few exceptions, insertion was not 
given to his letters. It frequently happens, moreover, that when 
denials are inserted leading articles appear neutralizing the de- 
nial ; thus, an Irish landlord who wrote to a " society " paper to 
contradict a report that he was in bodily fear of his life, and who 
said he had always lived most happily with his tenants, was told 
that he was an exception, not to the general rule, but to the inva- 
riable rule ; and it was added,* with a sneer of contempt, that 
such tenants were not to be found in all Ireland. The writer of 
the article had probably never visited Ireland, or, if he had, knew 

* The Case of Ireland Stated. By M. F. Cusack, the Nun of Kenmare. 


nothing whatever of the relations between Irish landlords and 

Happily for Ireland, however, there have always been a few 
noble exceptions men who have not hesitated to attribute the 
faults of Irishmen more to bad legislation and bad government 
than to any inherent viciousness of the people. Sydney Smith, 
in an article in the Edinburgh Review in the year 1820, nine years 
before Catholic Emancipation had been granted, wrote as follows : 

"The consequence of the long mismanagement and oppression of Ire- 
land, and of the singular circumstances in which it is placed, is that it is a 
semi-barbarous country more shame to those who have thus ill-treated a 
fine country and fine people ; but it is part of the present case of Ireland. 
. . . Want of unity in feeling and interest among the people, irritability, vio- 
lence, and revenge, habitual disobedience to the law, want of confidence in 
magistrates, corruption, venality, etc., etc., all carry back the observer to 
that remote and early condition of mankind which an Englishman can 
learn only in the pages of the antiquary or the historian. We do not draw 
this picture for censure but for truth. We admire the Irish, feel the most 
sincere pity for the state of Ireland, and think the conduct of the English 
to that country to have been a system of atrocious cruelty and contempti- 
ble meanness." 

And in another essay in the same Review, written in the year 
1827, he says : 

"The Irish were quiet under the severe code of Queen Anne ; so the 
half-murdered man left on the ground bleeding by thieves is quiet, and he 
only moans and cries for help as he recovers." 

We give these quotations, not because we are prepared to 
substantiate them, but to point out how an unprejudiced Eng- 
lishman regarded the question of crime in Ireland, and to 
strengthen our argument that the amount of crime is largely and 
principally due to misgovernment. It is scarcely an exaggera- 
tion to say that for two hundred years each successive ministry 
sought to rival its predecessor in cruelty and brutality to the 
Irish people, and thus gave a direct impetus to the existence of 
those characteristics of crime which a sentimental public at the 
present day so loudly condemn. The history of the last fifty 
years has been to reverse such a disastrous policy, and we trust 
that Ireland may yet receive her just reward. 



From the German of the Countess Hahn-Hakn, by Mary H. A. Allies. 




TEN o'clock struck. It was a stormy night. The wind sighed 
and moaned, the rain fell in loud and heavy drops from the dark 
sky above, but the noisy whistle which announced the arrival of 
a train overpowered the voice of the raging elements, and the 
train rolled slowly into the brilliantly-lighted station. The guards 
opened the carriages ; out tumbled the travellers, and then be- 
gan the thickly-packed crowd, the pushing, squeezing, searching, 
calling, and moving- about which always follow upon the arrival 
at its destination of a train from a distance, and which are ex- 
ceedingly aggravated when its destination is the capital and the 
hour of its arrival the evening. In the midst of a general con- 
fusion, in which people have no eyes for their neighbors, except 
it be to seek out their own party or acquaintances in the crowd, 
a young person suitably but quietly dressed escaped observation. 
She was standing on the platform and calling out from time to 
time into the busy hum the words " Miss Sylvia." No notice 
was vouchsafed to her appeal, till at last a guard came up to her 
and said in a grumbling tone : 

" Now, then, miss, what's all this noise about ? Stand out of 
the way." 

" Don't, Mr. Guard," she replied in a tone which asked for 
sufferance. " I am here to meet a lady whom I don't know at 
all, and who doesn't know me, for she is coming from a dis- 

" So you stand there and make that noise? There's no sense 
in it." 

" Very much, Mr. Guard ; for who is likely to be called * Syl- 
via ' here ? Nobody. So I call out Miss Sylvia and think that 
she will hear me in the end." 

" As the lady comes from a distance, she will have luggage 


and be over there where it is taken out. If you go there you 
will be sure to find her." 

" Thank you," she replied, and she hurried in the given di- 
rection till she came upon a compact mass of people who were 
eagerly trying to secure their boxes, trunks, portmanteaus, band- 
boxes, and travelling-bags. 

Again she called out " Miss Sylvia," and this time she fol- 
lowed up the words by an exclamation of joyful surprise, for she 
discovered a young lady who was looking about her in bewilder- 
ment. She was dressed entirely in black and seemed tired and 
done up, as if she had had a hard day's journey. 

" I wonder whether you are ' Miss Sylvia,' niece to Mr. 
Privy Counsellor Prost ? If you are I am here to fetch you. " 

" I am," rejoined the young lady. 

" Quick with your luggage ticket. What have you ? Two 
boxes. Wait here and look after your purse, bag, and umbrella. 
There are all kinds of people about." 

A few minutes later Sylvia was sitting next to her active com- 
panion in the carriage which had been waiting, and driving 
through the bright and dazzling streets to Herr Prost's house. 

" Are you my aunt's maid ? " she asked timidly. 

" Not maid," was the answer. " Mile. Victoire is your aunt's 
maid, and Mile. Josephine, a real Parisian, is maid to the two 
young ladies. I am the wardrobe-keeper, or, if you like, third 
lady's maid." 

" And what is your name ? " 

" My name is Bertha, if you please Bertha Lindner -and I 
belong to this place." 

" I am very much obliged to you, Bertha, for taking so much 
trouble for me. How glad I was when you found me out ! It 
is so horrid to arrive at a crowded station late in the evening." 

" To be sure, such business does not belong to my work," an- 
swered Bertha somewhat condescendingly. " On an ordinary 
day a servant in livery would have gone to fetch you. But to- 
day there is a grand dinner in honor of Miss Valentine's engage- 
ment, so no servant could leave home." 

" Grand dinner ! Oh ! dear, and must I go into that ? " asked 
Sylvia in a fright. 

" Make yourself easy, miss," replied Bertha in a patronizing 
tone. " Your aunt gave orders that you should be taken direct- 
ly to your room and go to bed, if you like." 

" Whom is my cousin engaged to ? " asked Sylvia, set at ease 
by this information. 



" To an immensely rich Herr Goldisch, from Hamburg." 

" Goldisch ? Doesn't that sound like a Jewish name ? " said 
Sylvia simply. 

" I beg your pardon, miss ; it sounds English. Herr Gold- 
isch is really English by birth, and Miss Valentine has al- 
ready said that she will always write Goldish without the c ; 
then nobody can doubt about its being English. For the matter 
of that, Jews are human beings, and often very rich ones." 

Sylvia had nothing to say to this. " But I am surprised," 
she remarked, " at a grand dinner on a Friday." 

" Do you, then, look upon Friday as an unlucky day, like Jose- 
phine ?" asked Bertha with some compassion. "/ don't. But I 
must say that I think the number 13 is unlucky, and it makes us 
very unhappy that the engagement is kept to-day ; Josephine dis- 
likes it because it is Friday, and I because it is the I3th of Octo- 
ber. Yes, indeed, miss, I must tell you that I felt quite a turn 
when I saw ' No. 13' on your boxes. You come to the house 
with 'No. 13'; that is very unfortunate for you and means 
nothing good. Date and luggage agree." 

Before Sylvia had time to give a reassuring answer the car- 
riage drew up before a large house whose entrance and first 
story were brilliantly lighted up. The concierge in livery receiv- 
ed Sylvia with a majestical respect ; men were at hand to carry 
the luggage, and Bertha led the young girl up a back staircase to 
the room prepared for her. 

" Oh ! how pretty," Sylvia cried out in joyful surprise as she 
walked in and set herself down comfortably on the luxurious chaise- 
longue. And certainly the room deserved her exclamation. It was 
rather low, being on the entresol, but, combined with the hospita- 
ble lamp, the cheerful fire, the delicate perfume of vanilla suffused 
by pastilles, this served rather to increase the feeling of comfort. 
Besides comfort an atmosphere of elegant cosiness was furthered by 
white portieres set off with small bouquets of roses, rich curtains, 
lined with corresponding pink calico, to windows and alcove, a 
downy carpet, a large mirror, and costly furniture. The con- 
trast between the raw, gray, damp journey and the room hence- 
forth to be hers, where all was light, warm, and downy, acted so 
powerfully on Sylvia that, after the first impulse of pleased sur- 
prise, she fell to weeping. 

In the meantime Bertha had drawn back the curtains from 
the alcove, put some wood on the fire, and looked to see if the 
windows were fast closed behind their curtains. At last she said 
consolingly : " Don't cry, miss. It is indeed very sad to be an 


orphan, but look how pretty everything is here, all white and pink. 
Isn't the border of the dressing-table beautiful ? And just look 
how comfortable these two cupboards in the alcove are. But 
now you must be hungry. I will go and fetch you some roast 
meat, or cutlet, or whatever else the cook has, in no time." 

" I only want some tea," said Sylvia, struggling to steady her 

" No, miss, that won't do. You must eat some meat after 
your long journey, or you will be tired out." 

" No, thank you, Bertha. On Friday Catholics mayn't eat 

" My goodness, miss ! you are just such a Catholic as Mile. 
Victoire," rejoined Bertha, quite perturbed. "I didn't know it. 
I will see about the tea." 

She went off busily, and Sylvia remained alone. Alone she 
was in the bustling town, in the large house, in her pretty room 
quite alone. The consciousness of her lonely position pressed 
upon her heart like a dead weight, and she was torn by sharp 

But whither would her homesickness have led her? What 
could her native place offer her ? What had she in the small 
town where she was born and where her parents had lived? 
Five graves nothing more. She had no home. But there were 
her childhood's playmates, her guardian, well-known faces alto- 
gether a dear spot ; and Sylvia wished for a pair of wings to fly 
out of the charming pink and white room to the very ordinary 
apartment she had lately been sharing with her guardian's three 
daughters. Above her on the first floor she heard the hum of 
voices, the coming and going of people, the scraping of chairs, 
suggestive of a large party. Everywhere there was movement, 
everywhere people in the courtyard, in the streets, in the house 
and she, as it were between the inner and outer world, was 
alone. If she might only have seen her aunt for a minute and 
been allowed to kiss her, or if her aunt had only come to her or 
sent for her to give her a quiet welcome ! Her heart beat as the 
door opened, poor child ! It was Bertha. 

" Here, miss, I bring you something to eat: tea, boiled eggs, 
preserved fruits, cream, and pastry. Now try to enjoy it," said 
Bertha, as she spread the things out in their nice order. " I am 
sure you must be dreadfully tired, coming from the other side of 
the Rhine at one stroke. But it must be fearfully dull to live so 
very far from our beautiful capital." 

" I have not found it so," replied Sylvia. 


" But were there a theatre, and opera, and ballet there, and 
gas-lights and wonderful shops, and such things inside, too ? " 

Sylvia was obliged to own that there was no one of these 
things in her native place. 

" Then, indeed, miss, you will see wonderful things here and 
learn to enjoy your life," said Bertha with deep conviction. 

But her loquacity did not prevent her from attending to 
Sylvia, who said, quite comforted : " Many thanks, Bertha. I give 
you too much trouble. I can do this very well myself. But do 
.tell me who is next door." 

" Miss Isidora. Then comes Miss Wilmot with little Harry, 
then Frau Roll, the housekeeper, then we ladies' maids, then there 
are bath and wash-rooms. That takes up the entresol. On the 
ground floor there are your uncle's rooms and office ; on the 
first floor there are your aunt's rooms and reception-rooms ; on 
the second floor there are the young gentlemen and spare rooms. 
Miss Valentine used to sleep in this room, but now she has got 
one next to her mamma, because she thought Mr. Goldisch's bride 
ought to have silk furniture and hangings, and not remain on the 
entresol any longer. And Miss Valentine always gets her way." 

When Sylvia was alone she took a prayer-book out of her 
bag and ran her eyes along the room and alcoves. However, 
she did not find what she sought. There were no signs of cruci- 
fix, religious picture, or holy-water stoup. She took out a small 
silver crucifix which her mother had always worn, put the tea-tray 
on one side of the dressing-table, and her prayer-book and crucifix 
on the other, and said to herself, quite pleased, " This will do for 
a little altar." Then she knelt down devoutly to say her night 



THE young girl who arrived so quietly at Herr Frost's stir- 
ring house was called Sylvia von Neheirn. Frau Frost was her 
mother's sister. These two sisters had had a very different lot, and 
their paths had led far apart from each other. Both were yery 
beautiful, but looks were their only dowry, as the former renown 
of an ancient lineage had long since died out and given way to the 
most modest circumstances. After an eight years' engagement 
the elder sister married Herr von Neheim, who, as poor as she 


herself, had only then succeeded in finding a government ap- 
pointment with a salary sufficient to marry upon. As it was it 
was scanty enough, and it became still further reduced by debts 
which had to be discharged. He had gone through all his 
studies and the dreary years which aspirants to state service 
without a fortune have to encounter. Had it not been for Frau 
von Neheim's extraordinary frugality and activity the little 
household would soon have fallen into the greatest confusion ; 
but, energetic as she was, with sound heart and head, she kept the 
fragile boat which carried her life's happiness above water, and 
bore with her hypochondriacal, fitful, yet worthy husband with a 
persevering tenderness astonishing to all the world, and which 
furnished another proof of the insoluble problem how it not un- 
frequently happens that in marriage the most lovable part loves 
more than it is loved. Sylvia was the first child of this marriage. 
Five years before Sylvia's birth Frau von Neheim's young- 
est sister had already married Herr Prost, who at thirty-two, 
dazzled and charmed by her beauty, for the first time in his 
life forbore to make a profitable speculation. He met her and 
her mother by chance as he was staying with some friends in the 
country, with whom he had purposed to spend only one day. 
But he remained eight days, and at the end of that time he was 
engaged. Four weeks later he was married and on the way to 
Paris with his young wife. There he spent some years in com- 
munication with the largest business houses. He had a wonder- 
ful talent at once for seizing favorable conjunctures and for turn- 
ing the largest penny by them. On going to Paris he owned a 
considerable inherited fortune, and there his speculations, always 
fortunate, were sometimes brilliant. In this way he increased it 
notably, and by degrees he became a very rich man, then a mil- 
lionaire. As yet he had not lived up to his wealth. He was of 
opinion that he must increase his principal before he could play 
tricks with it. Then came the year 1848. The revolutions which 
were the order of the day in Europe generally, and which dis- 
placed so many of its great people, so far from affecting him pre- 
judicially, brought him an advantageous change. He got a letter 
from his native town, the capital, telling him of the bankruptcy 
of one of the largest firms, that a beautiful house was to be sold 
for a mere song, that the expectations of the liberal party were 
high, and that the time was favorable for a return to his own 
country. As soon as Herr Prost had ascertained the truth of 
this information he took his wife and children to Ems and went 
to the capital to .see about his house. His wife had wished for 


the stay at Ems because Herr and Frau von Neheim were there 
for the waters. 

The sisters had not seen each other for thirteen years. Dur- 
ing all that time the one had not left Paris and its neighborhood, 
and the other had not moved from her small town on the hazel 
banks of the Moselle. The one, with her four children and as 
many servants, abounded in Parisian elegance and English com- 
fort ; the other was single-handed at Ems with her husband and 
little girl of eight, and had been obliged to leave her three little 
boys behind her at home under the charge of a trustworthy 
nurse. One was so pretty, so fresh, and so blooming that nobody 
would have thought her thirty-two, whilst the other sister was 
taken to be ten years older than she really was. The one had 
never been aroused from her apathy by any disturbing or un- 
comfortable occurrence; the other, with her heroic spirit, had 
lived in the midst of a thousand cares for the present and the fu- 
ture. But in spite of all outward and inward want of resem- 
blance the sisters were fond of each other and were pleased to be 
together. Not so Herr von Neheim and Herr Prost. The two 
brothers-in-law took entirely opposite views in politics. Herr 
von Neheim was one of those conservatives who see the saving 
of the world in leaving respected dust on respected deeds. Herr 
Prost was a liberal of the stamp described by Eulenspiegel's say- 
ing : " Give me yours ; I mean to keep what is mine." As long 
as Herr Prost stayed at Ems Herr von Neheim used to tell his 
wife that he must give up the Cur, as it did him harm on account 
of the unceasing worry of his brother-in-law's arguments ; but 
when he was gone the hypochondriacal and peevish man began 
to complain of his sister-in-law. He called her purse-proud and 
ostentatious, and, whilst Frau von Neheim's unselfishness did not 
grudge her sister one of the comforts of her riches, he could not 
resist many little innuendoes on the uneven division of temporal 
goods. His wife had so accustomed him to be the central figure, 
the pivot, that when Frau Prost, without making any secret of 
it, laid claim to the same position he took mortal offence and 
thought her preposterously selfish. Herr Prost left his wife free 
as to the children, the household, the daily life with its require- 
ments and amusements ; she was entire mistress, and she de- 
manded to be such. She did not care to be initiated into his 
speculations and combinations, or even to cast a furtive glance 
at his money concerns. It would have appealed to her power 
of endurance, and she was no friend to endurance of any kind. 
With her things must be smoothly and leisurely done. Like a 


ball wrapped up in velvet and silk she rolled over the soft 
carpet of her life's course. That such a woman should have 
neither the inclination nor the habit of thinking of others ought 
to have estranged no one, except, indeed, a brother-in-law of 
Herr von Neheim's character. Every day discord was at 
work, though, to be sure, it preyed upon nothing more serious 
than a drive one day or a donkey party the next small things 
which simply aroused much astonishment in Frau Frost's mind. 
But they were quite enough to upset Herr von Neheim, and he 
was glad when his stay at Ems came to an end. Frau Prost, 
who had gone to Ems only for her sister's sake, betook herself 
to a rented country-house in Rheingau for the late summer, and 
invited Frau von Neheim to visit her there. 

" And what is to become of our children ? " asked Herr von 
Neheim peevishly. 

" Why, Clara will bring them," said Frau Prost. 

"And what am I to do?" he exclaimed in the same tone. 

" Well, you will come with Clara, I imagine." 

" And my deeds?" he said with increasing impetuosity. 

" You can bring them with you, too," she said peaceably. 

" And my sessions, too? No, this won't do," he blurted out. 

" You won't let me put a word in," said Frau von Neheim, 
laughing, " or I should have declined your kind invitation at once, 
dear Teresa, as we are not easily moved." 

Thereupon Frau Prost was satisfied, and the sisters parted 
never to meet again. 

Frau Prost went from her villeggiatura at Eltville to her 
beautiful town-residence, and Frau von Neheim returned to her 
modest housekeeping. A life of luxury, expenditure, and enter- 
tainment on the largest scale began for Frau Prost, but sorrow 
followed upon sorrow for Frau von Neheim, who lost her three 
sons in the course of time. Then she herself began to ail, and 
when Sylvia was scarcely seventeen years old the poor mother 
died. This was too much for Herr von Neheim. Only then he 
found out what he had lost in her and how much he had loved her. 
His fancifulnes's had clouded over his affection ; but now that this 
crowning grief, following upon his earlier bereavements, absorbed 
his whims and caprices, he realized for the first time what his 
love had been. He was inconsolable, and in his selfishness he 
chose to be inconsolable. 

Sylvia had a dreary life all alone with her father, whom, on 
account of his uncertain temper, she had always rather feared 
than lovecL Frau von Neheim would say to her children : 


" Poor papa has a headache and is tired with his work, so 
you mustn't bother him on any account. When you see him you 
mustn't squabble, or call out, or talk so much." The children 
would obey their kind and loving mother, feeling- very sorry for 
" poor papa," and they would hush their talk when he came in, 
and be shy before him. They were glad to break loose from him, 
because he frightened away their childish pleasure. Although 
as Sylvia grew older, and her mother encouraged her to more 
freedom, she got a little more accustomed to him, yet she never 
felt quite herself with her father. And when, after her mother's 
death, she saw how he shut himself up in his grief, she fell back 
again into the old shyness, which at times became an overpower- 
ing constraint. But even in his sorrow he w r as faithful to his 
methodical habits, so that Sylvia saw him only at meal-time and 
during the walk which she had been used to take with him for 
several years. Generally his conversation with her then amounted 
to two or three remarks about the weather or some household 
matter, but sometimes he would bitterly complain of his disappoint- 
ed life, of his toiling, poverty-stricken youth, of the long years 
during which his promised bride had waited for him in her 
bloom, of his small means, of the ill-health which had hindered 
him from getting on in his career, and of the consequent cares 
which had been so many nails, perhaps, in his dear wife's coffin. 
What could Sylvia answer ? God rules over such circumstances, 
and she felt it, but she never even dreamed of saying it in so 
many words. Sometimes she would cry over her poor father's 
troubles, and sometimes she would answer that this and that had 
not seemed so very hard to her mother. 

" Yes, your mother was an angel," Herr von Neheim would 
say ; " but, I repeat it, she would be living now if her life had 
been less hard and troubled." 

" Let us hope that she is now in heaven," Sylvia would an- 
swer softly. 

" And that I may soon be with her," Herr von Neheim would 
add, not considering the poor child's feelings ; for although he 
was a Catholic in belief, he wanted that spirit of faith which puts 
us on our guard against self-seeking. Suffice it to say that his 
health went from bad to worse, and ten months after his wife's 
death he was laid beside her in the peaceful churchyard, and 
Sylvia was an orphan in the midst of five green mounds of earth. 
What was to become of her ? She did not know. An old col- 
lege friend of her father's, Herr von Lehrbach, was her guardian, 
and he undertook to ask Frau Prost if she had any wish about 


Fraulein von Neheim, or whether she were disposed to do any- 
thing for her. There could be no question of provision, as all his 
ward's fortune consisted in the sale of furniture and household 
goods. Frau Prost answered that she would be very much pleas- 
ed to have her niece to live with her, but that she would not 
be at home before October, on account of taking the waters, and 
that till then she begged Herr von Lehrbach to provide for 
Sylvia at her expense. He was quite relieved to have thus se- 
cured her future, and took her into his own house for the time, 
where she was treated like a sister by his daughters, formerly her 
childhood's playmates, now her friends. In the meantime he saw 
after Herr von Neheim's affairs, and thought himself fortunate 
to be able to scrape together about two thousand guilders for 

Although in mourning for her father, Sylvia could not help, 
feeling quite at home in her guardian's house. It was a pleasant, 
simple, cheerful family life, composed of father and mother, three 
grown-up daughters, and two sons, one the eldest and one the 
youngest. From a home always quiet, but which had become a 
dreary solitude since her mother's death, Sylvia found herself all 
at once in the midst of a freshness and youth altogether sympathetic 
to her age. She wondered at her own spirits, but she could not 
keep them under control. At times she was still cast down, and 
then she would cry about her father and mother and her orphan- 
hood ; but Frau von Lehrbach's tender and earnest words of con- 
solation dried her tears, though she knew not how. She would 
have been only too well pleased to stay in the happy home, and 
Herr and Frau von Lehrbach would have been glad to keep her 
there ; but out of regard for Sylvia's future they felt that her go- 
ing to her aunt was absolutely necessary. Sylvia knew her aunt 
only through the visit to Ems ten years back, and her memory 
was somewhat hazy on the subject. On the other hand, she had 
a lively remembrance of her continual bickerings with her cousin 
Valentine, who, a year older than she, had much nicer clothes 
and spoke French with more ease than German, and thought her- 
self thereby authorized to order Sylvia about, which Sylvia much 
objected to, so that the two cousins were on much the same 
terms as Herr von Neheim and Herr Prost. This made her a 
little anxious, and the impression was fostered by her father's 
never having mentioned Herr and Frau Prost without a touch of 
bitterness. Herr Prost's influence and importance grew with his 
riches : he became Geheime-Commerzienrath ; half a dozen orders 
decorated his breast ; as the possessor of money and lands he sat 


in the Pairskammer in a double capacity ; and if he was not raised 
to the rank of a nobleman it was his own fault. In case of his 
death he foresaw that his children would be " poor beggars of 
barons," as he expressed it ; when he should have provided a 
millionaire's portion for each, and thus ensured the feathers for 
their nests, then he might think about a title. Herr von Neheim 
had great contempt for this rise due to money-making. To his 
mind the incomparable parchment was the only way to honors 
and dignity, and sterling qualities were depreciated in the dis- 
tinctions apt to be bestowed by princes on lucky speculators, and 
which are due to merit alone. If he was not wrong as to the 
latter point he was much mistaken in making merit and a paper 
pedigree all one. In short, he felt his family and position, and 
indirectly his own person, aggrieved by Herr Prost, and all his 
wife's efforts to bring him to a charitable state of mind had been 

Sylvia had overheard similar conversations too often not to 
be influenced by them, and, as it happened that her father's view 
corresponded with her own impression of Valentine, she was 
more disposed to side with him than with her mother in the mat- 
ter. And now she was to go to these very people as a poor, 
almost friendless, orphan. For a whole week before her departure 
she cried all night long, and looked so pale and wretched that 
Frau von Lehrbach, in great anxiety, expressed her fears to her 
husband that Sylvia's homesickness would be too much for her. 
But he answered : " She positively must go to her aunt's. If she 
can't bear it when she gets there, and they will let us have her 
back, then let her come by all means ; I have nothing against it. 
But she must try it, because these people don't know us, and they 
might think we wanted to keep Sylvia on account of the money 
they pay for her." 

Thus it was that with bitter tears Sylvia went off as soon as 
October came and a fitting opportunity could be found in the 
shape of a lady who was going as far as the station before the 
capital. Frau Prost was apprised by telegram of the day and 
hour of Sylvia's arrival, and on Friday, the i$th of October, 1858, 
a date which Bertha Lindner considered doubly unlucky, Sylvia, 
quiet and unnoticed, took up her abode in her aunt's house. 




WHEN, on the following morning, Bertha noiselessly entered 
Sylvia's room, she exclaimed in amazement: " What ! already up, 
miss, and dressed and unpacked ? Why, I thought you would 
have slept till twelve o'clock." 

" No," said Sylvia, " I am not accustomed to that. And now 
I should like to go to Mass." 

" You really can't, miss. Mile. Victoire has been back from 
Mass some time, and no one else goes to church of a week-day. 
On Sunday they all drive there at eleven, and to-morrow is Sun- 
day. What can I bring you now ? What will you have cocoa, 
coffee, tea, or chocolate?" 

" Couldn't I breakfast with my cousins ? " asked Sylvia. 

" It isn't the custom here, miss," said Bertha in the tone 
of one who gives information. " The master and mistress and 
young ladies and gentlemen all meet at twelve o'clock for the 
second breakfast, which they take together. But the first thing 
in the morning everybody takes whatever they like whenever 
they like." 

Sylvia gave way to the established custom and thought with a 
heavy heart of the comfortable round breakfast-table in the Lehr- 
bachs' house. Somehow then her beautiful room charmed her 
less than on the previous evening. She went on with her unpack- 
ing, putting the things away in the drawers and wardrobes, whilst 
Bertha lent her a helpful hand. At last Bertha asked : " Is that 
all ? " 

" Yes," answered Sylvia, somewhat ashamed. " I have been a 
year in mourning for my mother, and shall be nearly another for 
my father ; and in mourning you don't want many clothes." 

" Two whole years in black !" exclaimed Bertha, disgusted. 
"We have no such custom here. Mourning is worn for six 
weeks. What would the shop people do with all their pretty 
things, if people wore mourning for years ? " 

" Pretty things belong to gay, happy people," answered Syl- 
via, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. 

"O miss ! you will be so happy and so gay here," said Ber- 
tha consolingly. Then she flew away, and soon came back with 
Sylvia's breakfast. 

" Isn't this a lovely service, miss ? " she began. " It matches 


your room and is of little roses. Wherever you look here you 
see roses." But in spite of the roses on hangings, papering, and 
china, Sylvia was sad. 

Then a knock was heard at the door, and scarcely had Sylvia 
time to say, " Come in," when a girl ran into the room, gave Syl- 
via a hug, and said : 

" So here you are ! I am so glad, and so glad, too, that you 
are going to stay. I am Isidora. We are going to be very, very 
great friends, aren't we ? " 

" Indeed we are," said Sylvia warmly. 

" How do you like your room ? Isn't it too pretty ? Can you 
understand Valentine's not finding it elegant enough ? But your 
blotting-book there is very old ; it spoils the look of the nice writ- 
ing-table. I will give you another one." 

" No, please don't," exclaimed Sylvia. " It was my poor 
mother's blotting-book, so I like to use it on her account." 

" Well, at least put it inside, so that it mayn't be seen," replied 
Isidora, who carried out her own advice before Sylvia could stop 

Another knock was heard at the door. Mile. Victoire appear- 
ed. She came to inquire after Sylvia and to fetch her- to her 
aunt. But as Mile. Victoire spoke French with her soft, short, 
Parisian accent, whereas Sylvia was accustomed only to the hard 
French of the Rhine, she was obliged to think twice if she had 
understood correctly, and Isidora had time to ask laughingly, 
" Can't you speak French ? " 

" It seems I can't," said Sylvia somewhat impatiently, whilst 
Isidora took her by the arm upstairs to Frau Prost. 

Sylvia had never before been in a really large and fashionable 
house. Everything seemed to her regal in its magnificence, from 
the carpet on the stairs, the waxed floors, the large panes of glass, 
to the luxurious furniture, pictures, and mirrors in massive gold 
frames. She felt that she was a stranger in the midst of all these 
splendors, and she was frightened and constrained as she entered 
her aunt's room. 

Frau Geheime-Commerzienrath Prost or, as she styled her- 
self for short, Frau Geheimrathin* was still a very pretty woman, 
with delicately carved features, rich flaxen hair, and a dazzling 
complexion. Except for the departed freshness of early youth, 
and a portliness which does not generally belong to it, she might 
well have held her own among youthful beauties. Her face ex- 
pressed a kindly repose. She looked as if she were preserved in 

* We shall drop this Germanism in the narrative. 


easy-goingness, and as if nothing by any possibility could act 
upon her as a disturbing element. You would have said that she 
was perfectly satisfied with herself and with everything and 
everybody belonging to her, and that she would allow absolutely 
nothing to come between her and her comfortable equilibrium of 

" Come here, my love," she said kindly, and drew Sylvia 
towards her on the chaise-longue. " Sit down by me. Don't cry. 
You shall be like my own child quite my third daughter. What 
would you like to do best ? Would you like to see my dia- 
monds ? It will amuse you, won't it? It kills time very plea- 
santly. Afterwards we will talk about your dress. Of course 
your poor father never troubled himself about it. We will see 
about it, won't we, love ? Isidora, go and call your sister. Val- 
entine and Sylvia must renew each other's acquaintance." 

Frau Prost got up, opened the double lock of a magnificent 
case of vieux lacque, pressed a secret door, and took out a crystal 
drawer lined with dark crimson velvet. Rows of pearls of various 
sizes and a mass of ornaments stood out beautifully on the vel- 
vet, but vanished like stars before the sun as she opened a sec- 
ond drawer in which lay her diamonds and precious stones on 
black velvet. As she displayed her treasures she told Sylvia 
when her husband had given them to her and upon what festive 
occasions she had worn them. Sylvia was so taken up in admir- 
ing that she was positively glad when Isidora appeared, saying : 

" Valentine cannot possibly come now, for she is writing to 

" Very well," said Frau Prost abstractedly, whilst she went on 
to tell her niece the names of the different stones and their his- 
tory. Isidora betook herself to her own concerns, but Mile. Vic- 
toire came in, and Frau Prost roused herself, saying to Sylvia : 

" Keep to my jewels, love." 

Then she went back to her chaise-longue and began to busy 
herself with dress matters till Mile. Victoire was relieved by that 
equally important individual, the housekeeper, and the house- 
keeper in her turn by the butl'er, after whom appeared the super- 
lative degree of importance, the chef. Frau Prost had something 
to say to each of them, and something particular. She was an 
intelligent mistress, well versed in the machinery of her house. 
She saw to its daily regularity, and consequently had daily inter- 
views with its four pillars. She had her say either in praise or 
blame ; she ordered this or that, and decided things herself 
duties which she discharged coolly enough, but not without 


shrewdness and determination. Her natural turn and her home- 
ly education gave her much cleverness in this department a 
talent which no one appreciated more than her husband. He 
boasted that his household was excellently, nay, perfectly man- 
aged, and that he was not bothered with its details. 

Time went by. Sylvia was still sitting before the diamonds. 
One quarter of an hour passed after the other. Her aunt paid 
no attention to her ; her cousins kept away. She began to find it 
very stupid, and then she grew very sad. What was it to her to 
sit before jewels which were laid on crimson damask, or to let 
her feet sink on a Smyrna carpet ? She was alone, and the feel- 
ing of loneliness pressed on her heart. She stared at the dia- 
monds without seeing them, and her thoughts flew away to her 
far-off home. 

" Sylvia, my love, are you still there ? " said her aunt all at 
once when the chef had gone. " That is just what I want. You 
shall be my little secretary. Valentine used to be, but now that 
she is engaged she spends all the morning writing to Goldisch, 
although she sees him every evening. Now, you shall take her 
place. Sit down at the table, love, and write what I dictate." 

Sylvia obeyed, quite pleased to have something to do, and her 
aunt told her how to word a note, in which she made over her 
box at the opera that evening to a fashionable lady. 

" We are not going to the theatre to-night," said Frau Prost 
to Sylvia, " for Valentine thinks we have seen the piece already 
about fifty times. I have been so immensely to the theatre in my 
life that one thing is the same as the other to me. It seems to 
me always a farce, only in one there is singing, in another danc- 
ing, in a third talking. One is as stupid as the other." 

" Stupid ! " cried out Sylvia in utter amazement. " Why, Aunt 
Teresa, I thought it was something quite wonderful." 

" Oh ! yes, that is what all young people think," said her aunt 
kindly. " It is one of their favorite pleasures, and I don't grudge 
it to them. But when one has been to the theatre for twenty 
years one begins to be a little weary of it." 

It struck twelve, and hardly had the last stroke died away 
when the doors opened right and left and all the family came in : 
Herr Prost with Aurel, the eldest son ; the two daughters ; the 
tutor with Edgar, his pupil of eleven ; and Miss Wilmot with 
little Harry, who was only five. Thus it was at long intervals', 
that Frau Prost, who never hurried or tired herself, had had her 

" Why, here is Sylvia," said Herr Prost, surveying his shy 


niece with his dark, shrewd eye, and kissing her on the fore- 
head. " You ought to have been called fairy." 

Then he kissed his daughters, who wished him good-morning, 
and Aurel, in shaking Sylvia's hand, asked her if she remembered 
him from ten years ago. She said warmly that she did. Valen- 
tine's greeting was cold and constrained ; Edgar took small no- 
tice of her, and Harry none at all. They all went into the din- 
ing-room. The talk was of all manner of things and people. 
Sylvia found herself in quite a strange world which offered no 
point of sympathy with her past. Suddenly Herr Prost exclaim- 
ed : " Sylvia, my little fairy, mark what I say. You must put 
aside your mourning. You may wear a black silk gown for a 
fortnight, but longer I will not have that frightful black before 
my eyes. At the end of the fortnight you must put on colors 
like your cousins. It shall not be said that you are our Cinde- 

He did not mean to be unkind, but his voice had a harshness 
about it which said plainly that he was accustomed to blind obe- 
dience. His very features and expression denoted the same hard- 
and-fast determination, and his whole being was imperious. The 
.stern expression disappeared only when he was in a particularly 
good temper, and even then it did not give way to anything more 
attractive. Sylvia did not dream of opposition, but she blushed 
because she was conscious of wounded feelings. 

" You need not mind about your clothes, my love," said her 
aunt, upon whom the blush was not lost, but who saw in it a dif- 
ferent cause. " I will undertake everything." 

This was meant kindly, but it did not in the least lessen the 
sense of humiliation which pressed upon Sylvia. She sat there, 
silent and quiet, wishing herself away, if only it might have been 
under the Lehrbachs' homely roof instead of with strange peo- 
ple who had no right to order things of her that wounded her 

Luncheon was over in half an hour. Herr Prost went back 
to his office with Aurel. Edgar with his tutor, and Harry with 
Miss Wilmot, betook themselves to their daily constitutional. 
Valentine and Isidora followed Frau Prost, and so did Sylvia. 
Then began an interminable chatter between mother and daugh- 
ters. First of all they talked of the dresses which they were to 
wear at their three-o'clock drive, and from that they turned to 
their 'evening toilets, and then matters appertaining to Valentine's 
trousseau were discussed. 

Frau Prost's good looks had descended to her sons. The 


daughters were like their father, with his dark hair and eyes, but 
without his penetrating expression. Valentine had that sort of 
indolent mannerism which belongs to young people who are vain 
or have not much sense ; their pretensions are too great for their 
nature, therefore they are simply silly. Development might 
still do much for Isidora, who was only sixteen and had not 
made her appearance in society ; but as yet ; with her sharp fea- 
tures and her hard expression, she was even less good-looking 
than Valentine. Neither of them had managed to learn much, 
.still less had they any desire to learn. They spoke English and 
French perfectly, and that was quite enough for them. Any sort 
of mental effort implied discomfort, and, as true daughters of their 
mother, they made a point of avoiding discomfort. Any fancy 
work which was fashionable at the time supplied the sisters with 
a chief and favorite occupation during their home hours. Valen- 
tine was allowed to read novels a privilege not as yet extended 
to Isidora, who made up for it by quietly taking off to her room 
and studying the pages of numberless newspapers which she 
found lying about in the drawing-room or in her mother's rooms. 
This was the only reading she had ever taken to kindly. Frau 
Prost did not observe her daughters' want of education. Could 
they not write her notes in three languages, and, when 
they felt so inclined, read books in three languages ? That 
was enough for her and for them. Their father had never 
troubled himself about their bringing-up. He thought deep 
study exceedingly unnecessary for girls. If they knew how 
to behave themselves and how to converse in a drawing- 
room, and if they could ride and dance well, they did not need 
other qualifications, in his opinion, for he would never have 
thought of discussing serious topics with a woman. If in society 
he ever happened to address his small talk to one who showed 
signs of culture, he condemned her as pretentious and tiresome. 
But although he contented himself with the three-language sys- 
tem as representing his daughters' intellectual acquirements, he 
could have wished them to have musical talents, because music is 
a drawing-room accomplishment. However, Valentine's strum- 
ming was out of the question, and Isidora had quite given up the 
piano.. But he took consolation over their shortcomings. His 
money had a far more delicious ring in his ears than the music- 
making of all the virtuosi in Europe, and he knew that other 
people's ears were similarly constituted. He would much rather 
his daughters had their mother's domestic turn, for that is of 
practical use under the most favorable circumstances. Order, 


regularity, and the well-measured swing of a large establishment, 
both in detail and as a whole, are produced by such a taste. Un- 
fortunately, his daughters showed no aptitude in this direction. 
Once he said impatiently to Valentine : " Do you suppose life is 
a kind of fairy-land, where you have nothing to do but open your 
mouth to catch roast pigeons ? " 

" Up till now, papa, this has been very much the case, and I 
don't see why it shouldn't be/' she answered. 

" I only hope her husband will teach her what she ought to 
know in his interests," muttered Herr Prost to himself. " My wife 
herself has learnt a great deal in this matter." He forgot to reckon 
his wife's bringing-up in very narrow circumstances, and her small 
pretensions and modest, or at least unextravagant, habits in con- 
sequence, and that his daughters had his very luxury to thank for 
their indolence. In any matter which touched her vanity Valen- 
tine showed the liveliest interest, and this was apparent in the 
talk with her mother, to which Sylvia listened in silence, and to 
which Isidora contributed her word. As Frau Prost went to 
work in a very leisurely manner, and took time to consider every- 
thing she did, she spent hours in deciding what might have been 
settled in a few minutes. She was very punctual in duties which 
were part of family life, but between whiles she was altogether 
wasteful of time. Consequently she never got through the day's 
programme, and, being thus always behindhand, she fancied her- 
self overpowered with business, without for that reason ever 
allowing herself to be hurried beyond her leisurely pace. 

A servant came in with an enormous bouquet of beautiful 
flowers for Valentine from Herr Goldisch, who sent to ask after 
her. Valentine flew to her room, brought back a note already 
written, and gave it to the servant as her answer. 

" Very nice, isn't it, for a girl to get a bouquet every day from 
her intended, especially at this time of year, when flowers are 
so rare? " said Isidora. " It is a very pretty attention. But it is 
uncommonly hard upon the bride to be obliged to write a note of 
thanks every day." 

" It is no hardship to me," said Valentine. " I write because 
I wish to make my future husband understand me as I really 

" So you may ; but haven't you got a nice long life before you 
to do it in? " 

" How many marriages there are where neither husband nor 
wife know or understand each other ! " exclaimed Valentine sen- 

VOL. xxxiv. 3 


" Perhaps there are," replied Isidora. "/only know that this 
perpetual writing would bore me extremely. Wouldn't it you, 

" I have never thought about it," said Sylvia indifferently. 

" Mamma, Sylvia finds it very stupid with us," said Isidora ; 
" just see how tired she looks." 

" It is yesterday's journey," said Frau Prost. 

" And doing nothing," added Sylvia with determination. " I 
am not accustomed to sit like this with my hands before me. I 
used always to be doing something." 

" What ? " asked Isidora curiously. 

" Oh ! housekeeping or needlework. I can make dresses and 
linen, and I know how to knit and embroider. That made a 
change. Then I had to keep the accounts." 

" There I see your dear mother's hand," interrupted Frau 
Prost with much emotion. 

" But can you also speak and write English and French ?" ask- 
ed Isidora. 

" I have learnt, but the accent is what I lack, and I have no 
practice in writing." 

" We will see about that, love," said her aunt kindly. " Miss 
Wilmot shall give you an English lesson every day, and you can 
chatter away in French to your heart's content with Mile. Vic- 
toire, who is a very respectable, well-educated person with a 
Parisian accent." 

Sylvia expressed her thanks by a kiss. 

" You forget, mamma, that Sylvia would also like some sewing 
and some knitting," said Isidora scornfully. 

" Yes, I should like something to do with my fingers," said 
Sylvia simply. " I never find time long when they are busy." 

" You have only to apply to Mile. Victoire, love. She will 
find you some work. She is industry itself. She works for the 
church in her free time at her own expense, of course, not at 
mine ; for I have such enormous sums to spend in dress, and the 
demands made upon my purse by daily increasing distress are so 
great, that I can't allow myself to think of poor churches." 

Again the servant appeared, this time to announce the car- 

" What ! three o'clock already ? " said Frau Prost in astonish- 
ment. " Go and get your things on, children. But you, Sylvia, 
would rather stay at home, I am sure, on account of your mourn- 
ing. I will send Mile. Victoire to you." 

Sylvia was very much pleased at this proposition and at the 


thought of having something to do. Life and the world were 
new to her. She was all alive, ready to work, anxious to learn, 
and not without sufficient vanity to make her rebel at being left 
entirely in the background. However, she herself was not con- 
scious of this motive. As she gave her pretty room another look 
she thought to herself that she only wanted settled occupation 
to make her feel at home, as her aunt was really kind. In this 
frame of mind she sat down at her elegant writing-table, took out 
the blotting-book which Isidora had put away, and began a long 
letter to Frau von Lehrbach. 



MLLE. VICTOIRE was a person who was respected to a certain 
extent, both up and down stairs, for her extreme goodness and 
conscientiousness. Frau Prost had never heard or made a com- 
plaint about her during all the seven years she had lived with 
them. Her peaceful nature and wonderful cleverness with her 
fingers, her readiness to serve, which was never at fault, made 
her a perfect treasure. But, treasure as she was. she had a shady 
side, fortunately one which elicited respect even from those who 
made fun of it. Mile. Victoire was an excellent Catholic, and the 
Prost family were only nominal Catholics. 

Herr Prost was a free-thinker, who took something from va- 
rious systems. Thus, he was an Epicurean in his zest for the 
world, a Stoic in his indifference to everything which did not put 
him out, a sceptic in all those things which baffled the reason- 
ing of the five senses. He had passed many years in Paris un- 
der Louis Philippe, the citizen-king, who was pleased to fancy 
that indifference in religious things, combined with care for ma- 
terial matters, were the most enduring supports of the throne. 
The revolution of 1848 opened his eyes. But Herr Prost, who 
had made his fortune at this particular time without suffering de- 
thronement, took his household gods and his views back to his 
native town, and found that he was as comfortable there as he 
had previously been in Paris. There was, therefore, not the 
least necessity for altering his philosophical notions of human life 
and of the end of man. His allowing his children to be baptized 
as Catholics was the only token to the world that he had once 
upon a time been baptized as one himself ; and even this was a 


concession to his wife, who, out of a lingering regard for the 
pious practices of her early youth, kept within the church, and 
that was all. She did the very least that was necessary in order 
to remain within its pale. She went to the sacraments at Easter 
and to Mass on Sundays when it suited her ; and of course upon 
occasions it did not suit her in travelling, for instance, or in very 
cold weather, or during the summer in the country, where their 
property happened to be in a Protestant neighborhood. It was 
also a matter of course that she took useful people where she 
found them. Edgar's tutor was a Lutheran, and Miss Wilmot 
was a Calvinist. The tutor hated Miss Wilmot's creed, and she 
his. But both were of one mind in their horror of Popery, and 
each made the same unmistakably clear to the pupil. It was 
only to be expected that children reared in a similar atmosphere 
should display a thorough indifference to doctrine ; nor was it 
very extraordinary, under the circumstances, that Valentine had 
engaged herself to Herr Goldisch without bestowing a moment's 
attention on the fact of his being a Protestant. But Aurel Prost, 
the eldest son, was quite different to the others, whose lukewarm 
superficiality he did not share. Who could have explained how 
it was so, or even how it could be so? Nature and grace have 
their favorites. If he had been true to his education Aurel at 
two-and-twenty must have been a worn-out, vain, and heartless 
fop. He was just the contrary. He had a loving nature, an un- 
derstanding of higher things, and a need of religion. Pie did not 
find money-making its own reward. Dreams of purer happiness 
floated before him, though they were somewhat vague, for he 
wanted energy and could not lay claim to a strong character. 
The drowsy influence of daily comfort and constant prosperity 
asserted itself even in him, and prevented him from getting to 
that strong effort which fears no weariness in pursuing the wish- 
ed-for end clearly seen and loved. Aurel was an ardent Catholic. 
He knew his religion and honored the church's commandments, 
though human respect at times might prevent him from fulfilling 
them a pusillanimity also in keeping with his character. He 
feared his tyrannical father's wrath and his easy-going mother's 
tongue, not without a prick of conscience at his own cowardice. 
Aurel was the only one of the family who did not think himself 
perfect and did not look upon material comfort as happiness. 

These were the details which Sylvia heard when Mile. Vic- 
toire came to her room, commissioned by Frau Prost to see 
about her clothes. In a fortnight she was to be abundantly pro- 
vided with morning and evening, walking and ball, dresses, and 


Mile, Victoire was to take her orders. Sylvia interrupted Vic- 
toire by saying : " Before we talk about this I must ask you to 
take me to Mass every morning. From a child I have always 
been accustomed to go, and I should like to keep to it." 

Victoire was by no means pretty, but when Sylvia said this 
an expression of surprise so joyful lit up her face that it made her 
look beautiful. 

" How pleased I should be to do it! " she answered. " I am 
only afraid that it will be impossible, because you would be 
obliged to get up at six, as I have to be back at half-past seven." 

" I am always up at six, because at home they used to be," 
said Sylvia. " Then we breakfasted and went to Mass. It was 
part of the day." 

" But then I'm sure that you used not to go to bed at mid- 
night and at two and three o'clock in the morning, as they often 
do here in the season." 

" Two or three o'clock in the morning ! " exclaimed Sylvia 
with secret dismay. " No, indeed. I never went to bed so late 
in my life, unless it was when I had to sit up with my father and 
mother," she added sadly. 

" So, miss, you see it won't do," said Victoire compassionately. 

" But you can do it, and you have to wait up for my aunt," 
argued Sylvia. 

" That's true, miss ; but then I must tell you that Mass is not 
only part of my day : it makes my life." 

" And what does my aunt say to that? " asked Sylvia eagerly. 

" She has got accustomed to my peculiar ways, as they don't 
in the least hinder my service to her." 

" Is my uncle a Catholic? " asked Sylvia simply. 

" Yes," answered Victoire with constraint, " but I think that 
is, it seems hard for a great many people, and in particular cir- 
cumstances, to live up to their belief in a Protestant town." 

Sylvia opened her eyes wide. 

" Yes," continued Victoire, " fasting and abstinence days are 
supposed to put company out, and people think they must do as 
they see others do in society. You will hear many things of this 
kind, miss. But please tell me how many morning-dresses you 
would like. Your aunt is going to buy the material. She likes 
doing it, but I have to reckon the quantity, as it would bother 

Sylvia felt that in this all-important matter Victoire needed 
to be doubly careful in speaking of a master and mistress whose 
views were so different from her own, and so she had turned to 


the dress topic. But it so happened that Sylvia had several in- 
dications of the general tone of the house. Victoire let them 
drop with much discretion, so that it should not come upon her 
by surprise. In this way she discovered that Herr Goldisch was 
a Protestant. 

" But, except for that, I believe he is an excellent gentleman,'* 
said Mile. Victoire. 

" But Valentine might have married an excellent Catholic/* 
suggested Sylvia. 

To this Victoire made no reply. She contented herself with 
stating facts. They ended by settling that Sylvia should go 
with Victoire to Mass, and that she should embroider an altar- 

On coming in from her drive Frau Prost went into Sylvia's 
room and threw herself exhausted upon the chaise-longue. 

" How fortunate you are, love, to sit there quietly at your 
writing-table, whilst I am quite worn out ! " 

" Haven't you been out driving, auntie ? " asked Sylvia. 

" Out driving ! " sighed Frau Prost. " I had not even time 
to get some fresh air in the Park. Just listen. Happily three 
ladies were not at home, so I got off with cards. But Frau von 
A. saw me, because she was ill, and I found Frau von B. at her 
house. Frau von B. asked me if I shouldn't like to go with her 
to see Herr C.'s studio. He is a famous sculptor. Of course 
I didn't want to go at all. I can't see anything to rave about in 
these marble figures ; but Valentine was dying to go, and fancied 
Herr C. was a celebrity ^ every : one ought to know. So off we 
drove to him. Before we\v$i$t .into the studio Herr von D. 
came out to tell us there::wa^h*othing ; worth seeing in it, and that 
we had better drive to - tljeVjGortuguese who has arrived with 
some beautiful monkeys apcT serpents. Isidora immediately be- 
gan to be enthusiastic about monkeys, and Valentine gave way. 
So then we went there. Herr von D. got into the carriage with 
us. We left Frau von B. in the lurch, and drove to the Portu- 
guese, who really has a quantity of pretty birds and monkeys. 
There was a crowd of people there, amongst them the Belgian 
ambassadress with all her children. I always get into a fright 
when I see her, because she is continually at me for her good 
works. It was just as I thought. She came up to me and said : 
' How glad I am to see you ! I shall take possession of you to 
show you the house we have got for the Visitation nuns, that you 
may see how many things are still wanting.' And without more 
ado she sends her children home in the carriage, hardly leaves 


me time to buy two beautiful monkeys, finds them atrociously 
d ear j us t fancy, monkeys from a virgin forest in another hemi- 
sphere, Brazil, atrociously dear at twelve pounds each ! Why, 
they are as cheap as dirt and, in short, she gets into my carriage, 
leaves Herr von D., poor man, to do as he may, and takes me to 
the world's end to see a house which is going to be a convent. 
Then, going up and down stairs, she pesters me for money, which 
of course I cannot refuse the Belgian ambassadress. But who 
wants her to bring nuns to this Protestant country ? Let her be 
content with Belgium. Well, I had to give her a piece of gold, 
take her home, give up my drive, and now, though I am dead 
tired, I must go to dress and make myself pleasant, as we have 
twenty people coming to dinner." 

" Dear Aunt Teresa," said Sylvia quickly, " I am sure you 
will allow me not to appear at dinner till I have left off my 
mourning. My uncle can't bear black, and I don't want to vex 

" Very well, my love, that is thoughtful of you. For the 
next fortnight you may have your dinner with Harry. But 
after that you must dine with us, and from now you must appear 
regularly at luncheon." 

Frau Prost went away to discharge her heavy duties, and 
Sylvia congratulated herself on her aunt's great kindness. 





LADY BLANCHE NOEL, eldest daughter of the Earl of Gains- 
borough, after her marriage with Mr. Murphy, it is well known 
to our readers, came to the United States with her husband, and 
during the last ten years has been a constant contributor to THE 
CATHOLIC WORLD. Several of her articles which were still un- 
published at the time of her death have been since that time pub- 
lished in our recent numbers. She was also a frequent contri- 
butor to other magazines, and her literary industry and success 
as a writer were certainly remarkable. The general esteem and 
high reputation which she had won for herself were shown by 
the unanimous tribute paid to her memory by the press on the 
occasion of her sudden death within the present year. She had 
purchased a cottage and a small farm in a country village in 
Maine with the proceeds of her literary labor, and was just be- 
ginning to enjoy the quiet and simple life of independence which 
suited her peculiar character and tastes, when a cold that she 
had taken developed into an acute and fatal malady which in a 
few days terminated her life. It is scarcely necessary to say that 
she lived and died as a faithful and practical Catholic. The 
funeral obsequies were performed with all due solemnity in the 
cathedral of Portland, and her remains were conveyed, by the de- 
sire of her father, to England, where they were deposited in the 
family vault at Exton. 

A selection from Lady Blanche's published articles, accom- 
panied by a biographical sketch, will be shortly published under 
the direction of the Earl of Gainsborough, from whom the fol- 
lowing interesting letter of Cardinal Manning has been received, 
containing his reminiscences of the early life of this gifted lady 
a letter which will be read with equal pleasure by Lady Blanche's 
numerous friends and admirers in England and in America : 


' When you asked me to put in writing my recollections of your dear 
child Blanche I at once promised to do so ; for I had then, and I still have, 
so clear and vivid a memory of her in her childhood and youth that I be- 
lieved it would be an easy task. But since, in trying to fix what I remember 
in a definite form, I find it difficult to put in words what I still seem to see 


before me. Nevertheless I will do my best, though the result will be less 
than I thought. 

" I can remember her in 1849, when she was about four years old; but 
that is only a shadow of a memory. Next I remember her in 1858 or 1859, 
when she and her mother used toxome to me at Bayswater. She was then 
about thirteen or fourteen years old. But neither can I fix anything de- 
finite at that date, except that she was a good and intelligent child. After 
that I next saw her when you were in Rome, in 1863. She was then about 
eighteen ; and I for the first time began to perceive how much intelligence 
and how distinct a character she had. And yet I did not in those days 
at all discern the intellectual capacity and ability which I now see in her 
writings. I thought her quick, observant, and thoughtful, and in character 
decided and independent beyond her years. In truth, I thought I could see 
more of this than I could have wished in any one so young, for I did not then 
know that her mind had balance and strength enough as a counterpoise to 
a certain self-reliance. She had mixed in the Roman society, and had there 
met with men of the Italian politics. I was surprised to see how far she 
had advanced in their way of thinking, and I remember being half amused 
and half anxious at her talk about Garibaldi. Still, I thought it to be no 
more than a local or transient enthusiasm. And so, in its anti-Catholic sense, 
it was ; for she did not detect the consequences of the Italian movement. 
She thought it only a work of political and popular freedom tending to the 
welfare of the people at large. She was too truly Christian and Catholic to 
sympathize in anything opposed either to the faith orto the Holy See. This 
gave me the first insight into her character, which was very simple, unaffect- 
ed, and outspoken. Though she had been born and brought up with all 
the surroundings of the world, and with all the relations and associations 
which draw other minds under its influence, she seemed to me not only to 
be unattracted by such influences but to be repelled by them. I thought I 
saw a reaction against them, and a decided tendency to break through the 
conventionalities of her life. Still, I never fully understood this at that 
time ; but in what I have since known of her, and in what I have now 
before me, I seem to see that there has been a consistent following-out of 
the thoughts and the promptings of her mind as it was then forming itself. 
In the years that followed from 1863 to 1870 I saw her often, but only at 
intervals and in brief visits or under circumstances which made any more 
intimate knowledge of her character impossible. All that I knew of her 
was the true devotion and fidelity with which, in the midst of the world, 
she persevered in a life of faith and piety. The love of the people at Exton 
towards her expresses what I mean in saying that her heart and sympathies 
were always with the poor, with their homes and with their state. 

" Then came her marriage, the circumstances of which I then partly 
knew, and now know fully. It seems to me to have been the working-out 
of the same turn of character. Your conduct at that time must be to you 
a great consolation now ; for you showed signally a father's prudence till 
you were assured of what her happiness required, and a father's love in 
sanctioning her marriage, with your consent, from your residence. The 
loving and close correspondence which still united her to you and you to 
her when she left you was worthy of both. 

"And here my memories end. But the writings you have entrusted to 


me give me more to say. I have read the articles in THE CATHOLIC 
WORLD with an increased feeling of surprise and regret that I did not in 
days past know what her intelligence really was. Perhaps the last eleven 
years, and the experience of life, and wider knowledge of the world and of men 
and of events may have called out into activity the thoughtfulness which 
before 1870 was reserved and latent. Her very youthful appearance and 
unobtrusive, or rather retiring, manners gave no indication of what she 
really was even then. I must, however, believe that her life in America 
has been the second, self-made education, which is always the most valuable 
part of life. The articles are truly remarkable not only for the great variety 
of the subjects but for the range of reading implied in them. The style of 
writing is like herself. It is simple and real throughout. I do not detect 
the least desire for ornament or effect, but a great truthfulness in using 
very pure English to express her thoughts as clearly and closely as possible. 
She evidently thought first and used the words which came with the 
thoughts. If her character had not been real, simple, and, to use an old 
word, ' downright,' she would never have been able to write as she did. The 
articles are samples of clear, unstudied English. Interesting as they all are, 
especially those on the ' Ecclesiastical Press ' and on the ' Mediaeval Female 
Education in Germany,' there are two that revive in my memory the turn of 
thought which I remember in 1863 in Rome. They are the articles on ' Tech- 
nical Education ' and on ' Socialism in America.' In the former the sympa- 
thy with the people which made me afraid that she would become an innocent 
Garibaldian in Rome is seen throughout. It was this that made the villagers 
at Exton and Campden love her, and her many friends in America welcome 
her so warmly. The article is a minute and thoughtful paper, full of sugges- 
tions for the opening of paths of intelligence and industry to every class* 
even the poorest in birth and state. In the latter article her own character 
comes out unconsciously in her own words. Commenting upon a book 
before her which spoke of the dangers of socialism in America, she says : 
' This touches one of the points on which he [the author] repeatedly 
insists the duty of the better-educated (the policy, he more than hints) 
to be beforehand with the budding socialism of this country, and, by 
frank and friendly contact with the less fortunate and less cultured 
classes, to reaffirm the old spirit of brotherhood and a common patriotism.' 
'The broader view of brotherhood with all one's fellow-beings, and of the 
necessary connection of religion with every blameless and natural human 
act, with the natural affections, the legitimate amusements, and the social 
relations of each Christian, is one which the popular [i.e., narrow] idea of 
" religion " entirely excludes.' ' Social influence, the unobtrusive, unaffect- 
ed example of a person whose life is ordered on high principles, and espe- 
cially on a rigid regard for truth such is at present the strongest weapon 
for good.' These words were written last year, and seem to me to be the 
laying open of the inmost thoughts of her mind and to bequeath to you 
the best likeness of herself. 

" Believe me, my dear Lord Gainsborough, 

" Yours affectionately, 

" HENRY E., 
" Card. : Archbishop of Westminster. 

"ST. EDMUND'S COLLEGE, July 7, 1881." 



THE " religious world," as the varied denominations of the 
English state church egotistically designate themselves, are now 
exercised by what they call the " Romanizing tendencies " of the 
Ritualist clerics of the present Establishment, and several of the 
journals opposed to the latter wish to know, Do those Ritualists 
desire to bring back to England the " sanguinary doings " of 
Rome ? Now, as a reply per contra, permit me to give one in- 
stance of the bloodless proceedings of the men who established the 
church of this " religious world " in England. 

With what emotion can the Catholic reader peruse the calen- 
dared records of the judicial murders committed by Henry VIII. 
and his council against the Carthusian fathers of the Charter- 
house ? In this narrative of the sufferings of the Carthusian 
community I quote Protestant historians, many of whom make 
marvellous admissions as to the conduct of the monarch and 
his advisers in relation to the Carthusians. Mr. Froude ob- 
serves : " In general the Charter-house was the best conducted in 
England. The hospitality of the Carthusian fathers was well 
sustained ; the charities were profuse. . . . The monks were 
true to their vows, and true to their duty as far as they compre- 
hended what duty meant. Amongst many good monks the prior, 
John Haughton, was the best. He was of an old English family 
and had been educated at Cambridge, where he must have been 
the contemporary of Hugh Latimer. At the age of eight-and- 
tweuty he took the vows of a monk, and had been twenty years 
a Carthusian at the opening of the troubles of the Reformation. 
John Haughton is described as small in stature, in figure grace- 
ful, in countenance dignified. In manner he was modest ; in elo- 
quence most sweet; in chastity without a stain. We may 
readily imagine his appearance, with that feminine austerity of 
expression which has been well said belongs so peculiarly to the 
features of the mediaeval ecclesiastics." * 

The Carthusians had made themselves specially obnoxious to 
King Henry and the Boleyn party during the long litigation of 
the divorce question. They boldly espoused the cause of the 

* The reader must recollect that this partial commendation comes from Mr. Froude> the bit- 
ter enemy of the glorious religious orders of England. 


much-wronged Queen Katharine in the " pulpit and on the plat- 
form." Both the concealed and avowed Reformers felt self-abased 
by the high reputation which those humble monks held in the 
eyes of the country ; they rejoiced at the fact that the monks 
" crossed the king in his particular desire to become the husband 
of Nan de Bouleyn." Such men as Drs. London and Layton * 
were glad that the outspoken honesty of the Carthusians had 
placed them within the range of danger. Lord Crumwell and 
his followers coveted their property, and Archbishop Cranmer, 
Poynet, Bale, and Coverdale were their deadly enemies, whilst 
the malice was artfully concealed. Cranmer could not under- 
stand their high sense of principle ; Coverdale's aversion arose 
from an envy of their blameless character; and Poynet scoffed at 
their humility and questioned their chastity a virtue which the 
grossness of his nature could but little comprehend. Such was a 
portion of the elements united in 1535 for the immolation of the 
Carthusian fathers. The Oath of Supremacy was now about to 
be tendered to the clergy, and a large number of the secular 
clerics, who were influenced by the court prelates, readily com- 
plied with the royal command. The regular clergy were the 
noble exception, for they cowered not before the storm. The 
dungeon or the scaffold had no terrors for them. The bishops, 
with the exception of one or two, were on the side of the Crown. 
The Bishop of Durham (Tunstal) declaimed from the pulpit 
against the pope's spiritual authority ; Dr. Kyte, Bishop of Car- 
lisle, adopted the same policy ; and Gardyner was the king's po- 
litical agent from the beginning of the divorce controversy to 
its conclusion. He took the Oath of Supremacy to the king, and 
was created bishop of Winchester. Dr. Bonner was advanced to 
the see of London. Bonner's insolent language to Clement VII. 
drew from King Henry a severe rebuke ; but nevertheless the 
flexible bishop continued to enjoy the royal confidence to the close 
of Henry's life. Every day the clergy and laity acted more sub- 
serviently to the Crown. " The king's ministers had all taken 
the Oath of Supremacy " ; and " why," said Sir Thomas Aud- 
ley, " should the good fathers of the Charter-house refuse to do 
as all honest men did ? " 

The Royal Commissioners appeared at the Charter-house to 

* Dr. London was Dean of Wallingford, and Layton held a similar cure at York. Those 
bad men were the chief commissioners appointed by Lord Crumwell to investigate the charges 
preferred against the religious houses of England. The proceedings of London and Layton 
towards monks and nuns stand forth without a parallel in the history of the wicked deeds of 
Henry's reign. For particulars concerning the monastic inquisition I refer the reader to vol. ii. 
p. So of the Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty. 


give notice to the prior and his brethren that the Oath of Su- 
premacy should be taken by " every loyal subject and pious Catho- 
lic" It was a nice thing to ascertain or define what was " a 
pious Catholic," according to the teaching of men like Audley 
and Crumwell. The prior of the Charter-house replied to the 
Commissioners most respectfully. He said " he knew nothing of 
the matters mentioned. He was unacquainted with the world 
without; his office 'was to minister to God and to save 'poor 
souls from hell's fire and Satan's snares." The prior's explana- 
tion was rejected. He was committed to the Tower for five 
weeks, where he was treated with indignity and insult. At the 
suggestion of Dr. Bonner the prior agreed to take the oath with 
" certain reservations." He was discharged from custody on 
these conditions. Returning to the Charter-house, the conscien- 
tious prior assembled his brethren and told them the promise he 
had made to Lord Crumwell. He was dissatisfied with what he 
had done. It looked like deceit. He wished to save the Carthu- 
sians from being dispersed and cast upon the world ; but, above 
all, he hoped to preserve the principles and vows by which they 
were so long bound together. They dreaded the future, but none 
of them could imagine that the hour of catastrophe was so near. 
The Royal Commissioners came again, with the Chief Magis- 
trate of London, to tender the oath. It was rejected. Imprison- 
ment and the rack were menaced ; they were told that Crumwell 
was " dreadful in his wrath ; that he had sworn he would imme- 
diately quarter them on the highways." A panic now seized the 
community, for the very name of Thomas Crumwell affrighted 
every one, young and old. The Carthusians gave way but for 
a while. 

Maurice Chauncy, one of the few who subsequently escaped 
his brethren's fate, describes what occurred : 

"We all swore," he says, "as we were required, making one condition, 
that we submitted only so far as it was lawful for us so to do. Thus, like 
Jonah, we were delivered from the belly of this monster, this immanis ceta, 
and began again to rejoice, like him, under the shadow of the gourd of our 
own houses. But it is far better to trust in the Almighty God than in 
princes, in whom is no salvation. God hath prepared a worm * that smote 
our gourd and made it to perish." 

In a short time the Carthusians received notice that their ac- 
ceptance of the oath in the " form and feeling " they adopted it 

* By the phrase "worm "is meant the Supremacy statute, with high treason as its pen- 


was an evasion of a legal obligation. As the friends of Queen 
Katharine they would now bear the full weight of Anna Boleyn's 
resentment; her influence was all-powerful at this period, and 
she exercised it for the destruction or the disgrace of those who 
had crossed the path of her " unlawful ambition." Such were 
the words of Bishop Fisher. 

The Carthusian fathers were impeached for treason, although 
the law did not bring them within its range. But that was a 
matter of small account in those times. Every, day brought 
fresh troubles to the Carthusian community, and the prior began 
to think that their case was hopeless. One morning the zealous 
prior summoned all the monks before him, when he addressed 
them in these words : 

" ' Brothers, very sorry am I, and my heart is heavy, especially for you, 
my younger friends, of whom I see so many around me. Here you are 
living in your innocence. The yoke will not be laid on your necks, nor the 
rod of persecution ; but if you are taken hence, and mingle among the 
Gentiles, you may learn the works of them, and, having begun in the spirit, 
you may be consumed in the flesh. And there may be others among us 
whose hearts are still infirm. If these mix again with the world, I fear how 
it may be with them ; and what shall I say, and what shall I do, if I cannot 
save those whom God has trusted to my charge ? ' 

"Then all who were present burst into tears, and cried out with one 
voice : ' Let us die together in our integrity, and heaven and earth shall wit- 
ness for us how unjustly we are cut off' 

" The prior answered sadly : ' Would indeed that it might be so ; that 
so dying we might live, as living we die ; but they will not do to us so 
great a kindness, nor to themselves so great an injury. Many of you 
are of noble blood, and what I think they will do is this : Me and the elder 
brethren they will kill, and they will dismiss you that are young into a 
world which is not for you. If, therefore, it depend on me alone if my 
oath will suffice for the community I will throw myself for your sakes on 
the mercy of God ; I will make myself anathema ; and to preserve you 
from these dangers I will consent to the king's will. If, however, they 
have determined otherwise if they choose to have the consent of us 
all the will of God be done. If one death will not avail, we will all die 
die together for God's Truth and his eternal glory.' " 

Maurice Chauncy continues his narrative : 

" So then, bidding us prepare for the worst, that the Lord when he 
knocketh might find us ready, he desired us to choose each our confessor, 
and to confess our sins one to another, giving us power to grant each other 

Mr. Froude remarks upon this scene: "Thus, with an unob- 
trusive nobleness, did these poor monks prepare themselves for 


their end. I will not regret their cause ; yet there is no cause 
for which any man can more nobly suffer than to witness that it 
is better for him to die than to speak words which he does not 

The Carthusians received a further respite until the fate of 
other monks was decided by Lord Crumwell. Webster, Law- 
rence, and Hampton, Carthusian fathers, had been summoned 
before Lord Crumwell. They are described by Richard Crum- 
well as " still obstinate in their opinions." They were com- 
mitted to the Fleet Prison. Reynolds also, a learned monk of 
Sion, was arrested. These four clerics, men of extensive learn- 
ing and personal worth, were brought on the 26th of April, 
1535, before the Privy Council, of which Lord Crumwell was 
the leading spirit. The Oath of Supremacy was again tendered 
to them, but they respectfully declined taking it. Three days 
later they were placed at the bar before a special commission, 
and indicted for high treason. They pleaded not guilty, con- 
tending that the statute itself was unlawful. What they had 
spoken in the Tower and before the Privy Council was adduced 
in evidence against them. One of the judges asked Haugh- 
ton, the prior, " not to show so little wisdom as to maintain his 
own opinion against the consent of the king." Haughton re- 
plied that " he had originally resolved to imitate the example of 
his Divine Master before Herod, and be silent." 

" But," he continued, " since you urge me, that I may satisfy my own 
conscience and the consciences of those who are present, I will say that if 
our opinion of the Supremacy statute might go by the suffrage of men, it 
should have more witnesses than yours. You can produce, on your side, 
but the Parliament of a single kingdom ; I, on mine, have the whole 
Christian world except this realm. Nor have you all even of your own 
people. The lesser part is with you. The majority who seem to be with 
you do but dissemble to gain favor with the king, or for fear they should 
lose their honors and their dignities." 

Lord Crumwell inquired of whom the prior was speaking. 
Haughton replied : " Of all the good men in the realm ; and 
when his highness the king knoweth the real truth, I know he 
will be beyond measure offended with those of his bishops and 
priests who have given this bad advice." "Why," remarked 
another of the judges, "have you, Maister Prior, contrary to 
the king's authority within this realm, persuaded so many per- 
sons, as you have done, to disobey the king and the Parliament 
of this kingdom ? Your crime is dreadful." " I have declared 
my opinion," replied Haughton, " to no man living but to those 


who came to me in confession, which, in the discharge of my 
conscience, I would not refuse. But if I did not declare it then 
I will declare it now, because I am thereto obliged to God." * 

About this period Crumwell had recourse to the most detes- 
table schemes to procure 'evidence against priests as to their 
opinions on the Supremacy question ; but the most infamous of 
all the plans devised by him was that of sending persons 
of abandoned character to confession to " certain priests, and 
there and then asking the confessor's opinion on the Supremacy 
law then proposed, declaring that they had conscientious scruples 
against it." These persons elicited the secret opinion of the con- 
fessor, and in a few hours later placed a statement, based upon 
information obtained by their sacrilege, in the hands of Lord 
Crumwell! This device led to the arrest and imprisonment 
of many priests, of whose sufferings there is no record now. 
Amongst the state papers (Domestic) of Henry's reign are to be 
seen certain declarations, said to be " confessions " made by in- 
formers in the interest of Crumwell, who was justly dreaded by 
the community, lay and clerical in fact, hate'd by all parties in 
the state. 

A priest in a "doubtful state of conscience" had, in 1534, 
an interview with Archbishop Cranmer on the Supremacy 
statute. " I told," he says, " the archbishop I would pray for the 
pope as the chief and papal head of Christ's church. And his 
grace of Canterbury told me it was the king's pleasure I should 
not do so. I said unto him I would continue to do it; and 
though I did it not openly, yet would I do it secretly. And then 
Archbishop Cranmer said I might pray for the pope secretly, but in 
any wise do it not openly." f This is quite in keeping with Cran- 
mer's course of action in Henry's reign a constant practice of 
servile deception. 

To return to the Carthusian fathers. They were again con- 
signed to the Tower, and on the following day their case was 
submitted to the mockery of trial by a jury for the accused 
were indulged with the semblance of legality a grim and cruel 
farce. Five of them were charged with high treason. The evi- 
dence was of the usual character, and was prepared in the Star- 
Chamber fashion. Feron and Hale threw themselves on the 
mercy of the court. The jury, in this case, hesitated for nearly 
two hours. " It was bruited in the Justice Hall," writes Thorn- 

* State papers (Domestic) of Henry VIII. 's reign. See also John Strype's Memorials, vol. i. 
P- 35 

t Rolls House MSS. Concerning the Conscience of a Popish Priest. 


dale, who was present, that " Lord Crumwell visited the jury, 
and between threats and rewards induced them to record a ver- 
dict of guilty against four of the fathers. Feron was acquitted, 
but sent to the Fleet to await the rack, in order to extort the con- 
fession of some matters of which most probably he knew nothing/' 

It has been asserted by the Puritan admirers of Crumwell 
that he did not visit the jury on this occasion. But Thorndale 
was a contemporary and well known to Crumwell. It is far 
easier in such cases to deny than to prove ; but the weight of as- 
sertion at least, and the unwonted hesitation of the jury, go far 
in evidence of the " visitation." It is an undoubted fact that 
Crumwell in the beginning treated with juries, and even men- 
aced them with death ; but as he gained experience he adopted 
the readier mode of having juries chosen who could " make a 
quick return without any compunctious hesitation." The ex- 
ample has not since been lost and the practice was extended to 
Ireland, where, during long years, juries were compelled to find 
verdicts at the command of the viceroys. Lord Strafford, for in- 
stance, threatened to "cut out the tongues of a Galway jury" for not 
finding a verdict for the crown. But Crumwell effected his pur- 
poses through the agency of bribery or the threats of the terri- 
ble rack, which affrighted all classes. 

Father Hale and the Carthusian fathers were not permitted 
to die together. When Father Haughton was put forward to re- 
ceive sentence the judge addressed him as a great criminal ; for 
he " dared to deny the right of the king to be the supreme head of 
the church of Christ on earth." Haughton replied that the sen- 
tence had no terrors for him. He was merely doing his duty to 
his Divine Master, Jesus Christ. He told the judge that his sen- 
tence was nothing more than the judgment of the king and his 
ministers. The other fathers briefly addressed the court. They 
all appeared happy, and rejoiced, they said, that they had an 
opportunity of dying for the Catholic faith. The learned and 
observant Thorndale, who accompanied his friend, Father 
Haughton, to the scaffold at Tyburn, declares that such a scene as 
hanging priests in their habits " was never before known to Eng- 
lishmen." Haughton ascended the scaffold first. The sheriff 
and Thorndale were much affected. One of the executioners 
fell on his knees and besought the good father's forgiveness. 
"I forgive you and all who have taken part in my trial and 
condemnation," were the words uttered by Haughton. A few 
minutes of profound silence ensued, when Father Haughton, with 
the sheriff on his right and the devoted Thorndale on his left,, 



advanced to the front of the scaffold. A murmur burst from the 
crowd, followed by the screams and fainting of women. The 
sheriff told the people that the prior desired to address a few 
words to them on behalf of himself and of those who were to die 
with him. Thorndale held up a crucifix to the crowd : the wo- 
men cried aloud or sobbed in deepest grief. When order was re- 
stored Father Haughton addressed the populace at some length. 
I extract the following passage : 

" My good people, I call to witness the Almighty God and all true 
Christians, and I beseech you all here present to bear witness for me at 
the day of judgment, that, being here to die, I declare that it is from no ob- 
stinate, rebellious pretext that I do not obey the king, but because I fear 
to offend the Majesty of God. Our Holy Mother the Church has declared 
otherwise than the king and his Parliament have decreed ; and, therefore, 
rather than disobey the church I am ready to suffer. Pray for me, and 
have mercy on my poor brethren, of whom I have been the unworthy 

The prior next addressed a few words to the crowd of mothers 
who were weeping in front of the scaffold. His voice was now 
becoming faint, but Thorndale took down his remarks accurately. 
" Good mothers and true Englishwomen," said he, " I ask it as 
a dying request that you will endeavor to keep the spirit of 
Catholicity alive in the hearts of your children." The good mo- 
thers exclaimed aloud : " We will, we will !" They fell a-weep- 
ing again, and the men, and even the guard of soldiers, were in 
tears, for every one loved the Carthusian fathers. Kneeling down, 
Father Haughton repeated aloud the fifty -first Psalm ; then, 
making the sign of the cross with great devotion, he informed the 
executioners that he was ready for them. The remainder of the 
proceedings were brief. The prior was " thrown off amidst a 
thrill of horror." Thorndale states that one of the executioners 
refused to act, exclaiming, "I will not hang my old confessor." 
And he adds, " Wilfred Jennings was sent to the rere of the scaf- 
fold, and expired with horror and grief within one hour." When 
the surgeon declared Haughton dead his brethren followed on 
the same death-road, reciting a hymn, undaunted and firm in ap- 
pearance. They died in a manner worthy of the primitive mar- 
tyrs of the church. The faces of these holy men did not grow 
pale ; their voices did not choke ; they declared themselves liege 
subjects of the king and obedient children of holy church, giving 
thanks that they were held worthy to suffer for the truth. All 
died without a murmur. The horrible work was ended with quar- 
tering the bodies, and the arm of Father Haughton covered with 


blood was hung up as a dismal sign over the archway of the Char- 
ter-house to awe the remaining brethren into submission. But 
the spirit of the departed martyrs was caught up and fired the feel- 
ings of the young monks. One of them, like the Theban sister, 
bore away the holy and honored relic and buried it. All that re- 
mained of the community resolved to resist to the death. An- 
other warning was sent to them, but of no avail. In six weeks 
three more of the fathers went through the form of a trial. Hall, 
the historian, alleges that they " behaved sulky and insolent to 
Lord Crumwell." Their unbending virtue naturally would seem 
to assume the shape of insolence to a man like Hall. As a body 
they were educated, well-bred men, and, in the words of Prior 
Haughton, " many of them of noble families." Edward Hall, 
whose servile adulation of King Henry was conspicuous even in 
that reign of servility and terrorism, consulted his own stupendous 
notions of obedience to kingly caprice in describing facts which, 
to judge from other statements made by him, would have been 
more justly presented if left to his unbiassed judgment and natural 
sense of justice.* But the more accurate description of the scene 
was that the fathers became indifferent to the deceptive formali- 
ties of the trial, and proclaimed their adhesion to all the tenets of 
the Catholic Church, denouncing the king as " a spiritual impos- 
tor." These words undoubtedly sealed their doom ; but they 
cared not they rejoiced in having an opportunity of dying for 
the olden creed of Christendom. The jury in this case had no 
hesitation. They were prompt in returning a verdict for high 
treason. Three days after the verdict to which I have just allud- 
ed three more of the fathers were hanged, drawn, and quarter- 
ed. They ascended the scaffold singing hymns of joy to the Lord 
Jesus. Thorndale says : " They died grandly, shaking hands with 
one another and awaiting their turn." 

Some few of the brethren fled to France, and others to Ire- 
land, where a hospitable home always awaited the proscribed 
priests of England in those penal times. The greater number of 
the Carthusians remained in the priory to await their doom ; but 
Crumwell and the king hesitated to proceed further against 
them. Did they fear public opinion ? Not likely. Two secular 
priests mere creatures of Crumwell were sent to take charge 
of what remained of the Charter-house community. Mau- 
rice Chauncy states that these priests " starved himself and his 
companions." Friends and relatives were sent to the Car- 
thusians to " advise and remonstrate on their conduct "; they 

* Edward Hall filled the office of judge in a very ancient court called the " Sheriff's Court," 
which is still in existence. He was one of the personal friends of Henry VIII. 


were " coaxed and threatened " alternately, but with no effect. 
Four of them were brought to Westminster Abbey to hear Bish- 
op Tunstal and Dr. Gardyner preaching against the pope, and 
in favor of the king's supremacy in the church. The sermons 
of these court prelates did not change the Carthusian fathers. 
To use the phrase of their persecutors, they were " still most 
obstinate." A number of them were then dispersed amongst 
other religious communities, with secular priests as guardians. 
The secular clerics could make " no change in those obstinate 
monks." The supposed worldly aspirations of the young, and 
the talent and ambition of maturer age, were in turn tempted by 
seductive promises of a future career, but with no effect. Gold 
could not purchase even the semblance of an agreement to the 
king's views of religion ; and the scaffold, with its reeking hor- 
rors of strangling, decapitation, and quartering, brought no fear 
none whatever. Two of the brotherhood who escaped joined 
the Pilgrims of Grace ; a reward was offered for their heads ; 
they were taken prisoners, and on the following day hanged in 
chains near the city of York. They died bravely, exciting the 
sympathy and admiration of the multitude. Almost at the last 
moment Father Gabriel exclaimed, " My good friends, never de- 
sert Peter s ship." The heroic Father Gabriel's name in the world 
was Heber MacMahon, and he was a native of the County Ty- 
rone, where his family had large possessions at one time. 

The whole of the Charter-house fathers were now cut off from 
their house and property. Lord Crumwell laid his hands upon 
all they possessed ; even family memorials, which many of them 
wished to preserve, were carried away. Shame, decency, all the 
elements of honest feeling, were cast aside on this occasion. The 
indignation of the people was intense, but they were unable to 
resist, for the spy, the informer, and the executioner were con- 
stantly at hand, ready to perform any action demanded by the 

The tragic history of the Carthusians does not end in the 
narratives above detailed. The ten remaining fathers were sent 
to the then hideous dungeons of Newgate, where nine of them died 
from prison fever produced by bad air, bad food, and disease. 
The survivor of the ten was hanged, drawn, and quartered. 
Maurice Chauncy, whose chronicle relates their glorious story, 
escaped to France. His narrative is borne out by many of the 
records and state papers of the time, and its truth is reluctantly 
admitted by hostile historians. 

An official named Bedyll announced to Lord Crumwell the 
death of the nine Carthusians in Newgate in these words : 


" By the hand of God, my very good lord, after my most hearty com- 
mendations, it shall please your lordship to understand that the monks of 
the Charter-house, here in London, who- were committed to Newgate for 
their traitorous behavior a long time continued against the king's highness, 
be almost now despatched by the hand of the Almighty God himself, as may 
appear to you by this bill enclosed ; whereof, considering their behavior 
and the whole matter, / am not sorry, but would that all such as love not the 
king's highness, and his worldly honor, were in a like case." * 

Did Bedyll believe in what he wrote ? The conduct of this 
apostate monk, whilst attached to Dr. London's inquisition 
amongst the convents, was simply atrocious ; but as he was doing 
the work of the future Reformers, historians are silent as to his 
merits. He was, however, quickly superseded by his friend 
Lord Crumwell for his conduct at Shaftesbury Convent to a 
lady of the ancient house of Fortescue a name long honored in 
Devonshire. Crumwell had no desire to offer any personal in- 
sult to the nuns, for he had several relatives in convents ; and 
there are letters of his still extant to the abbess of Godstow, and 
other noted establishments, written in a very friendly tone, and 
always seeking the prayers of the sisterhoods "for his sowl's 
health." Avarice was, perhaps, one of Crumwell's leading 
crimes, and, as many of the convents were wealthy, he could not 
resist the temptation of plundering them ; and he did so without 
pity or limit, seeming to forget that the nuns were merely the 
guardians of the " heritage of the poor." Crumwell's clerical 
commissioners were far worse than himself, for he sometimes 
hesitated, having struggled with conscience till his golden dream 
triumphed ; but London and Layton were not afflicted by a 
troubled conscience during their monastic inquisition : that terri- 
ble spectre was reserved for a death-bed surrounded with despair 
and horror. 

Very few of the monastic houses of England suffered a more 
signal injustice than the Charter-house. The Royal Commission- 
ers did their work thoroughly ; and whilst seizing the property 
which the Carthusian fathers held in trust for the poor, they 
cleared off the trustees by the gibbet, the rack, and the dungeon. 
Such was one hideous phase of an epoch when the passions of a 
cruel and licentious monarch, abetted by unscrupulously wicked 
and servile subordinates, overruled all the ordinances of law, 
order, and justice.f 

* State papers and despatches to Lord Crumwell. 

t Maurice Chauncy's account of the sufferings of his brethren, from which the above is in 
part extracted, was written in Latin, and printed in France, about 1550, in a work entitled 
Historia Martyrum Anglics^ by Ritus Dulken, prior of St. Michael, near Metz. 



PART IV. A.D. 137-335. 


AFTER the complete ruin and dispersion of the Jewish nation 
under Adrian, Palestine sunk into the condition of an insignifi- 
cant province of the Roman Empire. It was peopled by a mix- 
ed multitude of Gentiles ; and the Christian Church, composed 
mostly of converts from paganism and their offspring, became a 
Gentile community. The Bishop of Caesarea was the metropoli- 
tan, and the church of JElia Capitolina, the new town which arose 
on the site of Jerusalem, was for a long time insignificant in all 
respects except the sanctity of its location and its traditions. 
On account of these a certain honor and dignity were attached 
to the see of James, and it seems not to have been ever suffragan 
to the see of Caesarea in the strict sense of the word, but rather 
to have enjoyed an honorary precedence by virtue of which the 
Bishop of JElia presided in provincial synods together with the 
Bishop of Cassarea. These privileges of honor were recognized 
and sanctioned by the Council of Nicaea. The following is a 
translation of the seventh canon of that council, the exact sense 
of which cannot with certainty be determined, but has been a 
subject of much dispute among canonists : 

" Since the custom and ancient tradition has prevailed that 
the Bishop of JElia should be honored, let him possess the suc- 
cession of honor, the proper dignity of the metropolis being pre- 

The assertion of these inherited privileges by the Bishops of 
Jerusalem, and their recognition by the church at large, issued 
at last in the formal decree of the Council of Chalcedon, which 
conferred upon the Bishops of Jerusalem the rank of patriarch, 
and assigned to them the fifth place in the hierarchy, with me- 
tropolitan jurisdiction over the three provinces of Palestine. 

During fifty years, counting from A.D. 137, fourteen bishops 
succeeded one another in the see of James. Their names have 
been preserved by Eusebius, and that is all. The name of the 

1 88 1 .] CHRISTIAN JER u SALEM. 5 5 

Holy City Jerusalem had gone entirely out of use, and was not 
revived until the time of Constantine. The very memory of the 
past greatness of the city and of the history of the Jews had be- 
come so far obliterated, except among the despised and perse- 
cuted Jews and Christians, that in the year 309 the Roman gov- 
ernor of Csesarea replied to a Christian on trial before his tri- 
bunal, who declared that his residence was in Jerusalem, that 
he had never heard of such a place. Between the year 195 and 
the beginning of the fourth century some facts, events, and 
personages are known to us through historical records, chiefly 
those of Eusebius, who was himself for many years Bishop 
of Csesarea. Nevertheless, the entire amount of this histori- 
cal information is but scanty. The first of the line of Gen- 
tile bishops at Jerusalem who gained great celebrit}^, and of 
whose life fuller details have been preserved, was Narcissus, 
who took possession of the see some time before the year 195, 
and retained it until some years after the year 211. The gift of 
miracles is ascribed to St. Narcissus by Eusebius, and all accounts 
agree in testifying to his extraordinary sanctity. In the year 
195 the bishops of Palestine, to the number of nearly thirty, as- 
sembled, either in two separate councils, one at Jerusalem under 
Narcissus, and another at Csesarea under Theophilus, according 
to the Libellus Synodicus ; or in one synod at Caesarea under the 
joint presidency of these two prelates, as Eusebius, who seems to 
be the best authority in this case, relates. The principal matter 
discussed in this council was the question of Easter, and the 
judgment of the bishops of Palestine sustained the decision 
of Pope Victor, that Easter should always be celebrated on a 

St. Narcissus was calumniated by certain malicious persons, 
and he withdrew secretly to the desert, where he remained un- 
known for a long period of time, living the life of a hermit. 
Three bishops in succession, Dius, Germanion, and Gordius, gov- 
erned his church during his absence. At length, in the year 211, 
Narcissus, who was supposed to be dead, and who was above 
one hundred years old, suddenly reappeared in Jerusalem and 
resumed the government of his see. Alexander, a disciple of 
Clement of Alexandria, and who was a bishop in Cappadocia, be- 
came his coadjutor and succeeded to his place at his death. St. 
Alexander was one of the most enlightened bishops of his age. 
He gathered the first Christian library of which there is any 
mention in history, and this collection was still extant in the time 
of Eusebius. He was a great friend and protector of Origen, 


who took refuge in Palestine in the year 216. About ten years 
later Origen came again to Csesarea on his way from Alexan- 
dria to Athens, and by the authority of Theoctistus of Cassarea 
and Alexander of Jerusalem he was ordained priest; an act 
which Demetrius of Alexandria resented to such a degree that 
Origen was obliged to remain for a long time at Csesarea and 
Jerusalem under the protection of the two bishops, who defended 
their own conduct and warmly espoused the cause of Origen. 
The latter opened a school of philosophy and theology at Cassa- 
rea, and was always honored and listened to with avidity by the 
Christians of Palestine. St. Alexander finally died in prison 
during the persecution of Decius, after having ruled over the 
church of Jerusalem thirty-nine years. Mazabanus succeeded 
him and ruled nine years. The next bishop, Hymenaeus, took 
an active part in the councils of Antioch against the heretic 
Paul of Samosata. His episcopate extended from about the 
year 250 to about 262. His next successor was Zambda, and 
the one who followed him was Hermon. This brings us to the 
epoch of Diocletian's dreadful persecution in the beginning 
of the fourth century, which raged with equal fury in Palestine 
to that which elsewhere devastated and threatened to exter- 
minate the church of Christ. Hundreds of bishops, thousands 
of priests, and millions of the faithful had perished in Diocletian's 
persecution. Great numbers had also fallen away from the faith. 
Yet all the cruelty and power of imperial Rome had not sufficed 
to destroy more than one-third of the steadfast Christians of that 
heroic age. There were still remaining hundreds of bishops, 
thousands of priests, and probably at least twenty millions of the 
faithful within the limits of the Roman Empire. The glorious 
epoch of Constantine came, and the cross had triumphed. The 
sun broke forth from the clouds and tempests of three centuries 
upon the church of Jerusalem, and its era of prosperity began, 
which lasted for three more centuries, while Palestine remained a 
province of the Christian empire of the East, whose capital was 
the city of Constantine. The restoration of Jerusalem, Judea, 
and Galilee was very different from that of which the Jews and 
Judaizing Christians of the first and second centuries had dream- 
ed. Judaism was wiped out, and the national, political glory and 
importance of the Holy Land had passed away for ever. Jerusa- 
lem and the Holy Land were henceforth only important because 
of their memories, and especially because they were the scene of 
the birth, the life, the death, and the resurrection of Jesus Christ, 
the Redeemer of the world. 


The Emperor Constantine fully appreciated the moral gran- 
deur of the history of God's chosen people as set forth in their 
Sacred Scriptures, of which he was a diligent reader. He was a 
Christian in belief from enlightened and intelligent conviction, 
having enlarged views, noble intentions, and a truly imperial mag- 
nanimity in carrying them into execution. Jerusalem and the 
Holy Land were objects of the greatest interest for him, and the 
piety of his mother, Helena, inspired her with an equal or superior 
enthusiasm to his own for rescuing the Holy Places from heathen 
desecration and adorning them with architectural monuments 
worthy of the great events which had been transacted on that 
sacred soil. Happily for the church of that period and of all 
succeeding times, Palestine possessed a metropolitan in the per- 
son of Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea, who was thoroughly versed 
in historical lore, especially in the sacred history of Judaism and 
Christianity. His learning and virtues made him worthy to be the 
intimate friend of Constantine, his studious tastes and religious 
zeal impelled him to devote himself to those literary labors which 
have proved so invaluable to all ecclesiastical historians since his 
time, to collect a library, to search for the records and the writ- 
ings of the three centuries of toil and suffering just completed, 
and to bequeath to us those works in which he has comprised 
the greatest part of what we know concerning fiis own age and 
those which preceded it. Translations of the historical works of 
Eusebius are not in very general circulation or much read. We 
may quote his own narrative of that part of the history of Chris- 
tian Jerusalem which we have now to recount, with a confident 
expectation that our readers will be best satisfied with it as the 
most authentic, and will also find it as novel and interesting as 
any description in modern form and style could be made : 

"After these affairs had been completed [/>., after the close of the Coun- 
cil of Nicaea, A.D. 325], the emperor dear to God began another most me- 
morable undertaking in Palestine. He considered it, namely, to be his 
duty to make that spot in Jerusalem where the resurrection of the Lord 
took place illustrious and venerable to all men. Therefore he immediately 
commanded that an oratory should be erected in that place, God directing 
and the Saviour inspiring his mind to the execution of this work, 

" Impious men, or rather the entire band of the demons through the in- 
strumentality of impious men, had formerly endeavored to involve that 
venerable monument of immortality in darkness and oblivion : that monu- 
ment, I say, at which once an angel, descending from heaven, radiant with 
wonderful light, had rolled away the stone from the minds of those who were 
truly as hard as rocks, and who thought that the living Christ was still lying 
among the dead; bringing joyful news to the women, and rolling away the 


stone of unbelief from their minds, that he might convince them that he 
whom they were seeking was alive. This saving cave, therefore, certain 
impious and profane men had determined to abolish entirely, foolishly 
thinking that in this way they could hide the truth. So then, with very 
great labor, they had brought from elsewhere a great quantity of earth and 
other materials, with which they filled up the whole place, raising a heap 
of moderate height, which they covered over with stones, concealing en- 
tirely under this mass the sacred cave. Then, as if sure of accomplishing 
their purpose, they constructed upon that ill-omened soil a sepulchre for 
souls ; building a dark cavern of dead images in honor of that lascivious de- 
mon whom they call Venus. There they used to offer execrable sacrifices 
on profane and impure altars ; for they thought to accomplish the design 
which they had in mind completely, when they had buried the saving cave 
under this heap of vile impurities. For those miserable men could not un- 
derstand that it was altogether impossible that He who had conquered death 
should suffer their crime to remain hidden : just as much impossible as that 
the sun, shining upon all lands and making his wonted course in heaven, 
should escape the notice of the whole human race. Indeed, the power of 
our Saviour, resplendent with a far more excellent light, not shining like 
the sun upon bodies, but upon the minds of men, was now filling the whole 
world with his rays. Yet, notwithstanding, those things which impious and 
profane men had contrived against the truth remained for a long space of 
time. Nor was there any one among the presidents or generals, or even the 
emperors, who was worthy to overturn this criminal work, except that one 
prince most acceptable to God, the sovereign over all ; who, being animated 
by an influence from the Divine Spirit, was grieved that the place already 
mentioned should be covered up and forgotten under the abominations 
which the adversaries had heaped upon it, and, being determined not to give 
place to their wickedness, commanded, under the invocation of the holy 
name of God, that it should be purified ; for he thought that the spot which 
had been defiled by adversaries was the one most worthy to be dedicated to 
the divine service by his own efforts and ministry in a magnificent manner. 
The orders of the emperor were carried out without delay, the mound 
erected by those fraudulent men was levelled with the earth, and the 
structures they had erected for the deception of men were destroyed 
and scattered together with their statues, to the discomfiture of the de- 

" The zeal of the emperor did not rest here, but moved him also to have 
all the rubbish removed to a distance from the spot, which was immediately 
done in obedience to his order. Having proceeded thus far, the emperor 
was not yet satisfied ; but, impelled by a divine ardor, he commanded that 
they should dig down deeply into the soil and carry it all far away, as con- 
taminated by the profane rites of demons. This was done immediately. 
And when the lowest stratum had been laid bare, then, beyond the hope of 
all, the august and most holy monument of the Lord's resurrection was dis- 
covered ; and that cave, which may truly be called the holy of holies, pre- 
sented a kind of similitude of the resurrection of our Saviour, since after 
having been buried and concealed it was again brought to light, and, bearing 
witness by facts speaking more clearly than any words, exhibited in the 
most obvious manner to all those who had gathered together to see what 


had occurred the history of the miracles which had formerly been wrought 
in that place. 

" These things having in this manner been accomplished, the emperor 
immediately took measures, by issuing the necessary orders and providing 
ample funds, for constructing with royal magnificence a temple worthy of 
God around that saving cave : a work which he had, in the zeal with which! 
God inspired him, long before projected and resolved to execute. He 
commanded the rulers of the Eastern provinces to furnish abundant sums 
of money for the fulfilment of this grand and magnificent undertaking. 
Moreover, to the bishop who at that time governed the church of Jerusalem 
he sent the following letter, in which he set forth in the clearest language 
the saving doctrine of faith, writing to him in these words : 


" ' So great is the grace of our Saviour that no abundance of speech can 
seem sufficient for narrating the wonderful thing which has lately hap- 
pened. For the monument of his most sacred passion, which had remained 
hidden under the earth for the space of so many years, until, the common 
enemy of all having been overthrown, it shone forth upon his liberated 
servants, truly surpasses all admiration. Indeed, it seems to me that if all 
the wise men of the world collected together should undertake to compose 
something suitable to the dignity of this matter, they would not be able to 
aspire to even the least part of it ; since the faith of this miracle exceeds 
every nature capable of human reason as much as divine things excel those 
which are human. In regard to these things, my one chief object is that, 
while the truth of the faith is daily becoming more evident by new won- 
ders, all our minds should be stirred up to the observance of our most holy 
law, with 1 modesty and harmonious alacrity. I think all are perfectly well 
aware of that of which I wish you in particular to be fully persuaded, that 
nothing is more ardently desired by me than that we should adorn with 
beautiful fabrics that sacred place which by the commandment of God I 
have purified from the sacrilegious structure which had been piled up over 
it, which was holy from the beginning in the judgment of God, but was 
made much more holy after the faith of the Lord's passion had been made 

" ' Therefore, it becomes your prudence so to provide all things necessary 
for the work that not only the basilica itself may be the most beautiful of 
all which can be seen in any place, but that all parts of the edifice may far 
surpass the finest fabrics which can be found in any of the cities of the 
world. I desire you to know that I have committed to our mutual friend, 
Dracilianusthe pro-praetor, and to the president of the province, the charge 
of superintending the laying of the foundations and erecting the walls in 
an elegant style. We have ordered that the artificers and workmen, and all 
things which in your prudence you may judge necessary for this work, 
should be provided and directed by their care after receiving, as is fitting, 
all requisite information from you. But as regards columns and marbles, 
and other more precious things which you may judge suitable for decora- 
tion, take care to communicate directly with us, so that when we know 
from your letters the number and quality of such things as are requisite 
we may provide for their transportation from the places where they can 


be obtained. For it is proper that the place which is most admirable among 
all localities of the world should be adorned in a manner befitting its 

" ' Moreover, I could wish that you would inform me whether you think 
the grand hall of the basilica should be adorned with fret-work or in what 
other style, for if it is fretted it may be also decorated with gilding. I 
know nothing more to add, except to request your holiness to make known 
to the above-mentioned magistrates as soon as possible how many work- 
men and artificers and how much money will be necessary; and that you 
will speedily report to me not only in reference to marbles and columns, 
but also fretted panels, if you think that style of decoration the most ele- 
gant. May the Divinity preserve you, dearest brother.' 

" These are the words written by the emperor. Their effect imme- 
diately followed ; and in the place of our Saviour's martyrdom a New Jeru- 
salem was built opposite to the ancient and celebrated sanctuary and city, 
which had already endured the punishment of the wickedness of its inhabi- 
tants by the total destruction which laid it waste after the nefarious murder 
of the Lord. So over against this old city the emperor in his religious zeal 
erected the trophy of the victory which our Saviour had won over death. 
And perhaps this was that modern and new Jerusalem, foretold in the 
oracles of the prophets, concerning which so many eulogiums pronounced 
by the Holy Spirit are read in the sacred books. First, therefore, he 
adorned that sacred cave, as the chief part of the whole work : namely, the 
divine monument near which, formerly, an angel radiant with celestial 
light had announced the regeneration which was made manifest to all by 
the Saviour. 

" This monument, I say, as the head of the whole work, the magnifi- 
cence of the emperor, first of all, decorated with elegant columns, in the 
most beautiful style, and with all manner of ornaments. Then he passed 
on to the work of inclosing a large space of the ground surrounding the sep- 
ulchre and open to the sky, laying down a splendid pavement of stones and 
building long porticoes on every side of the enclosure. The basilica was 
erected on that side of the sepulchre which looks toward the rising sun : 
an admirable structure of grand dimensions in height, length, and width. 
Its interior surfaces were encrusted with variegated marbles ; its outer sur- 
face veneered with closely jointed dressed stones equally beautiful with 
marble. The summit and chambers were covered with a leaden roofing 
secure against the storms of winter. The interior was ceiled with panelling 
which appeared like a vast sea, and was extended through the entire basili- 
ca, supported by mortised rafters all covered with the purest gold, which 
made the basilica throughout radiant with splendor. On each side double 
porticoes, partly below and partly above the surface, extended along the 
whole length of the building, having adjacent rooms which were covered 
with gilding. Those which were exterior to the walls of the basilica were 
supported by great columns, the interior ones by pillars richly decorated on 
their surfaces. Three gates on the eastern side gave entrance to the crowd 
of visitors. Near these gates, as the culminating point of the whole edifice, 
was a hemisphere extending to the summit of the basilica. It was sur- 
rounded by twelve columns, according to the number of the twelve apostles 

1 88 1 .] CHRISTIAN JER u SALEM. 61 

of our Saviour. The capitals of these columns were of silver in the form of 
large goblets : a costly offering which the emperor dedicated to his God. 

" An area was made before the entrances to the temple. First there 
was an atrium, then porticoes on each side, and lastly the gates of the 
atrium. After these were the vestibules of the whole structure, in the mid- 
dle of the open market-place, where the venders of various articles had their- 
stations, and these were built in a very Ornate style, so that the passers- 
by, looking on them with admiration, could form some idea of what was to 
be seen within. 

" Thus, then, the emperor constructed this temple as a testimony of the 
resurrection which brings salvation, and adorned it with royal and magnifi- 
cent furniture. The number and value of the gifts and ornaments, precious 
articles of gold, silver, and gems, with which he beautified it, are indescrib- 
able ; and I cannot attempt to specify in detail all the grandeur, the elabo- 
rate works of art, and other numerous and various features which render 
this work so remarkable. 

" He also undertook to adorn with reverential honor two other places 
of that region which were ennobled by sacred caves. The emperor hon- 
ored in a befitting manner that grotto in which our Saviour first manifest- 
ed his divine presence and condescended to be born in the flesh. In the 
other grotto he honored the memory of the ascension of the Lord, which 
had formerly taken place on the summit of the mountain. And by adorn- 
ing these places in a magnificent manner he also consecrated with them the 
name of his mother, by whose work and instrumentality he was accomplish- 
ing so much good for the benefit of the human race, to the eternal remem- 
brance of future generations. 

" For when this woman of singular prudence had determined to pay the 
debt of pious gratitude which she owed to God, the universal sovereign, in 
behalf of her son the great emperor, and his sons the Caesars dear to God, 
her grandchildren, although she was advanced in years, she hastened with 
youthful ardor to traverse that land which was so worthy of veneration, and 
to visit the cities and peoples of the East, making them the object of a 
truly royal solicitude and providence. And after she had venerated the 
footsteps of our Saviour with due respect, as of old the prophetic word had 
foretold, Let us worship in the place where his feet have trodden (Ps. cxxxi. 7)> 
she left behind for posterity the fruit of her piety. For she immediately 
dedicated to God, whom she adored, two temples, one at the cave in which 
the Lord was born, the other on that mountain from which he ascended 
into heaven : for Emmanuel (this name signifies God with us) submitted to 
be born in a place under ground for our sake ; and the place of his nativity 
was called by the Hebrews Bethlehem. And therefore the Augusta, filled 
with the love of God, honored the child-bearing of the Virgin Mother of 
God with splendid monuments, adorning that sacred cave with the most 
pious devotion. Moreover, the emperor soon afterwards honored the same 
nativity of the Lord with royal gifts, with various monuments of gold and 
silver, and embroidered veils, adding to the magnificence of his mother. 
The mother of the emperor also erected some lofty structures in memory of 
the ascension of Christ, the Saviour of all men, on the Mount of Olives, plac- 
ing a sacred building with a temple on the very summit of the mountain. 
Veracious history narrates that in this place and in this very cave Christ, the 


Saviour of all men, initiated his disciples into secret mysteries. The empe- 
ror, moreover, testified his veneration for the sovereign King of all men by 
endowing this place also with various ornaments and gifts. . . . 

" Helena Augusta was mindful also even of the chapels of the smallest 
cities, decorating the sacred edifices everywhere with valuable orna- 
ments" (De Vita Constantini, lib. iii. cc. 25-45). 



" THE history of the United States Government's repeated violations 
of faith with the Indians thus convicts us, as a Nation, not only of having 
outraged the principles of justice, which are the basis of international law, 
and of having made ourselves liable to all punishments which follow upon 
such sins to arbitrary punishment at the hands of any civilized nation who 
might see Jit to call us to account, and to that more certain natural punish- 
ment which sooner or later as surely comes from evil-doing as harvests 
come from sown seed." * 

This is a terrible sentence pronounced upon our country. 
How sad a result of our first hundred years of popular govern- 
ment ! What a pity that the amiable Georges were interfered 
with, by those pestilent colonists who achieved American inde- 
pendence, in the prosecution of those measures of improvement 
and elevation which they invariably employed in their transac- 
tions with the heathen ! We are a nuisance among the nations, 
to be justly abated by whatever power, or powers, may feel 
strong enough to undertake our destruction. There can be no 
hesitancy about throwing the first stone. And we may imagine 
the amiable authoress of A Century of Dishonor hoping, like the 
Camilla of Corneille, that she may with her own eyes see the 
thunderbolt strike us our monuments in ashes and our laurels in 
the dust ! 

Let us cast a rapid glance backward over the record of these 
hundred years and see if that record sustains the charge that the 
Republic of the West the light of whose ensign anywhere 
throughout the wide world stirs up feelings of hope and faith in 
human progress is, as a nation, cruel and perfidious, a liar and 
a thief. 

* A Century of Dishonor. A sketch of the United States Government's dealings with 
some of the Indian tribes. By H. H. New York : Harper & Bros. 


What was the right of the Indian tribes to the lands they 
occupied at the time of the settlement? The right of con- 

Not an Indian tribe at that time was occupying land which be- 
longed to it by any other title. 

The Six Nations crushed the people of their own race from the 
Hudson to the Father of Waters. They conquered or expelled 
the tribes of the Algonquin race, the Wyandottes, the Eries, the 
Shawnees, the Illinois, the Delawares. They took the Delaware 
lands and sold them. The country claimed by the Cherokees be- 
longed tb the Euchees, whom the Cherokees exterminated, and 
whose land they took by the law of the strong hand. The Creeks 
had taken the country they claimed from the Natches, the Savan- 
nahs, and the Ogeechees, whom they had conquered. The Sioux 
took the country of the lowas and that of the Cheyennes, be- 
cause buffalo were plenty therein. A war to the knife of three 
hundred years between the Chippewas and the Sioux resulted in 
the expulsion of the latter from the lands they had seized. The 
Chippewas drove out the Sacs and Foxes. Every foot of ground 
claimed by this tribe was wrested by them from weaker tribes of 
their own race. The Sioux took the Pawnee country, murdered 
and outraged the Winnebagoes, the Omahas, the Ottoes, and the 
Missouris. And in our own day the much-vexed question of 
the removal of the Poncas was initiated by themselves when 
driven by the incessant attacks and outrages of the Sioux to ask 
for a change of location. 

The claimants to the regions of North America by right of 
discovery recognized in the Indians only a very limited proprie- 
torship in the lands they actually occupied. They refused to 
concede that wandering tribes of savage hunters could claim as 
their property vast districts over which they occasionally hunted. 
Even of the portions on which they actually lived the Euro- 
pean governments considered them only as tenants-at-will, re- 
movable at the pleasure or convenience of the power possessing 
the right of eminent domain, which was held to grow out of the 
right of discovery. A usufructuary interest only was conceded 
to them, and this interest they could only dispose of to the power 
claiming by right of discovery, or, by its permission, to its sub- 
jects. The " right of occupancy," which the writer of A Century 
of Dishonor inflates to an all-comprehensive extent excluding 
any right of participancy in occupation amounted simply to this 
and nothing more. The " heathen " were not viewed as men 
having rights, but as children to be held in a state of pupilage. 


This was the accepted view of the Indians' status up to the strug- 
gle for independence. 

What was the attitude of the Indian tribes toward the United 
Colonies in the struggle for independence ? At first dilatory and 
deceitful, it finally developed into almost universal hostility 
perfidious, bloody, merciless, barbarous. From the Six Nations 
in the North to the Creeks in the South the frontier settlements 
were deluged with the blood of women and children by the 
noble red allies of his Majesty George III. For seven years 
after the peace the Western Indians continued to plunder, 
burn, and destroy. Up to 1795 they still hoped tfrat Great 
Britain, from whose emissaries they had been receiving am- 
munition, would renew hostilities. Commissioners sent to ar- 
range a peace with them were massacred. At length, when tho- 
roughly whipped by Gen. Wayne, they made peace. Their posi- 
tion then before the United States was that of subjugated ene- 
mies. No mention was made of Great Britain's red allies in the 
treaty of peace. She quietly and silently abandoned them to 
their fate, or rather to the magnanimity of the young republic. 
She coldly ceded the country of her devoted friends, the Six 
Nations. What could the tribes claim in justice from the United 
States ? Nothing. They had forfeited every right. But mercy 
took the place of justice, and the United States pardoned their 
hostility, their butcheries and atrocities, conceded to them a lim- 
ited sovereignty, a qualified nationality, a power to treat and be 
treated with. They admitted the Indians to a proprietorship of 
the land, which could not be afterwards taken from them without 
satisfactory consideration and their consent. A higher title was 
ROW given the Indians by the United States than had ever been 
recognized in them by any European government. This was 
magnanimity, but it was mistaken. The new government treated 
its late enemies not wisely but too well. 

Only a few years later we find the tribes in the North, the 
South, and the West organizing under Tecumseh and the Pro- 
phet to make war upon the government and exterminate the 
whites. Breaking a truce, the Indians made a sudden and un- 
expected night attack upon Gen. Harrison. Notwithstanding a 
heavy American loss, the Indians met with a severe defeat which 
made memorable Tippecanoe. And they made peace again. 

But not for long. The declaration of war in 1812 brought 
them to their feet again as hostile as ever Sioux, Shawnees, Win- 
nebagoes, Chippewas, Delawares, Wyandottes, Pottawatomies, 
Miamis, Choctaws, Creeks, Seminoles, and Cherokees. Another 


bloody collection of tales of horror was furnished every infant 
settlement on the frontiers. In accordance with the provisions of 
the treaty of Ghent the tribes were notified by commissioners that 
on ceasing hostilities their status ante bellum should be restored. 
The Rock River Sacs refused to stop hostilities and continued 
to burn, rob, and outrage. Surely they forfeited their rights 
under that treaty also. Yet on suing for peace afterwards they 
were accorded all the rights they could have claimed had they 
availed themselves of the treaty stipulations. The United States 
preferred a liberal and humane policy toward the tribes to their 
punishment by the employment of force. The United States 
government even fed those who at the close of hostilities 
were without the necessaries of life. Yet the Sacs again raised 
the tomahawk against the government in the war under their 
noted chief, Black Hawk. The old story was repeated. Sud- 
denly they began burning settlements, butchered and outraged 
women and children, until an organized force was sent against 
them ; then they succumbed, sued for peace, and were pardoned 
once more. Their descendants are living to-day on annuities 
paid them by the government of the United States. These facts 
should not in justice be omitted from the record of " a century 
of dishonor." 

The author of A Century of Dishonor does not state the case 
of the Creeks and Cherokees versus the States of Georgia and Ala- 
bama with fairness. The portions of those tribes opposed to the 
emigration plan proposed by other portions claimed sove- 
reignty and denied the power of the States to extend the opera- 
tion of their laws over them. They were offered the choice be- 
tween submission to the laws, citizenship, a fee-simple title to a 
sufficiency of land, and joining their emigrated brethren, getting 
portions of land equal to their cessions, compensation for their 
improvements, transportation free, and one year's subsistence after 
arrival in the colony. There were bloody feuds between the re- 
presentatives of the two factions. Each was willing to make the 
treaty if negotiated with its side. One immediately opposed it 
when made with the other. The followers of the rival chiefs had 
recourse to bloody crimes and assassinations. After their arri- 
val in their new country the feud continued bloodier and more 
vengeful, and the leaders of the emigration party were assassi- 
nated by their rivals with every concomitant of savage cruelty. 

Thus far we have seen the Indian tribes quick to spring up, 
tomahawk in hand, whenever an enemy arose against the govern- 
ment of the United States. What was their attitude in 1861 ? 

VOL. xxxiv. 5 


With insignificant exceptions, it was the traditional one. They 
were on the enemy's side. Canadian traders and half-breeds 
were busy among the Northern Indians, spreading the news of an 
imminent and inevitable war between the United States and 
Great Britain. The Chippewas and Winnebagoes, the Sioux, 
the Indians between the Missouri and the British line, were get- 
ting ready for the war-path. The Minnesota massacre of 1862, 
in which the Sioux killed nearly a thousand women, children, and 
old men, destroyed property to the value of millions, and reduced 
several thousand people from comparative comfort to destitution, 
was the result of the premature explosion of the mine. What do 
the so-called semi-civilized tribes of the Indian Territory at this 
critical juncture in the nation's life ? They neither hesitate nor 
delay. In October, 1861, they formally renounced their allegi- 
ance to the government and transferred it to the Confederate 
States. They raised troops for the Confederate government, 
drove out all neutrals, attacked defenceless settlements and In- 
dians supposed to be neutral or friendly. When it dawned upon 
them that they had joined the losing side they were quick peti- 
tioners for permission to retransfer their allegiance, and they were 
allowed to do so. The fact sounds strangely in the record of 
"a century of dishonor." The author's attempted defence of the 
treason of the Cherokees is weaker than childish. She evidently 
felt that it was when writing it, but then they must be defended 
quand meme. 

With what claim to land were the Indians armed who came 
under the jurisdiction of the United States by cession from Mexico 
or by the annexation of Texas ? 

Mexico recognized no Indian right to soil within her jurisdic- 
tion, unless by special grant. 

Texas, by express provision, reserved the right to, and exclu- 
sive jurisdiction over, all vacant lands within her limits. 

These Mexican Indians, therefore, came to us without any 
claim to land. They made continual war for nearly twenty years 
after the cession, and broke every treaty made with them from 
1847 to 1865. Yet the government made no distinction between 
them and other Indians, but gave them reservations, food, and 
clothing, and recognized in them the treaty-making power. This 
is another fact which should not have been omitted from the 
record of the century. 

Of course the full score of massacres of Indians by whites is 
given in this book, and the massacres of whites by Indians passed 
over in silence. This is the way to write history when you 


want to make a case. When in 1860 white settlers on the Chero- 
kee lands were driven away by government forces, our author 
tells us that the officer sent to dislodge them was obliged to burn 
their cabins over their heads before they would stir. But she 
drops no word of sympathy for these people. They were com- 
mon white working people. This is philanthropy. 

On page 146 the author says that the annuities of the Sioux 
were in arrears, but " this was almost a blessing, since both money, 
goods, and provisions were so soon squandered for whiskey." 
The next line tells us that "in 1842 several of the bands were 
reduced to a state of semi-starvation by the failure of the corn 
crops and the failure of the Senate to ratify a treaty they had 
made with Gov. Doty in 1841. Depending on the annuity pro- 
mised in this treaty, they had neglected to make their usual provi- 
sions for the winter." Of course the perfidious Senate was to 
blame for the trusting Sioux' neglect. Then she tells us that 
frosts in June and drought in July combined to ruin the crops. 
The water had been drying up for years ; the musk-rat ponds 
were dried up, and the perfidious musk-rats had gone " nobody 
knew where," says the writer. The beaver, otter, and other 
furred animals had been hunted until they were hard to find. The 
buffalo had been driven far away ; but even if they were near 
enough the Indians had no horses to hunt with. They were 
hundreds of miles from any place where corn could be obtained, 
" even if they had money to pay for it," the author naively adds. 
And she winds up this catalogue of misfortunes with an en-pas- 
sant remark that, " except for some assistance from the government, 
they would have died by hundreds in the winter of this year " This 
interesting item for the record of "a century of dishonor" must' 
have crept in by accident. 

Sympathy with the wronged is an attribute of noble and gen- 
erous hearts. But even noble and generous hearts sometimes 
allow their sympathy to run away with their judgment. By 
nursing their hatred of wrong they work themselves into such 
an excess of zeal that they can see nothing but total depravity in 
those they consider to be wrong-doers, and naught but angelic 
virtue in those of whom they are the self-constituted champions. 
From partisans they become fanatics. Their end being a humane 
and noble one, they are blind to the injustice done by themselves. 
They read history, law, theology in the light of their fanaticism. 
The suggestio falsi ceases to have any terrors for them, and the 
suppressio veri becomes a part of their system. All the wrong is 
on one side and all the right on the other. 


Right and justice, as understood by the writer of A Century of 
Dishonor, would show us a solitary Indian standing on a lofty 
eminence within his ten-thousand-acre hunting-park, warning off 
the pioneer who begs outside his boundaries for land enough 
for a house for his family and for crops for their support. Rail- 
roads must not be built, the precious metals must not be digged 
out of the useless earth, water-power must not be utilized, be- 
cause the Indian will not sell, though he will not cultivate. His 
" right " must be respected. The Indian's park is within the 
limits of a sovereign State. He claims that he, too, is a sovereign. 
He refuses to submit to the laws of the State. It would be 
" unjust " to remove him. What will she do with him ? 

No doubt money appropriated for Indian uses has been 
squandered or misapplied. Dishonest officials have been in 
every time and clime and under every form of government. 
Even the iron Spartan was not proof against a bribe. The thirst 
for gold is not confined to any race or people. In known in- 
stances not more than ten per centum of sums paid the Indian 
chiefs reached the humble members of the tribe. 

That the government has pursued a short-sighted policy with 
regard to the Indian tribes any man of ordinary intelligence can 
see to-day. But the vision of even the most far-sighted of our 
great statesmen of the past fell far short of the future. When 
the Indian tribes were colonized beyond the Mississippi, who sup- 
posed the development of the country would be so vast, so rapid 
as it is ? The expansion has been so marvellous that not even 
the wildest believer of forty years ago in our " manifest des- 
tiny " had an imagination rich enough to suggest a dream of its 

The scheme of the colony beyond the Mississippi originated 
with that portion of the Cherokees who preferred living Indian 
fashion by the chase to the practice of agriculture. Their object 
was not civilization but the preservation of their old habits, cus- 
toms, and mode of life. They wanted to be placed beyond possi- 
bility of contact with white men, and they thought the emigra- 
tion would effect their design. Neither Indian nor white man 
then dreamed of pioneers crowding around the Indian Territory 
and galling the kibes of the big chiefs. 

This colonization scheme, devised by the Indians, as I have 
said, to escape civilization in the first place, and then adopted by 
the government as a civilizing scheme, has been a double failure, 
both for the Indians and the government. If in the present 
stage of our development isolation were much longer possible, it 


is not by isolation that savages can be civilized, and the Indians 
know it. The reservation system is merely the colony in petto. 
Tribal title to land is merely the basis of an oligarchy. The first 
step toward the civilization of the Indian is the solution of the 
tribal bond. Blood will yet be spilled before it is loosed. The 
chiefs, head-men, and medicine-men will fight for it to the last. 

In guaranteeing vast tracts of land to Indian tribes " for 
ever" the government contracted unfortunately, though in good 
faith, to do what was beyond its power beyond any human 
power. You might as well give an Indian a reservation on the 
sands at low water, and expect to prevent the high tide from 
sweeping over him. It is only a question of time. It will come 
in the Indian Territory as well as elsewhere. The tide of settle- 
ment will draw closer and closer until the Indian is hemmed in 
to the quantity of land he will cultivate. His only safety is to 
get that in severalty which no man can take from him, and bring 
up his children in the ways and habits of the whites who will 
settle around him. The game is gone, and the Indian was its 
most reckless destroyer. The hunting-park of 10,000 acres nec- 
essary to support one Indian by the chase the crush of settle- 
ment will no longer permit. 

Like all conquered peoples, the Indian's future is assimilation, 
absorption, or extinction. He cannot be civilized by isolation or 
preserved as an ethnological curiosity. The sooner the great 
reservations are cut up and sold the better. Give the Indian a 
liberal share of land in fee, inalienable for a term of years. Make 
him amenable to the laws of the State or Territory he lives in, and 
extend to him their protection. Help him in his first efforts at 
self-support ; supplement the result of these efforts by what is 
necessary to his subsistence. Give him industrial schools for his 
children ; let him be free to worship God in his own way, and do 
not, with cold indifferentism or cynical scepticism, parcel him out 
among jarring sects, so many head to each. 

While history shows that the Indian tribes in their transac- 
tions with each other were remorseless tyrants and perfidious 
enemies, that the stronger despoiled, decimated, exterminated 
the weaker ; while the annals of their inter-tribal relations are an 
unparalleled record of cruelty, outrage, robbery, and blood, the 
history of our hundred years bears upon its closing page the not 
dishonorable record that no Indian tribes which were in existence at 
the time of the Declaration of Independence have become extinct. And 
the protecting power that saved them from extinction is the gov- 
ernment of the United States. 



" You will hear more Gaelic spoken in Canada in one week 
than you would hear during a month's sojourn in the High- 
lands !" Such was the astounding assertion made some time ago 
at a Montreal dinner-table by a Scottish laird, himself of Cana- 
dian birth, and an extensive landowner in Ontario as well as in 
North Britain. And such is indeed the case. Along the shore of 
Lake St. Francis, and beyond, where the broad blue ribbon of the 
St. Lawrence is dotted with tiny verdant islets, among which 
loyal Canadians peep shyly across to the State of New York, 
dwell a sturdy race of men as truly Highland in heart and 
speech as when they left their beloved hills a hundred years ago. 
A nature, if loyal to one attachment, will be loyal to all. These 
Highlanders in Canada have preserved their faith and have ad- 
hered to their language and traditions. 

To visit the Gael in the home of his adoption you leave Mon- 
treal, going by railroad westward for about two hours and a half, 
and arrive at Lancaster, the county town of Glengarry, the home 
of the Chlanadh nan Gael. Glengarry is the most easterly county of 
Ontario, and is one of those into which the district of Lunenbourg 
was divided in 1792. It is bounded on the east by County Sou- 
langes, on the north by Prescott, west by County Storm ont also 
largely peopled with Scotch settlers and on the south by the 
St. Lawrence. 

The county comprises four townships : Charlottenburg, Lan- 
caster, Lochiel, and Kenyon. These are again subdivided into 
" concessions," and the concessions into lots. Lancaster, the 
county town, is in the township of Charlottenburg and lies on 
the banks of the Riviere-aux-Raisins. It is the outlet for pro- 
duce from the inland villages, and the place of starting for stage- 
coaches to different points. The roads here are atrocious, and 
the coaches " rattle your bones over the stones " while taking 
you through a country so magnificent that you wonder why 
the dwellers therein do not mend their ways. In Charlotten- 
burg are also the parishes of St. Raphael's, Martintown, and 
Williamstown. The township of Lancaster lies east of Charlot- 
tenburg, and was called the " sunken township " on account 
of the first French settlers having considered it too swampy 
for habitation. Lochiel lies to the north and boasts of quite 


a rising town, Alexandria, containing seven hundred inhabitants, 
a high-school, and a convent under the Sisters of the Holy 
Cross. Kenyon is north of Charlottenburg, and is, like the 
others, a country of magnificent agricultural development. 

The counties of Stormont and Dundas are, if we except a few 
Germans, entirely Scotch, but are not Catholic, as is Glengarry. 
The pioneer settlers were from the valley of the Mohawk, 
whither many had emigrated from Scotland and from Germany 
before the Revolution. When the proclamation of peace in 1783 
deprived the Scottish soldiers who formed the Royal New York 
Regiment, under Sir John Johnson, of their occupation, noth- 
ing was left for them but to accept the offer of the British gov- 
ernment and settle on lands granted them in Canada West. Loy- 
alty came more natural to their mountain instincts than policy, 
and they were in those days much more conscientious than prac- 
tical* Each soldier received a grant of a hundred acres fronting 
on the river, and two hundred within the county on which he 
settled. That these people were for the main part Protestant is 
easily seen by the names which they bestowed on their villages, 
such as Matilda, Williamstown, Charlotte, and Mariatown, which 
latter was, we are told, " called after Captain Duncan's daughter 
Maria." There were many Catholics also in Sir John Johnson's 
regiment, and they probably turned the first sod in what is now 
Glengarry ; but the real influx of Catholic Highlanders did not 
take place until 1786 and 1802. 

Throughout the last century religious persecution prevailed 
in the Highlands of Scotland, not in actual strife or bloodshed, 
but in the merciless bigotry and continued obstruction that 
comes so readily to those " children of this world, who are wiser 
in their generation than the children of light." The old chief- 
tains who had clung to their God and their sovereign were at- 
tainted, incarcerated in Edinburgh Castle or in the Tower of 
London, and their sons of tender age, removed from the influence 
of early associations, were the helpless pupils of the sanctimonious 
dominies, who banished from their young minds every ray of 
Catholic hope and joy, and sent them back to their country as 
strangers and sojourners sometimes as fierce denouncers of the 
faith in which they were born. 

Strong in loyalty and conservative to the heart's core, for 
years the powerful clan of MacDonald escaped unscathed. De- 
scended from the mighty Somerled, Thane of Argyle, by his 
marriage with the daughter of Olaf, surnamed the Red, the Nor- 

* The writer of this article, it is well to note, is a loyal Canadian. ED. C. W. 


wegian King of the Isles, this branch of Siol Cuin (the race of 
Conn) had accepted the faith of St. Columba, the " royal O'Neil," 
and never wavered from his teachings. For centuries they had 
lived and died Catholics, and the. bones of their chieftains had 

" Carried to Colme's Kill, the 
Sacred storehouse of their predecessors, 
And guardian of their bones." 

In rugged Inverness, where the mighty houses of Clanranald 
and Glengarry, divided by Loch Nevish, held watch and ward 
over the heather-clad mountains and deep and dangerous arms 
of the sea ; back through the braes of Lochaber to where the 
McDonells of Keppoch dwelt under the shadow of Ben Nevis ; 
over the Sound of Sleat, by whose waters MacDonald of that ilk 
kept his enemies at bay, and westward to the wild rocks of the 
Hebrides, the clan Donald practised their faith. By dint of much 
caution, and with great labor, these faithful mountaineers were 
fed with the sacraments of their church. Priests' heads were 
then as valuable as were those of wolves in the days of Alfred, 
and if a saggarth was caught by " the Reformed " woe to him ! 
In spite of these dangers, young men escaped to the Continent, 
and in the Scots' College, Rome, and at Valladolid, in Spain, 
studied for the priesthood. After their ordination they would 
return to their beloved hills to brave death and save souls. 
Jesuits and Irish secular priests, outlawed, and with a price set 
upon them dead or alive, sought this remote field for their devot- 
ed labors. 

Across the rough gray waters of the Gulf of Hebrides, in 
many a cave and sheltered nook of the island of South Uist, the 
clansmen, in their belted tartans, assisted at the Holy Sacrifice 
and received the Bread of Heaven. Like the Israelites, they "ate 
it with their loins girt, and standing," for the morning mist roll- 
ing off Benbecula might disclose to them a watchful foe, and the 
waves of Minch, now trembling in the dawn of day, might, ere 
the sun climbed beyond the mountains' crest, bear on their bosom 
the boat of the Sassenach spy. If the spy were not well attended 
and strongly armed it would be worse for him, for meekness and 
gentleness were Christian characteristics not strongly marked in 
this race, and they acted literally on St. Paul's injunction to be 
"first pure and then peaceable." Their precept was, Luathic do 
liambh agus cruadhich do Chuille " Quicken thy hand and harden 
thy blows." An amusing specimen of this spirit is handed down 


from the prayer of a clansman before the battle of Sheriffmuir ; 
" O Lord ! be thou with us ; but, if thou be not with us, be not 
against us, but leave it between the red-coats and us ! " 

At last some among this chosen people of God fell, lured by 
the inducements of the supporters of the Elector of Hanover, as 
they had persistently called his Britannic majesty. Not content 
with embracing Calvinism themselves, they endeavored to inocu- 
late their people. One, indeed, tried an untoward application by 
means of severe blows from his Bati-bui or yellow walking-stick 
with which he hoped to induce his tenantry to repair to the Protes- 
tant meeting-house. To this day Calvinism is spoken of by the 
descendants of those people as Credible a bhati-bui the religion of 
the yellow stick. The tyranny of these foes of their own house- 
hold, combined with the poverty and wretchedness prevailing 
throughout the Highlands, caused many of the MacDonalds and 
their Catholic neighbors to turn their thoughts to America, 
whence came alluring stories of plenty and peace. At home the 
country had been drained to provide means for the insurrection 
which they hoped would put their exiled prince on the throne 
of the Stuarts. The ravages of war had laid their lands waste, 
the more progressive Lowlanders and the absentee nobles 
were turning the tenant-holdings into sheep-walks, inch by 
inch their birthright was leaving them, their dress was forbid- 
den, their arms seized, their very language was made contra- 
band ; so, facing the difficulty like brave men, they determined 
to emigrate. In the year 1786 two ships sailed from Scot- 
land to Canada filled with emigrants. The first left early in 
the season, but sprang a leak and was obliged to put into Bel- 
fast for repairs ; resuming her voyage, she reached the American 
coast too late to attempt making Quebec harbor, and therefore 
landed her passengers at Philadelphia. The emigrants were lodged 
in a barracks evacuated by the troops after the proclamation 
of peace, but in the course of the winter a third misfortune befell 
them : the barracks took fire and burned to the ground, consuming 
in the flames their worldly all. These poor pilgrims then went 
through to Lake Champlain in boats, and were met at Ile-aux- 
Noix by their friends who had already established themselves in 
Ontario. Who but Highland hearts would undertake such a 
journey for friends ? At a bad season of the year, over slushy 
roads, when time was precious and horseflesh valuable, they 
started in capacious sleighs for their old friends and kindred, 
and drove them to the forest that was to be their home, housing 
.and feeding them until their own log-houses were erected. 


The second band of emigrants before referred to had a much 
more prosperous voyage. They were from Knoydart, and 
were under the leadership of the Rev. Alexander MacDon- 
ald, of the family of Scothouse, a cousin of the chief of Glengarry. 
He was a man of courage and strong will, and marshalled his 
flock with prudence and discretion. As the good ship MacDon- 
ald glided out of the harbor of Greenock the priest addressed 
his flock and put them under the protection of St. Raphael, the 
guide of the wanderer. A few moments later there was a wail 
of terror : the ship was aground. " Sios air er glunean, agusdianibh 
urnaigh " " Down on your knees and pray ! " thundered the 
priest ; St. Raphael interceded, the ship slid off, and in the Que- 
bec Gazette, 1786, is this entry : 

" Arrived, ship MacDonald, from Greenock, with emigrants, nearly the 
whole of a parish in the north of Scotland, who emigrated with their priest 
and nineteen cabin passengers, together with five hundred and twenty 
steerage passengers, to better their case, up to Cataraqui." 

Cataraqui was the ancient name for Kingston ; there, how- 
ever, they did not go, but to what is now known as St. Raphael's 
parish, some miles north of Lancaster. Here they fell to work, in 
spite of numerous hardships, to construct their houses, and also 
to build the pioneer church, called " Blue Chapel." Of course 
church and parish were dedicated to their archangel guardian. 
In the year 1802 another very large party of emigrants arrived 
from Glengarry, Inverness-shire, who, settling near the earlier 
comers, gave the name of their native glen to the whole district. 
During the winter of 1803 the good priest of St. Raphael's fell ill 
far away from any comfort or from medical aid to soothe or assuage 
his malady ; he was deprived, too, of the services of a brother 
priest to administer the consolations of religion. His people rallied 
round him, and the strongest men came forward ; they construct- 
ed a leabaith ghulain, and carried him upon it through the for- 
est paths and over the snow mountains to Williamstown. Hence, 
when the ice broke up, he was taken in a canoe down Riviere- 
aux-Raisins to the mission at Lachine, where he died on the igth 
of May, 1803. He was succeeded in St. Raphael's by a Father 

The chronicle of the emigrants of 1802 introduces one of the 
grandest figures in Canadian history the Rev. Alexander (Alla- 
stair) MacDonald, or MacDonell, later the first bishop of Upper 
Canada. He was of the House of Glengarry, a branch of clan Don- 
ald now generally recognized as inheriting the chieftainship of the 


whole clan. For services rendered to the royal house of Stuart 
they were rewarded by Charles II. with a peerage under the title 
of Lord MacDonell and Arross. The Rev. Alexander MacDon- 
ald was born at Innishalaggan in 1760, and studied at Valladolid. 
About the year 1790 trade between the river Clyde and the 
North American colonies had been greatly injured by the procla- 
mation of peace and the independence of those colonies, and the 
merchants of Glasgow and Greenock turned their attention to the 
importation and manufacture of cotton. This branch of industry 
grew rapidly, and in 1793 over eighty thousand people were em- 
ployed in it. The great demand for labor drained the agricul- 
tural districts and sent up the price of all kinds of provisions. 
The lairds, finding they could obtain so ready a market, deter- 
mined that it would be more to their advantage to turn their 
mountain estates into sheep-walks than to allow them to be occu- 
pied by the numerous and poor clansmen, who were indifferent 
farmers and could scarcely obtain from the soil sufficient for 
their own maintenance. Accordingly the tenants were turned 
adrift ; sometimes two hundred gave place to one south-country 
shepherd, or, as the local phraseology expressed it, " Two hun- 
dred smokes went through one chimney." These poor people 
were destitute and helpless ; they had never been beyond the gray 
line of ocean that washes the rocks of the Hebrides and runs 
into the deep indentures of the Inverness-shire coast. The south- 
ern language was to them an unknown tongue ; to make or to take 
care of money was beyond their ken. The means of emigration 
were denied them. British cruisers had orders from the Admi- 
ralty to prevent the departure of emigrants from the Highlands of 
Scotland, and to press such able-bodied men as they found on 
board of emigrant-ships. It was when affairs were in this pitiable 
state that the Rev. Dr. MacDonald came to the rescue. Leaving 
the scene of his missionary labors on the borders of Perth, he re- 
paired to Glasgow, where he obtained an introduction to the 
principal manufacturers. He proposed to them that they should 
give employment to his destitute countrymen. This they were 
willing enough to do, but reminded the priest of two obstacles : 
one, their ignorance of the English language ; the other, their 
profession of the Catholic faith. At that time the prejudice 
against Catholics was so strong in Glasgow that they were always 
in danger of insult and abuse. It was hardly safe for a priest 
to reside among them ; he would be subject to annoyance and as- 
sault, and, as the penal laws were still in force, he would also be 
liable to be brought before a court of justice. Dr. MacDonald 


expressed his conviction that " although the letter of the law was 
in force, the spirit of it was greatly mitigated," and declared that 
if the manufacturers would take the Highlanders under their pro- 
tection he would run his chances of safety and take up his resi- 
dence among them as interpreter and clergyman. This was 
agreed to, and from 1792 to 1794 the plan worked admirably. 
Then came the war with France. The manufacturers received a 
sudden check ; many failed, and others were almost at a stand. 
The pooi Highlanders were again out of employment and again 
destitute. Dr. MacDonald then conceived the plan of getting 
them embodied in a Highland corps under his kinsman called Al- 
lastair Ruagh (the red), the young chief of Glengarry. He assem- 
bled a meeting of Catholics at Fort Augustus in February, 1794, 
when an address was drawn up to the king, offering to raise a 
Catholic corps under the command of the young chieftain, who 
with Fletcher, the laird of Dunens, proceeded to London to lay 
it before the king. It was most graciously received ; the manu- 
facturers of Glasgow warmly seconded it, furnishing cordial re- 
commendations of the Highlanders, and in August letters of ser- 
vice were issued to Alexander MacDonell, of Glengarry, to raise 
the Glengarry Fencible Regiment as a Catholic corps, of which 
he was appointed colonel. The Rev. Dr. MacDonald was gazet- 
ted chaplain to this regiment, which did service in Guernsey and 
afterwards in Ireland. 

An anecdote is told of them at Waterford which shows the 
honest simplicity of their nature and their ignorance of worldly 
wisdom. When they entered the town billet-money was dis- 
tributed among them. Before night the order was countermand- 
ed ; they were ordered to New Ross. Being told of this, each 
honest Scot returned his billet-money ! While they were quar- 
tered in Connemara two young men named Stewart were 
brought by the commanding officer before a drum-head court- 
martial, whereupon a private stepped out of the ranks, recov- 
ered his arms, saluted his colonel, and said : 

" Ma dhoirtear diar di fhuil nan Stuibhartich an a sho a noc, 
bi stri s'anchuis" " If there will be a drop of the Stewart blood 
spilt here to-night there will be trouble." " Go back to the ranks, 
you old rebel," was the answer ; but the Stewarts escaped scot- 
free. The colonel at this time was not Glengarry, but his cousin 
Donald MacDonell, who was afterwards killed at Badajos at the 
head of the " forlorn hope." 

The regiment was disbanded in 1802, and the men were again 
as destitute as ever. Their chaplain then set out for Lon- 


don, and entered into a negotiation with the government in the 
hope of obtaining assistance to further their emigration to Upper 
Canada. This plan was opposed, and the government offered to 
settle them in Trinidad. Dr. MacDonald, however, persevered, 
and at length procured from Mr. Addington, the premier, an order 
to grant two hundred acres of land to every Highlander who 
should arrive in the province. After enduring extreme opposi- 
tion from Highland landlords, governors, and members of Parlia- 
ment even from the Prince of Wales, who offered them land in 
Cornwall the devoted priest obtained the desire of his heart and 
saw his beloved people sail for Canada in 1802. As has been 
before said, they named their new home after their native glen, 
and every head of a family called his plantation after the farm he 
had possessed among the grand old hills of Inverness-shire. 

It must not be thought that all the Catholic settlers were 
MacDonells (or MacDonalds). Among those of 1784 we find the 
name of Fraser, McLennan, Hay, Rose, Glasford, and others ; 
among the bands of 1786 were Grants, Mclntoshes, McWilliamses, 
McDougalls, McPhees, McGillises, McGillivrays, McCuaigs, 
and Campbells. Those of 1802 were more than half MacDon- 

In 1804 Dr. MacDonald followed his people to Canada. He 
-proceeded first to visit the Rev. Roderick *(Rory) MacDonald 
at the Indian mission of St. Regis, then went to Kingston. 
^During this time the people of St. Raphael's had taken a dislike 
to Father Fitzsimmons and clamored to have him removed, pro- 
bably because they saw a chance of having his place filled by their 
beloved pastor of old days. Father Roderick, from St. Regis, 
reasoned with them by letter, but in vain. At last a sturdy 
clansman, John MacDonald, surnamed " Bonaparte," pushed his 
way from St. Raphael's to Quebec in midwinter, 1805, and laid 
his petition before Bishop du Plessis, who came to Glengarry in 
the summer of the same year and appointed Dr. MacDonald par- 
ish priest of St. Raphael's. 

The people's joy was very great at having their beloved priest 
with them once more. They gathered from near and far to bid 
him welcome. The little " Blue Chapel " was filled to overflowing ; 
devout worshippers knelt along the aisles, on the doorsteps, and 
out on the short, crisp grass of the woodland meadows. When 
the notes of the Tantum Ergo rose on the air they pictured the 
Benediction service in their former home, where they had knelt 
on the heather of the beloved glen, through whose mountains 
their clear, wild music had so often sounded that hymn of adora- 


tion, borne along the rippling waves of the Garry to float over 
the waters of dark Loch Ness and echo amid the wild hills of 
Glen More. The " Blue Chapel " was soon too small for the 
parishioners, and Dr. MacDonald went home to Scotland in 1819 
to procure assistance toward the erection of a larger church. 
During his absence he was elected bishop of Upper Canada. 
He returned in 1820, bringing with him from Glasgow a stone- 
mason, who set about building the present parish church of St. 
Raphael's. The bishop was consecrated in Montreal in 1820, and 
was received in Glengarry with a great display of rejoicing. 
After remaining there for two years he removed to Kingston, 
which place became his home, the diocese having been divided 
and Bishop Power appointed bishop of Toronto. Bishop Gau- 
lin, coadjutor to Bishop MacDonald, was assistant priest at St. 
Raphael's after 1812, as the bishop was constantly travelling. 
Bishop MacDonald organized his immense diocese, bought land, 
built convents and churches, also founded at St. Raphael's the 
College of lona, a portion of which was built in 1818 for a public 
school ; the western part was added for ecclesiastics in 1826. 
Here he taught himself, aided by professors whom he obtained 
from Montreal. Fourteen ecclesiastics were ordained from this 
primitive seat of learning. The bishop's house, built in 1808, is a 
spacious stone mansion capable of accommodating many persons, 
and fronting on a large garden laid out in 1826 by a gardener 
whom he brought out from Scotland. The bishop seems here to 
have found rest and solace among his flowers. He founded the 
Highland Society and encouraged among the people the preser- 
vation of their nationality. In a pastoral still extant he expresses 
himself very strongly against "those radicals who aim at the 
destruction of our holy religion/' and strives to inculcate on his 
people a spirit of moderation and gratitude to the government, 
who had certainly befriended them better than had their own 
natural chieftains at home. When he crossed the Atlantic in 
1819 the bishop endeavored to interest Cardinal Wilde in his 
Glengarry colony, and, it is said, wanted him to visit Upper 
Canada, his eminence being then not even a priest, simply a very 
wealthy widower. 

In 1840 the venerable prelate went home to Scotland for the 
last time, and visited an old friend, Father Gardiner, in Dum- 
fries, in whose arms he died. Mortal illness seized him before \ 
he reached the end of his journey, and his first words of greeting 
were : " Dear old friend, I've come to die with you." His re- 
mains were brought to St. Raphael's, then removed to Kingston 


in 1860. Thus passed away one of the grandest men whom God 
ever sent to hew for his people a path through the wilder- 

Among those who came out in the ship MacDonald were 
one John MacDonald, of the MacDonalds of Loupe, and Anna 
McGillis, his wife, with three, children. The three multiplied to 
nine before many years passed, and of these two sons entered the 
church ; the eldest, ^Eneas (Angus), joined the Sulpicians and 
passed forty years as a professor in the Montreal seminary. He 
then retired to Glengarry, where, at the age of eighty, he died 
universally beloved. Two brothers and two sisters died, aged 
respectively ninety-eight, eighty-two, seventy-three, and sixty- 
seven years ; there are now living in Cornwall two brothers and 
one sister, aged eighty-eight, eighty-one, and seventy-eight years. 
The second son, John, studied for the priesthood, and soon after 
his ordination was an assistant at St. Raphael's ; thence he was 
removed to Perth, where he suffered many hardships for ten 
years. He was vicar-general of Kingston and parish priest of 
St. Raphael's for many years, and died at Lancaster on the i6th 
of March, 1879, i n the ninety-seventh year of his age. 

This latter was a man of very determined character and 
somewhat stern in his treatment of his flock, who one and all 
obeyed him as little children. It was no uncommon thing in 
those days to see a man with a sheep-skin on his head or a 
wooden gag in his mouth a penance awarded by Father John. 
A pulpit was a conventionality that he scorned ; he always ad- 
dressed his people while walking to and fro behind the Commu- 
nion railing. If any luckless wight incurred his displeasure he 
was pitilessly and publicly rebuked, though sometimes the worm 
turned. For instance : 

" John Roy MacDonald, leave this church." Dead silence. 
"John Roy MacDonald, I say leave this church." John Roy 
MacDonald rises and goes slowly and solemnly out, stepping 
carefully over the far-apart logs that did duty for a floor. 

Father John proceeds with his sermon, when creak, creak, 
creak, back over the logs comes John Roy MacDonald and 
calmly resumes his seat. 

"John Roy MacDonald, did I not tell you to leave this 

" Yes, Maister Ian, and I will be for to go out of the church 
for to pleass you, and now I wass come pack for to pleass my- 
self ! " It was not the ancient Scotch custom to call priests father ; 
hence Father John was always spoken to and of as Maister Ian. 


Through great and manifold hardships have these people 
worked their way to comfort and ease. Coming from a life of 
freedom, and in many instances careless idleness, in a sea-girt 
home where a wealth of fresh fish was always to be had for very 
slight exertion, agricultural labor was almost unknown to them. 
In Canada they found themselves obliged to work hard and 
in the face of disheartening obstacles. Their new home was in 
many parts either swamp-land or else sandy and full of stones ; 
the stones had to be picked up and made into walls to divide the 
farms, and the swamp-land drained and reclaimed. Often they 
had to lay roads of logs across the marshes and jump from one 
log to another, carrying on their backs bags of grain to be 
ground at Williamstown, where Sir John Johnson had erected 
a mill. Williamstown is to-day a thriving place, with a fine con- 
vent and as pretty a church as there is to be found in Canada. 
All these obstacles they surmounted as became the hardy moun- 
taineers they were, and from their ranks came some of the cele- 
brated characters of Canadian history, such as the first Speaker of 
the Upper Canadian Parliament, which met at Niagara, Septem- 
ber 17, 1792 Colonel John MacDonell, of Greenfield, for many 
years member for Glengarry and attorney-general. He was 
colonel of the Glengarry Fencibles raised for the War of 1812, 
and was killed while serving under Brock at Queenstown 

Simon Fraser, of the house of Lovat, descended from Mrs. 
Fraser, of Kilbrocky (the best female [Scotch] Gaelic scholar of her 
time, who instructed the Jesuit Farquarson in that language and 
was one of the means of keeping the faith from extinction in the 
Highlands), was born in Glengarry ; he became a partner in the 
Northwest Company, and on one of his exploring expeditions dis- 
covered the Fraser River. 

From St. Raphael's came the family of Sandfield MacDonald, 
of which the late Hon. John Sandfield MacDonald was the eldest 
son. He was one of the most brilliant politicians of his time, and 
premier of the Canadian government. His brother, the Hon. D. 
A. MacDonald, one of the crown ministers of the late Liberal or 
Grit government, was lieutenant-governor of Ontario for five 

Among the " places of interest " to a Catholic stranger in 
Canada West there is none more delightful than St. Raphael's, 
where so many historic memories meet and touch, and, inter- 

* Mother St. Xavier, for years the respected superior of the Ursuline Convent in Quebec, 
also was born in Glengarry. 


weaved with the faith that is in them, live on in the hearts of the 
people. It is difficult of access ; so are most poetic places nowa- 
days. You leave Lancaster in a " Black Maria " that groans 
and creaks and bounces over the road in a way that will test 
your nerves. Your driver is a yellow-haired Gael with a ten- 
dency to moralize on the evils of intemperance ; but as he speaks 
the wind wafts over his shoulder his breath, tainted with an un- 
mistakable odor of John Barleycorn. As you leave Lancaster 
a wayside workshop strikes your eye, neat, white, and dapper. 
From its eave depends a sign ; you expect at the most an intima- 
tion that festive buggies and neat jaunting-sleighs are made 
within ; but no : "A large supply of elegant coffins always on hand T* 
This singular memento mori sets you thinking until you come 
to the end of your seven-mile drive and dismount at " Sandfield's 
Corner," your oscillating conveyance going jolting on to Alexan- 
dria. You follow in the wake of a barefooted small boy whose 
merry black eyes proclaim him an interloper and a Frenchman. 
Along the side of the old " military road " you go under elm-trees 
of giant height until you reach the quaint old hamlet dedicated to 
" Raphael the healer, Raphael the guide." Village there is none; 
only a post-office and store, an inn, a school-house, two cottages, 
with the church, presbytery, and college. The former stands on 
the brow of a hill and is remarkably large and lofty for a country 
church. On a chiselled slab over the door you read : 


Entering you are struck by the bareness of the vast roof, un- 
supported by pillars or galleries. The sanctuary is formed by a 
rood-screen dividing it from the passage that connects the sanc- 
tuaries. Behind this screen is a white marble slab bearing the 
inscription : 

On the 1 8th of June, 1843, 

the Highland Society of Canada 

erected this tablet to the memory of 

the Honorable and Right Reverend 


Bishop of Kingston, 

Born 1760 Died 1840. 

Though dead he still lives 

in the hearts of his countrymen. 

* House of God. 


Under the floor at the gospel side of the sanctuary lie the 
mortal remains of the good and revered Father John. Upon the 
main altar a statue of the patron of the church, St. Raphael, 
the "human-hearted seraph" imported from Munich by the 
present parish priest, Father Masterson looks as full of beauty 
and compassion as even Faber has portrayed him. 

The side altars have also fine statues of the Blessed Virgin 
and St. Joseph, and the church throughout gives evidence of 
tasteful care. In the graveyard there are many old tombs, of 
which the inscriptions are defaced by time. One of the oldest 
bears the date of 1828, and on it the passer-by is requested, " in 
the name of God," to pray for the soul of Mary Watson, spouse 
of Lieutenant Angus McDonell, Glengarry Light Infantry. 
Near the church there was a building called a convent, but the 
bishop never succeeded in obtaining nuns for the mission. The 
enclosure across the road is occupied by the presbytery and col- 
lege, now used as a chapel in which Mass is said daily, and in 
which, when the writer first saw it, the descendants of the moun- 
taineers were repeating the rosary on a golden May evening. 
The building is small, and has, of course, been greatly altered, all 
the partitions having been removed to render it fit for use as a 
chapel. The garden of the bishop is still a mass of bloom, and in 
its centre walk stands a moss-grown sun-dial, whereon we trace : 

"R. J. McD. 1827" 

a relic of Maister Ian. From the wall of one of the rooms in 
which he lived the grand old bishop's portrait looks down on his 
people. It shows a man of commanding figure and noble and 
benign aspect, withal bearing a striking resemblance to the pic- 
tures of Sir Walter Scott. The church, house, college, and gar- 
den have been much improved by Father Masterson, who suc- 
ceeded Father John, after being his assistant for many years. 

The people of Glengarry seem to live on very good terms with 
their Protestant neighbors, and tell with pleasure of Father John's 
custom of reading the Bible aloud to those of them who wished 
him to do so. The bishop was revered by all sects, and when he 
received visitors of state in Kingston the wife of the Protestant 
minister used to go over to do the honors of his house. All 
through the country the farms are equal, if not superior, to any 
others of the Dominion, and are graced by magnificent trees. 
The roads are bordered with beech, ash, birch, tamarack, maple, 
butternut, spruce, willow, and pine, while the elms in every direc- 


tion offer studies for an artist in their rugged and graceful curves. 
These elms were the staple commodity for export, and the year 
in which the people found no market for their wood was one in 
which their sufferings were extreme ; they still speak of it as "the 
year of elms." A small river called the Beaudette winds through 
the country. On each side of it are marsh-lands, covered in 
places with low-sized bushes ; water scenery is certainly want- 
ing to Glengarry. 

The Highlanders are grave and serious, clannish as of old, 
standing by each other "guaillean ri guaillean " (shoulder to 
shoulder) in all disputes. The old antipathy between the clans is 
still in some instances cherished. It is a well-known fact that a 
young lawyer of Glengarry, who is, in the opinion of many, heir 
to the title and chieftainship, actually refused, some time ago, to 
accept an invitation to dine with the Marquis of Lome, declaring 
that a MacDonell could not and would not be the guest of a 
Campbell of Argyle ! 

The national dress is rare now and only comes out, like the 
bagpipes, on state occasions. The girls, in spite of Father John's 
penances, have cultivated their decided talent for dancing, but 
there is generally none of the gayety and careless amusement so 
common among the French-Canadians. Hospitality is a predomi- 
nant characteristic of the Highlanders a hospitality so generous, 
sincere, and hearty that, having experienced it, you will be ready 
to say with Burns : 

" When death's dark stream I ferry o'er 

A time that surely shall come 
In heaven itself I'll ask no more 
Than just a Highland welcome." 




WE give place willingly to the following remarks of Prof. 
Lyman, of the Rush Medical College of Chicago, on an article 
published in the pages of this magazine entitled " Catholics 
and Protestants agreeing on the Public-School Question." Every 
one will be convinced, on the perusal of his criticism, that he is a 
man of candor, honestly seeks to find a satisfactory solution to 
the much-vexed school problem, and wishes to deal fairly with 
Catholics. Let us hope that in his fair-mindedness he does not 
stand alone, but represents the great body of our fellow-country- 
men : 


" DEAR SIR : My attention has been recently directed to an admirable 
paper on the school question, published by the Rev. Isaac T. Hecker in 
THE CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1881. After setting forth the true 
position of our Roman Catholic fellow-citizens towards the public-school 
system of our country, the reverend gentleman, as a remedy for the injus- 
tice which now mars our method of popular education, proposes a division 
of the school fund among the different denominational schools and the 
public schools. ' Let all schools,' he writes, ' whether secular or denomi- 
national, stand, as they should do in this free country, equally before the 
state. . . . Every school would receive, whether Christian, Jew, or Gentile, 
that quota from the state, and no more, which would be both legitimate 
and just under our form of political government. . . . The public schools 
under such a plan would continue to exist for those who prefer them, and 
receive their fair share of payment from the state. Denominational 
schools would be founded by those who prefer them, and receive also their 
quota from the state.' 

'' Such a plan as this certainly has, to commend it, the merit of simpli- 
city. If all men could also agree as to the kind of schools which should 
thus be created and supported, there could arise no serious objection to a 
division of the taxes among different educational bodies. Unfortunately, 
however, this plan would not enable us to dispense with one of the greatest 
objections to our present system of popular education. It would not emanci- 
pate our common schools from the control of the politician. Our denomi- 
national schools, which now are free, would then all be finally brought 
under the blighting influence of the practical politician ; for the holder of 
the purse would inevitably insist upon the control, in some shape, of its 
contents. My worthy Roman Catholic friends who now support their 
parochial schools with funds which are contributed by the faithful members 
of their own communion funds which are honestly raised in response to 
appeals addressed to the higher motives of the human soul would then 
find themselves embarrassed by the degrading necessity for continual mani- 
pulation of the selfish men who absorb the political power of the country. 


Nor would the denominational schools, thus supported, be left free to their 
own course of development. There would be constant insistence upon the 
right of public inspection and public control of schools which were sup- 
ported with public money. This would lead to constant irritation and an- 
noyance. Denominational jealousies would at once spring into renew- 
ed life. The smaller sects would continually complain that the larger de- 
nominations were securing the lion's share of the fund. There would also 
be a continual outcry against misuse of public money, if one denomination 
should choose to use its share for the support of schools based upon a 
plan which differed essentially from the regulation pattern. Thus we should 
find the last end worse than the first. 

" My objection to the support of denominational schools by the state 
rests, however, upon grounds which lie deeper than those above indicated. 
I object to such support of a denominational school for the same reason 
that I object to state support for any high-school, college, or university.* 
Such support cannot be contributed by the state without injustice to its 
citizens. No government has any moral right to take from its subjects any 
more than it returns to them. This great maxim is continually disregard- 
ed, but it is not the less true. It is unjust to tax the whole people for the 
support of anything in which they have not a common interest. A tax for 
the support of a high-school which can only be useful to a limited portion 
of the community is unjust. A tax for the support of a university which 
can never be of use to any but the smallest fraction of the population is 
still worse. A tax for the training-up of Congregationalists, or Episcopa- 
lians, or Roman Catholics is just as bad. The state cannot engage in the 
work of giving anything but the rudiments of common education without 
at once invading the rights of the community for the benefit of certain 
privileged classes in the community. To give a college education, or any 
other kind of special education, at the expense of the state is as unjust as 
it would be to present the sons of our wealthier citizens with horses or 
watches at the expense of the commonwealth. In like manner it would 
be unjust to raise taxes for the support of church schools. A church 
school must necessarily be something different from and better than a 
common public school. It is a special institution, for the benefit of a spe- 
cial class. It therefore cannot be justly supported by the taxation of 
those who owe no allegiance to the church who very likely condemn its 
methods and its results. 

"Denominational teaching and the apparatus for special education 
must, therefore, be entirely divorced from all connection with the state, if 
justice is to be maintained and liberty of education is to be preserved. 
But it is obviously unjust to tax people for the support of one set of 
schools when they are educating their children in another. Our present 
system does this, and even worse it taxes citizens even when their chil- 
dren cannot be received in the over-crowded public school-houses. The 
great want in connection with our present organization is a method by 
which public-school taxes shall be raised only from those who choose to avail 
themselves of the public provision for instruction. The man who prefers 
or is obliged to educate his children in a private or denominational school 
should not be compelled to pay for the maintenance of a public school. 
In this respect we are now as badly off as were our forefathers, who were 


compelled to pay tithes for the support of an established church which they 
despised. They found out a way of relief from this imposition. Surely 
their descendants should be equally competent to deal with this new form 
of an old difficulty. Of course all politicians of the tax-eating class will 
vigorously oppose every reform which tends to diminish the amount of the 
funds and the patronage at their disposal ; but every true patriot should 
seek to emancipate his country from a form of tyranny which is none the 
less real because it is ostensibly exercised for the benefit of mankind. 

" Unfortunately, the majority of the Protestant denominations appear 
to have committed themselves to the work of upholding the present system 
without any attempt to remove its faults ; thus illustrating anew the old 
fact that it is much easier and more popular to cry out for justice in behalf 
of Indians and negroes at a distance than it is to do justice to our own 
people near by. It seems likely, therefore, that it is from the Catholic 
^Church that we may expect the next decisive movement for the advance- 
ment of liberty in this country. 

" Very respectfully yours, 


These views of Professor Lyman afford us the opportunity of 
adding a few more words explanatory of the position of Catholics 
on the school question, and at the same time we shall correct 
some misapprehensions into which he has fallen in regard to what 
we wrote on this subject in the February number of THE CATHO- 

Men differ rarely on first principles, sometimes on the secon- 
dary, but often on the more remote consequences drawn from 
first principles. Hence frequent recourse to first principles, in a 
community where there exists a great divergency of convic- 
tions and opinions, is most salutary. If the laying of these 
bare does not always produce agreement, it at least promotes a 
better understanding, and increases good feeling among all intel- 
ligent and unbiassed minds. For man is essentially a rational 
creature, and the inherent and constitutional inclinations of his 
nature are always in accordance with the dictates of right reason. 

Now, Catholics and Protestants agree in maintaining that it is 
not possible for men to attain the destiny for which God created 
them without the light of a revelation above that of reason and an 
aid beyond that given to them by nature. They equally hold and 
maintain that Christianity is the completion of this necessary reve- 
lation and aid to mankind. 

But their divergency begins as soon as the question is asked : 
What is Christianity ? or what are the truths or doctrines which 
this divine revelation teaches? 

Catholics hold that Christ instituted a church to preserve 
and teach unerringly the truths and doctrines of his revelation, 


and to enable his church to accomplish this divine work he 
abides with and animates his church always. Some Protestants 
hold the same belief and regard their church in the same light. 
But the great body of Protestants hold that Christianity is dis- 
covered with the aid of divine grace by reading the Holy Scrip- 
tures diligently, and hence, in their view, the church is nothing 
else than a voluntary association of Christians. 

It is clear that it would be utterly in vain to strive to make 
these Christians agree on the educational question. The first two 
classes hold that it is of the highest importance that children 
should receive instruction in the truths of the Christian religion 
from their earliest childhood. The latter class would leave the 
child until it reached the age of reason and could read the Bible, 
to determine its belief for itself. The instruction which thefor- 
mer would consider as one of the most imperative of duties the 
latter would look upon as a most culpable intrusion. To ask either 
of these to give up the education of his children to the ideas of 
the other would be equivalent to asking him to yield up his most 
sacred convictions. Such a concession would be the abdication 
of one's manhood, for religion is, or ought to be, the highest and 
most rational form of its assertion. 

This clears the way to the definition of the point under dis- 
cussion, namely : What is education ? Education may be de- 
fined, in its most general meaning, to be the fitting of man to at- 
tain his destiny, whatever that may be. The matter of education, 
therefore, resolves itself into a more radical one, to wit : What is 
man's destiny, or what is man's true aim in life ? Until a satisfac- 
tory answer is given to this question a man cannot live a rational 
life. For a rational life can only be conceived of as the direction 
of one's thoughts, affections, and actions to the attainment of the 
great purpose of his existence. 

From these general principles the following corollary on edu- 
cation may be deduced : As education is the fitting of man to at- 
tain his destiny, it follows that its character depends on the end 
or purpose for which man exists. In a word, means should be 
fitting and adequate to the end proposed. 

But as education is a practical matter, it is necessary to reach 
a more explicit answer to the radical question : What is the des- 
tiny of the man-child ? the meaning of man ? 

How shall we make this discovery? Who will solve this 
problem of problems ? Where shall we find the Light, the Teach- 
er, the Guide ? The state, society, philosophy, science, art, po- 
etry have been in existence many thousand years, and thus far 



they have not made this discovery or solved this problem of 
problems. This is not said in their disparagement ; for the solu- 
tion of this problem was not their aim or within their province. 
Theirs is to second and facilitate man to attain his true destiny, 
and not to teach him what it is. The solution of the problem of 
man's supreme destiny is the special province of religion. 

This brings us one step nearer to the end of our course, and 
justifies the following statement : As the character of education 
should be in accordance with the true destiny of man, and as 
this destiny is made known by religion, it follows that as a man's 
religion is so should be his education. That means, if you wish 
a child to be a Christian when he grows up to manhood, then 
you should give him a Christian education in his childhood. If 
you wish him to be a Buddhist, or Mohammedan, or pagan, why, 
then, give him a Buddhistic, Mohammedan, or pagan education ; 
if a Catholic, or a Protestant, or a rationalist, or a positivist, or 
an atheist, why, then, educate him accordingly. Train up a child 
in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart 
from it, is a general rule, confirmed alike by common sense and 
by the inspiration of Holy Writ. When men differ in regard to 
what is Christianity or what is the true religion, and differ 
widely, it follows that their ideas of education will differ, and dif- 
fer widely. 

There is no denying the fact that the religious problem sums 
up all other problems, and in the last analysis it is religion which 
shapes, and by right ought to shape, among intelligent men all 
institutions, and none more so than that of the education of the 

Therefore what lies at the bottom between Catholics and 
Protestants in their difference concerning the public-school ques- 
tion is not, as some fancy, a thing of secondary importance, but 
one of the highest and most weighty ; and to insist that either 
party can or should accommodate itself to the other, or both 
should compromise, is an evidence of indifference in religious 
matters or of unreasonableness. 

The educational question, properly understood, is a religious 
question. It is a question of enlightened religious convictions 
convictions the most sacred of the rational soul ; and neither 
party, Catholic or Protestant, if intelligent and conscientious, can 
accept the views or convictions of the other. To expect that 
these can be accommodated or adjusted, or compromised on a 
common basis, is to ignore what is at stake. And all attempts 
to impose upon a minority of a community the religious convic- 


tions of a majority by the force of the ballot-box, or by legisla- 
tion or any other force than that of persuasion, is a gross viola- 
tion of the fundamental ideas of our free institutions, contrary to 
all reason, and a tyrannical act of religious bigotry. 

Protestants differ from Catholics, and Catholics differ from 
Protestants, whether they be Lutherans, or Calvinists, or Armin- 
ians, concerning God and the character of his dealing with 
man ; the nature of the church ; the sacraments, what they are 
and their number ; the divine precepts, counsels, and worship ; 
the meaning of the marriage tie ; the relations of men with the 
spiritual world ; the importance and value that that world holds 
to this on these and many other similar subjects Catholics and 
Protestants differ, and these differences mould their views not 
only in matters purely religious, but in artistic, scientific, philo- 
sophical, historical, social, and other matters which necessarily 
enter more or less into the instructions of every system of educa- 
tion. It is useless to deny this fact or to attempt to blink it ; and 
the sooner both parties agree to recognize it, and admit it, and 
act accordingly in good faith, fairly and in good feeling, the bet- 
ter for religion, the good of society, and the peace and prosperity 
of the state. 

The Protestant ideal of education is one thing, the Catholic 
ideal is quite another, and neither desiderates that of the other. 
Let us understand this and each work in his own sphere, respect- 
ing each other's religious convictions. 

But how this can be best brought about is a practical matter, 
to be dealt with in the spirit of wisdom, with prudence and jus- 
tice. This calls up the animadversions made by Dr. Lyman on 
our former article, the purpose of which was to meet this difficulty. 
In speaking of the plan proposed he says : " It would not eman- 
cipate our common schools from the control of the politician." 
Very true ; the plan proposed did not pretend even to touch our 
common schools, much less reform them. Its purpose was rea- 
sonably to satisfy the different religious convictions of the Ameri- 
can people in connection with education, consistently with the 
cherished principle of liberty of conscience. If Dr. Lyman 
wishes to take our common schools out of the control of politi- 
cians, that is quite another thing, and he is welcome to try his 
hand at it. His second objection is : " Our denominational schools, 
which now are free, would then all be finally brought under the 
blighting influence of the practical politician ; for the holder of 
the purse would inevitably insist upon the control, in some shape, 
of its contents." We confess that we do not participate in the 


fears of Prof. Lyman of the blighting influence of politicians. It 
has not been felt in Catholic Austria or in Protestant England, 
nor in Protestant Prussia or Catholic France until recently, when 
these countries changed the plan that hitherto had worked satis- 
factorily into an infidel or irreligious system. All that the state 
has for its duty is to see that such instructions are imparted to 
children as are necessary to good citizenship, itself being the 
judge of this, and to remunerate for this education accordingly, 
and for nothing else. It is a. matter of indifference, as for the rest, 
to the state whether the school be denominational or a common 
public school. The suggestions of interference on the part of 
politicians to the free development of denominational schools, or 
jealousies among them, or complaints of the smaller sects against 
the larger sects securing the lion's share of the fund these ob- 
jections are all based, in our opinion, on misconceptions or on 
fears without foundation in reason. 

But the doctor's main objection surprises us, because we did 
not anticipate such a clear-headed man falling into so great aeon- 
fusion. " I object," he says, " to such support of a denomina- 
tional school for the same reason that I object to state support 
for any high-school, college, or university." He then lays down 
this correct general principle : " It is unjust to tax the whole peo- 
ple for the support of anything in which they have not a common 
interest." This is precisely the ground on which Catholics base 
their objection to the so-called common schools, which are not 
common schools at all. And if the plan proposed involves a re- 
muneration from the state, it is distinctly stated over and over 
again, it is only for those instru9tions imparted to children which 
the state considers necessary in order to make them, when grown 
up to manhood, good citizens. 

Is not this distinction sufficiently clear? How, then, can it be 
said consistently that the state supports denominational schools 
or raises taxes for the support of church schools ? Does the pro- 
fessor hold that no education is necessary to make good citizens, 
or that good citizens are not a " common interest " ? If so his 
objection is well taken ; otherwise it falls to the ground. 

The American people may rest assured that whenever a ques- 
tion arises involving fundamental principles Catholics will always 
be found, as a body, on the side of liberty, fair play, and equal 
rights. Such an issue happens now to take shape in the public- 
schooUquestion ; and it is a test-question of the sincerity of the 
American people in their profession of liberty of conscience in 
religious matters. This is what the public-school question means. 

1 88 1.] VAUCLUSE. 91 


VAUCLUSE is one of the places to be visited from Avignon. 
The country most of the way is flat and uninteresting, but it is 
covered with olives, vines, and the white mulberry-tree, and the 
novelty of their foliage to one fresh from the north gives a cer- 
tain charm to the landscape. We left the railway at Isle, a busy 
little town on an island formed by the Sorgue, and took a car- 
riage to Vaucluse. The road lies along the river, bordered with 
plane-trees forming a long, shady avenue, through which we 
drove for an hour. Then we came in sight of an enormous cliff 
about six hundred feet high, ash-colored, utterly devoid of vege- 
tation, and so precipitous that it can only be ascended at one 
point. In the heart of this immense rock is the celebrated foun- 
tain of Vaucluse, the source of the river Sorgue, and at its base 
stands the small but ancient village of the same name, where 
Petrarch resided fifteen years and composed the greater part of 
his works. We stopped at the Hotel de Petrarque et Laure, but, 
what was not so poetical, we found the village given up to petty 
industries, and the waters of the fountain sung by the great poet 
now utilized in turning small silk and woollen mills. Every pre- 
vious conception of the place was suddenly put to flight. Vau- 
cluse, as its name and poetic associations would lead one to ex- 
pect,, is no secluded, umbrageous valley, no sylvan solitude where 
it is delightful to wander along the verdant banks of the Sorgue 
under the green roof of trees. There is nothing whatever of that 
which constitutes our ideal of all that is pastoral and romantic. 
In Petrarch's time, however, the valley and hillsides were covered 
with oaks, the people were engaged in rural pursuits, and the 
Sorgue was unpolluted by sordid uses. Now, it is true, some 
olives grow around the base of the mount, but their foliage is as 
sad as the ashen rocks, and there are odorous plants, and scat- 
tered fig and almond trees, which may sound pleasingly to the 
ear, but to the unbiassed eye the desolate aspect of the naked 
cliff, the rough and arid banks of the Sorgue, and the unattrac- 
tive village, with nothing to screen you from the blazing sun, no- 
thing to gently woo you to communion with nature or to rouse 
the " divine afflatus " in the very place of all others where it 
should most be felt, is a grievous disappointment/ The imagi- 
nation is nevertheless struck by the majestic cliff, honey-combed 

9 2 VAUCLUSE. [Oct., 

with grottoes, and still more so by the mysterious abyss in its 
very depths, whence issues the fountain from a vast subterranean 
lake fed by waters that descend from Mt. Ventoux and the hills 
of the Basses- Alpes. This fountain should be seen at two differ- 
ent seasons when it has attained its greatest height and comes 
pouring out of the cave at the rate of about three thousand litres 
a second, dashing over the rocky bed with a roar in foaming cas- 
cades ; and again when its waters have died away and the great 
cavern can be entered, enabling you to look down into the black, 
unfathomable gulf. 

This fountain was well known to the ancients. Pliny speaks 
of it as celebrated under the name of Fons Orgiae, w r hence that 
of Sorgia, or the Soigue. Strabo calls it Sulga. Some ancient 
remains show that the Romans erected a temple here to the 
nymphs of the fountain. At Avignon is a marble torso of Greek 
workmanship that adorned it; and in the church at Vaucluse 
are two fluted columns, as well as many old Roman bricks and 
bits of sculpture, encrusted here and there in the walls, which 
came from the old pagan temple. This church, one of the most 
interesting things to be seen at Vaucluse, stands at the entrance 
of the village, grave and severe, but captivating to the eye of the 
archaeologist. Petrarch himself frequented it and prayed before 
its altars. Bare, gaunt, and grim as it is, its impress of antiquity 
gives it an attractiveness that all the elegance of modern times 
would fail to impart. Its history comprises the history of Vau- 
cluse. It is an edifice of the Romanesque style, partly of the ninth 
and partly of the eleventh century, and it encloses an ancient cha- 
pel of the sixth. Great stone buttresses support the massive walls. 
And there is a gray square tower with its bell of St. Antoine, 
where you have a good view of the valley. The interior is cave- 
like, and the thick walls are pierced with narrow apertures admit- 
ting a scant light that vainly struggles with the gloom. The chan- 
cel, where stand the ancient fluted columns like trophies of pagan- 
ism, is only lighted by a small arched pane with our Saviour painted 
on it, and over the main entrance is another with St. Veran and 
the dragon. St. Veran is the great saint of Vaucluse, and if you 
explore the church you will find a grated door that opens into a 
small cell-like oratory, dark and vaulted, where, by the light of 
a flickering candle, you see in a cubiculum, or recess, the ancient 
stone sarcophagus in which the saint was entombed, covered 
with the drippings of the tapers that surround it on his festival, 
the 1 3th of November. This curious little chapel, a Gallo-Ro- 
man monument of the sixth century, was regarded with great 

1 88 1,] VAUCLUSE. 93 

veneration in the middle ages. It was built by St. VeVan him- 
self on his own land in prcedio suo, say the old documents and 
consecrated to Our Lady. 

St. Veran, whose father is believed to have been King Theodo- 
ric's intendant in Liguria, made his escape from the world in his 
very youth, and came to the secluded valley of Vaucluse to live as 
a hermit. Some suppose it to have been his native place. At least 
his family owned an estate here on which stood the ancient ddu- 
brum that he consecrated to the true God. At that time north- 
ern France was convulsed by sanguinary contests between Fre- 
degonde^ and Brunehaut, and the southern was ravaged by the' 
Arian Visigoths. Paganism was not yet wholly rooted out of 
the land, and the old Roman deities still received many offerings 
and sacrifices. St. Veran found Vaucluse infested by an enormous 
dragon, known as the Coulobr^ which was the terror of the whole 
neighborhood and threatened to make it uninhabitable. Its den 
was in the side of the cliff, and is still pointed out as the Trou 
du Coulobre a gaping cave overshadowed by a vigorous olive. 
This monster used to come forth when least expected, and fall 
upon the cattle on the hills and the workmen in the fields. 
The very sight of it was terrible. Its huge body was cov- 
ered with scales that defied every species of arrow. Its 
gleaming red eyes looked like two breathing-holes in a fiery 
furnace. When it opened its mouth its smoking breath poured 
out as if it were vomiting flames. And it had two wings which 
enabled it to move with wonderful celerity. The people, 
looking upon St. Veran as a man of supernatural powers, be- 
sought him to deliver the valley from this monster. He went 
fearlessly to the cave, and the dragon, at his command, came forth 
and crouched submissively at his feet. St. V6ran then raised his 
eyes and cried : " O Almighty God ! engendering, engendered, 
and proceeding from, listen to thy servant, I beseech thee, and 
deliver the people from the ravages of this serpent, that they may 
acknowledge thee, O God ! to be three in person and one in sub- 
stance, who alone reignest for ever " a prayer whose peculiar 
wording is an act of faith in protest, as it were, against the great 
heresy of that day. Then, fastening a chain around the neck of 
the dragon, he led it to the mountain of Luberon, three leagues 
distant, where, loosing the chain, he made the sign of the cross 
over the animal and commanded it to do no injury henceforth to 
any one whomsoever created in the image of God, but to betake 
itself to some inaccessible wilderness far from the dwelling of- 
mankind. There is still a little rural village at the foot of the 

94 VA UCL USB. [Oct., 

Luberon called St. V6ran in memory of the spot where thirteen 
hundred years ago the hermit of Vaucluse unchained the dragon 
and sent it forth into the wilderness. A tradition of this region 
asserts that the dragon at length came down from the fastnesses 
of the mountain and died at the entrance of the village. It was 
after this victory that St. Veran built the chapel at Vaucluse, and 
that of St. Victor on the top of the cliff. 

The significant legend of the dragon is told of many early 
saints in France as well as other countries, but St. Veran is noted 
among them for overcoming two of these monsters. For in those 
days, as the lover of the symbolic would say, expiring paganism 
had withdrawn to secret places, but still devoured many a victim, 
while Arianism boldly devastated the fair lands of the church. 
Or it might be some fever or pestilence that sprang from mias- 
matic fens and marshes like a wild beast from its lair, as perhaps 
was the case at Albenga, a town on the Riviera still noted for its 
unhealthiness, where St. Veran overcame the second dragon on 
his way to Rome. The people of that place had been in the habit 
of paying the animal a kind of worship or tribute, in order to ap- 
pease its voracity, but at the command of the saint it came down 
to the shore and cast itself into the Ligurian sea, which eagerly 
swallowed it up. The cathedral of Albenga long preserved a 
memorial of this deliverance in the form of a wooden dragon sus- 
pended from the arches, and St. Veran is to this day regarded as 
one of the protecting saints of the town, which celebrates his feast 
on the 1 2th of November and preserves a portion of his relics in 
an urn beneath one of its altars. In the cathedral is also a paint- 
ing of St. Veran and the dragon, with a number of votaries look- 
ing upwards with awe. The dragon naturally became the saint's 
distinguishing symbol in art. He is depicted on the old banner 
of Vaucluse with a dragon sinople on a field azure. A painting over 
the high altar of the church in this village represents the dragon 
as an enormous reptile with the head of a hog ; but in a series of 
old engravings giving the legendary history of St. Veran it has 
the head and body of a tiger, with sharp fins and a bristling tail. 
In an old document at Cavaillon of the year 1222 is a seal, on one 
side of which is St. Veran seated in an episcopal chair, wearing a 
low mitre, after the fashion of those days, and a vestment ending 
in a point. On the other side is the winged coulobr^ with a dan- 
gerous-looking twist in its tail, and a head with sharp, thorny 

It was on his way to Rome that St. Veran stopped at Em- 
brun, where he wrought so many wonders that his memory has 

1 88 1.] VAUCLUSE. 95 

been preserved there by a small village that still bears his name. 
Arriving at Rome, his first desire was to visit the subterranean 
chapel which contained the tomb of the apostles. He was re- 
fused entrance, but the iron doors flew open at his approach. 
This created such a sensation that Pope Vigilius sent for the 
wonderful pilgrim and gave him a relic of the holy apostles. 

St. Veran lived at so remote a period that a great part of his 
life has a legendary aspect, but all the marvellous incidents re- 
lated of him have a truth of their own. It is certain, moreover, 
that from the time of his appointment to the see of Cavaillon in 
568 he took part in all the great events of the province, and 
greatly contributed to the rooting-out of remaining idolatrous 
superstitions and softening the manners of the people. King 
Gontran, of Burgundy, made him his ambassador. In 587 he was 
chosen godfather for the son of King Childebert, of Austrasia, to 
whom he gave the name of Theodoric. And he was one of the 
forty-three bishops at the second council of Macon a council 
that promulgated so many decrees tending to soften the ferocity 
of the age. Bishops were charged to defend the liberty of freed- 
men and to exercise hospitality. Churches were to be regarded 
as inviolate asylums. Judges were not to make any decrees con- 
cerning widows and orphans without the knowledge of the 
bishop, their natural protector. Among the canons was one con- 
cerning the observance of the Lord's day, ordering severe penal- 
ties to be inflicted on all who violated it. If a monk or cleric, he 
was to be separated from communion with his brethren six 
months. " Let us pass in holy vigils," adds the council, " the 
night before Sunday and sleep not, as do the pretended believers 
who are only Christians in name." We have only retained the 
custom of keeping a similar vigil at Christmas. 

St. Gregory of Tours speaks of St. Veran as one of the most 
saintly bishops of the time, and says he often healed the sick by 
merely making the sign of the cross. Among other works he 
accomplished was the building of the cathedral at Cavaillon, that 
afterwards took his name. One day while the work was actively 
progressing a wolf issued from the forest and killed one of the 
oxen drawing stones for the edifice. Whereupon the bishop or- 
dered it in Christ's name to take the place of the ox it had killed. 
The wolf obeyed with docility and worked until the building 
was completed. This legend was afterwards sculptured on the 
walls. A similar one is told of several other ancient bishops. St. 
Veran did not consecrate the church, but foretold that this would 
be done at some future time by the vicar of Christ and a great 

9 6 VA UCL USE. [Oct., 

number of prelates ; which prediction was not accomplished till 
more than six hundred years after, when Pope Innocent IV. 
came from Lyons with a great number of cardinals and bishops 
to perform the ceremony. 

St. V6ran died while attending- the Council of Aries in 588, 
and his body was taken to Vaucluse to be buried, the waters of 
the Durance and the Sorgue dividing to allow it to pass through. 
It was placed, amid the singing of hymns and sacred canticles, in 
a new sepulchre in the little chapel of the Virgin he had built. 

Petrarch was familiar with all these old traditions, and thus 
alludes to them in his treatise on the solitary life addressed to his 
friend Cardinal de Cabassole, Bishop of Cavaillon : " Come and 
taste the delicious repose to be had at this wonderful fountain. 
Here is the Sorgue, the queen of running streams, to the music 
of which I write these lines, and the beautiful retreat of Vaucluse, 
which the popular voice has named in accordance with Nature. 
One has only to see this deep, narrow valley, secluded among the 
hills and steep cliffs, to acknowledge its right to the name of the 
Valley Enclosed. . . . This is the place loved and chosen as a resi- 
dence by the great and holy personage to whom you pay special 
devotion. For here it was, you know, that Veranus, the illustri- 
ous confessor of Christ whose episcopal chair you occupy, came 
to live in retirement, and, after banishing a monstrous dragon, 
led so holy a life here in this solitude that his fame spread 
abroad, making the place so renowned that great numbers come 
to visit it. How much more should you who invoke him daily, 
and often visit his sanctuary * and give of your substance to 
adorn his sacred relics ! Here in this region won by him to 
Christ, by whose name and sign he gained so glorious a victory, 
he dwelt before his sublime virtues raised him to the episcopate, 
and here he erected a monument in honor of the Virgin that has 
become celebrated a small temple, it is true, but substantial and 
richly adorned. According to tradition, he pierced the very 
mountain with his own hands a prodigious work that zeal alone 
could have accomplished. On this bank he had a cell where he 
lived content with the mere produce of his garden and the fish of 
the stream, but abounding in Christ. Finally, having breathed his 
last at a distance, it was here he wished to be brought by the 
most astonishing of miracles, as you know. What Moses' rod 
did to effect a passage through the Red Sea the mortuary chest 
of Veranus did to the streams it passed through." 

The tomb of St. Veran became noted. Among the distin- 

*The church of St. V6ran at Cavaillon. 

1 8 8 1 .] VA UCL USE. 97 

guished pilgrims of ancient times was Aldana, daughter of 
Charles Martel, who, after the victory of her son, Guillaume-au- 
Cornet, over the Saracens, came here to make an offering of 
thanksgiving. Petrarch makes mention of this : " Not far from 
the fountain, amid pleasant verdure, is the holy chapel, sur- 
rounded by olives and a forest of oaks. It was hither a lady 
of royal name and blood brought the golden orange. Rejoic- 
ing at the defeat of the enemy, this illustrious mother brought 
to the temple of Veranus her offering of golden fruit in an 
osier basket." 

Some monks from the isles of Lerins established themselves 
at Vaucluse soon after St. Veran's death. They enlarged the 
church in the eighth or ninth century, but seem to have aban- 
doned the place in the tenth, perhaps owing to the insecu- 
rity of the country. Then it was given to the abbey of St. 
Victor at Marseilles, together with a mill, some vineyards and 
arable lands, and certain tithes. The body of St. V6ran re- 
mained at Vaucluse till 1311, when the bishop of Cavaillon, fear- 
ing it might be carried off by some of the bands of lawless 
men then overrunning the country, decided to transport it to 
Cavaillon. He came hither himself and unsealed the tomb in 
the presence of a great multitude. The body of the saint was 
found wrapped up in a winding-sheet of dazzling whiteness, and 
at his side was the relic of the holy apostles given him by Pope 
Vigilius. There were other sainted remains here also. They 
were all put into separate shrines and borne away with holy 
chants to Cavaillon. Petrarch makes Laura, under the name of 
Daphne, speak of this removal : " I remember seeing the sacred 
remains of Veranus brought forth. They were placed in a car 
white as the snow, adorned with flowers and green branches. 
I was then a child, but I took pleasure in looking at the pas- 
tor surrounded by his flock, old and young, accompanying 
these venerable remains across the hills to the solemn sound of 
instruments of brass ringing through the air." 

A relic of St. Ve"ran was, however, deposited under the high 
altar at Vaucluse, and another seems to have been given at some 
period to the diocese of Orleans, where it was put in a silver 
shrine in the church at Jargeau, but was lost in the time of the 
Huguenots. St. Veran is still honored in that town under the 
name of. St. Vrain, and in the church are two paintings one re- 
presenting the saint unchaining the dragon at the foot of Mt. Lu- 
beron, surrounded by the clergy heartily chanting ; the other a 
procession around the walls of Jargeau bearing his shrine, ap- 


98 VAUCLUSE. [Oct., 

parently to allay the swollen waters of the Loire. In one cor- 
ner is St. Veran holding the dragon enchained, and in the 
clouds appear the Virgin and Child, smiling propitiously. 

St. Veran is invoked at Vaucluse likewise at any disturbance 
of the elements. In a drought processions are formed all through 
this region, bearing a relic of the saint with great pomp and sol- 
emn invocation. This special power of St. Veran is alluded to 
in the hymns of the church, always the expression of popular be- 

"Imber optatus fluitat repente."* 

Vaucluse and Cavaillon were in the twelfth century depen- 
dencies of the counts of Toulouse. In 1171 Count Raymond V., 
having been cured of an infirmity at the tomb of St. Veran, gave 
the castle of Vaucluse with its lands to the bishop of Cavaillon 
and his successors as an offering of gratitude. This castle stood 
high up on a ledge of the cliff, and was considered almost impreg- 
nable. It was there Petrarch spent so much time with Cardinal 
de Cabassole. It is related that they used to wander forth on the 
mount, or in the oak forests beneath, and, absorbed in religious 
and philosophical discussions, forget the flight of time and the 
gathering darkness till the servants came out with torches at the 
dinner-hour to find them. " Do you remember our villeggiature 
at Vaucluse ? " wrote he to the cardinal at a later period " the 
days spent in the woods without eating, and whole nights passed 
in delightful converse amid our books till the dawn came to sur- 
prise us ? " The ruins of this castle are interesting to visit, but 
the ascent should only be undertaken by those who are stout of 
limb and sound of lung. The remains of a draw-bridge and a 
round-arched portal are still to be seen, and there is a magnificent 
view from Avignon to the Alps. After the sun has passed the 
meridian even the Mediterranean may be seen, flooded with light. 
On the highest point of the cliff is the ruined chapel of St. Vic- 
tor, and on the southern side may be traced the precipitous path 
by which the bold saint ascended, leaving the impress of his 
horse's feet graven on the very rocks. 

The tunnel to which Petrarch refers in the passage already 
given is still to be seen. It is cut through a spur of the cliff, 
and in the middle ages was regarded as the work of St. V6ran, 
but the enlightened savants of our day prefer to think it done by 
the Romans. We passed through it to visit the house of Pe- 
trarch by no means a place of poetic aspect now, whatever it 

* Office of St. Veran. 

i88i.] VAUCLUSE. 99 

might have been in his day. At his death he bequeathed it to the 
hospital of the town, which no longer exists. In the garden so 
often washed over by the inundations of the Sorgue or, as Pe- 
trarch expresses it, disputed by the nymphs of the fountain is an 
offshoot of one of the numerous laurels the poet planted more 
than five hundred years ago, from which every one plujks a leaf. 
" Do you remember the land covered with stones you aided me 
in clearing?" wrote he to a friend. " It is now a garden ena- 
melled with flowers, bounded on one side by the Sorgue, and on 
the other by a lofty cliff which, being at the west, screens it from 
the sun the greater part of the day. It is here I have established 
my Muse." And again he writes : " Wherever there is a gushing 
forth of a stream, says Seneca, there should be erected an altar. 
Long ago I made a vow before Christ to set up an altar in my 
garden, between the river and cliff, should my means permit, 
not to the nymphs or divinities Seneca wished honored, but to 
the Virgin Mary, whose ineffable maternity has overthrown the 
altars and temples of all false gods." 

When Petrarch lived here the priory and church of Vaucluse 
still belonged to the monks of St. Victor. The members of their 
order had the unique privilege of administering the Holy Eucha- 
rist on Good Friday a day when it is not customary in the Ca- 
tholic Church to receive Communion. The singularity of this 
privilege always drew an immense crowd to the churches served 
by these monks. At Vaucluse the people of the vicinity were in 
the pious habit of spending the night of Maundy Thursday at 
the chapel of St. Veran, remaining till after the solemn function 
of Good Friday. It was after one of these holy vigils, we are 
sorry to say, that Laura, daughter of the neighboring lord of 
Cabrieres, is said by some to have made so deep an impression 
on the heart of Petrarch. For in these investigating days, when 
so many ancient traditions are set aside, and even what were 
once considered indisputable facts in history, it is not surprising 
to be told that the object of the poet's Platonic affection was not, 
after all, the Laura an emperor once kissed and over whose tomb 
a king broke forth in song. It is pleasanter to believe it was 
not, as she was a married woman and the mother of eight chil- 
dren. No, let those who have shed so many sentimental tears 
over the matron of Avignon prepare to shed more legitimate 
ones over the genuine Laura. 

About three miles south of Vaucluse is an ancient chateau on 
an eminence overlooking the valley of the Sorgue. Around it is 
gathered the small village of Lagnes in the midst of vines, olives, 

ioo VA UCL USE. [Oct., 

and fig-trees. The chiteau itself is somewhat imposing. Its 
ramparts, towers, and portals have for. the most part been pre- 
served intact. There are Gothic portals, a donjon keep, a spa- 
cious interior court, an ancient chapel dedicated to St. Antoine, 
some old halls of the twelfth century, and four round towers that 
formed part of a second rampart. In this mediaeval castle lived, 
in Petrarch's time, a family whose name of Cabrieres indicates 
the source of their wealth to have been vast flocks of sheep and 
goats. Lagnes still preserves the memory of the festival that 
used to end the great shearings of the flocks by a joyful pilgrim- 
age every year on the I2th of May to the rural chapel of St. 
Pancras. This castle was Laura's birth-place, or, to use the 
poet's own words, where she put on her mortal frame. Lagnes 
was the picciol borgo at the foot of the hill 

" Onde un si bella donna el mondo nacque " 

where so fair a lady into the world was born. " I can see the 
window from which she looks out on the valley whence comes 
the rude Boreas, and the rock on which she so often sits to muse. 
How often do I turn my eyes to the sweet declivities of the pic- 
turesque hills among which she was born who holds my heart in 
her hand ! " All this corresponds with the site of the castle of 
Cabrieres with its terrace looking to the north, affording a fine 
view up the valley of the Sorgue. 

It was, according to our new authority, on Good Friday, 
1331, that Laura de Cabrieres attended the grand services at 
Vaucluse with her parents, and first saw Petrarch. She was 
then only seventeen or eighteen years of age, and in all the 
freshness of her maidenly beauty, with blonde locks and a 
child-like but expressive face, looking, as Petrarch says, like a 
tender flower un tenero fiore in her calyx-like green corsage. 
In the crowd of other ladies she seemed like a rose among flow- 
ers of inferior beauty. It was on her account the poet left Avi- 
gnon to live in this secluded spot. Here he could see her from 
time to time, or at least catch a glimpse of her as she passed 
through the valley. It was on one of these occasions he doubt- 
less wrote the sonnet : " O joyful, happy flowers ! fortunate to 
have sprung up on the spot which my lady in passing has pressed 
with her footsteps ; meadows that have heard her sweet voice and 
kept the imprint of her beautiful feet ; shrubs and fresh green 
foliage, pale, loving violets, umbrageous woods, smiling land- 
scape, and limpid stream that refreshes her celestial vision and 

1 88 1.] VAUCLUSE. 101 

often laves her beauteous face and eyes, how much I envy you ! " 
Henceforth Petrarch attached himself to this valley. It is always 
Vaucluse, always Laura, that become the subjects of his cantos. 
His is a love that resists time, absence death itself. Whatever be 
thought of this love from a religious point of view, it was certainly 
a sentiment that could only have been engendered by Christianity, 
as a French author has well remarked. There is an elevation of 
feeling and a certain chasteness of language in his sonnets that are 
very different from the verses of Anacreon, for instance. " It is 
not the love of a Bacchante with bare limbs and dishevelled 
locks, but timid, half veiled in its passion. It is a love that 
is reserved, grave, fond of solitude, and fed by melancholy. His 
cantos breathe the sadness of a soul that struggles with itself and 
makes it superior to the expression of a burning passion." 
Laura loved the poet in return : 

" II tuo cuor chiuso a tutto il mondo apristi " 

to me thou openest thy heart, closed to all the world beside. 
The obstacles to their marriage are believed to have shortened 
her days. Like the white flowers of the almond-tree overtaken 
by the frost, she early descended to the tomb, leaving the poet 
full of melancholy regret. Everywhere on these hills along the 
Sorgue he wandered, seeking Laura, calling to her. Everywhere 
he planted the laurel, the leaves of which whispered to him of 
her. " The rustling, the perfume and shade of the sweet laurel, 
its mere view, constitute the charm and repose of my sad life," 
says he. 

And when he left Vaucluse for Italy it was, he wrote, as a 
stag, wounded by an arrow, that flies, carrying the envenomed 
dart in its side, and suffering the more the swifter its flight : 

" And as a stag, sore struck by hunter's dart, 
Whose poisoned iron rankles in his breast, 
Flies and more grieves the more the chase is pressed, 
So I, with Love's keen arrow in my heart, 
Endure at once my death and my delight, 
Racked with long grief, and weary with vain flight." 

Reason had he to cry : " Lord of my life and my death, before 
my bark is dashed to pieces amid these treacherous reefs, guide 
my riven sail to a safe port ! " 

" Signer della mia fine e' della vita, 

Prima ch' i' fiacchi il legno tragli scogli, 
Drizza a buon porto 1' affanata vela !" 



PURSUING her career with a deep conviction of ultimate suc- 
cess grounded upon an unfaltering faith in the promises of her 
Founder, the church is now sending her envoys into the very 
heart of that dark continent on the verge of which still linger 
some accents of the olden Punic language that was the mother- 
tongue of her Cyprians and her Augustines, and where the name 
and the creed of Rome are still known and revered, while 

" Kings in dusty darkness hid 
Have left a nameless pyramid." 

" The whole world," said Archbishop Lavigerie in the cathedral of Algiers 
on the occasion of the departure of a band of missionaries " the whole 
world had heard the glad tidings ; the barbarous regions of Africa alone 
had not. But, lo ! all the Christian nations are banded together, emulously 
eager to open the doors of barbarism hitherto unfortunately closed. Ame- 
rica is in the van America, that for three centuries has been the cause of so 
many woes to the blacks. England, Germany, Italy, Belgium are treading 
the same road. On all sides daring conquerors are penetrating into un- 
known depths where the riches of nature only serve to reveal the deeper 
depths of human misery. Shall the church alone lag behind ? No ! Al- 
ready its apostles have besieged the African coasts ; Gaboon, Guinea, the 
Cape, the shores of Zanguebar, the Zambesi, have received the envoys of 
God, but the interior still remains inaccessible. See ! the conquering 
heroes are coming. Already Egypt is preparing a way for them over 
the mysterious course of the Nile. But who are those who are fleeting 
along like clouds borne by rapid winds ? Zanguebar, thou hast seen them 
plunge into thy scorching plains, cross the inhospitable mountains that rise 
in view of thy shores ; thou hast seen them, too, with no arms but the 
cross, no ambition but to be the bearers of life into that empire of death." 

Facing dangers and difficulties as the apostles did, hungering- 
and thirsting, buffeted, with no fixed abode, laboring with their 
own hands, undismayed by the seemingly insurmountable obsta- 
cles thickening around them at every step, the intrepid pioneers 
of Christian civilization are effecting by their self-sacrifice the 
spiritual conquest of Africa. 

"A field has been opened to the Gospel," writes Father Weld,* "such 
as the church had not seen since the mariners of Portugal first sailed into 

* Mission of the Zambesi, by the Rev. A. Weld, S.J., p. 5. 


the Eastern seas. Once more we have before us a virgin soil, and many 
millions of souls lost indeed in heathenism, but having this to raise our 
hopes : that they have never rejected the light of faith. For them it is in 
some sense the day of Pentecost which is dawning, and we know not why 
God may not grant to us to see a primitive church in the heart of this land 
of malediction, where the image of God is most of all disfigured and where 
human blood is set at the cheapest rate, as he did when the nations first 
came to the church, and when, in later times, the forests of America echoed 
the name of Jesus Christ." 

" In spite of our insufficiency and our unworthiness," records 
one of Mgr. Lavigerie's missionaries to the lake district in his 
journal, " we are the first since the foundation of Christianity to 
proceed as representatives of our Lord and his church to this 
barbarous and unknown region. Perhaps two hundred millions 
of souls are invisibly stretching forth their arms towards us, 
like the infidels of Macedonia whom St. Paul saw in a dream." 
Speaking in general of the whole country between the Limpopo 
and the Zambesi, Mgr. Jolivet says : " The natives are to be 
counted by millions ; it is one of the richest, most fertile, and 
most populous regions of Africa." 

Some crude idea of the teeming population of this half-ex- 
plored continent may be formed from these data and from the 
fact, vouched for by Mgr. Lavigerie, that Mohammedanism, over- 
thrown and almost expiring in Europe, is still making such for- 
midable progress there, creating provinces and kingdoms, that in 
a hundred years it has brought under its iron yoke no less than 
50,000,000 souls ; while 400,000 negroes annually fall victims to 
the abominable and inhuman slave-trade, which in twenty-five 
years the average African life amounts to 10,000,000 : ten mil- 
lions of defenceless men, women, and children doomed to such a 
life and such a death as Mgr. Lavigerie has touchingly described 
in a series of eloquent letters * revealing the horrors of slavery. 
Hundreds of thousands of Kafirs dwell in or close to Cape 
Colony, while millions of human beings are spread throughout 
the vast regions of the interior, extending to the Zambesi and be- 
yond to the lakes. An approximate estimate of the populations 
of the southern states gives the number of whites in Cape Colo- 
ny (including the western, central, and eastern vicariates) as 
270,000 to 450,000 colored, there being in Kaffraria proper only 
500 whites to 500,000 colored; the population in Natal being 
20,000 to 300,000; Basutoland, 1,000 to 80,000; Diamond Fields, 

* Annals of the Propagation of the Faith, May, 1881. See also Les Missions Catholiques, 
Mars 4, 1881, et seq. 


10,000 to 40,000 ; Orange Free State, 20,000 to 10,000 ; Transvaal 
40,000 to 500,000 ; and in the countries between the Limpopo and 
the Zambesi, only 100 to 1,000,000. 

" It cannot be denied," comments Father Weld, " that there are signs 
of a special interposition of divine mercy drawing the eyes of the church 
to the African races, and we feel no less sure that many who desire no- 
thing better than to give all for God will feel a response in their breasts 
pointing to those regions peopled with millions of redeemed souls not 'only 
naked and loathsome to the human eye, but stripped of all that could 
make them objects of beauty and love in the sight of God." * " It seems," 
writes Father Carre, superior of the Congo mission, referring to the scien- 
tific, industrial, and commercial expedition organized under the auspices of 
the king of the Belgians " it seems that in the designs of Providence the 
hour of light and civilization for these barbarous countries has struck. 
Why do we not see the apostles of the cross that luminous cross which 
dissipated the darkness of paganism marching at the head of this crusade 
against savagery and fetichism ? Formerly, when the Portuguese discov- 
ered these countries and explored them for the first time, they were pre- 
ceded by the cross, and it was by it and in its name they colonized there 
and for a time dispelled the shades of death. But now what is religion 
going to do, I do not say in advance of science and commerce, but only 
in their wake, along the road they are opening ? "t 

The reader has here the key to the origin, organization, and 
aims of the missionary enterprise conceived at Rome, and of 
which the illustrious archbishop of Algiers is the chief executive. 
It was, in fact, not to let itself be outstripped by lay organiza- 
tions that the Holy See directed its special attention to all 
that concerns these missions. The field of action it has traced 
out for them is exactly the same as that selected by the Interna- 
tional African Association of Brussels, founded in 1876 by the 
king of the Belgians with the main design of giving a definitive 
and practical direction to the efforts of isolated individual travel- 
lers like Burton, Cameron, Speke, Nachtigal, Schweinfurt, Liv- 
ingstone, and Stanley, and that passion for exploration which the 
stirring record of their daring and adventurous journeys into the 
interior has inspired, bringing into contact with European civi- 
lization the only portion of our globe into which it has not yet 
penetrated, piercing the darkness that envelops whole popula- 
tions in a word, to enlist the concurrence of all civilized nations 
in a crusade against barbarism worthy of this age of progress.^: 
This field is limited on the east and west by the two seas, on the 
south by the basin of the Zambesi, and on the north by the con- 

* Op. cit. , p. 54. f Missions Catholiqucs. 

1 Speech of the '-in- of the Belgians at the first conference of the association. 


quests of the new Egyptian territory and independent Soudan 
a region extending from the tenth degree of north to the fif- 
teenth degree of south latitude. The centres of exploration 
which the Belgian association has established, or is establishing, 
to serve as bases of operations, are the very points the Algerian 
missionaries are directed to occupy. 

An uninterrupted line of stations is being formed on the east 
from Zanguebar to Tanganyika, where the central establishment 
of Karema is situated, while Stanley is ascending the course of 
the Congo, making roads and founding settlements on its banks. 
The day is, therefore, near when the representatives of the Bel- 
gian International Association, coming, the one party from the 
Atlantic, the other from the Indian Ocean, will meet on the 
higher table-lands where the two great African rivers, the Nile 
and the Congo, take their rise. 


" It cannot be denied," observes Mgr. Lavigerie, " that this is a grand 
enterprise, for whole peoples buried in death will be summoned to light 
and life. But the Brussels Conference can only accomplish half this work, 
or, to put it better, only pave the way for it. In opening routes to equa- 
torial Africa for merchants and explorers it opens them to the Gospel, 
which, without its seeking it, will redound to its immortal glory. The As- 
sociation does not give itself any concern about religion ; it has solemnly 
declared itself of none. Without opposing the preaching of Christianity, 
while even declaring that they will accord their protection and material 
succor to its envoys, they completely exclude it from their projects and 
announce that they will confine their efforts to science, commerce, and in- 
dustry. Such was the aspect the question of equatorial Africa presented 
in 1877 before the Christian world and the Holy See."* 

The whole African coast and portions of the continent in- 
land are, for missionary purposes, mapped out into districts call- 
ed prefectures or vicariates. Starting from the point nearest to 
Europe, we encounter at Morocco, where the Seraphic order 
first gathered the martyr's palm, the Spanish Franciscans, who 
have charge of this prefecture. We next reach Algiers, erected 
into an ecclesiastical province shortly after the French occupa- 
tion, Algiers being constituted an archbishopric with Gran and 
Constantine as suffragan sees. Mgrs. Lavigerie, Dupuch, and 
Pavy are contributing by their zeal to the reconstruction of that 
once famous African church which for centuries had ceased to 
exist. The archbishop has enriched his diocese with a nume- 
rous clergy, teaching communities, agricultural congregations, 
Arab orphanages, and every organization capable of forming new 

* Les Missions Catholiques, Mars 4, iSSi. 


generations of Christians ; while, as apostolic delegate of Sahara 
and the Soudan, he has formed and directed at Algiers (where 
there are now 185,100 Catholics scattered over the province) 
a society of missionaries destined for Central Africa. These 
missionaries, adopting the costume, language, usages, and mode 
of life of the Arabs and Kabyles, have succeeded, in ten years, 
in establishing nineteen missions ten among the infidels in the 
Grand Kabyle and nearly as many among the Arabs of the 
Sahara and Tunis. The sphere of their operations has been since 
greatly extended, and the fathers of Algiers are to be found in 
the vicariatesof the Nyanza and Tanganyika, created in 1878, and 
those of the northern and southern Congo, constituted in 1881. 
The first missionaries set out hardly a month after receiving 
their appointment from the Holy See, five for Lake Nyanza and 
five for Lake Tanganyika, the former reaching their destination at 
the close of January, 1879, an d the latter on the ipth of June 
following, one of them, Father Pascal, superior of the latter mis- 
sion, having succumbed on the i8th of August, 1879, two months 
after leaving Zanguebar, where they had been obliged to enlist an 
armed escort of five hundred negroes to protect their caravan 
from the bands of Rougas-Rougas, or armed brigands, who in- 
fest the forests. Finally established in Urundi, to the north of 
Ujiji, these missionaries began their apostolic work by purchasing 
and educating young infidel children, who in the course of a few 
years will be able to assist in forming Christian villages ; while 
the fathers at Nyanza, having obtained full liberty from Mtesa, 
King of Uganda, so celebrated in Stanley's narratives, to preach 
the Gospel in his states, have founded an orphanage, and are en- 
deavoring to extend their influence and establish around them 
new centres of apostolic work and charity. 

In less than three years the missionaries have gained a firm 
footing in the interior, and have solved the problem as to 
whether the climate of equatorial Africa would not be an insur- 
mountable obstacle to their mere existence. They are still send- 
ing out new missionaries, so that the work already begun may be 
continued and extended. Towards the end of June, 1879 fifteen 
months, therefore, after the departure of the first band eighteen 
others, including six ex- Papal Zouaves who had volunteered as an 
auxiliary escort, set out. Eight of them died before they could 
reach their destination ; nevertheless they were followed by fifteen 
others in November, 1880. In fine, within the last two years and 
a half this society has sent forty-three missionaries into equa- 
torial Africa. Central stations have been established in the mis- 


sions of Tanganyika and Nyanza, which have been recently erect- 
ed by the Holy See into pro-vicariates apostolic, as well as those 
of the northern and southern Congo ; and it is expected the states 
of Muata-Yamvo will also be so before long. 

To ensure the safe transit of these few missionaries it needed 
a small army of natives, some to serve 2&pagazis> or carriers as 
it is impossible to use beasts of burden,' which are stung to death 
by the tzetse fly, and as there are no roads and others to serve 
as askaris, and form an armed escort to protect the caravan against 
the attacks of bands of robbers and certain savage tribes. 

" Imagine," writes one of the fathers from Algiers, " missionaries 
charged with governing and keeping in order and respect this barbarous 
multitude ! It will be readily understood that this is not their vocation. 
It needs habits of command, if one wishes to be obeyed, which have nothing 
in common with evangelical patience ; and' there are cases in which ex- 
amples of severity are necessary, otherwise the blacks would be divided, 
would revolt, kill each other, or take to flight. Still, the negroes after all are 
governable and have an innate respect for authority. What we need 
with us and by our side are some determined men accustomed to military 
command. They would have the absolute control of the camp, and we 
would have no need to interfere. It would be much better for the future 
success of our mission that the Unyanyembese saw in us men of prayer, sac- 
rifice, and charity only, and not military commandants. We thought there 
might be found in France, Belgium, and Holland some old Pontifical Zou- 
aves, determined and Christian men, with sufficient self-sacrifice and eleva- 
tion of heart and mind to devote themselves to a magnificent work like that 
of the mission of equatorial Africa, and, for the love of God and souls, do 
what geographers are doing for the mere love of science. It is, I think, a 
practical thought and suggestive of great things in the future. In this Af- 
rican world, where violence reigns supreme, but where means of attack and 
defence are still primitive, it would certainly be possible for some deter- 
mined men to rapidly create a great centre of action and power and hasten 
the hour of civilization."* 

This admirable suggestion has, as the reader perceives, been 
already acted upon. Two of the volunteers have already fallen 
victims to their faith and courage ; but, as the blood of martyrs 
is the seed of confessors, the noble self-sacrifice of this little hand- 
ful of heroes may, with God's blessing and the good- will of the 
people, be the beginning of a new kind of lay apostolate in Africa, 
where the courage and faith of the Christian soldier will add a 
new lustre to the Catholic missions. 

Following on by the Mediterranean coast, we find at classic 
Tunis the ancient Carthage and proconsular Africa of the Ro- 

* Les Missions Catholiques, n. 512. 



mans, with its estimated area of 60,000 square miles and its 
population of about 1,000,000 the Capuchins who, under the ju- 
risdiction of Mgr. Jutter, vicar-apostolic, minister to a Catholic 
population of 16,000. The principal missionary stations here are 
Soliman, Nebel, Hammamet, Sousse, Monastir, Mehedia, Sfax, 
Gerba, Bizerta, and Porto-Farina. The bey of Tunis is very 
favorable to the Catholic missions, and not long- ago, when the 
vicar-apostolic, to whom he had sent a state carriage, four guards 
of honor, and a numerous personnel of domestics, was making his 
pastoral visitation, he directed the Mussulman authorities to pay 
him all the respect due to his dignity. This venerable ecclesias- 
tic, who has reached the patriarchal age of ninety, has been re- 
placed by the archbishop of Algiers pending the appointment of 
a successor, who will probably be selected from one of the French 
Capuchin provinces. 

In sterile, sandy Tripoli and the Barbary States, with their 
mixed population of Berbers, Moors, Arabs, and Turks, and which 
form a distinct prefecture, are the Italian Franciscans, while other 
Franciscans Minor Observants minister to thirteen thousand 
Catholics in the vicariate of Egypt. The African Missionary 
College of Verona has an establishment at Cairo, where the 
priests and nuns remain for some time to habituate themselves to 
the climate, besides houses for negroes of both sexes at Khar- 
tum, capital of the Soudan, at El Obeid, capital of Kordofan, and 
a Catholic colony at Malbes and at Delen Gebel-nuba. The pa- 
rent-house of this mission, the Missionary College of Nigritia, of 
which Father Joseph Tembianti is rector, is at Verona, in Italy, 
where, besides a seminary for forming priests, catechists, and ar- 
tisans, there is a convent for sisters called the Pious Mothers of 
Nigritia. The seminary at Cairo is directed by Father Rolleri, 
who, while deploring the numerous deaths that thin their ranks, 
thanks God that the number of aspirants continues to augment. 
Central Africa, for which these missionaries are destined, was 
erected into a vicariate on March 30, 1846, by Gregory XVI., 
who gave the first impulse to the evangelization of the interior. 
On the ist of August, 1868, Pius IX. divided into two missions 
this vast district, which took in the entire space between the Bar- 
bary States, Nubia, Abyssinia, Dahomey, and Senegambia a sea 
of sandy waste dotted with oases. The eastern division was con- 
fided to the Abbate Comboni, of Verona, pro-vicar apostolic of 
Cairo and Alexandria ; and the western, comprising the western 
Sahara, where there is no post or station, the Soudan, and a 
large portion of Central Africa, to the archbishop of Algiers. 


The inhabitants of this prefecture are the descendants of the 
early Christians, driven backward by the conquering Arabs, by 
whom they are called to this day Tuaregs, or "abandoned of 
God/' because they never heartily accepted, and often abjured, 
Mohammedanism. Although experience has shown that Euro- 
peans cannot long endure this deadly climate, the mortality is 
comparatively decreased by the precautions taken against the 
ravages of fever, which used to make great havoc of the poor 
missionaries. The forty missionaries sent thither in 1878 perished 
in the desert, the station at Khartum alone subsisting to bear 
witness to their self-sacrificing zeal. 

Mgr. Comboni is at present at Delen, with the intention of 
penetrating into the interior as far as Golf an to found a new mis- 
sion, and, profiting by the good-will of the ruling powers, which 
he has been so fortunate as to secure, to further extend the reign 
of the cross. This mission, which, besides the climatic difficulties 
already adverted to, is very poor, entailing many privations on 
the missionaries and hindering them from gathering more fruit, 
suffered severely from the famine, drought, and epidemic of 1878- 
79, which almost depopulated the district to the east and west of 
Khartum. " I have passed through more than a hundred vil- 
lages on the Berber coast to distribute relief," wrote Mgr. Com- 
boni at the time, " and these villages, formerly populous, were al- 
most completely deserted. The few survivors resembled corpses, 
and had been for a long time living on grass and hay." Several 
of the priests succumbed, and in the October of that year Mgr. 
Comboni was the only missionary at Khartum who was not ill. 
Signer Pelegrino Mateucci, an Italian explorer, in a letter to the 
Osservatore Romano, wrote : 

" From Cairo to Massuah each stage of my journey was marked by 
the news of some new misfortune which had just stricken the missions of 
Central Africa. I have before me a letter from Mgr. Comboni, dated No- 
vember 28. This letter bears the impress of profound sadness. It can be 
seen that it is written by an energetic man almost overwhelmed by the 
weight of his tribulations. He is struggling and resisting ; but twenty 
years passed in Africa wrestling with enormous difficulties have worn out 
his youthful vigor. Last October his episcopal dignity only enabled him 
to be the infirmarian, physician, and grave-digger not only of his missiona- 
ries but of all those who expired under the shadow of the cross. In conse- 
quence of the loss of almost all his missionaries, Mgr. Comboni has post- 
poned the accomplishment of his vast projects. He had lately inaugu- 
rated at Gederef, on the way to the Blue River, an agricultural station 
which had a great future before it. He had prepared the formation of a 
station at Fascioda, or Denab, the capital of the Chillouks, one of the most 


barbarous and unwholesome countries of Central Africa. He had recently 
everything arranged for an expedition to the equatorial lakes, which would 
have been one of his most important undertakings. The necessary per- 
sonnel, and perhaps also the means, are now needed for these grand projects. 
New recruits will arrive, but they will have to make their way slowly along 
this death-strewn route. The Soudan has been ravaged by a terrible 
famine. The negroes fell exhausted, or, dying with hunger, crawled to the 
mission to implore a handful of durah, which they were never refused. 
At this time water was sold at Kordofan dearer than wine in Paris ; and 
yet Mgr. Comboni in my presence rejoiced to find himself penniless and to 
have contracted debts to relieve the extreme distress of the famishing. . . . 
Poor missionaries ! ... If these missionaries had been simple travellers 
the newspapers and learned societies would have spoken of them ; but 
neither the value of an African missionary nor the importance of his mission 
is appreciated in Europe. They know all about the explorers ; we trav- 
ellers know the moral and material influence of the presence of the priest 
in the midst of savages. Stanley, the greatest living explorer, affirms, in 
the story of his magnificent exploit, that to prepare the people from the 
equator to the Congo for civilization would need a long succession of mis- 
sion stations, because the missionaries are the most skilful and patient 
pioneers of civilization. Mgr. Comboni has conned these words of Stanley's, 
and I am sure meditates their accomplishment and purposes sending new 
missionaries to establish a station at the equator. I hope this noble design 
will be carried out to the honor of the Italian name, which, gloriously 
borne by the missionaries, will be regarded as the propagator of civilization 
in the last retreat of African barbarism." 


M. BASTIEN LEPAGE'S notable picture of "Joan of Arc lis- 
tening- to her Voices," first shown at the Paris Salon of 1880, and 
afterwards at the exhibition here of the Society of American 
Artists, seems to have given a fresh stimulus on both sides of the 
Atlantic to the interest which must always attach, in all gene- 
rous minds, to the high-hearted, heroic, and ill-fated Maid of Or- 
leans. At least there is no other apparent motive for the sudden 
prominence given to her in magazine literature, that unfailing 
barometer of popular taste. Quite recently and almost simul- 
taneously in three of our leading contemporaries articles have 
appeared bearing directly or^ndirectly on her career. The June 
Scribner gave a sketch of the painter's life, with engravings of 
his picture ; to Harper s for the same month Mr. James Parton 
contributed an account of Joan's trial and condemnation ; and in 
an elaborate paper published in the Revue des Deux Mondes for 


May i, under the title of ''Jeanne d'Arc et les Freres Men- 
dians," M. Simeon Luce undertook to show how large a share 
the Franciscan Friars had in giving to Joan's mind the impulse 
and direction which made her the liberator of France and one 
of the foremost and most pathetic figures in the history of the 
fifteenth century. 

The view taken by M. Luce is sufficiently novel and, to Ca- 
tholic readers in particular, of sufficient interest to justify a 
brief review of his argument. Two influences, he asserts, had 
their share in fashioning Joan's career. One, a martial impulse, 
the only one hitherto dwelt on or perceived, arose from the immi- 
nence of France's peril through the siege of Orleans ; the other, a 
religious motive, which he claims the merit of first pointing out, 
came from the faith of the pious young maiden of Domremy in 
the special graces granted to France through the interposition 
of Our Lady of Puy and the Jubilee of the Great Friday * of 
1429. M. Luce's claim of entire originality in this latter theory 
may perhaps be disputed ; for that religious enthusiasm had a 
prominent, if not the chief, part in inducing Joan's action has 
never been doubted by any who have read attentively and under- 
standingly the story of her life. Nor have previous writers failed 
to touch upon her early predilection for the teaching and peculiar 
doctrines of the Franciscans, and the influence they probably 
had in inspiring her resolution and moulding her destiny.f But 
in connecting Joan's immediate taking-up of arms with the great 
religious revival which stirred Catholic France to its depths in 
the beginning of the year 1429, M. Luce may fairly lay claim to 
the honors of a first discoverer, and he enforces his position 
with felicity of illustration and ingenuity of argument worthy of 

To understand the scope of his thesis it is necessary to glance 
at the position occupied in France by the two great religious 
orders of the middle ages, the Dominicans and the Franciscans, 
at the beginning of the fifteenth century. The former, or Friars 
Preachers, as they were sometimes called, superior in the graces 
of learning and theological profundity, were yet less close to the 
real' heart of the people than the Franciscans, or Friars Minor, 
whose vow of absolute poverty imposed on them by their founder, 
St. Francis of Assisi, and renewed in its utmost rigidity by the 

* A Great Friday was so called when the Feast of the Annunciation fell upon Good Friday, 
-and was made the occasion of a special jubilee in France. 

t See especially Le Proces de Condamnation de Jeanne d'Arc, etc., par M. Vallet de Viriville. 
.Firmin Didot Freres et Cie. 1867. 


great reformer of the order, St. Bernardin of Siena, brought them 
necessarily in more intimate contact with the poor and humble 
of all lands. The literature of the time teems with evidences 
that the Cordeliers, as the Franciscans were called in France, 
from the cord with which their habit was girded, were essen- 
tially a popular order; the Dominicans were in closer alliance 
with the nobility and the court. 

Moreover, in the long and bloody feud between the Arma- 
gnacs and Burgundians, which for half a century had deluged 
France with blood and came within a hair's- breadth of making 
her an English province (nay, but for Joan would in all probabil- 
ity have left her an appanage of the English crown), circumstances 
brought it about that the two orders were arrayed on opposite 
sides. The Dominicans, whose opposition to the dogma of the 
Immaculate Conception, which the Franciscans had always zeal- 
ously upheld, had drawn down the solemn condemnation of the 
University of Paris and exclusion for ten years from its fellowship, 
had likewise been expelled from the court. Charles VI. and 
Louis, the Duke of Orleans, had abandoned their Dominican con- 
fessors, and, alone of all the princes of the blood, John the Fearless, 
of Burgundy, yet gave them protection and countenance. It was 
not unnatural, then, that their sympathies should go with the Eng- 
lish-Burgundian faction. 

The alliance of the Franciscans with the Armagnacs, and 
through them with the French or patriotic party, had a remoter 
origin. Almost from the foundation of the order the princes of 
the houses of Anjou and Sicily had shown for it a manifest pre- 
dilection ; it was in some sense a tradition of either dynasty. It 
was long their pious fashion to be buried in the habit of the 
order, like St. Louis of Marseilles, of the royal house of Sicily r 
canonized by Pope John XXII. in 1317. Many of the princes of 
both houses are so represented on their monuments. Some even 
took the vows. Yolande, a cousin of her namesake, the Duchess 
of Anjou, at the beginning of the fifteenth century was head of 
the convent of Reformed Clares of Valence. It is worthy of re- 
mark also, as further indicating which way the respective sym- 
pathies of the two orders were supposed to incline, that wnen 
the church began an orgamzed^movement for the suppression of 
heresy in France that duty, so fa?tis the Anglo-Burgundian pro- 
vinces were concerned, was delegated to the Dominicans, while 
to the Franciscans were entrusted those parts of France that 
owned allegiance to Charles VII., or more properly, at the time 
we speak of, to his devout and able stepmother and guardian, 


Yolande of Aragon, Queen of Sicily and Duchess of Anjou. This 
lady, like her brother-in-law, Jean, Due de Berri, whose death had 
made her the chief of the Armagnac party, always showed a 
marked preference for the Franciscans, chose her confessors 
among them, and lent every aid to increase the number of their 

The identification of the Franciscans with the patriotic cause, 
their great influence and popularity with the common people, and 
Joan's well-known piety would almost of themselves suggest the 
part which M. Luce boldly asserts they exercised in awakening 
and directing her patriotic enthusiasm. Not content with in- 
ference, however, M. Luce essays to furnish more direct proof. 
He points out that those pious practices which the Franciscans 
especially favored were also adopted by Joan, from whose mind 
the notion of a divine commission was never absent, and who 
fought, as she always contended, under the direct inspiration of 
Heaven. As every student of hagiology knows, one of the dis- 
tinctive doctrines of the Franciscans was the devotion to the 
Holy Name of Jesus, introduced by their great reformer, St. Ber- 
nardin of Siena, about the year 1425, as a means to allay the agita- 
tion and terror aroused throughout Italy by the missionary labors 
of St. Vincent Ferrer and his disciples, who were preaching the 
coming of Antichrist. St. Bernardin carried with him an image 
presenting the word " Jesus " in the midst of a gloria, which at 
the end of his sermon he presented to the faithful to adore upon 
their knees. Sometimes the words " Jesus-Mary " were joined. 
Cited before the pope for idolatrous practices by his enemies, 
St. Bernardin was triumphantly vindicated and the cult formally 
recognized in a bull of Martin V. 

Now, all through her life Joan seems to have practised faith- 
fully this devotion. On the standard borne before her on the 
march to Orleans the words " Jhesus-Mary " were inscribed by 
her express orders.* Her summons to the English to evacuate 
France was " in the name of the King of Heaven and the Blessed 
Mary." When, before Compiegne, she fell into the hands of the 
Burgundians, they took from her finger a ring, probably a keep- 
sake from her parents, bearing the inscription " Jhesus-Maria."" 

* According to the clerk of the court of La Rochelle, "she caused a banner to be made, 
whereon was a white pigeon on a blue shield, holding in his beak a scroll on which was written 
' By order of the King of Heaven.' " This was the device adopted, in allusion to their founder's 
name, by the Jesuates, an order founded by St. John Columbin of Siena, and approved by Mar- 
tin V. in a bull dated October 21, 1428, just prior to the vindication of St. Bernardin. M. Val- 
let adds : " The monogram or name of Jesus seems to have been put about 1458, by order of 
Charles, Duke of Orleans, on the banner commemorating Joan of Arc " (Le Prects, etc.) 


Her letters begin and end with the same. Asked upon her trial 
the reason of this, she said she had acted conformably to the coun- 
sels of her party, and that, moreover, her secretaries had fallen into 
the habit of so signing themselves. The use of these holy names 
in a lay and profane correspondence was then deemed a suspicious 
innovation, not to say a downright sacrilege, and formed one of 
the twelve heads of accusation against Joan. It was otherwise in 
religious writings. Many years before Joan, St. Colette of Cor- 
bie, one of the most remarkable women of her time, the reformer 
of the Franciscan convents of France, had adopted the word 
" Jhesus " as the distinctive sign and device of her reform. 
Some rare specimens of her voluminous correspondence have 
come down to us, all marked " Jhesus " or " Jhesus-Maria," some- 
times in addition " Franciscus et Clara," meaning, of course, St. 
Francis of Assisi and St. Clare. 

Another element which undoubtedly had its share in awaken- 
ing or confirming Joan's resolution was the preaching of the 
celebrated Franciscan friar, Richard. Immediately upon the 
approval of the devotion to the Holy Name a general council of 
the order was convened at Vercelli, in the diocese of Casale, and 
a propaganda resolved on. Among the missionaries despatched 
to France was Friar Richard. The effect of his preaching is said 
to have been prodigious. Gifted with stentorian lungs and an 
iron physique, he could speak a whole morning in the open air 
without any sign of fatigue. After one of his energetic fulmina- 
tions against gaming and luxury it was a common sight to see 
the citizens of Paris and their wives lighting fires in every direc- 
tion on the plain, into which they cast, the one their cards and 
dice, the others their fripperies and furbelows of all sorts. 

But Friar Richard had to preach a political as well as a reli- 
gious crusade. Under his impassioned appeals to the people to 
free themselves from the bondage of sin he contrived to instil 
into their hearts the hope of a secular liberator. Joan had 
not met Richard before her arrival at Troyes on the march from 
Chalons, but she had probably heard of his preaching, which, in- 
deed, was the talk of all the country-side. Domremy lay on the 
confines of the bishopric of Chalons, where Richard chiefly la- 
bored, and a constant intercourse was kept up between the two 
by the pork-raisers and charcoal-burners who in large numbers 
inhabited the forests of the Meuse and sought their markets in 
Troyes and Chalons, and the pilgrims who, in those days of a 
more primitive piety, thronged every road of France. 

The meeting between the Franciscan and the Maid is histori- 


cal and need not be dwelt on here. Suffice it to say that Friar 
Richard at once espoused Joan's cause with characteristic ardor, 
and, returning to Troyes, preached it so effectively that the cry of 
" Vive le roi ! " was raised, and, headed by the friar, a procession 
of notables sallied forth to carry to the king the expression of 
their devotion and to Joan the testimony of the grateful admira- 
tion of the city. Upon leaving Troyes Friar Richard accompa- 
nied Joan and became her confessor, preaching everywhere that 
God had sent her to expel the English. 

How far St. Colette of Corbie may have similarly influenced 
Joan's action our author leaves a little in doubt. He is of opin- 
ion, however, that the two met in 1429, when Joan laid siege to 
St. Pierre-le-Moutier and La Charite-sur-Loire. After taking 
the former she repaired to Moulins, where St. Colette then was 
in a convent of Reformed Clares which she had founded. As one 
of Joan's most prominent supporters at the time was the Comte 
de Montpensier, son of Marie de Berry, Duchess of Bourbon, of 
whom in some sort, as of many other of the most notable per- 
sonages of France, St. Colette was the spiritual directress, it 
seems not improbable that the two heroines the heroine of pa- 
triotism and the heroine of piety met. However this may be, 
it is not at all unlikely that St. Colette's example and teachings, 
far-reaching as they were in their effects, her efforts persistently 
put forth to heal the wounds of France, directly or indirectly 
exerted an influence on Joan. 

For St. Colette was not only a reformer and founder of con- 
vents.* She was always a most judicious and potent mediatrix 
between the two warring factions that then rent France asunder. 
Scarce two years after the murder of John of Burgundy at the 
bridge of Montereau, Colette had established an indirect corre- 
spondence between Marguerite of Bavaria, his widow, and Marie 
de Berry, Duchess of Bourbon, of the party of the Armagnacs, 
who murdered him. Indeed, so efficient was her interposition 
and so profound the veneration she inspired in all parties (for al- 
though, in her deep humility and rigid interpretation of the rules 
of her order, she went always in rags and on foot, duchesses 
and princesses contended for her company) that M. Luce traces 
to her efforts the marriage of Charles de Bourbon, eldest son of 
John L, and Agnes of Burgundy, youngest daughter of John 

* In thirty- five years she founded eighteen convents besides those she reformed, and, ac- 
cording to Olivier de la Marche, was instrumental in building three hundred and eighty churches. 
It is worthy of note that she founded no convents in English France, though the near friend and 
spiritual directress of the Duchess of Burgundy. 


the Fearless. The marriage was celebrated at Autun in Sep- 
tember, 1425, while St. Colette was sojourning at Moulins. 

M. Luce draws an interesting parallel between these two fa- 
mous women, who, each in her own way, were perhaps the chief 
agents in the liberation of France. Both are described by their 
contemporaries as of unusual beauty, but exalted by so much 
purity as at once to abash desire. Both were so fervidly devout 
that they were melted to tears at confession, yet both had the 
practical and organizing faculty to a remarkable degree. They 
had the same favorite feasts and fasts : Good Friday, the An- 
nunciation, the feast of All Saints. They vied in their adoration 
of Jesus. To Joan, indeed, he was not only God, but the true 
King of France, whose sole lawful lieutenant was Charles VII. 
From the first she indicates that her expedition is a holy war. 
Her first summons to the English at Orleans is dated Holy 
Thursday, and is couched in the name of the King of Heaven. 
Her soldiers are obliged to confess and receive absolution be- 
fore she will lead them in the campaign, and then she sets out pre- 
ceded by priests singing hymns and marching under the banner 
of the crucified Redeemer. 

Nor was her devotion to the Blessed Virgin less fervent or 
Franciscan. From infancy it was remarkable. Every Sunday it 
was her custom to hang garlands on the altar of the little chapel 
of Our Lady of Bermont. During the three weeks of her stay at 
Vaucouleurs, before her departure for Chinon to begin her great 
and self-imposed labor, she would pass whole days in a subterra- 
nean chapel, prostrate before Mary's image. With these disposi- 
tions it is easy to perceive what strong sympathy must have ex- 
isted between these two women, alike in personal charm, alike in 
the fervor of their piety and the direction of their devotion, alike 
in their single-minded love for France. Though Joan and Colette 
never met, it is difficult to believe that their minds were not in 
conscious unison. 

The last point made by M. Luce in behalf of his argument is 
full of interest, and, as we have said, may fairly claim the merit 
of novelty. In the early part of the fifteenth century the teach- 
ings of the Franciscans had made the devotion to the Blessed 
Virgin universal through France, and the pilgrimage to the ca- 
thedral of Puy, dedicated to the^ Annunciation, was at its greatest 
vogue. In 1429 it assumed the importance of a national event. 
This was due to a variety of causes, but chiefly to the develop- 
ment, in all classes, of the Third or secular Order of St. Francis. 
The sole conditions of membership in this were the profession of 


the Catholic faith and obedience to the church. Parents could 
enroll their children, of whom a certain number were educated 
at the expense of the order until the age of fourteen to fifteen 
for boys and twelve to thirteen for girls, when, if they did not 
elect to embrace a religious life, they were discharged with a 
dowry. With these petits enfans des mendians, as they were 
called, it was Joan's chief delight to receive the sacrament. The 
Observantines or Franciscans of the Observance* had always 
a particular veneration for the Annunciation from the time that 
Paul di Foligno began his reform by building a small church on 
Monte Cesi (1368) in honor of the same, as the Italian order of 
knighthood of the Annunciata, founded November 7 of that year 
by Amadeus VIII., Duke of Savoy, the spiritual son of St. Co- 
lette, commemorates to this day. 

When the Annunciation chanced to fall on Good Friday called 
then the Great Friday of the Annunciation the church had to 
celebrate at once the commencement of the work of redemption 
and its consummation upon Calvary. So to the church of Our 
Lady of Puy, in Velay, was granted a grand jubilee every time 
Good Friday fell on March 25. The usage still exists, and the 
last grand jubilee took place in 1867. From 1400 to 1430 this 
event occurred three times in 1407, in 1418, and 1429. In the 
two former years such vast crowds attended that many persons 
were suffocated two hundred the first year and thirty-three the 
second despite all the precautions taken by the bishop of Puy 
and a continuance of the indulgence to the third day after Easter 
by Martin V. 

In May, 1420, Henry V. of England, who married Catherine, 
sister of Charles VII., and Isabelle of Bavaria, the latter's un- 
natural mother, signed the treaty of Troyes, depriving the Dau- 
phin of his rights to the kingdom. Charles had just stopped at 
Puy after a successful expedition to the south. The poor young 
prince, thus cruelly betrayed, turned for consolation to religion. 
Only the hand of the Patroness of Puy, Our Lady of Victories of 
southern France, was powerful enough, he thought, to tear the 
treaty of Troyes asunder. He had himself received a canon 
of the cathedral, and on Tuesday, May 16, at a grand Pon- 
tifical Mass, he received communion in his canonical vestments 
from the hands of the bishop of Puy. Afterwards, to mark the 
official and religious character of the ceremony, he conferred 
knighthood on several nobles. Thereafter all pilgrims were 

* So called after the reform from their stricter observance of the rule of St. Francis. 


shown his stole, so that popular opinion was led to look upon 
Charles VII. as having an especial claim on the favor of Our 
Lady of Puy. 

In 1425 St. Colette, in concert with Claude de Roussillon, 
Vicomtesse de Polignac, founded there a convent of Reformed 
Clares. Her presence, devoted as she was alike to the Annun- 
ciation and the Passion (that feast which the Franciscans had 
made their own from the time that their founder had received 
the signal favor of the stigmata), contributed to the mystic 
exaltation which seized all hearts at the approach of the Great 
Friday of 1429. 

It was a popular superstition that a Great Friday was the 
forerunner of great events. Nicole de Savigny, writing about 
the time of the murder of Jean d'Armagnac by the followers of 
John of Burgundy, says : " Every time Great Friday falls mar- 
vellous things are sure to happen." Twenty-five years later a 
marginal annotator on the Missal of Chalons a man evidently of 
superior culture from his Ciceronian Latin, and probably a mem- 
ber of the chapter quoting this remark, adds : " It was so in 1429, 
when, immediately after Easter, La Pucelle took up arms, raised 
her banner against the English, chased them from Orleans, and 
routed them at Beauce." 

After the defeat of Verneuil, seeing no hope of human succor, 
Charles and his partisans must have placed their last despair- 
ing trust on high. In popular belief two supernatural influences 
above all personified this protection : the Archangel of Mount 
St. Michael and the Virgin of Puy. At the end of June, 1425, 
the Archangel had destroyed the English who laid siege to his 
sanctuary, and Joan had perhaps got the first inkling of her mis- 
sion upon the news of it. On the approach of the Great Friday 
of 1429 people were persuaded that the Virgin of Puy had cho- 
sen this solemn conjuncture to make the invader feel by a crush- 
ing demonstration the weight of her arm. So towards the end 
of 1428 all that part of France which owned the Dauphin's sway 
lived in fevered expectation of this great event. 

It was easy to foresee that under such conditions the pilgrim- 
age to Puy would be unparalleled. The indulgence was extend- 
ed from Holy Week to Sunday, April 3. Lent began on Febru- 
ary 9, when the English at Orleans had already won many im- 
portant advantages. Never had the danger been more pressing. 
With mingled anxiety and joy all patriotic France awaited the 
coming of the fated day. 

In the middle ages Lent, especially preceding a solemn jubilee. 


was a term of incessant prayer, penance, and mortification, and the 
Lent of 1429, for the reasons already given, was especially so in 
France. It was just eight months before, towards the feast of 
the Ascension, 1428, that Joan had sent to Robert de Baudri- 
court " to bid him tell the Dauphin, on the part of her Lord, to 
be of good cheer and not to give battle to his enemies, for that 
the Lord would bring him help before mid-Lent." What won- 
der that so devout a spirit, placing all her reliance on Heaven 
in her self-appointed task of freeing her native land, should have 
chosen for her great effort the moment when general mortifica- 
tion, extraordinary practices of devotion, and the plenary indul- 
gences attached to the jubilee would all be fighting on her 
side to wrest divine aid to the benefit of her down-trodden 
countrymen ? That consideration was certainly held in view 
by Charles' counsellors in advising him not to reject Joan's 
overtures : " Le roi, firent remarquer ces conseillers, en consid- 
eration de sa propre detresse, et de celle de son royaume, et ayant 
tgard a la penitence assidue, et aux prtires de son peuple & Dieu y ne 
doit pas renvoyer ni rebuter cette jeune fille." * 

Joan left Vaucouleurs February 25, and reached Chinon 
March 6. With her eyes and hopes, her heart and soul, intent on 
Orleans, she does not go to Puy herself, but sends several of her 
escort, as appears by the deposition of Friar Jean Pasquerel 
" that the first time he heard of Joan was at Puy, where he met 
her mother and some of those who had brought her to the king. 
Acquaintance made, they insisted he should see the Maid, and 
so he went with them to Chinon and afterward to Tours." 

The subsequent history of Joan of Arc is known to the world. 
It must be admitted that M. Luce has made out at least a plausi- 
ble case in support of his theory that Franciscan influence had 
much to do with Joan's heroic enterprise and marvellous success. 
And it is certainly at this moment a singular reflection that 
France, at the most critical period of her history, should have 
been indebted for her salvation so largely to the efforts and the 
patriotic zeal of one of those religious orders which modern 
France proscribes and banishes, and to the vitalizing spirit of 
that religion which France's rulers despise, and, so far as in them 
lies, would fain suppress. 

* " The king," said these counsellors, "in consideration of his own and his kingdom's sorry 
plight, and regard had to the assiduous penance of his people and their prayers to God, ought 
not to send away or repulse this young girl." 

120 IN ARCADY. . [Oct., 


Do you remember, O my soul ! that one October month, so 
long since past, that we spent idling in Arcady? Have the re- 
volving years ever brought round another such October, so rich 
in golden wealth, so flushed with happy life, when I, a worn- 
out worker sick of city cares and city toil, sought to regain my 
strength in the country, and found myself in Arcady, carried 
there through no effort of my own, and blindly ignorant of my 
destination ? 

How wearying was that few hours' ride through dismantled 
fields and ripening orchards ! Tired and cramped, dispirited 
with travel, and wretched with the misery of an invalid in 
strange quarters, I turned disconsolately from the farm-house, 
with its homely comforts, to look still more disconsolately at the 
flat, tame fields around. My doctor's orders were explicit : a 
month of perfect rest, no books, no work, no excitement of any 
kind ; but with what weariness of spirit was I destined to buy 
back my promised health ! As I surveyed the four weeks' pros- 
pect I wished myself right heartily in any other place back in 
my old den, or even at the hated sea-shore, staring at the tiresome 
crowd of unknown faces or listening with dull ears to the mono- 
tonous and ever-complaining sea. 

But when, rested and refreshed, I strolled out in the mellow 
afternoon, I felt a little more resigned to my hard fate and 
walked with a new vigor born of the pure country air. Think- 
ing I heard the sound of voices to my left, I lazily turned my 
steps in that direction. Yes, there beneath a clump of trees were 
a group of children at play, piling up the fallen leaves into great 
heaps and laughing shrilly at their pastime. They never noticed 
me as I approached, and at last I began to vaguely understand 
that this was Arcady I had reached. Where else could children 
be as free and wild and happy as these children were hatless and 
shoeless, as became their sylvan state, yet with no touch of 
poverty about them? In frantic haste they were heaping up 
great armfuls of grass and leaves upon some prostrate figure, 
burying it, I thought, completely, and raising over it a huge and 
tumbled mound. Curious to see more, I went nearer. Suddenly 
they all stopped and gazed at me with the half-startled look of 

i88i.] IN ARCADY. 121 

woodland creatures caught at their hidden play, and the some- 
thing on the ground, whose head at least was not concealed, 
opened a pair of astonished brown eyes and led me straight into 

The girl who lay so buried up did not seem in the least em- 
barrassed by her singular position, but I must own I was. I 
raised my hat, feeling deeply conscious of the absurdity in taking 
it off to an individual who lay stretched at my feet and whose 
head alone was visible. She smiled slightly, and then without a 
word thrust out a little brown hand from under her grassy mound 
and gently extended it towards me. Could it be that she ex- 
pected me to get down on my knees and take it ? I felt myself 
growing quite hot at the prospect, and was greatly relieved to 
see that she had no such intention. At a little distance stood one 
of the children, a sturdy, sunburnt boy of five. Fully occupied 
with staring at me, he never noticed the hand that crept stealth- 
ily towards him until it had caught him by the ankle and with 
one dextrous jerk thrown him to the ground. He uttered a 
howl of alarm, but it was too late. In another instant the girl 
had jumped to her feet, neatly turning the pile of leaves over upon 
her prostrate victim. The children, like all other mobs, were 
ready and eager for a new antagonist, especially when he was 
already down ; and in spite of his kicks and yells they flew at him 
and covered him up so completely that I really feared he would 
suffocate. In the meantime the author of this skilful manoeuvre 
shook off the grass that still clung to her gown, and came for- 
ward without a particle of hesitation or shyness. 

" You are Mr. Beven, I suppose," she said with a slightly for- 
eign accent. " We had not expected you until a later train, but 
I am glad you have arrived safely. Were you much tired by the 
trip ? " looking at me kindly, yet without any of that half-pitying, 
half-scrutinizing interest that most won^en think proper to be- 
stow on invalids, and which is apt to be so irritating to the suf- 

" Not very," I said ; "and I am completely rested now. Mrs. 
Oakes has given me most comfortable quarters. But tell me, I 
beg, are all these children your brothers and sisters ? " 

" None of them," she answered ; " they are all my cousins, 
though. I am Mrs. Oakes' niece, and my name is Natalie Har- 
rison." Then, turning to a tall girl of ten with great, sombre eyes 
and a mop of short brown curls, she said with decision : " I am 
going home now, Snap, and I want you to see that all the chil- 
dren are back by tea-time." 

122 IN ARCADY. - [Oct., 

" I sha'n't ! " was the terse rejoinder. 

" But you must ! " with equal emphasis. " Mind ! I leave 
them in your care, and I shall hold you responsible for them all." 

" Natalie, Natalie, don't go home ! Stay and play with us, 
please ! " shrieked the youngsters in a chorus, rushing up to her ; 
but she settled matters by shaking them all off and walking 
sedately away, while I ventured to accompany her homewards. 

" You see," she explained to me, " I waste so much of my 
time with them, and Aunt Jane has always plenty for me to do. 
Besides, Snap can bring them home quite as well as I could." 

" Only Snap does not seem altogether willing to undertake 
the task," I suggested. 

" Oh ! yes, she is," rejoined Natalie with easy assurance. 
" She merely says she won't by way of showing me that she does 
not recognize my authority, while in her heart she knows she is 
going to do exactly what I tell her. Now, if I had asked Mar- 
gery she would have said sweetly, * Yes, Cousin Natalie,' and then 
never have given another thought to the matter. But Snap is to 
be trusted." 

" Why," I asked idly, " is she called Snap ? " 

" It is short for Snap-dragon," Natalie kindly explained. 

" But she could hardly have been baptized Snap-dragon 
either," I persisted ; " can that be short for something else ? " 

" Oh ! dear, no," laughed Natalie. " I called her that because 
she is a dragon and snaps dreadfully. Aunt Jane's taste in names 
is very peculiar," she went on gravely. " Now, Snap's real one 
is Abigail, and it does not seem to suit her at all. Margery I 
don't mind so much, but Jonathan and Jeremy are dreadful, and 
Deborah is not much better. Even the poor Gosling is called 

" The Gosling ! " I repeated vaguely. 

" Yes, that is the youngest of them all the one I pulled over 
so neatly. He was quite a tiny boy when I first came." 

" And how long ago was that? " I asked. 

" Nearly two years," she said with a faint sigh, as if the time 
had dragged but slowly. 

" And from what part of France did you come?" 

She raised her brown eyes full into mine. " Who told you I 
was French at all ? " she askeeL-^ 

" I saw it easily for myself." 

" And yet I do not speak English very badly, do I ? " 

" On the contrary, you speak it very well ; but for all that it is 
not hard to guess your nationality." 

1 88 i.J IN ARCADY. 123 

She shrugged her shoulders slightly, but seemed, I thought, 
rather pleased than otherwise. " I was born near St. Etienne," 
she said, " and went to school there ; but my father always talked 
to me in English, so I ought to know it very well indeed. And 
there were two American girls at the convent, who were so glad 
to have some one they could speak to in their own tongue. It 
was a pity they were so stupid," she added musingly ; " but then 
the charity in talking to them was all the greater. Oh ! there is 
Aunt Jane beckoning me from the kitchen-door. How long I 
must have kept her waiting ! " And with another impatient little 
shrug she was gone. 

And I was in Arcady. I wandered aimlessly around until tea- 
time, languid and tired with my unusual exertion, yet vaguely 
satisfied and happy to have left my daily cares behind me in the 
city. Then, as Natalie had foretold, home came Snap, bearing 
the crowd of children in her train ; hurrying them along, boys 
and girls, with a sharpness of tongue and a steadiness of purpose 
that in no way belied her name. Like a flock of geese she drove 
them all in the narrow door-way, and then, with her bare round 
arms akimbo, stood staring solemnly at me as I sat out on the 
shady lawn. I stood it as long as I could, and then, feeling that I 
must either speak to her or get up and escape from such pr6- 
longed scrutiny, I hazarded some random remark about the chil- 
dren. It was enough. At the first sound of my voice Snap had 
vanished, and I saw no more of her that night. 

The next day was rainy, and, feeling rather dull in consequence, 
I was making up my mind to go down to breakfast when there 
came an odd little scratching, thumping noise on the outside of 
my door that suggested forcibly to me the morning visits of my 
favorite pointer, then luxuriating in Western prairies. 1 opened 
it, and saw a pair of round blue eyes under a hanging fringe of 
flaxen hair. It was the youngest-born the Gosling. 

" Mother says," he began in a rapid monotone, as if fearful of 
forgetting his message, " will you have your breakfast up here or 
down-stairs, and are you ready for it now ? " 

" Down-stairs, of course," I answered ; " only sick people ought 
to want their breakfast in their bed-rooms. Don't you think so ? " 

The Gosling, being a heavy child, pondered over my question 
for a moment in a solemn manner, with his head a little on one 
side, as if considering the matter in all its lights. Unable, how- 
ever, to come to any final decision, he concluded, like Talleyrand, 
to " reserve his judgment," and waived the subject for the pre- 
sent. " It's raining," he .said gravely, and, having imparted this 

IN ARCADY. [Oct., 

piece of information, he began to clamber down the stairs in front 
of me, waddling in a manner that fully justified his title and 
gave me a high opinion of Natalie's sense of the ludicrous. 

After breakfast I wrote a couple of letters, and then, driven to 
my wits' end for occupation, fell into examining every print and 
every china ornament in Mrs. Oakes' painfully uninteresting 
parlor. Especially was I struck with the one oil-painting which 
decorated her walls a full-length portrait of a little boy with 
round red cheeks, and round black eyes, and a vivid blue jacket, 
who held his straw hat carefully with one nand and rested the 
other stiffly on a dog's head by his side. I say dog's head advis- 
edly, because the singular part of this picture was that the head 
alone was visible, and, protruding from one corner, plainly in or- 
der to give the little boy something picturesque to lay his hand 
on, was far more suggestive of a stretched-out alligator than 
any honest dog. After carefully inspecting this masterpiece I 
turned my attention to the windows and watched the driving 
rain beating against the panes, and wondered where Natalie and 
the children were, and what they found to do on such a desperate 
day. Finally, setting my doctor's orders at defiance, I sought 
refuge in my room, and, taking out one of the forbidden volumes 
that lay so temptingly in my trunk, I read on for several hours, 
until, glancing out of the window, I saw Natalie hurrying through 
the rain, an old shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders. 
Tossing my book aside, I sauntered down the stairs and encoun- 
tered her in the hall, flushed, panting, and most thoroughly wet; 
and to this hour I can recall the odd sensation of feeling sud- 
denly old and wilted alongside of her vigorous young beauty. 

" How could you be so imprudent ? " I said reproachfully ; 
but Natalie only laughed as she threw back her heavy hair and 
shook the rain-drops from her dripping shawl. 

" I came from the barn," she explained, " and I hurried all I 
could ; but rain will wet you somewhat." And with this truism, 
which I was hardly prepared to deny, she ran lightly up the 
stairs, leaving me standing in rather a disconsolate fashion at 
their foot. Then, moved, I am sure, by a genuine pity for my for- 
lorn and solitary condition, she called out from the upper story : 
" I am going back to the barn after dinner, Mr. Beven. Would 
you like to go along, if it clears ? The children are all there." 

" I will go whether it clears or not," I made haste to say ; 
and so off we started as soon as dinner was over, in the pouring 
rain and through the soaked and treacherous grass ; sheltered 
this time, however, by the huge family umbrella, brown with 

i88i.] IN ARCADY. 125 

age and weighing- about half a ton. When I learned that this 
was the only one at the farm I no longer wondered at Natalie's 
preferring the less ponderous protection of her shawl. 

Arrived at the barn, we found the children comfortably es- 
tablished in the loft, with plenty of provisions and a sprinkling of 
dishes and forks, holding high ^carnival, and, it must be admitted, 
none too pleased to see an interloper like myself admitted into 
their especial fortress. The instinct of hospitality, however, al- 
ways strongest in country children, prevented their showing 
their displeasure ; an*d after half an hour of such close quarters I 
succeeded in breaking through their wall of shyness and estab- 
lishing myself on the easy footing of a friend. That is to say, 
with all but Snap. She alone seemed to regard me with positive 
distrust, rejecting all my advances and glowering at me with her 
great eyes, as if she fully expected me to do something desperate 
and was determined to be on her guard. Her sister Margery 
was rather a pretty child, plump and fair, with a gentle, winning 
manner that effectually hid the imperious little will beneath. 
Snap generally lost her point by fighting for it, while Margery 
always gained hers by seeming to give way. Deborah and 
Jeremy, otherwise known as Deb and Jem, were twins of eight, 
and Jonathan, a really handsome boy of twelve, the best-looking 
and best-tempered of the party. 

Over this merry and somewhat turbulent little crowd Natalie 
reigned supreme, seconded always by Jonathan and, in her re- 
luctant, half-sullen fashion, by Snap. But shall I forget the un- 
fortunate Gosling ? Ah ! no, for he it was who supplied the far- 
cical element to the family group ; always phlegmatic, yet al- 
ways in hot water, being continually led astray by his more viva- 
cious brothers and sisters. Especially was he victimized by Jem, 
to whom he clung with a desperate trust and affection which 
repeated experience of his brother's falsity could not completely 
shake. Was it not Jem who decoyed him into climbing the big 
apple-tree, and, having established him on the highest available 
branch, did he not slip deftly down and leave the unhappy Gos- 
ling perched aloft for two hours before he was discovered, a 
stolid and tear-drenched little image of despair? For which 
craven act I did myself see Natalie box the young scamp's ears 
until I, though fully approving of the punishment, fairly winced 
at the vigor with which it was applied. 

Again, was it not Jem, aided and abetted by Deb, who ter- 
rified his little brother with appalling ghost-stories, varied by 
lowing sounds which Deb executed in the closet with such en- 

i 2 6 IN ARCADY. [Oct., 

tire success that the Gosling, his flaxen hair standing on end, his 
blue eyes shining with terror, rushed from his haunted bed-room 
into the light and safety of the parlor? Even on this rainy after- 
noon in the barn it required all Natalie's authority to keep this 
volatile Jem in order ; but it must be owned that he contributed 
largely to our entertainment, giving us a circus performance of 
varied scope and of no little merit, in which he appeared as 
everything in turn clown, horses, acrobat, and all. 

So completely was the ice broken on this occasion between 
the children and myself that afterwards it became a difficult 
matter to keep my room free from the boys, who invaded it at 
all times in the true spirit of sociality ; spending hours there un- 
less positively dismissed, and then only moving as far as the hall 
outside in case I should relent and readmit them, or to give me 
the pleasure of their company as soon as I emerged. Margery 
fluctuated between demonstrative affection and shy avoidance, as 
her variable fancy inclined her. Snap alone continued obdurate, 
until I actually began to look about for some means to bribe her 
liking ; for was she not, this sullen, passionate, taciturn child 
was she not Natalie's acknowledged favorite ? 

I had little with me, unfortunately, that ran any chance of 
pleasing her a row of books, to be sure, but Snap hated read- 
ing ; and a few articles of jewelry, but none that I could give a 
little girl. At last, in rummaging through my writing-desk, I 
was lucky enough to find there a photograph how obtained I 
do not know and I determined to try if Snap had any taste for 
art, and if her favor, like that of her sex generally, was a purchas- 
able article. The picture was a scene in the Roman Amphi- 
theatre ; a crowded mass of people looking on, and two young 
martyrs kneeling on the bloody sand, clasped in each other's 
arms ; to the right a lion creeping stealthily towards them, 
while nearer still a glutted tiger turns savagely away. It was 
not of any high order of artistic merit, but I had no reason to 
think that Snap \vould be critical, so the next time I heard her 
on the stairs I opened my door and called her in. 

" Snap," I said without any preamble, " here is a little picture 
that I found among my papers. Would you like to have it ? " 

She stood for a moment uncertain ; but, desire getting the 
better of prejudice, she slowly"came into the middle of the room 
and took the photograph from my hands. I expected her to dis- 
appear with it at once, but I was mistaken. Leaning her elbows 
on my window-sill, she looked long and earnestly at her prize. 
Her face was turned away from me, but as I watched her closely 

1 88 1.] IN ARCADY. 127 

I saw her gather herself up shrinkingly and shiver slightly as if 
in fear. The child's vigorous young fancy placed her at once by 
the side of those two Romans girls, and she trembled at a peril 
whose strange sweetness she could not understand. For a minute 
she stood thus wrapped in a pleasure which was half a pain ; then, 
taking up the picture, she turned to me and raised her great eyes, 
with a friendly light in them, to my face. 

" You are welcome to it, if it pleases you," I said, " and when 
I go back to the city I will send you some others." 

She actually smiled, showing a line of white teeth seldom 
visible, and then went swiftly away, with no other thanks than 
those which had for a minute lit up her sombre eyes; but 
from that day forth it was understood that Snap and I were 

Mrs. Oakes had long before this taken me into her confidence 
as I believe she would have taken any other boarder in my place 
and had told me most of her own concerns and all about Natalie. 
I heard that her father had been Mrs. Oakes' only brother, and 
her mother a Frenchwoman, who had striven hard against pov- 
erty and a thriftless husband (my hostess openly acknowledged 
this fact), and had tried to educate her daughter and place her 
above want. But she died, poor woman, worn out by the heavi- 
ness of her task ; her husband had followed her to the grave, and 
their child, now utterly homeless, had left her convent school and 
crossed the ocean to her only relatives. 

" And a blessing she has been to us from the first moment she 
came," wound up the good woman, " as I tell my husband many 
and many a time. What we would do without her now I cannot 
think. Why, as for the children, one would suppose they be- 
longed to her ! " One would indeed, I thought acquiescently, re- 
calling to mind Jem and the apple-tree. " Nearly every stitch the 
girls wear she makes, and her own clothes into the bargain. I 
am sure," with a sigh, " I don't know where she gets her handy 
ways from. Not from her father, anyhow. Many's the time I've 
pitied his wife, poor thing, before she gave up and died. Natalie 
must favor her, I reckon. And the children's manners so im- 
proved, too." What could they have been like before ? I wonder- 
ed. " And all winter long she teaches them, and they learn more 
with her in a month than they did in that trumpery school in a 
year, though one of the directors did come here the other day 
and say we ought to send them back instead of trusting them to 
a foreigner and a Papist. But perhaps you did not know that 
Natalie was a Romanist ? " she said hesitatingly, and with that 

128 IN ARCADY. [Oct., 

fluency of synonyms which always accompanies an unwillingness 
to use the correct term. 

I signified that I did know it, but that I was scarcely stanch 
enough in my own lines to be particular about the wanderings of 
others ; an idea that seemed to impress her by its very novelty. 

" Of course the child is not altogether to blame," she said 
apologetically, "being brought up that way and among that 
kind, and she is as good as gold in her own fashion, and I dare 
say does no harm ; though it is a sin and a shame to my brother 
that he ever permitted it. But that was Lawrence all over. If 
he had married a Hottentot his daughter might have worshipped 
according ! " And Mrs. Oakes flung herself out of the room in a 
torrent of indignation against her happily deceased .kinsman. 

Poor little Natalie ! Poor little Papist ! exiled from her 
country and from her fellow-Papists, more gay and congenial, I 
feared, than any friends she was likely to make in this unattrac- 
tively orthodox spot. Such a stanch little daughter of Rome as 
she was, too ! Every Sunday, rain or shine, saw her bravely walk- 
ing a long three miles to church ; while her uncle, to whom the 
Sabbath was exclusively a day of rest, alternately smoked and 
slumbered in his chair, and her aunt, with a stricter sense of obli- 
gation upon her, took down a Bible from the shelf and, honestly 
I am sure, tried to nourish her own soul from its pages. But the 
unaccustomed repose of her surroundings acted like an opiate on 
her overworked system ; and this woman, who toiled unceasingly 
from Monday morning until Saturday night, succumbed before 
the lulling influence of rest, and dozed gently off with her specta- 
cles on her nose and the open book upon her knee. 

As for the children, they were sent with great regularity to 
Sunday-school, whence they returned enriched with a generous 
supply of literature of a mildly religious type, which, I am bound 
to say, I never saw one of them read. In fact, a large bundle of 
it, neatly done up and labelled, had been saved by Natalie to 
return to the school. " Because," said this practical little French- 
woman, with perhaps a faint grain of malice mingling with her 
solicitude, "they are really never read, and it seems a pity to 
waste them." 

But the duty of church-goiijg rested entirely on Natalie's 
shoulders, and once I accompanied her. It was a rough little 
edifice and a rougher congregation, made up principally of 
Irish farm-hands and their families. I never went again not, 
however, from undue fastidiousness, but because there seemed 
something irreverent in coming merely as an idle spectator 

i88i.] IN ARCADY. 129 

among people who were all so tremendously in earnest, and 
bound together, as these people were, by the tie of a common 
faith. I looked at Natalie kneeling with her rosary in her hands, 
and tried to picture her amid the solemn grandeur of Notre 
Dame, which she had never even seen ; though she was loath to 
believe that it could be more beautiful than the parish church at 
St. Chamond, where she had lived as a little child, and which, in 
her eyes, far surpassed anything that smoky, bustling, prosperous 
St. Etienne had to offer. 

Poor little Natalie ! Well might her aunt praise her willing 
hands ; but by this time I had learned that the girl's light-heart- 
edness, the happy birthright of her race, could not always stifle 
a homesick longing for France and the friends she had left there, 
or keep her from sometimes wondering if life held for her no 
gayer page than the one she looked at now. Not that she ever 
complained, or even appeared sad, but there was a wistful eager- 
ness in the way she questioned me about all the countries I had 
seen, and above all about France, and Paris the wonderful, where 
her mother had been when a girl, and where she had promised 
to take her as soon as they should be rich enough. 

" It takes a great deal of money to travel, does it not ? " she 
said sorrowfully, as we sat one day under the self-same apple-tree 
which had been the Gosling's involuntary perch. The children 
on the grass beside us were playing some game, whirling round 
in a ring and singing loudly to Deb, who stood disconsolately in 
their midst. Natalie was knitting, and as she asked the question 
she raised her eyes from her work, while a quaint little pucker 
seamed her pretty, low forehead. 

" Not so very much," I answered carelessly. " I am not exact- 
ly a millionaire, but I am still rich enough to have the whole 
world open to me, if I choose to go." 

" And yet you stay here ! " she said with a frank amazement 
that was anything but complimentary to my native land. 

" And yet I stay here, as you see, and am tolerably contented 
with my situation ; but if you were rich to-morrow where would 
you go to spend your wealth ? " 

".Oh! to France, of course," was the eager answer; "and I 
should build myself a most beautiful chateau near St. Chamond. 
And I would take all the children with me, and send the girls to 
the convent ; only I don't know what the nuns would think of 
Snap. And the boys should go to St. Cyr and learn to be sol- 
diers instead of farmers. How handsome Jonathan would look in 
his uniform !" 

VOL. xxxiv. 9 

130 IN ARCADY. [Get, 

" And the Gosling, too ? " I suggested softly. 

" Don't laugh at the Gosling, if you please/' she said petu- 
lantly. " He is a very fine boy, and should stay with me in my 
chateau, and wear wonderful little coats of blue velvet all trim- 
med with lace or fur, and big hats with long, drooping feathers, 
and then he would be handsome too." , 

I looked at the unconscious Gosling dancing unconcernedly 
in his ragged calico dress, with bare brown legs, and yellow hair 
hanging over his eyes in lieu of the drooping feather, and tried 
to picture him in this gorgeous array ; but, failing completely, re- 
turned to the conversation. 

"And where," I asked with some" hesitation, " shall I be?" 

Natalie glanced at me in surprise. " You ? Oh ! you will be 
at home," she said at last, " and will have forgotten all about us 
by that time." 

" But I will not," I persisted. " Can't you find some room for 
me, too, in your ' castle in Spain ' ? " 

" Chateau in France," corrected my companion gently. Then 
after a pause, " No, there would be no room for you, because you 
would find it all as stupid there as I am sure you must do here." 

"And pray who told you I found it stupid here?" I retort- 
ed. "Why, I never was better satisfied in my life. I only wish 
this month could lengthen itself into a dozen." 

The brown eyes looked incredulous for a minute, then a won- 
dering glance came into them, and then, as some faint suspicion 
of my meaning dawned on Natalie's mind, she rose quickly to 
go. "You would not like it at all," she said quietly, "when the 
winter came." And she left me to join the children at their 

" When the winter came ! " The words had an ominous 
sound about them that I remembered only too well when it had 

But, lying among the fallen apples that afternoon, I built my- 
self an air-castle of my own as brilliant and as unstable, alas ! as 
Natalie's had been. They were somewhat alike, too, strange to 
say, these aerial palaces ; but in one particular they differ widely. 
The children were attractive undoubtedly as children, but my 
castle halls were not for them. y 

How quickly time passes in Arcady ! Was it possible that I 
had spent five long weeks in happy idleness, and that the day 
was drawing near when the duties and burdens of life must once 
more be shjfted upon my unwilling shoulders ? I asked myself 
this question as we started together for the woods, but weakly 

i88i.] IN ARCADY. 131 

forbore to answer. By our sides and in front of us trooped the 
children, bearing baskets to hold the nuts which they proposed 
to gather, and which, I found, they confidently expected me to 
shake down for them. 

" We are lucky in having you along with us," said Snap in a 
friendly fashion, " for Cousin Natalie says she is getting too old 
to climb trees, and you can take her place." 

" And do you mean to tell me," I said, " that you are auda- 
cious enough to hope that I will risk my neck for the sake of fill- 
ing your baskets ? " 

Snap looked disappointed. " I don't believe you are thinking 
of your neck at all," she answered sharply ; " only you would 
rather sit and talk to Natalie. I wonder how you can be so 
lazy ! " 

" I wonder, too," was my contented response ; " but this is a 
lazy place, I fear. I never spent so much time doing nothing in 
my life before." 

" You are doing something now in walking to the woods with 
us," said Snap, whose mind was eminently practical ; " but it's 
nothing useful to anybody, unless you climb the trees when you 
get there. You might just as well have stayed at home." 

" Snap ! " began Natalie in a warning tone, when Jem cheer- 
fully interrupted her. " Mr. Beven and Cousin Natalie can pick 
up the nuts," he kindly arranged, " while we shake them down. 
I guess they won't be mean and keep them all, like Margery did 
last time." 

" I didn't, either ! " cried Margery, turning scarlet. 

" You did ! You know you did ! " rapidly retorted Jem. 

" So did Deb, too, then," said the injured Margery, "for we 
put them all in the same basket." 

" Yes, and Jem stole two handfuls out. I saw him myself," 
declared Snap, the impartial. 

" Children," said Natalie impressively, " if jou squabble in 
this disgraceful way any longer I will turn right back, and 
where will your nuts be then ? " 

" On their trees, I reckon," promptly answered Jem as if he 
were guessing a conundrum ; but Natalie's threat had its effect in 
quieting the others, and for a few minutes they marched soberly 
along, until at last the sight of their destination scattered their 
decorum to the winds and sent them forward with a tumultuous 
rush to gain the first spoils. 

How still and sombre the woods lay until we entered, filling 
them with a shrill confusion of sounds ! Here and there a squir- 

132 IN ARCADY. [Oct., 

rel, startled at our approach, scrambled half way up the nearest 
tree and then turned to look at us curiously, yet reproachfully 
too, as if in mute remonstrance at this wholesale robbery of his 
winter stores. The dead leaves rustled crisply beneath our feet, 
a few crows cawed complainingly overhead. A narrow brown 
streamlet ran by our side with a merry air of companionship and 
good feeling in its eager efforts to keep up with our advance. 
Now and then a gentle movement in the long grasses that over- 
hung its banks suggested the harmless water-snake that glided 
fearfully away from our unwelcome presence. The fleet, chili 
winds shook the half-stripped branches of the close-standing 
trees, and showered down on us fresh supplies of leaves, golden 
brown and red. The spirit of Autumn seemed to be walking 
through the woods, flaunting her brilliant colors and her eager 
existence in our dazzled eyes, as though in defiance of the winter 
desolation that was to come. The gladness that precedes a sor- 
row, the triumph that goes before a fall, the full life that must 
soon give place to death, filled the air and stirred our unthinking 

On a branch before us sat a bird with a long, sharp beak, and 
a tuft of crimson feathers on its head, as if it had stolen a bit of 
the changeful coloring around. It peered at us with bright, 
watchful eyes, but did not offer to stir. 

" How tame it is ! " said Natalie, and stepped softly forward ; 
but the bird, as though he had caught the whispered word, took 
wing and flew away, uttering a long whistle that sounded in the 
distance like No ! no ! no ! 

The children, eager to begin, sought their favorite trees, and 
shrieked with delight as the nuts fell pattering to the ground : 
chestnuts, lying in their prickly nests and glowing with rich 
color as they peeped from their silken beds ; surely Autumn's 
favorite is the chestnut, for she has given it her warm brown 
tints and has guarded it as a miser guards his jewels ; walnuts, 
harsh and ugly when stripped of their favorite covering, and giv- 
ing but little promise of the good that lurks beneath ; stony 
shellbarks, pale and profitless, hard to break and yielding their 
meagre store with grim reluctance an inhospitable nut, the 
shellbark, and its smooth, pointed surface seems to warn us 
against wasting our time in fruitless labor for its scanty kernel : 
a Puritan nut, colorless, severe, unyielding. We will leave it 
and seek more genial spoils. 

Nimble and sure-footed, the children climb the trees and 
lightly swing themselves from branch to branch. Their laugh- 

iSSi.J IN ARCADY. 133 

ter, sweet and shrill, scares from their nests the forest birds, who 
loudly chirp their wonder and discontent. And Natalie, wide- 
eyed and radiant, seems like a Dryad escaped from her oak-tree 
prison and happy in her subtle sympathy with the happy world 
around. I live in an enchanted land, and she is the guardian 
spirit of its beauties. The children's voices sound thinner and 
finer as they wander further and further off ; when suddenly a 
long-drawn, dismal cry rings in my ears and puts my teeming fan- 
cies to flight, bringing me back in one swift leap from fairyland 
and elfin company to earth and suffering humanity. 

Natalie started as the sound struck her ears. " The Gos- 
ling ! " she cried with a frightened look, and hurried in the direc- 
tion whence it came, while I rapidly followed. Unhappy Gos- 
ling ! Could you not leave us in peace on this one day, and why 
must you desert the safe and open beauty of the woods to dabble 
in the cold and treacherous water ? Did you not know that wa- 
tery things are never to be trusted, or have you learned it now ? 
Poor child ! He knelt by the side of the pretty, innocent brown 
stream, down on the damp and marshy ground, and lifted up his 
voice with good cause ; for, clinging to his fat and dimpled fin- 
ger hung one of those little monsters, a cross between the most 
deformed of crabs and the tiniest of miniature lobsters. I knew 
the creatures well. Many a time when a boy had I seen them in 
small fresh-water streams, and wondered if they ever grew big- 
ger or lost a portion of their wicked temper. Well might the 
Gosling scream, for the little pest hung on with fierce tenacity, 
and between the pain and fright his scanty wits had all deserted 
him. Before I could reach the spot Snap flung herself down 
from a tree on the other side of the water, and her eyes blazed 
with excitement and delight as she took in the situation at a 

" Hold it tight ! Don't let it go for your life ! " she screamed, 
rather oblivious, I thought, to the fact that it was the crab that 
was holding on, and not the Gosling ; and she began to scramble 
down the bank with frantic haste. But now I had reached the 
frightened child, and forced the little, clinging thing from off the 
poor pinched finger. It dropped into the clear water and was 
lost to sight just as Snap, with a flying leap, landed at our side. 

" You don't mean to say," she cried, aghast, "that you let it 
get away ! " 

" I think he would gladly have parted with it some time ago," 
I answered mildly, as I wrapped the little hand in my hand- 

134 IN ARCADY. [Oct., 

The Gosling glanced at her in a deprecating fashion between 
his sobs, but attempted no defence. Snap eyed us both in wither- 
ing scorn. She was one who would have let the fox rend until 
she dropped dead, as did the thievish Spartan boy ; but the Gos- 
ling was made of different stuff, and Snap's red lip curled con- 
temptuously as she brooded over the cowardice and stupidity 
that had lost her such a much-coveted treasure. But Natalie, 
laughing yet sympathetic, took the little boy on her lap and com- 
forted him, dropping a sage word now and then on the advisa- 
bility of letting the water alone another time. Gradually he fell 
asleep, his heavy head resting on her shoulder, the tear-drops 
standing on his chubby cheeks. Snap had wandered off to relate 
her grievances to the other children. Natalie and I were alone. 

A sudden stillness seemed to brood upon the woods as I sat 
watching the graceful head lowered a little over the sleeping 
child. Neither of us spoke for a minute, during which I heard 
the murmur of the water with a strange distinctness, and 
caught the scream of a far-distant hawk sailing fleetly over the 
meadows to our right. Natalie held in her hand a branch laden 
with scarlet berries. She sighed softly as though in the fulness 
of her content. " After all," she said, " what are the beauties of 
spring compared with those of autumn ? " 

" Don't say that," I remonstrated. " We are always so forget- 
ful of the good that is past and gone. Spring comes too, welcomed 
by young and old, and we are ready to swear that the fairest 
thing on earth is the first bunch of anemones we find nestling in 
the grass at our feet. And now when she is laid in her grave, 
and this brilliant, flaunting Autumn fills her place, we are dazzled 
out of all our old allegiance and think of her past loveliness as 
something pale and vapid. I often fancy the dead Spring looks 
at us reproachfully with sweet, faded eyes as we exult in the 
triumph of her supplanter." 

Natalie smiled indulgently at a weakness she could not share. 
" I did not think men were ever so faithful to their lost loves," 
she said, idly stripping the berries from the branch she held ; 
" but if we so readily forget the Spring it is only because she has 
given place to something better. She was the promise, and now 
we have had the fulfilment. But when the Autumn dies nature 
dies with her. There is nothing left to take her place." 

" And when the winter comes what do you do then ? " I 

" I freeze, teach the children, and wait for spring," she an- 

i88i.] IN ARCADY. 135 

" Under which cheering circumstances you must be glad in- 
deed when it comes. And yet winter has its attractions, too ; 
only a solitary farm-house is not the place to most enjoy them." 

" I suppose not/' she said carelessly ; " but it is not altogether 
bad, only so very cold. Last year I nearly perished, while none 
of the rest seemed to mind it at all." 

" You are not yet accustomed to the severity of our cli- 

" I never shall be," she sighed disconsolately ; " and, what is 
more, I never want to be accustomed to anything so very dis- 

" You should try half a dozen seasons in Russia," I suggested. 

" I would rather," she answered softly, " spend one more in 

Another silence fell upon us at these words. Natalie sat lost 
in thought, her brown eyes looking out into an unseen land, a 
half-smile parting her curved lips. 

" Natalie," I said, and she slowly turned towards me, " if you 
will marry me I will take you to France and wherever else in 
this world you want to go." 

She started slightly and a sudden flush of scarlet dyed her 
cheek, while her eyes drooped to the ground ; but she gave no 
other token of surprise and made no answer. 

" If I have been too hasty," I went on, " wait a little while 
before you answer me, but do not be afraid to trust your future 
to my care. I will try hard to make you happy, and there is so 
much sweet in life that you have never tasted." 

Mechanically she arose, putting the sleeping child on the grass 
beside her. The day was fast dying, and the late sunlight, stealing 
through a gap in the branches, lit up her hair's dark gold. As if 
obeying some hidden impulse, she turned quickly from me and 
passed through a clump of trees to a clearing, where she stood for 
a minute looking at the glowing sky. I followed and took her 
unresisting hand. There was no need for her to speak, for her 
frank young eyes met mine with a look of perfect love and confi- 
dence. She was ready indeed to trust her precious future in my 
hands, but the surrender was made without one single word to 
ratify it. Blind with happiness, when I looked again at the 
setting sun a heavy band of gray, sullen and lowering, had 
swallowed up its glories, and the crimson and gold were lost 
in the sombre shadows of approaching night. 

How many years, O my soul! how many years since that 


past October in Arcady ? The chill November winds were blow- 
ing over the stripped and desolate fields when I left the farm- 
house with Natalie's last kiss warm on my happy lips ; and when 
the first soft snow of winter came it fell lightly on my darling's 
grave my pretty, brown-eyed Natalie, who lay calmly sleeping 
in the little Catholic churchyard, with the white and feathery 
snow-drifts for a pall. 

One day my dust shall crumble there with hers, for the right 
to lay my head in consecrated earth is the one and only legacy 
left me by my dead love ; the precious mantle of faith which 
dropped, as did of old the mantle of prophecy, from her pure 
hands upon my unworthy shoulders ; the link, strong yet light, 
which binds me to her for ever. 

It is October now. The fruit hangs ripening on the tree ; the 
red leaves deck the brown and wearied earth ; the setting sun 
flares crimson in the west; but the golden gates of Arcady have 
closed upon me, and in this world I shall enter them no more. 


ST. BERNARD ON THE LOVE OF GOD. Translated by Marianne Caroline 
and Coventry Patmore. London: C. Kegan Paul & Co. 1881. 

Catholic authors who have written on spiritual things in modern times 
have for the most part given their special attention to elementary instruc- 
tions, lest the faithful should be led astray. This danger has not been a 
slight one, and, though less at present than formerly, it has not altogether 
passed away. This is manifest by conspicuous examples, particularly 
among those who are impatient of discipline and reject the divine criterion 
of the authentic action of the Holy Spirit in the soul the unerring au- 
thority of the Catholic Church. 

One of the chief errors of these persons consists in their pretence of 
reaching the highest Christian perfection at a single bound. They are fond 
of fastening their attention on the example of St. Paul, who, they fancy, 
became all of a sudden from a bitter^jjersecutor of Christians the great 
apostle of Christianity. They forget not only that his conversion was 
miraculous, but also the schooling which he received at the moment of this 
great event. They forget that when he inquired, " Lord, what wilt thou 
have me to do ? " Christ did not deign to give him the answer, but sent 
him to the city of Damascus to learn his will from his servant Ananias. 
They seem to forget that Paul spent three years and a half in Arabia in 
seclusion before he entered upon his apostolate. Not a slight or short 
preparatory discipline ! They appear to forget that even then Paul did not 

1 88 1.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 137 

judge it prudent to enter upon his great mission, but went up to Jerusalem 
to confer with the supreme authority of the church, represented by the 
Apostle Peter, " lest he should go astray." These pregnant facts are re- 
corded in Holy Scriptures, yet, strange to say, they are overlooked. Men 
keep on dreaming that, with St. Paul's example against them, the 
heights of spiritual perfection may be reached by one leap and by every 
one indiscriminately ! Hence the wild extravagances found in the history 
of sects ; the shameful teachings into which they fall about spiritual per- 
fection, such as those of Pearsall Smith ; and the heinous crimes which 
some are led to commit, like the Pawtucket murder. These people talk of 
the glorious vision of Paul when he was rapt into heaven, while they walk 
in the darkness of spiritual pride, and assume to be teachers of a "higher 
life " of holiness while wallowing in the mire of sin. 

The following passage is so pointedly aimed against these errors that 
one would scarcely imagine that it was written seven centuries ago : 

" ' Our bed is covered with flowers. The beams of our house are of 
cedar, our rafters of cypress-trees/ You that hear these words of the Holy 
Spirit, do you recognize nothing in yourselves of the felicity of the Bride 
which is chanted in the canticle of love by that Spirit ; or do you hear his 
voice, not knowing whence it coineth or whither it goeth ? Perhaps you 
also desire the repose of contemplation which is herein spoken of. This 
desire is praiseworthy, if you do not forget the flowers of good works with 
which the Bride decks her bed. The exercise of virtues precedes this holy 
repose, as flowers precede fruit. Think not to obtain this sweet rest of 
contemplation until you have earned it. Those who will not labor, as the 
apostle says, shall not eat. 'The keeping of thy commandments has given 
me understanding,' writes the prophet, in order to teach us that the taste 
of contemplation only comes from the practice of obedience. In vain will 
you expect the visit of the Bridegroom, if you have not prepared for him a 
couch covered with the flowers of good works. How can you expect him to 
give himself to a rebel, who was himself obedient unto death ? Will he not 
rather say to you, in a voice of thunder : ' I cannot abide your Sabbaths 
and your solemn feast-days ' ? 

" I am astonished at the impudence of some among us who, after troub- 
ling us with their singularity, impatience, obstinacy, and rebellion, dare to 
invite the Lord of all purity into souls thus stained. The centurion, the 
perfume of whose sanctity is spread throughout Israel, besought him not 
to enter into his house because of his unworthiness ; the prince of the 
apostles cried : ' Depart from me, O Lord ! for I am a sinful man.' But you 
say : ' Come unto me, O Lord ! for I am holy.' 

"The beams of the house which house you are, if you walk not after 
the flesh but the spirit must be of cedar, an incorruptible wood ; lest, 
when you have begun to build, it should fall again to ruins. Let these 
beams be patience, for ' the patience of the poor shall never perish ' ; longa- 
nimity, for ' he who shall persevere to the end shall be saved ' ; but princi- 
pally love, which ' never fails, and is stronger than death ' " (pp. 114, 115). 

As Catholic spiritual literature abounds in books of sound elementary 
instructions which guard the faithful sufficiently against such extrava- 
gances, there is a growing need felt of spiritual books which present to the 
mind the purpose or end of spiritual life in such a light as to move the will 


to strive after its attainment. With this aim there are no writings more 
attractive and at the same time more safe than those which St. Philip 
Neri recommended, whose authors' names begin with an S the writings of 
the Saints, Every such book we welcome with unmixed delight, and read 
with special care and attention. And when done into good English, as in 
the case of the little volume at the head of this notice, we feel like giving 
to its translator unstinted thanks for his gift. 

Who among the saints even has written on Christian perfection with 
such sweetness and light qualities much in vogue with certain authors of 
our day as St. Bernard, who so well earned the title of the Mellifluous 
Doctor ? That our readers may judge for themselves we extract one of the 
many spiritual gems which abound in this little volume, as in all the pro- 
ductions from this saint's pen : 

"The fulness of the Divinity was poured forth on earth when the Word 
of God took a mortal body, that we in our bodies of death might partake of 
his fulness and cry out, 'Thy name is as oil poured forth.' His pouring- 
forth is as oil, because oil enlightens, nourishes, and heals. From whence 
was that great, sudden light that illuminated the world but from the 
preaching of the name of Jesus? It is in 'thy light that we see light.' 
Oil also is food and nourishment. Herein is it like the name of Jesus ! 
How dry and worthless is everything without it ! A book has no interest 
for me, if I find not there the word Jesus. Conversation has no charm if 
Jesus forms no part of it. That name is as honey to the mouth, as melody 
to the ears, a song of gladness to the heart " (p. 79). 

THE EMPEROR : A Romance. By Georg Ebers, author of Uarda. From 
the German by Clara Bell. Two vols. New York : William S. Gotts- 
berger. 1881. 

The scene of this novel is laid in Egypt, and the time is that of the 
Emperor Hadrian that is to say, about A.D. 129. The author has in- 
dulged the modern reader by allowing himself some minor anachronisms. 
For instance, his Romans count the days of the month and the hours of the 
day in our method. The true place for the book in one's library and we 
consider this great but not undeserved praise is alongside of Cardinal 
Wiseman's Fabzola. Cardinal Wiseman, indeed, has the lofty merit of hav- 
ing written a highly readable -novel without (if we recollect rightly) the 
meretricious attraction of a single love-scene. Georg Ebers, on the other 
hand, has married most of his men and women very handsomely. 

It is a true saying that " he that would bring back the wealth of the 
Indies must take the wealth of the, : Indies out with him." And it is well 
illustrated in this novel. For a full appreciation of all the merits of the 
book the reader should be equipped with almost as much knowledge as 
the author. Lest, however, we may alarm some humble disciple of learn- 
ing, let us add that any one who can read at all will find enough in the 
story to repay him. 

Strangely enough, the character that impressed us most was not the 
Emperor Hadrian, not the Empress Sabina, not Titianus. the prefect, but 
quite a subordinate personage, the palace steward fat, self-indulgent old 
Keraunus. And this because he is drawn with a terrific and remorseless 

1 88 1 .] NEW PUBLICA TIONS. 1 39 

adherence to unregenerate human nature. To our eyes he is as real as 
Falstaff, and, in fact, is typical of all that is proud, mean, and selfish in 
every one of us the not too hateful antitype of the very essence of Ca- 
tholicity : self-sacrifice. Next to the character of Keraunus the complex 
one of the politician Verus seems best sustained ; and the dramatic justice 
by which his criminal effort to subserve his own ends is made the inciden- 
tal cause of their virtual defeat is most happy. Oddly enough, the archi- 
tect Pontius appears in his best light (despite the involuntary pun) at the 

The history of the Catholic Church in Egypt in the second century is 
the golden thread on which the pearls of this story are strung, but this 
thread is not seen clearly till page 195 of the first volume is reached. 

At page 281 of the second volume the blind child Helios, when his 
sister is ordered to adore the statue of Hadrian, says the Lord's Prayer 
aloud in the presence of pagans. This was not permitted in the early ages 
of the church. It is, however, a minor slip. At page 126 of the first vol- 
ume Gabinius, a picture-dealer, says : " I know the law; it pronounces that 
everything which has remained in undisputed possession in one family for 
a hundred years becomes their property." It may not be out of place to 
remark that, while the law relied upon by Gabinius is probably correctly 
stated, its application by him was at once roguish and erroneous. The 
palace steward was what in the English law would be called a bailiff ; and a 
bailiff in contemplation of law has no possession. The possession is that 
of the master or owner. As the equitable principles of the English com- 
mon law are mainly derived from those three great store-houses of human 
wftdom, the Roman Institutes, the Pandects, and the Code, the point we 
make would doubtless be as good law in Alexandria in Egypt in the 
second century as it is to-day in England and America in the nineteenth. 

The Emperor Hadrian, as depicted by our author, aspired to be one bf 
those rare gems that shine with equal brilliancy from every one of a count- 
less number of facets. The prerogative of having the greatest genius al- 
lied to the greatest fortune could alone fix the bounds of his ambition. He 
would fain be emperor, artist, physician, and astrologer, and excel in all. 
The weakness of such a desire has beset other men. Napoleon I. was not 
free from it. Not content with conquering nations and establishing a code 
of laws, he desired to look just as sharply after his wife's last purchase of a 
necklace, and to be at once, so to speak, omniscient and omnipotent. Poor 
Maximilian, of Mexican memory, was a many-sided man, but without par- 
ticularly striving to be so, and knew as much about a butterfly as he might 
reasonably be supposed to know about a kingdom. But then he made his 
unusual intellectual aptitude tolerable by his evident weakness of character. 
Julius Caesar, whom Montaigne calls "the foremost man of all the world," 
fought battles, built bridges, and wrote commentaries. He could dictate 
letters to eleven different secretaries simultaneously. This last was a sort 
of Paul Morphy feat. 

Dr. Brownson, speaking of the wholesale way in which English litera- 
ture has been given over to Protestantism since the time of Henry VIIL, 
says somewhere, in substance, that there is no broader or better field in 
the whole domain of literature than is at present afforded to the English- 
speaking Catholic writer. If a similar statement may be truly predicated 



of German belles-lettres, then Mr. Georg Ebers owes in part to Miss, or 
Mrs., Clara Bell his exceptional privilege of occupying in each of two great 
fields a coigne of vantage from which none but a very great writer of fiction 
can dislodge him. The translation is excellent. 

Catholic Publication Society Co. 

It is each year a pleasure to record the appearance of this annual and 
almanac. It is the only one of the kind published in English, yet, in spite 
of the fact that it has no competitor, it each year shows a decided improve- 
ment on its preceding issues. Its one hundred and twenty pages of read- 
ing-matter are a little repertory of current Catholic history and are an- 
other evidence of the real catholicity of the Catholic Church. Among the 
subjects treated some are American, others are Irish, German, French, Eng- 
lish, Spanish, Italian, etc., and all are Catholic subjects of importance. 

A specialty of this annual has always been its biographical notices, in- 
cluding obituary sketches of prominent Catholics who have passed to their 
reward within the year. The first of the biographical sketches in order is 
that of the venerable Archbishop Blanchet, of Oregon, who last February, 
after forty-three years of arduous missionary labor on the Pacific coast, 
and worn out with old age, resigned his episcopal see. Then comes the 
Irish poet, Aubrey de Vere ; Father Olier, the founder of the Sulpicians ; 
that delightful old Dominican friar, Father Nicholas Dominic Young, whose 
death three years ago called out so many reminiscences of his earlier days 
in Maryland, Kentucky, and Ohio ; the learned historian of the State of 
New York, the late Dr. E. B. O'Callaghan ; the late Canon Oakeley, famous 
in the Tractarian movement, and still later well known to American readers 
by his useful manuals on Catholic ceremonials ; Kenelm Henry Digby, the 
author of The Broadstone of Honor and Mores Catholict, neither of which, by 
the way, is as well known to Catholic readers as it should be; Catherine 
McAuley, the founder of the Sisters of Mercy ; Calderon, the Spanish poet- 
priest; Hermann von Mallinckrodt, along with Windhorst and the Reich- 
enspergers, the organizer of the gallant little party of the Centre in 
the German Reichstag, and whose death in 1874 was a sad blow to the Ca- 
tholics of Germany; and Pauline von Mallinckrodt, a sister of the states- 
man, and the founder of the Sisters of Christian Charity. These are only 
some of the biographical notices, and they are all accompanied with excel- 
lent portraits. The rest of the matter is very good, and most of the en- 
gravings are admirable. /T^ 

MODERN HISTORY. Adapted from the French of Father Gazeau, S.J. 
New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1881. 

The department of literature known as Outlines of the world's history 
has recently attracted the attention of writers whose works have crowded 
out of existence many compilations which were at one time popular simply 
because of their abuse of the Catholic Church. 

The new writers, however, have not gained their popularity by restor- 

1 88 1 .] NE W PUBLICA TIONS. 141 

ing the church to her true place. They have moulded their works into 
epochs, so that modern history appears in a succession of volumes having no 
connection save in the name of the editor-in-chief. 

History written in this way can be made, and is often made, injurious to 
the prestige of the Catholic faith, since the times depicted are those in 
which the passions of men were worked up to the highest pitch, and the 
church is made to bear the sins and mistakes of her children, while her 
zealous work done in the silence of quiet times is passed unnoticed. 

To place the church in its proper relation to the peoples and nations of 
Europe, has ever been the aim of Catholic writers. Perhaps no one suc- 
ceeded so well in his object as Father Gazeau. Besides times of warfare, 
he found that there were times of progress, during which the wastes of war 
and passion were repaired, of far greater moment to the people who suffered 
from the rivalry of princes than the trying times of strife and desolation. 

In these intervals the church did her most effective work. The faithful 
now listened to her voice, and the miserable victims of the struggle for 
power found in her their only consolation. 

These times mark the rise of the power of the people, and by giving 
them their just share of notice Father Gazeau is enabled to sustain inter- 
est throughout and unite the successive epochs of modern history into a 
work of exceptional merit. 

Gazeau writes of every age with a vividness which makes us almost 
feel that he was a part of it. He deals with the actors in each scene on the 
principle of individual responsibility for their acts. When these acts are 
contrary to justice and morality he condemns them, be the agent Catholic 
or Protestant. 

Holding the agent responsible instead of reviling the church for the sins 
and shortcomings of her children is not the popular method of dealing with 
the Catholic Church, but it is simple justice, and it enables us to study 
some of the saddest scenes in the world's drama without provoking that 
storm of prejudice which turns a discussion of St. Bartholomew's massacre 
into a war of words. The American editors of Gazeau have entirely re-writ- 
ten the chapters on the French Revolution and the First Empire. Their 
masterly treatment of the subject will repay a reading even by those who 
have made this period of French history a study. In addition, they have 
remodelled many chapters, added others, notably those on Ireland, and 
carried the narrative down to the present time, thus making it the most 
serviceable work of its kind within the reach of Catholic schools and col- 

Collected and arranged by Matthew Arnold. With a preface. Lon- 
don : Macmillan & Co. 1881. 

" Burke," says Mr. Arnold in his preface, which, by the way, is a model 
of what prefaces ought to be " Burke greatly needs to be re-edited ; indeed, 
he has never yet been properly edited at all." In this volume Mr. Arnold 
has brought together Burke's writings and speeches on Irish affairs, the 
earliest of them, Tracts on the Popery Laws, published while the monstrous 
penal code was still in force a code, says Mr. Arnold, " not half known to 


Englishmen." It is high time they knew it thoroughly and set to work to 
make generous amends for the religious, political, and economical injustice 
which their horrible system inflicted upon a Christian nation. The rest of 
the world knows it at last and is beginning to discuss it warmly. 

In a letter to Thomas Burgh written from England in 1780 Burke de- 
fends himself to his friend from some false accusations. A short extract 
from the letter will show that the Irish party in the British Parliament 
have all along had the same difficulties: "They caused it to be indus- 
triously circulated through the nation that the distresses of Ireland were 
of a nature hard to be traced to the true source ; that they had been mon- 
strously magnified ; and that, in particular, the official reports from Ireland 
had given the lie (that was their phrase) to Lord Rockingham's representa- 
tions. And attributing the origin of the Irish proceedings wholly to us, 
they asserted that everything done in Parliament upon the subject was 
with a view of stirring up rebellion." One hundred years later the small 
knot of determined men who represent Irish interests in Parliament have 
seen themselves forced to the policy of obstruction in order to compel a 
decent amount of attention to the wants of their constituency. 

Burke, says Mr. Arnold, " is the greatest of our political thinkers and 
writers. But his political thinking and writing has more value on some 
subjects than on others." The last sentence must be taken under some re- 
serve. At all events Mr. Arnold, in editing this volume, has done a merito- 
rious action which will be appreciated by all who take interest either in 
Burke or in Ireland. 

PATRON SAINTS. Second Series. By Eliza Allen Starr. Baltimore : 
John B. Piet. 1881. 

The author of this handsome volume, which is embellished by twelve 
etchings by her own hand, has not aimed at anything original or critical in 
her study of the lives of the earlier champions of Christendom. She has 
brought together the beautiful mediaeval legends which have furnished the 
great masters of art with material for some of their grandest work. The 
reader will here find in all their bearing many of the subjects which Mrs. 
Jameson and Mrs. Clements Protestants both have already made familiar 
to non-Catholic readers, with the difference, however, that Miss Starr's 
treatment is at all times both reverent and Catholic. 

ER'S CHURCH Unity, Liberty, Charity, 1871-1881. New York : Ste- 
phen Mearns. 1881. 

This modest but neat little pamphlet is a collection of interesting es- 
says, and is a tangible evidence of literar}'- taste in young men, " some of 
whom are of an age and experience at which nothing of their kind of a su- 
perior character can be expected ; and some, too, are by gentlemen actively 
engaged in various branches of business in which a proclivity for literary 
pursuits is thought a detriment rather than an advantage ; and all the es- 
says are by young men none of whom can boast of those great educa- 
tional advantages which make merit in this kind of exercise a thing of 

1 88 1.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 143 

course." Many are the societies of Catholic young men in our large cities, 
yet-- and we say it with a blush few are the signs of literary enthusiasm. 
How many bright young boys there are who, from taste or necessity, leave 
school in early years, and bury their mental promise in the distracting sphere 
of mercantile pursuits ! We return our most heartfelt thanks to Father 
Thiry ever zealous for and beloved by the young men of New York for 
this last token of his noble devotion ; and while we congratulate the young 
men of the Literary Society of St. Francis Xavier's Church on the success 
manifested in their Decennial Souvenir, we confidently hope for the con- 
tinuance of their first fervor and the attainment of even greater and larger 

CROWNED WITH STARS. By Eleanor C. Donnelly. Published to aid in 
placing on the dome of the new University of Notre Dame, Indiana, a 
colossal statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, crowned with twelve 
stars. Indiana : University of Notre Dame. 

Miss Eleanor C. Donnelly made a position by the publication of Out of 
Sweet Solitude which her later writings have not improved. In that volume 
she showed herself to be, not only a poet of deep and vivid imagination, but 
a woman of a most passionately religious heart. Some of her war-poems 
had become household legends in many homes long before Out of Sweet 
Solitude appeared, and her fervent religious spirit as shown in other poems 
had raised her to the level of the heavenly chorister of many Catholic cir- 
cles. Crowned with Stars is one long hymn of praise to the Blessed 
Virgin a pure, sweet strain, whose deepest and strongest notes are the 
echoes of the divine songs of the church. 

THE BIBLE AND SCIENCE. By T. Lander Brunton, M.D., D.Sc., F.R.S. 
With illustrations. London : Macmillan & Co. 1881. 

That day has gone by when, for a little while, scientific opponents of 
revelation might, to some who were in doubt, have the appearance of being 
on the strong side. Mr. St. George Mivarthas removed for English-speak- 
ing readers any apprehensions of what might befall should the doctrine of 
evolution prove true. Mr. Mivart has no fear of evolution, and, in fact, he 
has, as he declares, St. Thomas Aquinas on his side, which, no doubt, is 
startling knowledge for those who fancy that whatever is a discovery to 
them must be a discovery to the world. A late writer has shown that a 
contemporary of St. Thomas, the famous Albertus Magnus, was, in spite of 
the foolish popular middle-age legends that cluster about him, a close and 
most accurate observer of nature ; that among other things his contributions 
to the study of botany were of immense value and have stood the test of 
later observers. 

Dr. Brunton's work seems to contain little, if anything, that is original, 
yet he enables one at a glance to appreciate the present state of the contro- 
versy between the friends and opponents of Christianity among the evolu- 

But it is a pity that an honest and earnest writer, such as Dr. Brunton 
seems to be, should have permitted himself so stupid an assertion as that: 
" We are accustomed to despise the inquisitors who tortured Galileo in 
order to make him assert that he had been mistaken in believing that the 

144 NEW PUB Lie A TIONS. [Oct., 1 88 1 . 

earth went round the sun, instead of the sun round the earth." There are 
people still who believe in Pope Joan, but it is discouraging to come across 
a man in these days who makes a specialty of the natural sciences and 
their history, and yet believes the old yarn about the torture of Galileo. 
We might well vary Galileo's legendary expression into e pur si mentisce 
" they lie for all that." For in 1867 M. de 1'Epinois published from the cele- 
brated Vatican MS. the entire process of Galileo's trial and nominal im- 
prisonment a publication which put an end once and for all, one should 
have supposed, to the old story. A year later (December, 1868, and January, 
1869) the lamented Col. James Meline made in the pages of THE CATHO- 
LIC WORLD a thorough examination of the controversy with regard to 
Galileo's treatment at Rome, and showed the fallacy, not of the charges of 
cruelty only, but of the exorbitant claims as well that had been made by 
prejudiced writers in favor of Galileo's contributions to science. 

A TiRE-D'AiLE. Rene des Chenais. Paris Bray et Retaux. 1881. 

MEMORIALS OF STONYHURST COLLEGE. London : Burns & Gates. 1881. 

SUNDAY EVENINGS AT LORETTO. By M. GR. Dublin : M. & S. Eaton. 1881. 

TALKS ABOUT IRELAND. By James Redpath. New York : P. J. Kenedy. 1881. 

THE SKELETON IN THE HOUSE. By Friedrich Spielhagen. New York : George W. Harlan. 

THE PROBLEM OF RELIGIOUS PROGRESS. By Daniel Dorchester, D.D. New York : Phillips & 

Hunt. 1881. 

SUGGESTIONS TO YOUNG LAWYERS. An address delivered at the Commencement of Columbia 
College Law School, May 18, 1881. By Cortlandt Parker. New York : Trow's Printing 
and Bookbinding Company. 1881. 

LETTERS AND WRITINGS OF MARIE LATASTE, lay sister of the Congregation of the Sacred 
Heart. With critical and expository notes by Fathers of the Society of Jesus. Translated 
from the French by Edward Healy Thompson, M.A. Vol. i. London : Burns & Dates. 

PROVE ALL THINGS : HOLD FAST THAT WHICH is GOOD. A letter to the parishioners of Great 
Yarmouth on his reception into the Catholic Church. By J. G. Sutcliffe, M.A., late curate of 
St. Nicholas, Great Yarmouth, and late scholar of Clare Coll. Camb. London : Burns & 
Gates. i88L. 

FIRST COMMUNICANT'S MANUAL. A Catechism for children preparing to receive the Holy Com- 
munion for the first time, and for the use of those charged with the duty of instructing them. 
By Father F. X. Schouppe, of the Society of Jesvis. Translated from the French by M. A. 
Crosier. London : Burns & Gates. 1881. 

RITUALE ROMANUM. Pauli V. Pontificis Maximi jussu editum et a Benedicto XIV. auctum et 
castigatum. Cui novissima accedit Benedictionum et Instructionum appendix. Editio 
secunda accuratissima a Sacr. Rituum Congregatione approbata. Ratisbonse, Neo-Eboraci 
et Cincinnati! : sumptibus, chartis, et typis Fr. Pustet. 1881. 

NOTE. The sketch of the late Lady Blanche Murphy written by 
Cardinal Manning, for publication in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, and 
which will be found at p. 40 of this number, was sent to the editor 
by the Earl of Gainsborough, accompanied by a letter dated Au- 
gust 2. It was with surprise, therefore, as well as deep regret that 
the news was received of the Earl's sudden death on August 13. 
His death, as appears from the latest advices, proceeded from an 
affection that was no doubt a result of the sad tidings of his 
daughter's death shortly before. 




VOL. XXXIV. NOVEMBER, 1881. No. 200. 


RADICALISM, as it is apprehended by the lower classes, is in 
England rather an antagonism than a principle. It has less of 
political desire or aspiration than of the spirit of contest against 
the upper classes. It would be absurd to suppose that the or- 
dinary (Radical) artisan, the profanum vulgus of any stratum or 
pursuit, argued politics, or considered them, on scientific princi- 
ples, so much as with piqued feelings and resentment. The main 
idea is to pull down, not to build up. It has been well said that 
" a true Tory must be also a pure Liberal, because he seeks to 
elevate the whole tone of the lower classes " ; and though, unfor- 
tunately, this is but theoretically true, it is a statement which no 
good man would call in question. But in regard to the Radical 
section, it must be sadly confessed that it does not seek to " ele- 
vate" even itself so much as to do away with institutions. And 
it does this from jealousy and irritation much more than from 
political principle. There may be a dominance of principle 
in a small minority, but there is a dominance of feeling in the 
great majority. English radicalism, speaking loosely, is ha- 
tred of class privilege ; it is a sentiment, which is fanned by dis- 

Let it be granted that this is the fault of the higher orders 
quite as much as it is the mistake of the lower orders. If the 
higher orders had always realized that their two great political 
duties were, first, to set an example of a high standard, and, sec- 

Copyright. REV. I. T. HECKER. 1881. 


ondly, to assist " the people " in attaining to it, the people would 
have less difficulty in believing that the higher orders really have 
the popular interests at heart. But when the people are im- 
pressed with the idea that the upper classes chiefly live for their 
own aggrandizement, and do not exhibit more religion, more 
charity, more nobility than are found in the classes which are 
below them, they naturally turn Radical and say, " Why should we 
be mere slaves to the classes who use us only for themselves ? " 
This is, of course, a most exaggerated estimate, unjust in appre- 
hension and in inference ; but it is nevertheless the feeling not 
the principle of many millions who in England cherish radical 
ideas. It is a feeling which comes about from the apparent pride 
of rich persons, their apparent profound selfishness and disre- 
gard, as well as from those social barriers which are cast up by 
conventionalism, dividing English classes by iron walls. It is 
less the fault of individuals in high position than of the canons of 
social usage, long established. The higher classes seem, and for 
the most part really are, socially separate from the classes which 
are below them by as wide a gulf as the sternest laws of social 
caste can render equally offensive and impassable. A want of 
Catholic sympathies, of courteous manners and graceful modesty, 
go further in developing radical feelings than any amount of 
acts of parliament, good or bad. And since there cannot be a 
question that in England the " democratic principle " (wrongly 
named, for it is a feeling, not a principle) is assuming most threat- 
ening characteristics, it is wise to consider whether the people 
cannot be won over by an improvement in the tone of their " su- 
periors." That the masses are getting more and more radical in 
a subversive and revolutionary sense, more and more irritated 
against " society " and whatever is included in its canons, is so 
patent a fact that we cannot walk through the London streets 
without seeing and hearing sufficient proofs of it. Now, there is 
still plenty of time to stem the current of this feeling, which as 
yet has not strengthened into a flood. It must be done, not by 
new acts of parliament, by extension of privilege or of franchise, 
or by stooping to patronize vulgar " Bradlaughism," but by a 
total revolution in the ideas of the upper classes, which are at 
present absurdly narrow and contemptible. It is much better to 
recognize this fact at once. It is the selfishness and the weak 
conventionalism of the upper classes which render them incom- 
petent to impress the lower. As a clever workman observed 
recently to the present writer (so far as the substance of his re- 
marks can be remembered) : " I apprehend that religion with my 


superiors means respectability ; and that free thought, though 
just as rife with my superiors as it is with the admirers of Mr. 
Bradlaugh, is only veiled or mildly expressed by my superiors, 
because they have but very few incentives to irritation. As with 
religion, so with the natural virtues : my superiors keep them 
chiefly for themselves, and whenever they are so kind as to think 
of me they show me cool patronage or condescension, as though 
they did me a great honor for their own diversion. In the House 
of Lords I am only remembered as a serf, as being auxiliary to 
the greater ease of their lordships ; and in the House of Com- 
mons a strong Conservative party keeps me always out of my 
right of being heard. In ' society ' I am always treated as a bar- 
barian, suffered occasionally to approach the back door of an em- 
ployer, and subjected to the impertinence of powdered flunkies 
who reflect the exclusive grandeur of their masters. In church I 
am shoved away into a back seat allowed to contemplate the fine 
dresses in the front seats ; and if the parson comes to visit me he 
does it as a policeman, or as an almsgiver, or as a lecturer, or as a 
' gentleman.' In the streets no one is polite to me in my fustian 
jacket ; and in my home I am made the victim of some Scripture- 
reader, who appears to think me equally ignorant and immoral. 
If I get ' hard up ' I can go to the parish for relief to be in- 
formed, perhaps, that I am ' one of the undeserving poor/ a phrase 
which is kept always for the unfortunate ; though as to the ' un- 
deserving rich? I never hear anything of them, nor, of course, are 
there any such people in the world. And, finally, when I come 
to die a parson offers me ' consolation,' though no rich people 
think of sending me comforts, nor do they recognize me any 
more than if I were a dog." 

Now, all this is but the language of irritation. It has nothing 
to do with politics nor with Radicalism even. Yet be it remem- 
bered that among the " roughs and the rowdies " very differ- 
ent people indeed to the thoughtful workman the same spirit 
which brews the sentiment of discontent brews the violent out- 
ward expression of radicalism. There is in every population a 
residuum of coarse people who, being equally vulgar, uneducated, 
and obstinate, imagine that they are politicians because they hate 
Tory principles, or enlightened thinkers because they hate re- 
ligion. The London institution of Sunday newspapers most 
of them socialistic and mendacious fan the flame of such tur- 
bulent discontent. And because the rough classes herd ex- 
clusively with one another, and never get a chance of being 
taught better, they form a nucleus of quasi-political injurious- 


ness which ferments from time to time in street-rows. Young 
people are quite as blatant as their elders. Mere boys of seven- 
teen are profoundly read in the Sunday newspapers, and consider 
themselves fully competent to instruct everybody, and to re- 
model the constitution to perfection. Now, all this comes from 
wrong- association, as well as from vanity and inanity. It is a 
sentiment which takes its sympathies from what is vulgar. It is 
the offspring of three misfortunes in particular : the not recog- 
nizing any religious authority ; the being ignorant of the philoso- 
phy of history, ecclesiastical, political, and social ; and the herd- 
ing always with an inferior class of people, from the impos- 
sibility of associating with a higher. Radicalism, in England, is 
not Liberalism ; it is not the principle of the extension of popular 
liberties : it is a sentiment of antagonism to what is graceful in 
the natural order, and to what is submissive and supernatural in 
the religious order. 

Radicalism was always the same in all countries, modified 
only by the purely national accidents of religious and political 
tradition. And it is due to all Radicals to say that their extrava- 
gances have been inflamed by the faults of their superiors. It 
is useful, as a warning in regard to the English future, to re- 
member that all radicalism has been pleaded on the ground of 
justice, or condoned by some sort of state tyranny. Let us take 
the French radicalism in example. In France the worst ex- 
cesses of the Revolution had their origin in the excesses of the 
aristocracy, and the worst forms of blasphemy and Reason-wor- 
ship were but the travesty of the hypocrisy of the court. The 
same assertion would hold good as to " socialism." French so- 
cialism was bred in high places. More' than this for let us be 
just to socialism even certain benefits actually accrued from 
its extravagances. It compelled the governing classes to take 
into consideration the gravest questions which affect the work- 
ing poor. It enlarged the compass of the sympathies of states- 
men and the knowledge of their legislative duties, and it oblig- 
ed them to ask the question: " Why is there hatred?" Even 
socialism is not without its good fruits, any more than it is 
without its apologies. And those apologies were imposing, if 
not sufficient. Thus, if M. Proudhon could write the insane sen- 
tence, " Property is theft " (which was a nihilism far more ram- 
pant than that of Russakoff), let it be remembered that M. Tou- 
lon, when the French people were starving, but when there was 
no want of bread in the French court, had said impudently and 
was afterwards hanged for having said it " Let the people eat 


grass." It was the knowledge of such cruelty in high places 
which justified socialistic excesses, just as the knowledge of the 
selfishness of the aristocracy justified the rage of the Sansculottes. 
In the same way, when the delegates of the Third Estate (the first 
formal institution of French radicalism) sat covered in the pre- 
sence of Louis XVI., "with their slouched hats clapt on in hot 
defiance," they were justified by the fact that Louis XIV. had 
said or at least was reported to have said " L'etat c'est moi," 
and had thus supplanted all liberties by despotism. Not the 
theory but the abuse of the French monarchy, not the theory 
but the abuse of French nobility, were responsible for the hor- 
rors of revolution ; the court which was the king's being 
so stupidly egoistic that it trod the people as grass and made 
them eat it. In speaking of the sentiment of all radicalism let it 
be insisted that to the abuse of institutions, but not to the insti- 
tutions themselves, is due the whole growth of revolution. In 
other words, radicalism is an aggrieved sentiment arising out of 
the faults of those in power. Radicalism is reaction from passive 
suffering, and revolution is retribution for long insult. If the 
French kings had not ignored all paternity, and the French no- 
bility had not ignored all Catholic sentiment, there would never 
have been French radicalism, French socialism, French loath- 
ing of the odious hypocrisy of the king's court. The revolution 
was begotten at Versailles, and was fostered and ripened in 
French chateaux. The three kinds of revolution were all high- 
born. It was the mixture of exclusiveness and injustice which 
brought about the social revolution ; it was the mixture of des- 
potism and tyranny which brought about the political revolu- 
tion; and it was the mixture of immorality and hypocrisy which 
brought about the religious revolution. Every Englishman who 
would be a student of English radicalism should note well these 
primary causes of the Reign of Terror, and should seek to cut 
away from English radicalism every pretext which can suggest 

That there is a certain amount of socialism in England that 
is, of the sentiment of socialism it would be simply insincere to 
deny ; but, as was said at the beginning, every political extra- 
vagance among the lower orders is rather an antagonism than a 
principle. The socialism of the masses has nothing to do with 
" social science," but is a sort of wild proletarianism plus scepti- 
cism. It is no more the socialism of such a theorist as Lamen- 
nais, or Fourier, or the author of the Histoire Philosophique, 
or even of the apologetic Mr. J. S. Mill who, however, pro- 


nounced all such science to be impracticable than it is the social- 
ism of that unique madman, Robespierre, who wished the state 
to decree, " There is a God." It has as little in common with the 
socialism of Saint-Simon who made some sort of religion his first 
requisite as it has with the ideal Republic of Plato, or the Uto- 
pia of godd Sir Thomas More, or the City of the Sun of Campa- 
nella. English socialism is irreligion. It is negation without 
any affirmation. It could not explain itself if it would. Just as 
M. Schareffe, one of the ablest expositors of German socialism, 
says, " I have taken years to get to the bottom of it, and can- 
not," so we might say of English socialism, " It has neither top 
nor bottom, nor any vertebras to connect the two if it had them." 
Its sole profession of faith is nego. The truth is that English so- 
cialism has no reason of being. French socialism, which was be- 
gotten in '89 and born into hideous life in '92, was the progeny 
of anti-regal ideas, because the kingship represented suppressed 
liberties. The English monarchy does nothing of the kind. It 
is perfectly true that French socialism itself meant suppressed 
liberties ; that its substitution of association for competition, of 
partnerships for bravely earned wages, of social compact for in- 
dividual energy, was nothing short of the killing of individuality, 
and therefore the killing of true liberty. But French socialism, 
strangely enough, has died out. Democracy as the French now 
understand it may be said to have extinguished French social- 
ism. It is true that democracy was the parent of socialism ; but 
this is no dishonor to the parent. Democratic ideas, in a justly 
liberal sense, must necessarily breed some offshoots which are 
deformed, because so many persons tian appreciate mere license 
who cannot appreciate true liberty. Just as monarchy has al- 
ways led to some tyranny when it has been divorced from con- 
stitutional safeguards, so democracy has always led to some tra- 
vesty when it has been divorced from religion and sound sense. 
Still, it would be impossible to deny that, under the present re- 
public, French socialism has crept away into holes and corners. 
Unhappily, the French nation, though it has cast out rabid social- 
ism, has most certainly not robed itself in religion. The expla- 
nation is that the " religion " of the typical Saint-Simon was a po- 
litical, not a Christian, medicament intended for the healing of 
the diseases of society, but not for the purification of its morals. 
French republicans are not a whit more religious because they 
are less socialistic ; they only regard their republic as a safety- 
valve for excesses which are purely political, not religious. As 
a French writer has put it (perhaps a little too widely) : " Social- 


ism implied, as a necessity, a struggle against class-oppression. 
We have no classes left in republican France, and therefore we 
have no longer oppression." Now, in England there is certainly 
no class-oppression ; there is only too much class-demarcation ; 
so that the socialism which exists is rather a spirit of discontent 
than a theory of social rectification. 

Taking together the three points we have referred to as con- 
stituting the basis of all radicalism (and both the French and 
English socialisms are radicalism) first, the loosening of the re- 
ligious principle of obedient loyalty ; next, the hatred of aristo- 
cracy, provoked by pride ; and, thirdly, the feebleness of example 
and of aspiration in both the higher and the upper middle class- 
es let it be asked, How do these causes combine in England to 
stimulate the sentiment of revolution ? 

First, the religious principle of loyalty (the Catholic senti- 
ment of obedience) may be said to be extinct in the masses. It 
is as extinct as is " the belief in divine right." The progressive 
steps in this great change have been thus marked : the crown 
dispossessed the Catholic Church in the sixteenth century ; the 
peers and the land-owners dispossessed the crown in the seven- 
teenth century; and since the Reform of 1832 to dispossess 
" church and peers " has been a favorite growing idea with ex- 
treme Liberals. The disestablishment of the Irish Protestant 
Church, coupled with the total loss of dogmatic influence in the 
(soon to be disestablished) English Protestant Church, have shak- 
en the foundations of the old Anglican tradition which was for- 
mulated in the toast, " Church and state." No " divinity doth 
[now] hedge " either the king or the church ; still less does it 
hedge party government. No divinity hedges anybody in Great 
Britain, unless it be the divinity of money. So that the senti- 
ment of Catholic loyalty being obscured both the Christian and 
the natural sentiment the flood-gates are opened, out of which 
pours conservative principle, or into which pours revolutionary 

Next, just as the Stuarts were expelled by a parliamentary 
vote, so ever since that time the imperial mantle of government 
has really rested on the shoulders of the people. We have re- 
cently seen how, in the case of the Irish Land Bill, public opinion 
is the ultimate appeal. (And it is to be regretted, by the way, 
that the Lords have never been Ireland's friends, nor have the royal 
family shown Ireland much sympathy.) The truth is that the 
Lords seem to pose as representatives, not of the ever-changing 
present, but of the past. Hence the sort of idea which the Radi- 


cals have of the House of Lords is that it is a huge block to all pro- 
gressive democracy ; that through its ponderous portals every " bill 
for the people " has to be dragged, in a coach and six, from the 
popular chamber ; that when the Lords discuss a measure they 
have to dig up their intelligences out of graves of many years of 
oblivion ; that because they are hereditary they must necessarily 
be dull very unlike the active candidates for popular favor ; and 
that instead of being, as they should be, an assembly of the great- 
est men, they are an assembly of the richest and noblest. The 
Lords have heightened this impression by very foolishly declin- 
ing to admit the excellent institution of life peers. That the Lords 
have been the useful allies of the Liberals such great Whig fami- 
lies as the Cavendishes and the Russells having helped to lay the 
lines of popular freedom is a fact which is obscured by the re- 
membrance of the other fact, that a peer need not be great, but 
only noble. And so, through the Lords up to the throne, the 
spirit of disesteem rises slowly. So long as the crown does not 
meddle in politics it may be endured as a figure-head of society ; 
but if the crown were to negative a popular vote there would be 
a shout of "What is the use of the crown?" And some Lib- 
erals would raise the shout, to please the Radicals ! Without 
expressing any opinion as to the wisdom of Mr. Gladstone in 
utilizing Radical sections for the Liberal interests, there cannot 
be a question that he has done much to make the Radicals ima- 
gine that they are the same party as the Liberals. Mr. Glad- 
stone, Lord Harrington, Mr. Bright, Mr. Forster, are even 
claimed as partisans of extreme views. Let there be only 
some grave national suffering a famine, or great depression 
in trade, or even some odious mistake in domestic policy the 
Radicals would raise a cry for the partitioning of property, the 
disestablishment of other things besides the church. Liberalism 
may mean liberty, not equality ; but radicalism would mean 
equality plus plunder. 

When we come to the third point the feebleness of example, 
and the feebleness of even professed aspiration, which is observ- 
able in the higher and upper middle classes (and which is shown 
especially by that want of class-sympathy to which we have 
alluded at the beginning) we find plenty of reason for believing 
that the Radical sentiment may develop into Radical revolution. 
It is a difficult subject to speak of, this general tone of " good 
society" in regard to its accepted summum bonum. Let us 
get at the root of the matter. M. de Haulleville has very learn- 
edly shown, in his exposure of the fallacies of M. de Laveleye, 


that the ages of faith were the ages of enlightenment in the 
highest and purest senses of the word. " Servire Deo regnare 
est " was the sentiment of the best Catholic kings, and the same 
sentiment was caught by their subjects, and was, indeed, their 
conviction and postulate. But in our own time the Catholic 
sentiment, even in most Catholic countries, is so divorced from 
every action of worldly life that enlightenment has come to 
mean the science of gain, and egoism has pushed out every grace. 
We will not stay to compare relative prosperities, or industries, 
or progress, or enlightenment, because it is utterly futile to at- 
tempt to gauge results when their principles have but little in com- 
mon. The very words which convey one idea now conveyed a 
totally different idea in the middle ages. The aspirations of life 
have wholly changed. " It is false," says M. de Haulleville, 
" that Protestant countries are more active, more industrious, 
more thrifty than Catholic countries." True; but it must all de- 
pend in what senses we take the words, or what measure of as- 
piration we impute to them. To draw any comparison between 
the condition of Spain and Portugal before the revolution of the 
sixteenth century and their condition in this money-grubbing 
nineteenth century, would be impracticable because the objects 
of life were as different as is the modern method of locomotion 
from the old. We live now chiefly to " get on "; and the getting- 
on seems to be narrowed solely by the personal apprehension of 
some pecuniary or sensuous gratification. Liberty means the 
right to believe nothing (instead of the old security of the Catho- 
lic faith) ; the privilege of envying those who are above us, and 
snubbing or ill-treating those who are below us ; and the cher- 
ishing every political novelty which seems to promise greater 
play for our own importance. Servire mundo regnare est! It 
may be true that " among Catholic nations civil liberty is an- 
cient, absolutism is modern "; but since the ideas both of liberty 
and of all obedience are quite changed from what they were in 
the middle ages, we cannot stop to work out so huge a thesis. 
It is better to accept things for what they are, and to try to 
raise the standard of aspirations. And the only way to do this 
is to try to spread the Catholic faith the sole remedy for the 
diseases of modern thought. 

It is useless to obscure the fact that no philosophy but 
Catholicism can be strong enough to resist revolution. Radi- 
calism (of the baser sort ; for we do not speak of political 
theories, which may be held with perfect impunity by eclectic 
minds) has no master which can keep it down in the purely 


natural range, and certainly no master in the political range. 
It is only by its own excesses that it will fall ; but it is not by 
any inherent good that it can rise. English Bradlaughism is a 
self-devouring plague, which will consume its own votaries by the 
unutterable degradation into which it will plunge mind and soul. 
And English Bradlaughism is just exactly that vulgar sentiment 
which has no principle, no object, save vulgarity. And how are 
you to oppose such an evil ? Solely by that highest philosophy, 
that most refining of all sciences, which is summed up in the one 
word Catholicism. If you could infuse into the higher classes 
and the educated middle classes the aspirations, the intuitions 
of Catholicism, there might be still a hope that, as M. de Haulle- 
ville ventures to prophesy, " le prochain grand siecle sera un 
siecle Catholique." Apart from so remote a probability, there is 
the duty of trying our best now. And that best seems to be the 
cultivation of truer sympathies between the best of such class and 
the rougher classes. This may seem to be Utopian ; but it is not : 
it is solely a question for earnestness. The usual reply to such 
suggestions is : " You cannot combine classes. If you could you 
would do no sort of good. ' You cannot make a silk purse out 
of a sow's ear,' and you cannot refine roughs and rowdies." 
It most certainly cannot be done by callous selfishness, but it can 
be done by active Catholic sympathies ; and it is done, in a few 
instances, in English large towns, and done with the most perfect 
success. Among the poor classes very distinct from the rough 
classes there is as much refinement as can be found in the best so- 
ciety. The English poor are often typically refined, and as modest 
and tractable as they are industrious. And since in the poorest 
classes you may find pure exemplars as well in the large towns as 
in the country what can hinder that all the sections of the com- 
munity should be rendered as typical as these are ? It is evidently 
the negligence of the higher classes which has led to the vast in- 
crease of the residuum. It is their weak example which has been 
made the apology for stubbornness, for scepticism, for coarseness, 
for even grossness. The refined poor of whom there are millions 
set an example in almost everything to the selfish rich. They 
have nc sympathy with rabid politics ! They live to do their 
duty, and to do it peaceably. It is only where religion, and tra- 
dition, and refinement have totally died out from exceptional 
grooves that you find the modern revolutionary radicalism, 
which is as wicked as it is vulgar and blackguardly, and which is 
at this time best typified in England by Bradlaughism. 

1 88 1.] A JESUIT IN DISGUISE. 155 


THE English Jesuits have undertaken an interesting and im- 
portant task in illustrating, by means of materials lately made ac- 
cessible in the Public Record Office and MSS. preserved in the 
archives of their society, the trials of Catholics under Elizabeth 
and James I., and the character of the daring priests who volun- 
teered for the English mission in those terrible days. Father 
Gerard was one of the most distinguished of these heroic adven- 
turers, an associate of the martyrs, Henry Garnet, superior of 
the English mission, and Robert Southwell, the poet ; and al- 
though it was not his privilege to shed his blood for the faith, as 
they did, he was hunted like a wild beast, he lay long in prison, 
and he bore the torture. In common with Garnet he was falsely 
accused of complicity in the Gunpowder Plot. Finding it impos- 
sible, after that affair, to continue his labors in England, he made 
his escape to the Continent, and he died peacefully at Rome more 
than thirty years later, having passed his old age in training as- 
pirants for the same mission of whose toils and dangers he had 
so ample an experience. He wrote in Latin, for the information 
of his superiors, a Narrative of his missionary adventures, and 
this document, a manuscript copy of which is preserved at 
Stony hurst College, is the foundation of Father Morris' book. 
The title-page describes the present volume as a new edition 
" rewritten and enlarged." It is practically a new book. The 
Narrative was used in the preparation of a memoir of Father Ge- 
rard printed together with his history of the Gunpowder Plot, 
the autograph manuscript of which is at Stonyhurst (see The 
Condition of Catholics under James I. , London, 1871); but in pre- 
paring the memoir as a separate publication Father Morris has 
greatly expanded and enriched it, amplified the extracts from the 
Narrative, and made copious and important selections from the 
State Papers. 

Father Gerard's Narrative derives a special interest from the 
fact that it was not intended for the public eye. The writer of 
an autobiography, even if he be a saintly missionary, is always 

* The Life of Father John Gerard, of the Society of Jesus. By John Morris, of the same 
Society. Third edition, rewritten and enlarged. 8vo, pp. xiv.~524. London : Burns & Gates ; 
New York : The Catholic Publication Society Company. 1881. 


hampered by self-consciousness ; and whether this inconvenience 
result in over-modesty or over-complacency, the result is equally 
an injury to the full and exact truth. Father Gerard's purpose was 
not so much to record his personal experiences as to make a confi- 
dential report to the general of the society respecting the condition 
of the English mission, the manner of life which he and his breth- 
ren were forced to follow, the disguises they assumed, the arts by 
which they escaped the pursuivants, the perils they had to guard 
against, the circumstances of the faithful among whom they la- 
bored, and the means by which they were supported in their 
work. This last particular in the story was not the least impor- 
tant, for the life of " a Jesuit in disguise " was a pretty expensive 
one : he dressed as a man of the world ; he mingled unsuspected 
in fashionable society ; he had various hiding-places, the prepara- 
tion of which must have cost a good deal of money ; he had to 
pay dear for books, vestments, and sacred vessels, which were 
smuggled into the country at great risk and expense, and, being 
often seized, had to be often renewed ; sometimes he was black- 
mailed by officers of the law, and in prison he had to pay con- 
siderable sums to his jailers. It is generally supposed by Pro- 
testants that there is a mysterious " fund " of some sort In Rome 
from which the cost of secret missionary enterprises has always 
been defrayed. This, of course, is not so. The Narrative of Fa- 
ther Gerard shows that the Catholics of England, in the time of 
persecution, gave freely of their goods for the support of the 
faith, quite in the zealous spirit of the early Christians who laid 
their fortunes at the feet of the apostles. The missionaries, on 
entering the kingdom, had little more than enough to take them 
to their field of labor : for the future they trusted entirely to the 
beneficence of the faithful and the providence of God. The na- 
ture of the contributions offered by laymen is set down by Fa- 
ther Gerard, not with a mercenary feeling, but because it was of 
great consequence that the superior officers of the society should 
know what the missionaries could depend upon and how much it 
would be allowable for them to undertake. These details have a 
great significance as illustrations of the times, but they would 
probably not have been given in a regular autobiography. Nei- 
ther should we have found, except in a communication of the 
most private character, certain not to fall into hostile hands, par- 
ticulars such as are given here respecting persons who "harbored 
priests," houses in which the proscribed confessors of Christ 
sought shelter, and the various agencies by which they were ena- 
bled to prosecute their perilous undertaking. The Life of Father 


Gerard has, therefore, a twofold interest first, as the portrai- 
ture of a sweet and heroic character ; and next, as the revela- 
tion of the secret ways of that popular bogy, " a Jesuit in dis- 

John Gerard was born at Bryn, in Lancashire, October 4, 
1564. His father and mother both belonged to Catholic families 
of substance and consideration, and, like most others of their 
rank, they suffered more or less for' their faith. Sir Thomas 
Gerard, the father, was reported to Sir Francis Walsingham as 
" lurking in his house/' refusing to come to the Protestant 
church, and " nourishing certain Massing priests." He was 
twice imprisoned ; he was fined ; and one of his estates was con- 
fiscated and granted to a Protestant kinsman, whose son, after- 
wards raised to the peerage, appears in the course of this Nar- 
rative as Queen Elizabeth's knight-marshal, personally conduct- 
ing the search of a house in which Father Gerard and another 
priest were supposed to be hidden. But to be hunted by a rela- 
tive was not the worst of the good, father's trials. It is a sad illus- 
tration of the dangers of the time that Sir Thomas Gerard him- 
self, after bearing brave testimony to the faith, fell into apostasy, 
and " livfcd a lewd and licentious life," at the very time that his 
son was employed on the English mission. We find no mention 
of Sir Thomas in Father Gerard's Narrative, and there was per- 
haps no opportunity for intercourse between them after the son 
became a priest. It is intimated, however, that Sir Thomas re- 
pented and returned to the church about a year before his death. 
The son was carefully educated in the faith. There is some obscu- 
rity in the account of his early years, but we know that while still 
a lad he spent a time in the English College at Douay and Rheims, 
and in the latter institution he first found himself attracted to 
the Society of Jesus. He studied also at the Clermont College 
in Paris. He was about a year at Exeter College, Oxford, where 
he had for tutor one whom he describes as " a good and learned 
man, and a Catholic in mind and heart " that is to say, one of that 
numerous class of weak believers, then called "schismatics," who 
conformed outwardly to the established heresy without accept- 
ing the new doctrines. When John Gerard left the university 
rather than take the Protestant sacrament, this tutor, moved by 
the stanchness of his pupil, followed his example, and for some 
time he lived in Sir Thomas Gerard's house, superintending 
the young man's lessons. There was a secular priest in the house 
at the same time, who afterwards became a Jesuit, and from him 
John Gerard took lessons in Greek. This clergyman, Sutton by 


name, was doubtless one of the " old priests " that is, those or- 
dained before Elizabeth's reign for whom there was usually no 
very keen search unless they were detected saying Mass or other- 
wise exercising their ministry. They were assumed by the au- 
thorities to stand upon a different footing from the " seminary 
priests," who took orders abroad and entered the realm as mis- 

When John Gerard was sent to the Continent " to learn the 
French tongue " a license to travel was obtained for him. When 
he proposed to go a second time, with the secret purpose of 
entering the Society of Jesus, no such privilege could be had, 
and, in company with several other Catholics, he sailed without 
a license. The vessel was driven into Dover by contrary winds 
and the whole party were arrested and sent to London. Our 
hero avowed his religion ; but as certain members of the Privy 
Council were friends of his family, instead of being imprisoned 
with his fellow-adventurers he was committed to the custody of 
a Protestant uncle. This worthy was unable to convert him ; and 
the Bishop of London, who next essayed the task, succeeded no 
better. Accordingly, at the age of nineteen he was locked up in 
the Marshalsea prison, and there he remained " from the begin- 
ning of one Lent to the end of the following." " We were twice 
during this interval," he writes, " dragged before the courts, not 
to be tried for our lives, but to be fined according to the law against 
recusants. I was condemned to pay two thousand florins." This, 
representing about one thousand dollars of our money, was, three 
centuries ago, a very large sum. The Marshalsea, as described 
to us in modern times, was something quite unlike the popular 
idea of a jail, with tiers of narrow cells. Only a little fragment 
of it now remains ; but it was standing when Charles Dickens 
was a youth, and in Little Dorrit he drew it as he remem- 
bered it, with its blocks or rows of squalid tenements inside the 
walled enclosure. It was perhaps arranged on a similar plan in 
Father Gerard's day, offering the prisoners many opportunities 
to avoid the surveillance of the keepers, and affording the keepers 
unrivalled facilities for extortion. There can hardly be a doubt 
that privileges were for sale in this place. Father Gerard found 
there no fewer than seventeen priests and thirty other Catholics, 
" awaiting judgment of death with the greatest joy " ; and several 
of them did afterwards obtain the crown of martyrdom. It is a 
curious circumstance that, although these prisoners were held as 
" recusants," they were in the habit of celebrating Mass in the 
very prison itself. The Bishop of London wrote to Lord Burgh- 

1 88 1.] A JESUIT IN DISGUISE. 159 

ley, about the time of Father Gerard's arrest, complaining of this 
state of affairs : 

"This I find among them, and specially in the Marshalsea, that those 
wretched priests which by her majesty's lenity live there, as it were in a 
college of caitiffs, do commonly say Mass within the prison, and entice the 
youth of London unto them to my great grief, and, as far as I can learn, do 
daily reconcile them. I have been so bold [as] to shut up one Hartley, 
and to lay irons upon him, till I hear from your lordship what course 
herein we shall take hereafter. But the Commission being renewed, I 
doubt not but my lord of Canterbury will look to those dangerous per- 
sons on that side." 

Father Hartley, here referred to, was subsequently sent to the 
scaffold, but the celebration of Mass was not stopped. The 
keeper of the Marshalsea reported to Lord Burghley in August, 
1582, that he had caught three priests saying Mass in different 
chambers on the same day: "Their superstitious stuff, their 
abominable relics and vile books, I have taken away ready to be 
showed. My humble request is to have the priests removed 
from me, and the rest to be examined and punished, as shall best 
seem good to your honors." This happened a few months before 
Gerard's incarceration, and how little effect it had is shown by 
the following passage in the Narrative : 

" At times our cells were visited and a strict search made for church 
stuff, Agnus Dei, and relics. Once we were betrayed by a false brother, 
who had feigned to be a Catholic, and disclosed our hidden stores to the 
authorities. On this occasion were seized quantities of Catholic books 
and sacred objects, enough to fill a cart. In my cell were found nearly all 
the requisites for saying Mass ; for my next-door neighbor was a good 
priest, and we discovered a secret way of opening the door between us, so 
that we had Mass very early every morning. We afterwards repaired our 
losses, nor could the malice of the devil again deprive us of so great a con- 
solation in our bonds." 

The report of a spy named Thomas Dodwell (perhaps the 
false brother here referred to) is preserved in the Public Record 

" There is four seminary priests in one chamber, and close prisoners 
viz., Fenn, Fowler, Conyers, and Hartley ; and yet, notwithstanding the 
often searching, they have such privy places to hide their Massing trum- 
pery that hardly it can be found, that they have to themselves often Mass, 
and now because Sir George Carey [or Carew, knight-marshal] and his 
servants have often taken from them their silver chalices, they have pro- 
vided chalices of tin. . . . They hide their books in such secret places that 
when any search is [made] they can find nothing." 


The lot of some of the prisoners, however, was much more 
severe than that of others. Gerard found in the Marshalsea a 
servant of the Jesuit Father Campion, who had been arrested 
" on account of some words he had let fall in praise of " Cam- 
pion. " On my arrival there I saw him laden with heavy fetters 
on his legs, besides which he wore a very rough hair-shirt. He 
was most lowly and meek, and full of charity. I happened one 
day to see a turnkey strike him repeatedly without the servant 
of God uttering a single word. He was at length taken with 
three others to the filthy Bridewell. One of their number died 
of starvation a few -days after their transfer." Gerard obtained 
leave one day, on his way from court to prison, to visit some 
friends, pledging himself to return to the Marshalsea that night. 
He employed his liberty in visiting this humble confessor in 
Bridewell. " He was lying ill, being worn out with want of 
food and labor on the tread- wheel. It was a shocking sight. 
He was reduced to skin and bone, and covered with lice that 
swarmed upon him like ants on a mole-hill ; so that I never re- 
member to have seen the like." 

Gerard was released on bail, being bound in sureties to the 
amount of two hundred pounds, furnished by his friends, to report 
in person at the Marshalsea every three months. The sureties 
were several times renewed ; but at last " a very dear friend," 
whose name is not given, offered himself as bail with the under- 
standing that Gerard should go abroad and that the bond should 
be forfeited. The generous proposal was accepted, but the penal- 
ty was never enforced, for the bondsman was one of fourteen gen- 
tlemen hanged a few weeks afterwards for complicity in Babing- 
ton's conspiracy in behalf of Mary, Queen of Scots. Gerard, in 
the meantime, escaped across the Channel by bribing the search- 
ers, made his way to Rome, and became a student of the English 
College, having been advised to take orders before he entered the 
Jesuit Society. His theological course was a very short one. 
The wants of the English mission were pressing, and Gerard had 
given such clear proof of virtue and constancy that it seemed 
quite safe to dispense in his case with a great deal of the usual 
training. In less than two years he was a priest and Jesuit, and 
on his way back to his native country, accompanied by Father 
Oldcorne, Jesuit, and two secular priests. They travelled incog- 
nito, Father Gerard taking the name of Thomson. Elizabeth's 
spies were watchful on the Continent, and documents now 
accessible in the Public Record Office show, what our adven- 
turers did not suspect at the time, that they were recognized in 


Paris and their movements were minutely reported by false 
brethren in the pay of the English government. One of the 
most infamous of these informers was Gilbert Gifford, Father 
Gerard's second cousin. This wretch, whom Sir Edward Staf- 
ford, the English ambassador at Paris, called " the most nota- 
ble double treble villain that ever lived," was the chief agent 
employed to ripen the Babington conspiracy and then to be- 
tray it. He was the intermediary of Mary's communications 
with her friends in Paris and London, and all the letters entrust- 
ed to him were promptly conveyed into the hands of Walsing- 
ham. The better to play the spy, he caused himself to be ordain- 
ed priest. After the execution of the Queen of Scots he seems 
to have distrusted his employers, for he went over to Paris. 
There, being arrested for immorality, he ended his life in pri- 
son, drawing meanwhile a pension of one hundred pounds a year 
from Elizabeth's government, and contriving even from his jail 
to send news to Walsingham. From this source the English 
authorities were warned that Gerard would " be in England 
within five days." Another spy, reporting Gerard's arrival in 
Paris, gave information of his assuming the name of Thomson. 

The condition of affairs in England had changed greatly since 
the setting out of the party from Rome. " The Spanish attempt 
had exasperated the public mind against Catholics, and most 
rigid searches for priests and domiciliary visits had been set on 
foot ; guards were posted in every village along the roads and 
streets ; and the Earl of Leicester, then at the height of his favor, 
had sworn not to leave a single Catholic alive at the close of the 
year." Jesuit fathers in France were so strongly opposed to the 
missionaries' venturing into England at such a time that the mat- 
ter was referred to Rome for the decision of the head of the so- 
ciety. The father-general's reply is thus given in the Narra- 
tive : " As it was the Lord's business that we had to do, he left 
us free either to wait the return of greater calm or to pursue the 
course we had entered upon. On receiving this desirable mes- 
sage we did not long deliberate, but immediately hired a ship to 
land us in the northern part of England, which seemed to be less 

The party consisted of Father Gerard, Father Oldcorne, and 
the two secular priests, Christopher Bales and George Beesley 
all, except Gerard, destined for the scaffold. We are not told 
of the adventures of Bales and Beesley, except that they were 
caught soon after landing and were both executed in London 
under the statute 27 Elizabeth, for having been made priests 



beyond the seas and exercising- their functions in England. 
The Jesuits sailed along the coast of the Channel until on the 
third day they observed a spot where the ship's boat might easily 
set them on shore. The anchor was accordingly dropped until 
night ; under cover of the darkness the fathers were landed, and 
the vessel immediately departed to convey Bales and Beesley to 
another part of the coast. Our missionaries gave some time to 
prayer, and then began to look for a path inland, since it would 
be dangerous to be found near the sea. But the night was dark, 
and every way they tried brought them to a dwelling, as they 
were made aware by the barking of dogs. Afraid of being taken 
for thieves, they turned at last into a wood, and there remained 
until dawn, unable to sleep on account of the rain and cold, and 
not daring to speak above a whisper. For greater safety they 
resolved to separate and pursue their journey to London inde- 
pendently, and they cast lots to determine which should leave 
the wood first. The lot fell upon Father Oldcorne. " We then 
made an equal division of what money we had, and, after embrac- 
ing and receiving one from the .other a blessing, the future martyr 
went along the sea-shore to a neighboring town, where he fell in 
with some sailors who were thinking of going to London." He 
made himself so agreeable to these men that, although he could 
not refrain from reproving their bad language, they willingly ac- 
cepted his company, and the searchers in the towns through which 
they passed, taking him for one of the party, did not molest him. 
He reached London without much trouble. Father Gerard, fol- 
lowing a different road, pretended to people whom he met that 
he was in search of a stray falcon. This gave him a plausible 
excuse for keeping away from the highroads and villages, and 
making across the country by fields and lanes. At last, late in the 
day, soaked with rain and exhausted with fatigue, cold, and hun- 
ger, he went boldly to an inn. His confident manner disarmed 
suspicion. He not only obtained here the rest and refreshment 
he needed, but he was able to buy a pony, and so to prosecute 
his journey in the morning with a better appearance and with 
less peril. He was arrested, indeed, at the entrance of the next 
village ; but he held to the story of the falcon, and after some 
trouble he was let go, and rode on to the city of Norwich. Here 
he put up at an inn ; and what followed we shall let him tell in 
his own words : 

" I had rested me but a little while there when a man who seemed to be 
an acquaintance of the people of the house came in. After greeting me 
civilly he sat down in the chimney-corner and dropped some words about 

1 88 1.] A JESUIT IN DISGUISE. 163 

some Catholic gentlemen who were kept in jail there ; and he mentioned 
one whose relative had been a companion of mine in the Marshalsea some 
seven years since. I silently noted his words, and when he had gone out I 
asked who he might be. They answered that he was a very honest fellow 
in other points, but a Papist. I inquired how they came to know that. 
They replied that it was a well-known fact, as he had been many years im- 
prisoned in the castle there (which was but a stone's throw from the place 
where I was) ; that many Catholic gentlemen were confined there, and that 
he had been but lately let out. I asked whether he had abandoned the 
faith in order to be at large. ' No, indeed,' said they, ' nor is he likely to, 
for he is a most obstinate man. But he has been set free under an engage- 
ment to come back to prison when called for. He has some business with 
a gentleman in the prison, and he comes here pretty often on that account.' 
I held my tongue and awaited his return. 

" As soon as he came back, and we were alone, I told him that I should 
wish to speak with him apart ; that I had heard that he was a Catholic, and 
for that reason I trusted him, as I also was a Catholic ; that I had come 
there by a sort of chance, but wanted *to get on to London ; that it would 
be a good deed worthy of a Catholic were he to do me the favor of intro- 
ducing me to some parties who might be going the same road, and who 
were well known, so that I might be allowed to pass on by favor of their 
company ; that, being able to pay rny expenses, I should be no burden to my 
companions. He replied that he knew not of any one who was then going 
to London. I hereon inquired if he could hire a person who would accom- 
pany me for a set price. He said he would look out some such one, but 
that he knew of a gentleman then in the town who might be able to for- 
ward my business. He went to find him, and soon returning desired me to 
accompany him. He took me into a shop, as if he were going to make 
some purchase. The gentleman he had mentioned was there, having ap- 
pointed the place that he might see me before he made himself known. At 
length he joined us and told my companion in a whisper that he believed I 
was a priest. He led us, therefore, to the cathedral, and, having put me 
many questions, he at last urged me to say whether or no I was a priest, 
promising that he would assist me at that time a most acceptable offer. 
On my side I inquired from my previous acquaintance the name and con- 
dition of this third party [Edward Yelverton, of Grimston] ; and on learning 
it, as I saw God's providence in so ready an assistance, I told him I was 
a priest of the Society who had come from Rome. He performed his 
promise, and procured for me a change of clothes, and made me mount a 
good horse, and took me without delay into the country to the house of a 
personal friend, leaving one of his servants to bring on my little pony." 

The next day our missionary arrived at Mr. Yelverton's 
house, and there he remained two or three days, conducting him- 
self with great circumspection ; for the brother and sister of his 
host were heretics, and at first the strange guest was eyed with 
some suspicion. Father Gerard, however, managed to allay dis- 
trust. His early home-training had made him perfectly familiar 
with hunting, falconry, and the other customary amusements of 


English gentlemen. These were the common topics of conversa- 
tion in society ; he bore his part well in the general discourse, 
and he turned the talk readily upon hounds and horses whenever 
dangerous matters were approached. " Thus it often happens," 
says he, " that trifling covers truth ut vanitas veritatem occultet" ; 
and in a later period of his mission we find him frequently mak- 
ing use of sporting subjects as a prelude to the gravest obser- 
vations. Good Father Southwell used to lament that he had a 
wretched memory for such things, and be got many a lesson 
from Father Gerard in the technical terms of sport ; but his suc- 
cess in talking dog and horse seems to have been indifferent, 
" for many," says Father Gerard, " make sad blunders in attempt- 
ing this." When Father Gerard went away Mr. Yelverton pro- 
vided him with a horse and a servant, and made him promise to 
ask leave of his superior to return, offering the shelter of his 
house and whatever assistance he could render in the work of 
the mission. Thus sped upon his journey, our Jesuit reached 
London without accident, and by the help of certain Catholics 
found his superior, Father Garnet. Father Oldcorne had already 
arrived ; Father Southwell was also there ; and the little com- 
pany, meeting joyfully, consulted together as to their future pro- 
ceedings until the near approach of Christmas (1588) warned them 
to separate, " both for the consolation of the faithful and because 
the dangers are always greater in the great solemnities." These 
four were then the only Jesuits in England, except Father Wes- 
ton, commonly known as Father Edmunds, who was a prisoner 
at Wisbeach. At the time of Father Garnet's execution the 
number had risen to forty. 

Mr. Yelverton's proffer of an asylum in his house was accept- 
ed, and Father Gerard stayed there six or eight months, during 
which time his entertainer introduced him to nearly every family 
of consideration in the county. The missionary dressed and de- 
meaned himself as a gentleman of moderate means, associated 
freely with Protestants, and seems to have been wholly unsus- 
pected unsuspected, that is to say, so far as regards his priestly 
character ; that he was a Catholic must have been well known. 
How complete indeed was his disguise we can judge from an an- 
ecdote which he relates in connection with the conversion of his 
host's brother-in-law. This gentleman had listened to Father 
Gerard's persuasions and instructions in the confident belief that 
he was listening to a zealous layman. He was even prepared 
for confession, and was then informed that a priest would come 
to him. " His brother-in-law told him that this must be at night- 

1 88 1.] A JESUIT IN DISGUISE. 165 

time. So, having sent away the servants who used to attend him 
to his chamber, he went into the library, where I left him pray- 
ing, telling him that I would return directly with the priest. I 
went down-stairs and put on my cassock, and returned so changed 
in appearance that he, never dreaming of any such thing, was 
speechless with amazement." Father Gerard adds a little argu- 
mentative discourse by which he satisfied his convert that the 
concealment of his profession had been necessary and proper. 
But this seems superfluous. The missionaries were surely not 
required to invite death and defeat their purposes by proclaim- 
ing their mission. If they went about England in disguise it was 
because the law would not let them go about openly. After- 
wards, when he was in prison, Father Gerard always wore the 
habit of the society, and as he passed through the streets on his 
way to and from the magistrates the people used to flock to see 
a Jesuit in his robes. This appears to have been the usual course 
of the fathers under arrest. Among the converts who rewarded 
our missionary's secret activity at Grimston, besides the person 
just referred to, were Mr. Yelverton's brother and two sisters, 
more than twenty fathers and mothers of families in good posi- 
tion, and a great many people of inferior rank, to say nothing of 
the weak who were confirmed in the faith, and the numbers of 
others who were strengthened by the sacraments. But Father 
Gerard's secret was now in the keeping of too many people about 
Grimston, and he deemed it more prudent to accept the hospi- 
tality of an excellent Catholic gentleman named Drury, of Losell 
in Suffolk, in whose house he spent two years. Mr. Drury had 
previously suffered a term of imprisonment in the Marshalsea as 
a "common receiver, harborer, and maintainer of Jesuits and 
seminary priests," and he crowned his useful career by selling 
Losell, distributing the money among the priests in prison and 
other Catholics suffering persecution, and entering the novitiate 
of the Jesuits at Antwerp, where he died shortly afterwards. 
Father Gerard meanwhile had taken up his abode with a family 
named Wiseman, illustrious in the annals of these times of trou- 
ble.* They lived on their estate called Braddocks, in the parish 
of Wimbish, Essex. The household comprised a widowed mo- 
ther, Mrs. Jane Wiseman " a * true widow,' given to all manner 
of good works " and her eldest son, William (afterwards knight- 
ed), with his wife. Two younger sons became Jesuits, and all the 
four daughters took the veil. The widow Wiseman was a great 
friend and protectress of priests, and it was in order to be of 

* Cardinal Wiseman was descended from a younger branch of this family. 


the more use to them that she subsequently left her son's house 
and occupied a dwelling of her own at Northend, in the parish 
of Great Waltham, where the pursuivants gave her no little 
trouble. The report of one Justice Young to Lord Keeper 
Sir John Puckering, preserved in the Public Record Office, de- 
scribes a search made at this house at Christmas time, 1593, 
when " they found a Mass a-preparing, but the priest escaped " 
[he was hidden in the chimney] ; and after setting down the 
names of the Catholics arrested on that occasion the report adds : 

" Wherefore, if it may stand well with your lordship's good liking, I 
think it were well that they were all sent for hither to be examined ; for 
that the same Mrs. Jane Wiseman, her house is the only house of resort for 
all these wicked persons. She was at Wisbeach with the Seminaries and 
Jesuits there, and she did repent that she had not gone barefooted thither, 
and she is a great reliever of them, and she made a rich vestment and sent 
it to them, as your lordship doth remember, as I think, when you and my 
lord of Buckhurst sent to Wisbeach to search, for that I had letters which 
did decipher all her doings." 

The notorious Topcliffe, most cruel and untiring of the priest- 
hunters, seems to have pursued this excellent lady with a special 
spite. At last a pretext was found for her arrest, and she was taken 
to London and there put upon her trial for the heinous offence of 
giving a crown to a distressed priest, one Father Jones, a Fran- 
ciscan, afterwards martyred. Under the law against the mainten- 
ance of priests this was. a capital crime. Unwilling that the guilt 
of her blood should fall upon the jury, Mrs. Wiseman refused to 
plead, and was in consequence sentenced to be crushed to death 
by heavy weights laid upon her breast the usual penalty for this 
sort of contumacy. She welcomed the sentence with the excla- 
mation, Deo gr atias ! But it was never executed. She lay in 
prison until the death of Elizabeth, suffering the greatest hard- 
ships, and on the accession of James I. she was pardoned. 

In the Wiseman household we may be sure that Father 
Gerard found a delightful home. He gives us a few glimpses of 
the pious life of that heroic family, where the daily routine was 
ordered with an almost conventual regularity. The reading of 
religious books was a frequent exercise. Even at meals, when no 
strangers were present, some one read aloud for half an hour. 
The priests sat at table in their gowns. All the servants were 
Catholics, and everybody in the house frequently approached the 
sacraments. Mr. Wiseman was a great sufferer from gout, in 
consequence of which he passed most of his time in his own 


apartments, occupied with his books and his devotions, and trans- 
lating into English a number of Latin works of a spiritual charac- 
ter, several of which were published. Every Friday he made an 
edifying address to his children in Latin a tongue in which the 
daughters as well as the sons were versed. On Sundays and 
feast-days Father Gerard preached in the chapel. Mass, however, 
was celebrated in a secret place, for it was necessary always to 
be on guard against the visits of the pursuivants. The report 
of a search made at Braddocks while Father Gerard apparently 
was absent on a missionary tour mentions that the pursuivants 
" found in a secret place between two walls in the said house an 
old priest named Thomas Jackson, who hath been beyond sea, and 
there was also found all the furniture belonging to Mass, and the 
said priest useth ordinarily to say Mass there." As we have al- 
ready seen, the laws made a distinction between the " old priests " 
and those ordained after the accession of Elizabeth, and many of 
the former class were permitted to live unmolested so long as 
they abstained from the exercise of their ministry. The penalties 
hanging over them, however, were severe enough. To maintain 
the power or jurisdiction of any foreign prelate within the realm, 
to refuse the oath of supremacy, to sue for or use bulls from the 
Bishop of Rome, was high treason. It was high treason also to 
withdraw any from the established religion. Only one of the 
" Marian " or " old " priests actually suffered death under these 
statutes, but numbers were imprisoned. The penalty for saying 
Mass was imprisonment and a fine of two hundred marks. As the 
old priests must have been well known to all their neighbors, they 
could hardly labor in disguise, as the strange missionaries did ; 
the pursuivants could always take them on the slightest provoca- 
tion ; and not a few seem to have been encountered by our more 
adventurous evangelists living inactive under the precarious 
shelter of private Catholic houses, and sometimes viewing with 
alarm the " rashness " of the Jesuits who disturbed their quiet. 
Father Gerard, however, established the most cordial relations 
with the priests of this class ; and witK Father Jackson in particu- 
lar, who was his fellow-guest at Braddocks, he had the very best 
understanding. We are not told what became of the good man 
after the arrest just recorded. 




From the German of the Countess Hahn-Hahn, by Mary H. A. Allies. 



A FORTNIGHT later there was another grand dinner in honor of 
Herr Goldisch's sister, who had come from London with her 
husband to make her future sister-in-law's acquaintance. The 
reception-rooms were brilliantly lighted up, and all the Prost 
family awaited the guest's arrival. The folding-doors opened 
wide, and a pretty little figure appeared in a pink dress which 
was done up with the usual accompaniment of lace, tulle, and 
ribbon ; abundant tresses of fair hair ornamented the graceful 

" Sylvia, little fairy, is it really you ? " exclaimed Herr Prost 
in pleased surprise. " This morning you were a dingy cater- 
pillar, and now you are a radiant butterfly." 

He took hold of the tips of her fingers with his, held her at 
arm's length, scanned her from head to foot, and said approv- 
ingly as he let her go : " In these horrid crinolines you all look 
like tulips turned upside down. But you are still Sylvia, you 
little witch ! " 

" Yes, doesn't she look different ? " said Frau Prost, highly 
pleased. " Fine feathers make fine birds." 

It looked like a proof of the proverb, for Sylvia had lost all 
her shyness of her uncle since he had expressed his admiration, 
and she said pleasantly : " f am very glad that you like my dress, 
dear uncle. My aunt chose it for me just as it is." 

"And you like it better than your black merino? You 
needn't say yes or no. Of course you do. You must always be 
elegantly dressed. I must insist upon it, as I see you are a little 
person meant to be elegant." 

Valentine had been too intent on examining Herr Goldisch's 
bouquet, which she held in her hand, to pay any attention to 
Sylvia, whilst Isidora scanned her with a look which did not 


express unmitigated satisfaction. Aurel silently shared his fa- 
ther's admiration. 

The guests arrived. Herr Goldisch was a man of forty, ap- 
parently quiet and sensible. As the future husband of so senti- 
mental a young lady as Valentine, Sylvia had formed a very 
different notion of him in her own mind. He was a widower 
without children, and, like Herr Prost, a man of business, with no 
room for sentiment, but with a great deal of kindliness. He had 
been taken with Valentine ; there was parity of circumstances, 
Herr Prost liked the marriage, and Valentine showed an enthu- 
siasm on the subject which mystified everybody. Suffice it to 
say she declared it had always been her dream to marry an oldish 
man, and particularly a widower, in order to console him for the 
loss of his wife. Now, this widower happened to be a millionaire 
and an excellent man whose relatives in London lived in grand 
style ; she gave her consent without a moment's hesitation. 

That evening the world opened before Sylvia in all its pomp, 
vanity, and glare. Her great personal charms, heightened as 
they were by unconsciousness, made a most favorable impression. 
Everybody is pleasant to a nice, pretty girl of eighteen ; so Val- 
entine followed suit. Up till then she had not found it worth 
her while to notice her cousin, whom, for the matter of that, she 
saw only at luncheon and upon occasions. Valentine was a great 
deal too busy with dear number one to bestow notice upon a 
being of so inferior an order as Sylvia at a time when the all- 
important trousseau and future plans were engrossing all her 
thoughts. But Herr Goldisch remarked to her that evening : 
" I did not know that such a person as this nice cousin existed in 
your house." 

" I myself hardly knew it," said Valentine, " as Sylvia was in 
mourning and lived chiefly in her room." 

" I am very glad for Isidora that she will have a companion 
when I carry you off," said Herr Goldisch. 

Valentine chuckled to herself, partly for joy at the said carry- 
ing-off, partly because she doubted whether Isidora much wished 
for such a companion. Isidora had not yet appeared in society, 
and coming out with Sylvia was not to her advantage. That 
very evening a careful observer might have seen how little she 
liked Sylvia's success for success it was, in spite of her cousin's 
ignorance of English, her bad French, and her extreme poverty. 

Sylvia herself was only too well aware of the numerous short- 
comings which were against her feeling at home in society, 
though her tact prevented her from saying or doing anything 


contrary to its usages. This consciousness gave her a slight shy- 
ness which was in itself a charm, so that Mrs. Dambleton, Herr 
Goldisch's sister, congratulated Frau Prost on her niece's excel- 
lent bringing-up. 

" She still wants polish," answered Frau Prost, " as she has 
never been out; but I hope it will come with practice." 

" Oh ! as to that, a little drawing-room politeness only wants 
practice and habit, and is not a real advantage, even though it 
would be a mistake to be altogether wanting in it. If only there 
is that natural tact which knows exactly what to do and say at 
the moment, ease is soon acquired." 

" I think my little Sylvia will have her wits about her. Her 
poor mother, my sister, was a most sensible person, and she had 
a particular practical talent for trying circumstances." 

As Sylvia got to her room about midnight she thought to 
herself what a strange change had taken place since she went 
into it for the first time. " How lonely I was ! " she mused. " I 
seemed to be by myself in the world, and now I am a child of 
the house. My aunt is so kind, and my uncle is getting quite 
pleasant, and is already very friendly directly he sees me lively 
and ready for jokes. I get everything I can possibly wish for ; 
indeed, the daughters are not better off than I. Certainly, I 
am still an orphan, and I have no friend here like Clarissa Lehr- 
bach." She rang her bell. Bertha answered it ; for Sylvia, as a 
fashionable young lady, now had her maid. Bertha said, in a tone 
of the greatest admiration : " Really, miss, your dress is too pretty, 
and you look too bewitching in it ! What a pity it is that you 
are obliged to undress ! " 

" And that very quickly," answered Sylvia, laughing ; " it is 
late, and I have to get up at six o'clock." 

" O miss ! don't think of it. It was all very well before, but 
now that you are to do as the others you must have your sleep 
out. Aren't you beginning to enjoy your life, as I to]d you you 
would ? Did you remark the silver service, which is only used 
on great occasions ? I peeped into the dining-room when it was 
lighted up, just to look at the company, and really my eyes were 
dazzled by the silver and the lights. I'm sure you had nothing 
like this at home ? " 

" No, Bertha, I had nothing like it ; but then I was home," 
replied Sylvia with a tinge of sadness. 

" Oh ! " said Bertha, stopping short. Her business was over ; 
she wished Sylvia good-night and withdrew. Sylvia struggled 
with many distractions at her night prayers, but when Mile. Vic- 


toire knocked at her door the next morning at six she did not 
think twice about getting up. She dressed herself quickly, for 
which operation she required no assistance, and went to Mass as 
usual. On coming back out of the gray, miserable fog to her 
rosy abode she felt a certain happiness at having made the little 
sacrifice for God. Then she breakfasted and set about her Eng- 
lish with great zeal. This same zeal delighted Miss Wilmot, 
who was not spoilt in this respect by her pupils, and she spared 
Sylvia her Calvinistic attacks upon Catholic doctrine. Perhaps, 
indeed, Sylvia had a little scene to thank for it which she had 
had with Harry one day when he happened to be in the room at 
the time of her lesson. He was turning over her prayer-book, 
and eyeing curiously the holy pictures contained in it. At last 
he held up one of Our Lady and exclaimed : " Miss Wilmot, she 
is a Papist." 

" No, Harry, I am what you are a Catholic," said Sylvia 
with quiet determination. 

The child stared at Miss Wilmot, as if expecting her to say 
something. But what could she say? She observed drily: " Be 
quiet, Harry, and don't interrupt us." 

Sylvia had settled in her own mind to do as Mile. Victoire did. 
" If a servant can assert her independence as to religion, I am 
sure that I can," she thought to herself ; " and I will also imitate 
her in making friends of every one." And her plan seemed to an- 
swer. She won her relatives partly by her pleasant manner, 
partly by her winning modesty, which Valentine with her cold- 
ness, and Isidora with her imperiousness, had never been able to 
do. Mrs. Dambleton could not understand how it was that a 
German houseful of young people produced no music. Valentine, 
in consequence, proposed to play one evening. She got through 
a first movement of one of Beethoven's sonatas, but with so much 
stumbling that at the end of the allegro she said she could not 
possibly go on before an audience, and her father remarked drily : 
" That seems to me the best thing you can do. But, Aurel, you 
can sing. Won't you try what you can do? " 

" Not without being accompanied," he said. 

" You see, Mrs. Dambleton, we are poor in talents. People 
must be contented with the solid good things we have to offer 
them," said Herr Prost in a self-satisfied tone, and Mrs. Damble- 
ton replied courteously that such " solid good things " were in- 
deed the great consideration in life. 

Sylvia seated herself next to Valentine and said: "You 
could surely get over your shyness, Tirii, if you were to play 


duets. That was what helped me. I was so nervous that I 
couldn't play before papa, and it vexed him. My friend Clarissa 
Lehrbach was the same. Then we began to play duets, so as to 
get mutual support, and from that time people didn't frighten us 
any more, because we both thought everybody was paying atten- 
tion to the other. And when once we got so far we did better 
and played before any body." 

" Do you play, then? "asked Valentine, astonished. "Why 
didn't you say so long ago? " 

" Oh ! I wasn't in the way of it, and nobody asked about it." 

" To-morrow we must see what you can do." 

" Yes, but I am out of practice, as I have been three weeks 
here without touching a piano." 

" Oh ! never mind. We will practise in my room on my 
beautiful Streicher piano, which is much sweeter, to my mind, 
than the drawing-room Erard. But have you got any duets ? " 

" Yes ; and to-morrow early I will bring' you what I have 

On the following evening every one was much surprised 
when Valentine took off her gloves and said to her father : 
" Papa, you rave about l Don Juan/ We are going to play the 
overture." And with the air of a queen she made a sign to Syl- 
via, and they both sat down at the piano. 

" Is that our little charmer ? " called out Herr Prost in surprise, 
and his wife gave him a pleased nod. 

The overture went very well from beginning to end, Sylvia 
taking the treble and throwing her soul into it. They were 
much applauded. 

" Little fairy, I am sure that you sing, too," exclaimed Herr 

" Yes, I do, but only little ballads nothing very wonderful or 

" Well done !" said Mrs. Dambleton. " German songs are a 
treat to my German ear." 

Sylvia went to fetch her music, and in the meantime Herr 
Prost said to his wife : " Sylvia must have music-lessons, my 
dear." Frau Prost nodded her assent. 

" That will be an excellent thing," said Mrs. Dambleton. " A 
good master pushes people on and helps them to practise and to 

Sylvia came back with some music, yellow with age, contain- 
ing Himmel's "Alexis and Ida." 

"What old paper have you got there?" exclaimed Isidora. 


" Heavenly music," answered Sylvia, laughing, as she seated 
herself at the piano, and, after a simple chord or two, began to 
sing, in a voice which was clear and mellow : " I send thee, fair 
rose, to Alexis." Her audience listened with evident satisfaction. 
As the last note died away Mrs. Dambleton said : " People may 
call me sentimental, if they like, but there is nothing like the 
melody of a German song." 

Frau Prost smiled, and Herr Prost exclaimed : " Little fairy, 
tell us who your Alexis is ? " 

" Clarissa Lehrbach, dear uncle," she said. 

" No, I am your Alexis," said Aurel, walking up to the piano. 

" Will you be able to sing at first sight? " she inquired a little 

" We shall get on. Play away," said Aurel. And he sang 
Alexis' part in a voice and manner that widely surpassed Sylvia's 
untaught singing. 

" Why, we have a concert all at once," said Mrs. Dambleton 

" Much to my astonishment," remarked Frau Prost in the qui- 
etest way. 

The ice was broken. Aurel went on singing. Sylvia accom- 
panied him as well as she could, and earned thereby the gratitude 
of her audience for giving them the pleasure of hearing him 

kThe next morning Herr Prost broke in suddenly upon his 
le's consultation with Mile. Victoire. He would have fright- 
ed her, if she had not been cased in her lethargic calmness, 
err Prost sat himself down in an arm-chair and began : " I want 
10 speak to you about Sylvia, my dear. I look upon it as an ex- 
traordinary bit of good fortune that a portionless niece happens 
to be very pretty. It is quite a chance, and we will make good 
use of it. Valentine is going to be married in a week, and in 
two or three years Isidora will marry, too. Then our home 
would be quite deserted ; for sons don't make it, though they are 
noisy enough as boys, and, once grown up, they either go away 
or get tiresome like Aurel. But girls enliven one, and here Syl- 
via just comes to fill a gap. She shall stay with us." 

" Who knows ? " interrupted Frau Prost. " She is so wonder- 
fully pretty that she will be much admired, and perhaps she will 
marry before Isidora." 

" My dear ! " exclaimed Herr Prost in a tone expressive of 
immense superiority. " You have lived in society now for three- 
and-twenty years. I am surprised that you can think of such a 


thing for a moment. Of course people will fall in love with Syl- 
via and pay her attentions, but marry her with her two thousand 
guilders, pretty as she is, and accustomed to all the luxuries we 
can give her ! No, my dear, marriageable young men in these 
matter-of-fact days have no such intentions. So this is how it is 
to be : she stays with us to adorn your drawing-room, and she 
shall learn everything that will qualify her to shine. She is full 
of talent, so let her have the first music-master in the place, even 
if the lessons should cost twenty marks each. See about her 
French. With poor, simple Victoire she will only learn how to 
sing psalms with a Parisian accent. Then she must know how 
to ride. I will give her a riding-habit and a pianino for Christ- 
mas ; a grand piano would be too large for her room. So see to 
it all, my dear ; it is your department, and I am sure you are 
pleased that your sister's child should have a home with us and 
have found the way to my heart." 

"Of course I am, love," said his wife, deep already in his va- 
rious suggestions. They led, however, to her saying with sudden 
impulse : " As you mean to spoil Sylvia after this fashion, I think 
you ought also to provide for her." 

" I do provide for her in letting her live with us," replied Herr 
Prost sternly. " Let her marry when she is thirty-six, and then 
we will find her some money, but not before. I have got enough 
to do to look after my own children. Harry, who in the most 
uncalled-for way has been made into a Benjamin, must needs have 
the same as Edgar, and Edgar the same as Aurel ; yet I can't di- 
vide Aurel's portion. The Rothschild brothers, who are in un- 
divided strength at the top of the money-market, are my beau- 

" Oh ! yes, love, I will look after the riding-habit and the fta- 
nino without betraying you," said Frau Prost, answering rather 
her own thoughts than what her husband had been saying ; for as 
soon as she saw that a suggestion made him impatient she let it 
drop, not out of virtue but out of laziness. Her ideal in every- 
thing was quietness. All that she wished for was to be able to 
glide along the course of life. 

" I know, my dear, that you take pleasure in looking after 
things of this sort, and that you do it with understanding, so I 
shall leave you for the present." With that Herr Prost, some- 
what pacified, left his wife to resume her interrupted conference 
with Victoire. If Sylvia had been a thing belonging to him he 
would not have gone to work otherwise. In the same way he 
might have seen to the gilding of a pet silver vase by which his 


costly drawing-room would receive additional ornament. Was 
this unfortunate Sylvia justified in desiring more than a gild- 
ed life? She had no claims to anything whatever. This was 
Herr Frost's opinion on the subject, and he acted in accordance 
with it. 



VALENTINE'S wedding was over, and she had started with her 
husband for that El Dorado of all fashionable people Paris. 
Mr. Dambleton was obliged to go to St. Petersburg on business, 
and his wife awaited his return at the Prosts'. She was a kind- 
hearted, sensible woman, and it pained her to see Sylvia's vanity 
so much fostered by her being spoilt and pushed forward. She 
would have liked to take Sylvia back with her to England, and 
Sylvia, attracted as all young people are by change and novelty, 
would gladly have gone. So that one day when they were all to- 
gether Mrs. Dambleton said to Herr Prost : " What would you 
say if I were to steal Sylvia for a few months ? I do not mean 
to stay in London, as my house will be in the mason's hands. I 
am going to our country-place, where my husband is only free to 
come of a Sunday, on account of his business ; and as our four 
boys are all at Eton, I have a very dull winter before me." 

" English country life is anything but dull in winter," said 
Herr Prost with constraint. 

" That may be, but my house is dull," said Mrs. Dambleton, 
laughing. " I would bring Sylvia back in the spring, and she 
would speak English better than if she were to study it here for 
two years." 

Three pairs of eyes watched Herr Prost's face with interest. 
Sylvia liked the plan immensely, and so did Isidora, as she would 
then be able to make her appearance in society with greater ad- 
vantage ; but Aurel was much against it. Herr Prost tried to 
turn his answer off in a joking way, but his own hard-and-fast de- 
termination was apparent in it. 

" Isn't it enough, Mrs. Dambleton, to be robbed of one daugh- 

by your brother ? Must you needs take the other ? No, I 
mnot allow it. What would poor Isidora, who is so used to 
ler sister, be at without Sylvia? No, your plan isn't feasible, 

rs. Dambleton. But I am thinking of taking my wife and 


daughter to an English watering-place next summer, and then I 
can return your kind visit." 

Mrs. Dambleton was obliged to rest satisfied with this plan, 
and Sylvia was delighted at the thoughts of it. Isidora and 
Aurel let their eyes fall, the one to hide her disappointment, the 
other to disguise his unmitigated relief ; Frau Prost remained 
passive, awaiting with imperturbable calmness the upshot of the 
conversation which her husband's decision brought to a close. 

Mr. Dambleton returned from Petersburg and lost no time 
in hurrying back to England for Christmas. Before her depar- 
ture his wife gave Sylvia some good advice, and, although Sylvia 
promised to follow it, she had forgotten all about it in a quarter 
of an hour. What with lessons in singing, music, languages, and 
riding, and the practice they involved, and the numerous matters 
connected with dress and society, she had not a quiet moment 
in the day after the early Mass, to which she persevered in going 
with Victoire. 

A little before the beautiful feast of Christmas Victoire ven- 
tured to inquire of Sylvia how she meant to manage about the 
sacraments. " Of course I shall go to confession and commu- 
nion," Sylvia replied. " At home I used to go about once in 
three months. My life here is so different, and I am so dread- 
fully taken up, that I am like my aunt, who cannot find time for 
all she wants to do. But this is the first thing to be considered, 
and I was beginning to feel scruples at having put it off for so 

" And yet it is the only thing which helps us to keep our 
peace of mind in the midst of life's unrealities, and which 
strengthens us to resist the world," said Mile. Victoire. 

" You are quite right. Peace of mind and strength are just 
what I want," exclaimed Sylvia earnestly. And she thought to 
herself : " What a difference ! Mrs. Dambleton, worthy woman, 
gives me all sorts of good advice not to be vain, for instance, or 
to seek to please, or to lose my head about nice clothes which are 
given to me and pretty things which are said to me and it is all 
very much to the point ; but, with all her goodness and education, 
Mrs. Dambleton cannot tell me how I am to carry it out, and 
here a simple servant immediately suggests the right means to be 
used: confession and Holy Communion." 

" Victoire," she said after a pause, " how fortunate we Catho- 
lics are, and how sad it is that so many people don't realize it ! 
Valentine, now, who is married to a Protestant, must consent to 
have her children brought up Protestants. Why didn't she in- 


sist upon their being Catholics? Perhaps Herr Goldisch would 
have consented." 

" How could Miss Valentine insist in a matter which is indif- 
ferent to her?" said Victoire sadly. "O my dear miss ! it's no 
easy thing to remain a Catholic in this house, although it's sup- 
posed to be Catholic, and Mr. Aurel is nearly a wonder. But it 
isn't my place to complain of my masters, and I have enough to 
do to look after my own conscience, I'm sure." 

" How is it, then, that you stay with my aunt ? " 

" It's that horrid money, miss. Your aunt gives very high 
wages, and, being the eldest, I had my mother and six brothers 
and sisters to help, as my poor father was killed in the Barri- 
cades. Thank God ! my brothers and sisters are now able to earn 
their own bread, and my poor mother has gone to heaven, where 
she prays for her children. I must work for another two years 
to save enough, and then I shall be free. Whatever God wills 
for me is for the best, and if he wills me to stay on here I am 
quite ready to obey ; but it will be a happy day for me when I 
am set at liberty and free to live in peace and quiet." 

" I'm sure it will be," said Sylvia warmly. " After doing your 
duty in such a position rest will seem very sweet." 

Christmas came. There was great rejoicing over the presents 
at the Frosts'. Who thought of the heavenly gifts ? On Christ- 
mas day Frau Prost drove to eleven-o'clock Mass with Sylvia 
and Isidora. Catholicism compressed into an eleven-o'clock 
Mass met her slumbering soul's requirements. Herr Prost 
stayed behind and read the Incttpendance Beige over a cigar. Syl- 
via had been to early Mass with Mile. Victoire, and had been 
greatly edified to see Aurel going to the sacraments. After 
luncheon on Christmas eve Sylvia followed her aunt, as she was 
accustomed to do, and said : " Dear Aunt Teresa, will you let me 
spend the evening quietly in my room ? I want to go to confes- 
sion and communion to-morrow, and I should like to prepare to- 

" Wait till Easter, love, then you can go with Isidora and me,"" 
answered Frau Prost. 

" Of course I mean to go at Easter, too ; but I shouldn't like 
to miss this beautiful feast, so don't say no." 

"It isn't our custom, love," remarked Frau Prost indiffer- 
ently. " Isidora, did you ever hear that girls went to the sacra- 
ments more than once a year here ? " 

" Oh ! yes, they do, but only amongst the lower classes and the 
Ursulines' charity-girls," replied Isidora. 



" Now, you hear that, love. You don't belong to the lower 
classes and are not a charity-girl, so you will do as I and Isidora 
do in the matter, and go to confession and communion at Easter. 
Nobody in their senses expects you to do more, and your uncle 
hates pious enthusiasm." Sylvia made no answer, but that even- 
ing, when a dinner as splendid as it was copious came to an end, 
she left the drawing-room. Her absence was not remarked at 
first, owing to fresh arrivals of guests. Herr Prost, however, had 
no notion of being crossed, and he observed after a time : 

" Now, then, Aurel, Sylvia, where's the music? To the piano 
with you both ! But what's become of Sylvia ? " 

" She's in her room," said Isidora. 

"Is she ill?" 

" Oh ! no, papa, quite well ; but she is reading." 

" This reading passion in young ladies is intolerable. Go and 
fetch her, Aurel, and then sing ' Alexis and Ida/ or some other 
pretty thing." 

Pleased, yet shy, Aurel made his way up-stairs. He had 
never been in Sylvia's room, and had never spoken to her alone. 
They certainly sang together every day, but before the music- 
master or a third party. Now he was to see her alone in her own 
room. What would she say ? His excitement was so great that 
he hardly heard her carelessly-uttered "Come in. " She thought 
it was a maid, and, as the soft carpet disguised his footsteps, she 
remained intent upon what she was doing. It was only when he 
got to the table at which she was reading that she looked up and 
said, laughing : " I must send you away this very minute, Aurel, 
for I am reading the Imitation, you see, as a preparation for the 
sacraments to-morrow." 

" My father wouldn't take such an excuse, Sylvia," said Aurel 
sadly. " He has sent for you, as he wants us to sing his favorite 
4 Alexis and Ida.' " 

" Oh ! do invent an excuse, Aurel. I really can't sing to- 

" I quite understand your reason, Sylvia. But you are run- 
ning a risk of being fetched by my father himself, and there 
would be a dreadful scene if he found out what you are doing." 

" But that is too tyrannical," exclaimed Sylvia, half crying. 

" You must get used to it, Sylvia," said Aurel gravely. " My 
father is really kind, and leaves everybody free to do as they like 
in the way of pleasure as long as it doesn't put him out. But he 
won't hear a word about church or religion, nor allow others to 
show even a secret sympathy for holy things." 


" But what dreadful tyranny over conscience, Aurel ! And 
how can my uncle think of such a thing, pretending as he does 
to be so liberal and tolerant ? When other people happen to be 
piously-minded he should allow them the same liberty which 
he takes himself not to be piously-minded." 

" Try to make him see it, Sylvia or rather don't try. You 
would have a stormy beginning and gain nothing. But now 
come down." 

" O Aurel ! it's so nice and quiet here. I really can't put up 
with the constant whirl and never give my soul a thought. It 
would be very bad for me if it were to last, and what should I 
have to show for all the accomplishments and all the society 
which fill up my days?" 

" What do you think my life is? " exclaimed Aurel. " It is as 
superficial as yours, except that I have my business instead of 
your music and language." 

" Well, now, Aurel," said Sylvia firmly, " do let us hold togeth- 
er. We will mutually encourage and even correct each other, if 
necessary. Let us bind ourselves to a strong friendship, which 
may be an incentive to us both to do better and better." 

" Oh ! yes, do let us," said Aurel, delighted and moved. " But 
now come down, Sylvia." 

" Yes, directly. Only tell me first how you manage to receive 
the sacraments as you ought." 

" I get up so early that I am at the church-door before it is 
opened, which gives me some clear hours." 

" That's what I'll do, Aurel. I am sure that Victoire will 
readily put herself out to take me. Now I'll come. I'm quite 
comforted and strengthened, for without cross and without strife 
there's no living on this earth, says Thomas a Kempis." 

The door had been softly opened. It was Isidora, who burst 
out laughing and exclaimed : " Well, this is too absurd ! " 

" It's not at all nice of you to come in on the sly," said Sylvia 

" Do I disturb your t6te-k-t6te ? " she asked spitefully. 

:< You heard my father telling me to fetch Sylvia," said Aurel 

"Oh! yes, to fetch her, but not to stay with her." 

" And who shall prevent him from staying here, or me from 
showing him my books and all my things when I choose ? " burst 
out Sylvia. 

" Now, Sylvia, don't excite yourself, or you won't be able to 
sing < To Alexis,' " said Aurel kindly ; and, taking her by the arm, 


he led her down-stairs. Isidora had preceded them, and, seeing 
her father's black looks, she called out in high merriment : " You 
will laugh, papa, when you hear this absurd thing. Just fancy ! 
Sylvia was sitting at a table with a book before her, and Aurel 
was standing humbly in front of her whilst she explained the 
Imitation of Christ'' 

" I was not explaining, but only quoting," said Sylvia brave- 


" Sing ! " commanded Herr Prost. " It is too late now to go 
to the theatre before our party." 

They sang. An hour later the drawing-room filled with peo- 
ple, and it was past midnight when Sylvia got to bed after having 
made her plan for the morning with Victoire. 

A heavy snow-storm was blowing through the streets of the 
capital as Sylvia and Victoire, well muffled up, hurried to the 
church in the early morning. There Sylvia was at last able to 
approach the tribunal of penance and to receive the Bread of 
Life. As Mass proceeded the storm grew worse, and at last it 
blew a hurricane. Victoire thought it necessary to take a cab 
on Sylvia's account ; but the bad weather made cabs very scarce, 
and Victoire had to spend some time in securing one. It was 
hardly eight o'clock when they reached home, but, as ill-fortune 
would have it, Herr Prost saw them get down at the door, and 
his wife had already rung twice for Victoire. As the latter did 
not appear, Frau Prost resigned herself to her fate and remained 
contentedly within her silk curtains. But her slumbers were 
disturbed by her husband, who burst into the room like a whirl- 
wind and called out : " It is really intolerable that such things 
should go on in my house." 

" What things, love ? " asked Frau Prost, somewhat aroused 
by his vehemence. 

" Where has Sylvia been to, I want to know ?" he exclaimed 

" Surely she hasn't been to church ? " 

" Yes, of course she has been to church in weather when one 
couldn't turn a dog away from one's door. She will catch a 
cold or a cough, or get hoarse, and probably lose her voice. 
And as she could only do such a thing with that stupid Victoire 
of yours, I tell you plainly that I won't have Victoire remain in 
my house. She shall leave my roof stante pede" 

11 My love, the thing's impossible," said Frau Prost, fairly 
aroused. "I won't agree to Victoire's going before the Carnival, 
unless I can have another Parisian in her place." 


" Nonsense ! There are heaps of dressmakers who under- 
stand things far better than such bigoted people as Victoire." 

" You don't know what you're talking about, love. Victoire 
is one in a thousand. If she hadn't this absurd liking for the 
church she would be perfect. I must and will keep her. Vent 
your anger on Sylvia." 

" Yes, she shall be spoken to, but it is Victoire's turn first. 
Ring for her." 

Herr Prost had time to cool down before Victoire answered 
the bell. When she appeared he asked her quietly enough 
whether that was the first time Sylvia had been to early Mass. 
From one thing to the other he found out to his intense displea- 
sure, and his wife to her intense amazement, that Sylvia had been 
to church every morning since her arrival. 

" Very good," burst out Herr Prost at last. " I will over- 
look the past. But if it happen again even but once, mind I 
will turn both you and Miss Sylvia out of the house." 

Thereupon he betook himself to Sylvia, disturbed her in her 
recollectedness, told her that religious sentimentality was per- 
fectly monstrous, inveighed against the impropriety of her secret 
goings-on with a*iady's maid, and ended by saying that he would 
punish her undutiful behavior on the next opportunity by expel- 
ling her the house without a penny piece. 

Too frightened to open her mouth, Sylvia burst into tears. 
No sooner had her uncle administered his scolding than she was 
summoned to her aunt. Frau Prost was sitting at her dressing- 

"This won't do, love," she remarked in her callous way. 
" You mustn't play such tricks. You were very nearly losing 
me Victoire, whose services are as necessary to me as my two 
eyes. Moreover, I had forbidden you to go to the sacraments, 
and, as you are so very pious, you should have known that the 
Third Commandment, or the Fourth, I think or at any rate one 
of the Ten Commandments says, ' Honor thy father and thy mo- 
ther.' Now, don't cry, love. It shall be forgotten and forgiven, 
and mark what I say : In future the morning walk to church is 
prohibited. You will go to Mass every Sunday with me and 
Isidora, and once a year to the sacraments." 

"That's just why I am crying, Aunt Teresa,'' said Sylvia; 
" for it was so different when my mother was alive." 

" Perhaps it was, my love. I dare say people might have 
different habits in your little Catholic nest. But I, too, am a Ca- 
tholic, and I know perfectly well what the church requires viz., 


Mass on Sunday and the Easter communion, and I follow it out. 
Anything more than this is eccentric or hypocritical. Young- 
people are very apt to be over-enthusiastic, and it makes them 
either unhappy or laughable. You must be kept from both ex- 
tremes, for I am very fond of you and treat you as my own 
little girl. It is your bounden duty to be obedient." 

Sylvia could find nothing Against this argument, for she was, 
in truth, treated like a daughter, loaded with presents, fed upon 
life's good things, and placed in the most brilliant circumstances, 
whilst her talents and capacity for society were being turned to 
account. She could not but acknowledge that she owed her 
uncle and aunt deep gratitude and childlike affection, and fore- 
saw that yielding would be a necessity. But piety, that tender 
plant so carefully nurtured by her mother, required other air 
than drawing-room temperature, and other dew than praise and 
flattery. Sylvia felt more deeply than she herself suspected that 
the supernatural element occupies too small a place in the world's 
sultry and dissipating atmosphere, which pampers every phase of 
self-love and supplies no counterpoise to its encroachments. 

Outwardly she obeyed, but in her own mind she asked her- 
self seriously whether it would not be better for her to leave 
such a house. Whose advice could she ask ? Who knew her 
circumstances or herself sufficiently well to guide her ? She 
might have consulted Herr von Lehrbach, had not other reasons 
made her shy of laying the whole matter before him, or his wife, 
or Clarissa. 



HERR PROST had declared it to be his good pleasure that they 
should dance the new year in to the sound of music and orches- 
tra, so accordingly a brilliant ball took place on the 3ist of 
December. It was Sylvia's first, and she looked forward to it 
with immense delight. 

" My little Sylvia must deck herself out in her fairest attire 
and do honor to her name," he said kindly to his niece, passing 
his daughter over in silence. 

"There will be no lack of pretty things," replied Sylvia. 
" We have been sent two beautiful ball-dresses to choose from. 
Isidora must settle whether we are to be dressed alike or not." 


" Oh! please don't let us be alike," exclaimed Isidora disagree- 
ably ; " it is so stupid." 

" Are you afraid of the comparison ? " asked her father sarcas- 

" I prefer it so," she answered haughtily. 

The preference for his pretty niece which Herr Prost gave 
himself no pains to disguise was a very sore point with his plain 
daughter. At first Isidora would have been inclined to be friends 
with Sylvia, whom she looked upon as something quite inferior in 
her simple black dress and her shyness ; but Sylvia as she now 
was, carrying all before her, was a great trial. Isidora might tell 
herself over and over again that Sylvia was a poor little thing 
without a farthing, living on her parents' bounty, and not, there- 
fore, likely to make a good match. As often as she did so a 
secret voice in her mind rose up against her and whispered: 
" Sylvia beats Isidora out and out." 

On the last day of the year Aurel and Sylvia had had their 
music-lesson together as usual, and practised their Italian duet 
with their master. Before they separated Sylvia said quickly in 
a half-whisper to Aurel : " Will you dance with me to-night, Au- 
rel, as often as your duties as eldest son of the house leave 
you free ? " 

" I should think I would," he exclaimed, highly pleased. 

" I have a great deal to say to you," she added, " but " And 
she laid her finger on her lips, which sign Aurel answered by a 
significant nod. 

" Now, then, have you made yourselves smart ? Let me look 
at you," exclaimed Herr Prost that evening as the two girls, 
dressed for the ball, made their appearance in the drawing-room 
before the guests' arrival. 

" H'm, Isi, you're not bad ; why, you're quite nice. The roses 
suit your dark hair. ' Supposing you were to rouge yourself a 
little, how would it be ? " 

" My love, what are you thinking about?" said his wife, laugh- 
ing. " Paint is for old women, not for young ones." 

" That depends upon the women. Why shouldn't they paint 
if it sets them off ? Why didn't you give your daughters your 
own beautiful complexion ? " And turning to Sylvia : " But here 
is a bit of perfection. What fairy cloud have you fallen from, 
little sylph ? Are you sure you can dance polka, mazurka, and 
the rest ? " 

" I don't know, dear uncle, but I have learnt it all," she said 


" Why, you can do everything, little witch. You will turn 
many a head." 

" What a sad and sorry sight that would be turned heads, in- 
deed ! " said Sylvia, laughing merrily. 

Herr Prost was more and more charmed with the fair, merry 
young thing. What wonder was it if she captivated Aurel ? The 
father said to himself, " We will soon put an end to her pious 
fads," and Aurel thought, " How dear she is, and how pious! " 

The ball went off as most balls do. Aurel could not get to 
Sylvia as soon as he wished, but when at last they stood side by 
side Sylvia said in an earnest tone : " I haven't much time to pre- 
pare my speech, Aurel, so I will begin at once without more 
words. I think it would be good for me not to stay here, but to 
become a companion or something of the kind in a really Catho- 
lic family, for here I am too much spoilt on the one hand, and 
too much kept under on the other ; neither can be good for me. 
As I am still young to live amongst perfect strangers, I would 
rather go back to my guardian ; but he is not well off, and he has 
five children. I could certainly pay him something, and would 
do it gladly until the right thing could be found ; but I know that 
he wouldn't agree to it, so I can't consult him on the subject. 
There is nobody else in the wide world to whom I can turn, so I 
thought you would be able to give me a disinterested opinion, as 
you understand things." 

Aurel was quite accustomed to repress his personal views on 
account of an unsympathetic atmosphere, and thus he succeeded 
in disguising the alarm which he secretly felt at Sylvia's pro- 

" The thing is not feasible, Sylvia. And now we have got to 

Poor Sylvia would willingly have given up that dance, and the 
ball itself, to come to a determination in a matter of so much mo- 
ment to her. Great was her astonishment to find how sad and 
weary at heart it is possible to be in the most elegant of ball- 
dresses, and a novel feeling of deep melancholy came over her as 
she realized the emptiness of this world of flower and blossom. 

" My father and mother will never agree to- your scheme, 
Sylvia," said Aurel between the intervals of dancing: " first, be- 
cause they are very fond of you ; and, secondly, because it would 
be a bitter reproach to them for their niece to be in a subordi- 
nate position." 

"No reproach to them if it were no disgrace to me," said 
Sylvia eagerly. 


" The world thinks differently, Sylvia. A companion is look- 
ed upon as quite a subordinate person ; and are you sure you 
could put up with that ? " 

" No, not positive, Aurel ; but I could try and do my best, if I 
thought it good for me spiritually." 

" Do your best, and in the meantime be turned away from 
five or six houses like a servant ? It won't do, Sylvia, for your 
sake or for ours. What prevents you from staying here, or 
from submitting outwardly and remaining inwardly devout ? " 

" The fear of losing my little bit of piety, if I am to get no 
help from without." 

"Am I not exactly in your position, Sylvia?" 

" Oh ! no, you are much more independent. You can go out 
when you like, early or late ; and then you are a man, so of course 
you are stronger and better able to resist secret temptations than 
lam." ' 

" That's just the question, Sylvia. I have grown up under a 
tyranny which may be good for developing obstinacy or dogged- 
ness, but which is not conducive to quiet determination. I am 
only too conscious of my weakness of purpose, and it makes me 
shy of myself. But, Sylvia, if you would give up your plan and 
stay with us you could do a great deal for me." 

" What, Aurel ? " she asked eagerly. 

" Well, in the first place, you would be here." 

" I should be here, Aurel ? " 

" Yes, Sylvia, and I should be refreshed and strengthened by 
seeing your fervor. And it would comfort me to feel that we 
understood and could encourage each other, as you said last 
week when you appealed to me to make our friendship true and 
lasting. Will you put an end to it already and leave me to my 
loneliness ? " 

" So you feel lonely, do you, Aurel ? " she asked pensively. 

" I should think so : lonely, misunderstood, tyrannized over, 
hemmed in, powerless in short, unhappy." 

" And do you really think that my staying would be of any 
use to you ? " 

" Use doesn't express it, Sylvia. I can only tell you that your 
staying is so much to me that I would rather die than see you 
go to strangers ; and I should think it ought to be a comfort to 
you to know you can help me, and that we may, perhaps, hope 
for better days." 

" O Aurel ! " she said compassionately. 

" Only promise me to stay, Sylvia, and you need not pity me. 


You are doing a good work which makes me rich indeed," he 
said with emotion ; adding earnestly, " and perhaps some day you 
will rejoice in it yourself, for God will bless it." 

" If you are quite sure of that, Aurel, of course I will stay. I 
wanted to hear what you thought, because I know so little about 

" Well then, Sylvia, will you stay with us as long as it shall 
please God ? " he asked in a tone of supplication. 

" Yes, as long as it shall please God," she repeated. 

They were just going to begin dancing again when it struck 
midnight and a vigorous flourish of trumpets announced the 
advent of the new year. 

" A most happy new year, Aurel," exclaimed Sylvia heartily. 

" I believe in the new year ; for are not you with me, and have 
you not promised me that we shall not part ? " 

" I didn't promise that," she answered with a touch of con- 

" Will you let me put this construction on your words ? " 

" Oh ! no, no," she answered hastily, as she ran off to wish her 
aunt a happy new year. 

The ball lasted till morning. When Sylvia got to bed and 
thought over her evening she did not feel quite comfortable 
about all that had passed between her and Aurel, pleasant and 
reassuring as his words had sounded in her ears. But he had 
also said that God would bless her staying on, and, as he had 
both goodness and common sense, she would take his advice. 
Set at ease once more by this reflection, she began her new year 
on the strength of her determination. She put her confidence in 
a man. On the other hand, Aurel began his new year with a 
novel sensation of happiness. He felt equal to winning Sylvia 
and to shielding her from the fitful blasts of fortune. Aurel put 
his confidence in himself. 



ABOUT a year later than the events recounted in the last chap- 
ter Herr Prost said one day to his wife: " My dear, I must tell 
you plainly that I am exceedingly displeased with you." 

" O my love ! what have I done ? " asked Frau Prost, over- 
whelmed with painful surprise. 

" What have you done ? Why, this : you haven't used your 


eyes or ears. A mother should both see and hear what her 
daughters are doing." 

" You frighten me, love. What is the matter ? " 
" Nothing is the matter yet, but there is love in the air." 
" Love in the air? What do you mean, love?" 
" I mean just what I say, and what is not at all an uncommon 
thing when young people live together in a house. Aurel is 
madly in love with Sylvia, and there is a tacit agreement between 
them which, slight though it may be, points to future marriage." 
"God preserve us!" exclaimed Frau Prost, unwontedly ex- 
cited. " It mustn't come to that. Marriages between sisters' 
children are objectionable, and the church condemns them alto- 

" You see how I agree with the church, and then people pre- 
tend I am not a good Catholic," said Herr Prost, laughing scorn- 
fully. " Certainly it is the first time in my life that we are of 
one mind. And as we are three to two the church, that is,' 
and you and I, against Aurel and Sylvia their marriage will 
never come about." 

" But it is a bad business. Are you quite sure about it ? " 
" You may rely upon it ; it is as certain as that two and two 
make four. Even last winter I was struck by the change in 
Aurel. From being indolent and tiresome he woke up, became 
alert and pleasant, sang readily, liked dancing and society, all 
which things had previously been a burden to him. But since 
the little charmer has been at hand to make him sing and dance 
and chatter he has taken an extraordinary fancy to these occupa- 
tions. I don't blame him for this on the contrary, I admire him 
for it ; but it mustn't go any further. When you went with the 
two girls and the children in the summer to Griinerode, Aurel 
fell back again into his old spiritless ways, which instantly disap- 
peared when he and I joined you in the country. At Griinerode 
he was in perfect bliss, and somehow he always managed to be at 
the little creature's side ; whether it were on horseback, or walk- 
ing, or in the drawing-room, or in the garden, he was always to be 
found with her. Didn't you notice it?" 

" Oh ! yes, I did ; but they are only children." 
" My love ! when you were married you were not older than 
Sylvia, and, I can answer for it, I, at least, was no child at Aurel's 

" It just strikes me," said Frau Prost, musing, " that Isidora 
once said to Sylvia before me, ' Sylvia, did you see Aurel kissing 
the glove you dropped yesterday, which he picked up ? " 


" And what did Sylvia say ? " asked Herr Prost. 

" She said quite coolly, ' No, I didn't '; and as Isidora went on, 
* I don't believe Herr Goldisch ever kissed Valentine's glove,' 
she called out, laughing, ' People's tastes are different,' and ran off. 
I confronted Isidora with her silly remark, and she remonstrated, 
in her grumbling way, that Aurel really did pay Sylvia too much 
attention. But as I know what Isidora is, especially in matters 
which concern Sylvia, I didn't think anything of what she said." 

" I will prove the truth of it, much as it may surprise you," 
said Herr Prost. " Listen. Our English expedition came to 
nothing, as Herr Goldisch went off to New York, and Valentine 
and her confinement most thoughtless of her tied us at home. 
You know that I had other things to do in England besides giv- 
ing you sea-bathing and seeing Mrs. Dambleton. I had a great 
deal of business there. But as I was not quite pleased with the 
occurrences at Grlinerode, I preferred staying there quietly with 
you, and letting Aurel do it for me under pretence of my great 
confidence in him. That pleased him, and he liked going to Lon- 
don, the more so as it was only question of a fortnight's absence. 
Instead of a fortnight, here we are in November, as I managed to 
prolong the expedition to London into a business tour through- 
out the whole of Great Britain, and begged my friends, especial- 
ly Mrs. Dambleton, to see that Aurel got a good insight into land 
and people and society. Of course Aurel was obliged to be 
pleased, and to be grateful into the bargain. But at last head 
and heart have strayed, and he has written to Sylvia." 

" How do you know that, love ? " asked Frau Prost, greatly 

" Because I am in possession of the letter, my dear. Here it 
is twelve pages, crammed full." 

" Twelve pages !" she echoed in dismay. 

" Yes, twelve pages full of sentiments which would have sent 
Valentine into an ecstasy, and from which I conclude that Aurel 
and Sylvia are of one mind and fully believe that their mutual 
sympathy will develop into marriage in time. Certainly there is 
not a word about engagement, but ' lasting fidelity,' ' immortal 
love,' ' our happy future,' point to marriage between people of 
Aurel's and Sylvia's stamp." 

" What does Sylvia say to the letter ? " 

" Nothing, for she hasn't seen it and won't see it. Aurel 
didn't know whether we were still at Griinerode or in town. 
He enclosed the letter to the steward, asking him to forward it, 
and, strangely enough, the steward has had the rare good sense to 


send me on this letter with my other correspondence. The enve- 
lope is addressed to ' Miss Sylvia von Neheim '; but I did not re- 
mark the address and opened it, and of course do not intend 
Sylvia ever to have it." 

" But what is to be done now, love ? " asked Frau Prost de- 

" My dear, you have nothing to do but to ignore the whole 
thing to every one. I will take all the rest upon myself, and you 
may rely upon my discretion and delicate handling. It must be 
put a stop to gently, but the thing must be done. Aurel is in a 
position to aspire far higher than this portionless little enchan- 

" Who is his cousin," added Frau Prost. " I detest such 
marriages. Don't be the least anxious, love ; I will be as silent as 
the grave." 

Whilst Herr Prost and his wife were talking another conver- 
sation was going on a story higher, where a suite of rooms had 
been very comfortably and prettily arranged for Valentine. She 
was lying on a chaise-longue in a cloud of lace and embroidery. 
She was very pale, and her dark hair fell loosely on her shoul- 
ders. She had a telegram in her hand, and was saying in a tone 
of complaint to Sylvia, who sat beside her with some work : " Be 
warned, Sylvia : don't spend your love on your husband. All men, 
without exception, are next door to heartless, and when they mar- 
ry they become quite so. They don't dream of the secret depths 
of the feminine mind, and don't care to trouble themselves about 
it, for they think of nothing else but of how comfortable they can 
be the matter-of-fact wretches ! " 

" But, dear Tini," said Sylvia soothingly, "your good hus- 

" Is a married man, and that is all about it," interrupted Val- 
entine. " He says that he is coming back to-night for certain. 
I will pay him out by being icy cold." 

" You talk as if he had been to New York for his own plea- 
sure, whereas he went because his money affairs were threatened. 
He was so distressed when he brought you to Griinerode and 
was obliged to go so far away !" 

" And I, in the meantime, might have died whilst he was think- 
ing of his money." 

" If it weren't for his money, Tini, I doubt your caring for 
life. So make yourself happy. Everything has come right ; you 
are sound and well, and so is your little boy. What more do you 


" I want my husband to understand me, Sylvia. Fancy what 
trouble I took to make him understand the very depths of my 
heart. I wrote him pages and pages every day during our en- 
gagement. After our marriage I wanted to read with him, and 
he agreed. Of course I only care for novels with plenty of love- 
making in them, and what do you think he proposed ? Macau- 
lay s Essays the most tiresome things, full of history and phil- 
osophy ; just -fancy ! We" never got through them, and never be- 
gan anything else. So this shows you how very little sympa- 
thy there is between us." 

" Perhaps as far as books are concerned. But it is less read- 
ing together than living together that you want to do." 

" You can't separate the two. He doesn't understand me, 
and I am condemned to weep over my mistake for the rest of my 

" What mistake, Tini ? " 

" Having married him." 

" You should not talk in this way," said Sylvia seriously. 

" I say it to you in confidence, you dear, sweet creature, for 
you attract me wonderfully. Mamma is too cold, and Isidora 
worse still, she is so sharp and vinegary. You have got a warm 
heart, and it soothes me to be with you." 

It might do her good to unbosom her imaginary grievance 
about her husband's not understanding her, but it was not to Syl- 
via's advantage to be indoctrinated in the fanciful whims of a pas- 
sion which made sentiment, not duty, its ideal, and indulged in all 
sorts of vain dreams. 

Ever since the ball on New Year's eve a kind of tacit yet no 
less real understanding had sprung up between Aurel and Syl- 
via. They themselves could not tell how it had come about, 
but so it was. They had the same way of looking at things, 
or met each other's thoughts half-way. They were mutually 
happy in each other's world. They had never spoken of their 
love in so many words, or talked about an engagement, but 
they felt pledged to each other for a lifetime. The future held 
out the one hope, the one name, the one dream to both, and their 
hearts spoke the same language. Sylvia's fancy shrouded these 
pleasant imaginings in a golden maze, but Aurel saw them 
through a less fantastical light, for he foreboded a struggle. He 
knew his father too well not to be sure that gold, as the thing which 
purchased a fill of pleasure and enjoyment, honor and comfort, 
was his synopsis of happiness, and that he looked upon a higher 
ideal as a myth. " People with empty stomachs," he was wont 


to say " poets, writers, and such like dreamy, useless, and conse- 
quently hungry people have invented an ideal happiness as a 
compensation to themselves ; they want to make those who have 
got tangible goods jealous, just as the priests invented heavenly 
delights in room of a used-up mythology. Certainly there is this 
difference : that poets are the most contemptible people on earth, 
and nobody thinks of attending to what they say, whereas the 
priests impose their old women's stories on a considerable por- 
tion of mankind." 

This was the kind of teaching Herr Prost lavished on his 
children. His table was luxurious, and after dinner he was wont 
to go to the theatre, employing the drive thither in a comfortable 
snooze on the downy cushions of his coupe. He would then 
watch the prima ballerina's feats with great interest, return home 
pleasantly excited, receive his wife's guests courteously when 
there was no ball or party elsewhere, and end what he considered 
a remarkably well-filled day with whist or chombre. Had he not 
spent its chief hours in toiling to procure similar dinners, theatre 
and society pleasures for his children and grandchildren ? It 
may be surmised that in his various business undertakings and 
speculations he knew how to speak with unction on the benefi- 
cial effects of industry as promoting the people's good, greater 
mental cultivation, a higher state of civilization, and the pros- 
perity of the commonwealth. He was inclined to think with the 
proverb that trade implies a certain amount of noise in the 
world. But, as a shrewd man of business, he ought to have 
known that industry requires other panegyrists than its mer- 
chant-kings to find lasting favor with the multitude. 

In short, Aurel knew his father's mind well enough to feel 
certain that he would not welcome a poor stepdaughter, but 
Aurel trusted to Sylvia's winning charms, to time and his own 
faithfulness, in order to gain over his father. He had liked going 
to London, for he made a point of carrying out to the letter his 
father's business suggestions. But when he found that his stay 
was not drawing to a close impatience and longing got the better 
of him, and he wrote the letter to Sylvia which was pocketed 
on its way to her. Shortly afterwards he was summoned home, 
where he was greeted, as usual, with cold friendliness from his 
father and feebly-expressed pleasure from his mother. He 
gazed into Sylvia's delighted eyes ; he was with her again and 
could enjoy her company : what more could he desire ? 

Valentine had no delighted eyes for her husband. She was 
determined to have a grievance which would enable her to give 


an extraordinary amount of attention to herself and her hard fate. 
Though such women may be scarce, they are to be found. As 
head of a large banking-firm, and consequently very rich, Herr 
Goldisch was nevertheless a very different person from Herr 
Prost. He was very kind-hearted and good-natured, and would 
have been quite ready to make life smooth to a sensible wife, or 
even to let her get the upper hand. But he could not be expect- 
ed to sit down to read French novels with Valentine, or to bother 
himself about grasping her " soul." He was more than double 
her age, and, being a good man of business, he set much store by 
time. With all her lamentations over not being understood, it 
was Valentine who .did not take the trouble to understand her 
husband, for she failed to see how glad he would have been to 
read and talk sense with her. He was kind enough to attribute 
her queer fits and her superficiality to her youth. 

" But, Tini," he said good-naturedly, " why has my expedi- 
tion to New York brought me into such disgrace with you?" 

" It wasn't the expedition, but the time you chose for it." 

" My dear child, a failure can't be expected to time itself to 
your confinement." 

" But I might have expected you to time yourself." 

" Now, Tini, I told you exactly how it was before I set out, 
and left you to decide whether I should go myself or send some- 
body else." 

" You represented the thing in such dark colors that I was 
obliged to persuade you to go." 

" I represented it to you as it was, as a question of thousands 
of dollars, and that consequently I had a livelier interest than 
fifty people I might have sent in seeing to things myself." 

Valentine was silent, for she had decided for her husband's de- 
parture. She was far too truly her father's daughter to trifle 
with the loss of a million of money. 

" Well, shall we make peace ? " he asked, giving her his hand. 

Instead of taking it she said crossly : " I might have died." 

" So might I, my child. Death spares none of us." 

" This is really too much," she exclaimed angrily. 

" Gently, gently, Valentine," he answered calmly. " You 
know perfectly well that my wife, the mother of my child, is by 
no means a matter of indifference to me, so I beg of you to spare 
me your trifling reproaches." With this he left her. Valentine 
got into an extraordinary state of excitement about what she 
called to Sylvia her husband's unbearable neglect. " But I will 
pay him out," she added. 


" What will you do ? " asked Sylvia, frightened. 

" I will make him jealous." 

" O Tini ! what have you to make him jealous about ? " 

" Let him find out what he loses in me when he begins to fear 
that I like somebody else." 

" God forbid it, Tini ! You mustn't do it, indeed. Think of 
some other plan," exclaimed Sylvia, shocked. 

" Any means of melting his cold heart is lawful. Be warned 
in time, Sylvia, and never marry. Marriage ties you to a selfish 
creature who adores you just at first, and treats you with coldness 
and indifference ever afterwards. All men are selfish by nature ; 
they are selfishness personified." 

" Do you think so ? " asked Sylvia, bewildered by this whole- 
sale condemnation of the male sex. 

" I don't think it : I am certain of it," replied Valentine unhesi- 

" I am sure it's very sad for women." 

" Of course it is, Sylvia dreadfully sad," said Valentine in 
a melancholy tone. " Women are ill-used, oppressed creatures. 
But it is marriage which makes it apparent. A girl has sweet 
dreams about souls understanding each other under the spell of 
love. Her awakening is frightful. Be thankful that I have 
opened your eyes beforehand." 

Sylvia was silent, not because she was convinced, but because 
she secretly doubted. As for the selfishness of the male kind, it 
did not trouble her much, for she knew of one important excep- 
tion to the contrary, and she had daily opportunities of seeing 
for herself that Valentine was by no means either an oppressed or 
an ill-treated wife. Herr Goldisch was all kindness and attention 
to her. Valentine's real misfortune was an excess of prosperity. 
She had a husband whom she could trust and respect, a child, 
and a brilliant position. The troubles of life alone were wanting 
to her ; yet man is so constituted that he creates them for himself 
in default of real ones. Valentine's small dose of common sense 
and her selfish indolence of character made her inclined to har- 
bor the wildest notions. 





" Tell me, what ancestors were thine ? " 

(Farinata degli Uberti to Dante.} 

Inferno, canto x. 

TWELVE miles southeast of Vezelay, in France, is the ancient 
castle of Chastellux, picturesque and imposing, on the top of a 
sharp granite cliff that rises suddenly up from the banks of the 
river Cure, which, uniting with the Yonne, sends its waters to 
the Seine. Its hoary towers and battlements have a feudal as- 
pect that carries you back to the romantic age of chivalry, and 
you almost expect to see some venturous knight in his armor, 

" With belted sword and spur on heel," 

come pricking over the hills to pay his devoirs to the fair chate- 
laine watching his approach from her bower in one of the gray 
old turrets. This castle is specially interesting to us as the an- 
cestral seat of the gallant Marquis of Chastellux, who took part 
in our Revolutionary war, serving as major-general for three years 
under the Count de Rochambeau. The memory of the brave 
Frenchmen who lent their enthusiastic aid to our cause must al- 
ways be dear to Americans, but, with the exception of Lafayette, 
we know but little of their family history. It was therefore with 
unexpected pleasure I came, as upon the traces of an old bene- 
factor, upon the towers of Chastellux, and found means of trac- 
ing the lineage of the chivalric race whose banner from time im- 
memorial has floated from their walls. 

The present castle of Chastellux is more than six hundred 
years old. Over a gate in the outer wall is a stone on which is 
rudely graven the date of 1240, in which year it was rebuilt 
by Artaud III., one of its greatest lords. But the stern don- 
jon-keep, which stands apart, melancholy and threatening of 
aspect, is much more ancient. In its depths, hewn out of the 
rock, are dungeons from which there was once no escape. A 
passage through the walls of immense thickness has recent- 
ly been found, leading to oubliettes over twenty feet in depth. 
Above the prisons were lodged the guards in a hall that 
has narrow loop-holes in every direction. The fourth story was I 
the armory, which, at the revolution of 1789, still contained hel- 


mets, shields, cuirasses, swords, spears, etc., that had doubtless 
been worn by crusaders and knights of the house of Chastellux. 
And in the Salle des Gardes may still be seen ancient armor, 
sheaves of lances, battered arquebuses and other fire-arms, that 
are curious to examine, as well as the immense fire-place and the 
armorial ensigns and quarterings of the family and its alliances 
from 1131 to 1842, emblazoned on the walls like so many pages 
of family reminiscences, kindling the mind of posterity to heroic 
deeds. This old tower witnessed the gathering of an illustrious 
assembly of bishops, abbots, and lords of Burgundy and Niver- 
nais, after the first Crusade, to deliberate upon the affairs of the 

The castle, which is triangular in shape, is composed of six 
towers connected by buildings lower in height. The largest, 
but most modern, is the Tour d'Amboise at the north angle, so 
named in honor of Marguerite d'Amboise, wife of Oliver de 
Chastellux, who built it in 1592. The square tower of the Hor- 
loge contains the family archives. In the wall between the Tour 
d'Amboise and the chapel is an ancient mosaic found by the 
Count of Chastellux while making excavations in his forest of 
Chagnats in the year 1838, together with medals, fragments of 
vases and marble columns, among the ruins of a Roman villa 
with frescoed walls, a little to the west of an old Roman road 
to Autun. 

The family chapel was built by Claude de Beauvoir, one of the 
most illustrious lords of Chastellux, authorized by lettres patent es 
from Jean-sans-Peur, Duke of Burgundy, who assigned revenues 
for its maintenance. This chapel is entered from the second 
story, as was not uncommon in ancient castles, probably for in- 
creased security of the sacred place. It is dedicated to St. An- 
thony. The arms of the founder and his wife are to be seen in 
the painted windows. 

In the centre of the castle is the court of honor, entered by 
pointed archways silent and gloomy as a cloister, overshadowed 
as it is by towers and high walls. 

The castle of Chastellux, with its massive walls, drawbridges, 
barbicans, battlemented and machicolated towers, and portcullises 
"spiked with iron prong," was a genuine fortress. Its some- 
what inaccessible position also made it more impregnable, so 
that in times of civil disturbances it was always garrisoned as 
a post of importance. It stood, too, on the borders of Bur- 
gundy, and we find Charles the Bold, in his contests with Louis 
XL, authorizing his faithful vassal John III., Sire of Chastellux, 


to man his castle with as many archers as he could muster. 
As late as last century there was still a battery here of four cul- 
verins given Louis de Chastellux, governor of Metz, by King 
Charles IX. 

At the time of the Revolution the mob took possession of the 
castle, and with hatchet and hammer made sad havoc among the 
carvings, paintings, and family escutcheons ; but it has since been 
restored, and now shows but few traces of injury. It is, in fact, 
one of the best preserved castles of the country, as well as one of 
its most interesting features. 

The commune of Chastellux extends to the other side of the 
Cure, over which is a bridge of two arches, where King Henry 
III. authorized the lord of the manor to collect a toll on all vehi- 
cles and animals that crossed, and on all wood floated down the 
river no inconsiderable privilege when we remember how much 
fuel is sent down the Seine to Paris from the forests of Morvand, 
and how many cattle for its market by land. According to the 
book of accounts for 1686, the Count de Chastellux received from 
the wood alone that year twenty-five hundred livres. 

The parish of Chastellux now contains about seven hundred 
inhabitants. The church, which is under the invocation of St. 
Germain d'Auxerre, was partly rebuilt by Count Cesar Laurent 
de Chastellux in 1822, but no change was made in the ancient 
portal, tower, and nave. The chapel to the north is the family 
chantry by royal ordinance. Here you see memorial tablets of 
its later members, and the mausoleum of Count Louis de Chas- 
tellux, of the sixteenth century. Beneath are vaults for burial 
purposes, entered from the east, with the dying wish of the patri- 
arch Jacob, Dormiam cum patribus meis, over the door. The 
counts of Chastellux, however, had anciently the right of burial 
in seven churches, in return for services or benefactions render- 
ed : the cathedral of Auxerre, the church of St. Lazare at Aval- 
Ion, that of the Cordeliers at Vezelay, the abbey church of Cure, 
and the parish churches of Quarre-les-Tombes, St. Andre-en- 
Morvand, and Chastellux. 

Chastellux is not only one of the most ancient baronies of 
Morvand, but in feudal times was one of the most wealthy and 
powerful. Its domains used to extend five leagues from north to- 
south, and three from east to west. There were five mills, three 
oil-presses, a lime-kiln, a tilery, five large fish-ponds, twelve small 
ones, and about four thousand seven hundred acres of woodland. 
Its lords seem to have had the right to coin money, for in 1864 
a -mould was found with Loys de Chastellux on one side and Vain- 


ere ou mourir on the other. Another had the family coat-of-arms. 
They also held the barony of Quarre-les-Tombes, the viscounty 
of Avallon, and eighteen seigniories. 

The origin of the family, like so many feudal races, is lost in 
the remoteness of time, but it is said to be of Roman descent, as 
the name of Chastellux (Castrum Lucii) would seem to warrant. 
All through this region are traces of Roman villas and encamp- 
ments ; and Autun, a favorite city of Caesar's, was called " the 
sister of Rome " by his followers. Such a descent, therefore, is 
not improbable. The family has always been remarkable for its 
chivalric and military spirit. Its ancient knights were among the 
first to take the cross for the Holy Land, and it has borne its 
part in all the wars of the country. Its old war-cry was, Mont- 
re"al a Sire de Chastellux, in allusion to its alliance and kinship 
with the family of Montreal, one of the most illustrious in Bur- 
gundy and intermarried with its dukes. It has given France a 
marshal, an admiral, several generals, governors of cities and 
provinces, and counsellors to its kings. And while remarkable 
for its patriotism, it has been equally noted for its devotion to 
the church. It has founded abbeys and priories, and built 
churches, and bestowed gifts on countless religious houses, and, 
by its foundations for perpetual religious services, manifested 
great faith in the suffrages of the church and its power to loose 
and to bind. Everywhere in Morvand we find the name of Chas- 
tellux in old charters and cartularies of monasteries and manor- 
houses, in documents of civil administration, and in records of 
alliances with the leading families. 

The most ancient member of the family known to us is a 
knight named Hugues de Chastellux, who lived in 1070. His 
son, Artaud I., bore the title of Sire de Chastellux, as did his de- 
scendants till the erection of the barony into a county. Artaud, 
with his five sons and his son-in-law, took the cross at V6zelay in 
1146, and the next year went to the Holy Land, whence, it is be- 
lieved, he never returned. Before his departure he made rich 
offerings to the church, and gave to Notre Dame de Regny and 
"the brethren who served God therein " the right of pasturing 
their swine in his forests, by way of alms for the health and re- 
demption of his soul, and that of his wife Rachel (who consents 
thereto), and the souls of his ancestors, as set forth in a solemn 
act, still extant, drawn up at Avallon in presence of the bishop of 
Autun and of Odo, Duke of Burgundy, and other lords. 

His son, Artaud II., was equally pious and beneficent. After 
his return from Palestine he founded an anniversary service for 


his father's soul, and gave lands, woods, and a right in certain 
streams to the abbey of Notre Dame de Regny. And out of 
gratitude for his safe return he built the abbey of St. Martin at 
Chors, or Cure, lower down the river of that name, on the left 
bank. All that is now left of this old monastery is a fragment in- 
corporated in a dwelling-house, an isolated tower, and the half- 
ruined church, now used as a store-house. Its caveaux, where 
once reposed Guy de Chastellux and John, his son, besides other 
benefactors to the abbey, are now completely empty. The cells, 
cloisters, and abbot's house have all disappeared, but the old well 
remains that stood in the centre of the inner quadrangle. 

Artaud II. died in his native land, and was buried in the col- 
legiate church of St. Lazare at Avallon, where Hugues de Chas- 
tellux, by his beneficence, had acquired the right of family burial. 

When Aubert de Chastellux in 1195 ratified the donations of 
his father and grandfather to the abbey of Regny, the grateful 
monks made him the present of an ox and a chariot well equipped, 
and gave his wife five sous * and each of his four children six 

Artaud .III., a preux and loyal knight, was honored with the 
friendship of St. Louis, whom he accompanied in his crusade of 
1248. He founded a convent of Cordeliers at Vezelay in 1232 
(six jears after the death of St. Francis), on the spot where St. 
Bernard preached the Crusade on Good Friday, 1 146, in presence 
of Louis VII. and an immense number of lords and people, and 
tore up his own crimson vestment to make crosses for the volun- 
teers to the holy cause, among whom was Artaud I., Sire of Chas- 
tellux. For this purpose Artaud III. bought the chapel that 
Peter, Bishop of 'Marseilles, had already built on this consecrated 
spot. Artaud 's departure for the Crusade leaving the friars with- 
out any protector, their house was burned down, but he rebuilt 
it at his return and chose it as his burial-place, perhaps hoping 
this might be a safeguard to the inmates and ensure them the 
protection of his descendants. 

John I. of Chastellux had only one daughter, named Mar- 
guerite, who became a nun at Reconfort ; and when he was dying 
he asked to be buried in that convent, in order to be near his fa- 
vorite child, and founded for her and himself an anniversary ser- 
vice there with a rent of sixty sous. His son Guy was buried in 
the abbey of Cure, and so was his grandson, John II., who be- 
queathed the abbey one hundred sous tournois for the remedy of 

* The sou, from the time of Charlemagne to the reign of Philip I., was of silver. After that 
time it was alloyed more and more, and kept decreasing in value till it became a copper coin. 


his soul (1331). This John, when he paid homage to Duke Eudes 
IV., grandson of St. Louis, for his estates in the duchy of Bur- 
gundy, was created Vicomte of Avallon, and a stronghold was 
given him in that town, on the side toward Dijon, which Philippe 
le Bon afterwards allowed Claude de Beauvoir to repair and 
fortify on condition it 'should be at his service when required, at 
a suitable recompense. The family of Chastellux kept possession 
of this residence till 1789. 

John II. dying without children, the barony of Chastellux 
passed to the female line in the person of his sister, the haute et 
puissante dame Simone de Bordeaux,* and at her death to her 
daughter Laura, wife of John of Bourbon. When Laura died she 
requested to be buried in the abbey of Quincy in Champagne, to 
which she bequeathed a small sum of money, one hundred pounds 
of wax, six oxen, and a car with five wheels well ironed, begging 
the abbot and monks to come for her remains and bury her in 
their church, where a solemn, service should be offered every 
year for her soul. The barony now fell to her sister Jacquette, 
dame de Beauvoir, who died soon after, leaving her son William 
sire of Chastellux. 

William de Beauvoir went to the court of King Charles V., 
where he was warmly welcomed and appointed counsellor and 
first chamberlain to the king. He was the second founder, as it 
were, of the Cordeliers of Vezelay, whose convent he rebuilt 
after it was burned down again in 1390. Beside it he erected a 
pavilion for himself, which became known as the Mail de Chas- 
tellux, where he often spent some days in retreat. He was so 
attached to this convent that he requested to be buried in the 
church beside his ancestor, Artaud III. His tomb, which stood 
before the high altar, bore the following inscription : " Here lies 
the noble and puissant lord, William de Beauvoir, knight, Sire de 
Chastellux, Vicomte of Avallon, lord of Bazoches, chamberlain 
of the king our sire." 

Of William's two sons, George became an admiral in 1420. 
He was buried in the cathedral of Auxerre. Claude de Beau- 
voir, the next sire, by his judgment, courage, and brilliant 
achievements as a soldier, proved himself to be the greatest lord 
of Chastellux. He was born in his ancestral castle in 1386, and 
placed while a mere boy as a page with Philip of Burgundy, 
Count of Nevers. He afterwards entered the service of Duke 
Jean-sans-Peur, who made him his counsellor and chamberlain, 
and sent him at the head of an armed force against the Arma- 

* The castle of Bordeaux was three leagues from Autun, where the ruins are still to be seen. 


gnacs at Paris, on which occasion the Count of Armagnac was 
killed and the party annihilated. King Charles V. invited him 
to his court in 1418, made him his counsellor, appointed him mar- 
shal of France, and sent him as captain-general against the Eng- 
lish in Normandy, where he took the town of Louviers and 
otherwise distinguished himself. But his most brilliant feat at 
arms was the taking of Cravant, one of the keys of Burgundy, 
with only four hundred men, and defending it for five weeks 
against the combined forces of Tanneguy du Chatel and the Sire 
de La Baume, whom he put completely to rout July 31, 1423, 
slaying or taking prisoners four or five thousand men. The 
canons of Auxerre, " lords of Cravant from all time," out of 
gratitude made him and his successors for ever canons of the ca- 
thedral of St. Etienne, with right of sepulture therein, and parti- 
cipation in all the prayers, suffrages, and benefits of that church ; 
which favor the Sire de Chastellux graciously accepted, thanking 
God piously and the dean and chapter most heartily. 

The canons, not satisfied with "this recognition of his services, 
bound themselves to celebrate the Mass of the Holy Ghost in his 
behalf every year on the day after the Assumption. They called 
this the Mass of Victory. After his death it was to be changed 
into an anniversary service for the good of his soul and the souls 
of his relatives. 

Claude de Beauvoir was as devout as he was valiant, after the 
old knightly fashion. Amid all the bustle and distractions of 
camp-life he seldom failed to hear Mass daily, and Pope Euge- 
nius IV., by a special brief, allowed him to have a portable altar, 
at which it could be celebrated when he pleased. He died at 
Chastellux in 1453 at the age of sixty-eight, and was buried in 
the cathedral of Auxerre. 

One of Claude's daughters, named Pierrette, took the veil at 
Crisenon, of which house she became the abbess in 1473. The 
abbey of Crisenon was on an island in the river Yonne, belong- 
ing to the diocese of Auxerre. It was founded in 1134 by three 
lords of that region, and soon became so flourishing that in 1174 
the number of nuns had to be limited to one hundred. Several 
of its abbesses were of the house of Chastellux, which was 
among its benefactors ; among other things bestowing on it the 
priory of St. Jean de la Vernhee, founded by a lord of Chastel- 
lux in the twelfth century, the ruins of which are still to be seen 
on the edge of a forest south of Montcreon, its chapel sacrile- 
giously converted into a stable. The abbey of Crisenon in 1790 
had dwindled down to nine inmates. 


Claude de Beauvoir's successor was his son, John III. He 
served under his suzerain, Charles the Bold, who authorized him 
to garrison the fortress of Chastellux with a company of arch- 
ers against the forces of Louis XL, which did not prevent that 
politic king from appointing him the next year his counsellor 
and chamberlain. John III. seems to have married his cousin 
in the fourth degree without proper dispensation, though the 
ceremony was performed by one bishop in the presence of an- 
other; but three years before his death Pope Innocent VIII. was 
induced to sanction the marriage, and his three children were 
placed under the nappe of the altar at Mass, by way of recogniz- 
ing their legitimacy. To effect this sanction, however, the king 
himself was obliged to write to the bishop of Lombez, then am- 
bassador at Rome, also to Cardinal Benevento, and even to the 
pope, declaring that the families of the two parties had " from 
all time been good and great." 

Claude's son, Philip I., was brought up at the court of Charles 
VIII. as enfant d'honneur, which procured him a distinguished 
marriage with Barbe de Hochberg, of the house of Baden. Two 
of their daughters became nuns. Their grandson, Louis de 
Chastellux, first belonged to the household of his aunt, the Duch- 
ess of Longueville, but afterwards had several appointments at 
the court of Henry II. He restored the church of St. Andre-en- 
Morvand, and, like so many of his family, made a foundation for 
a perpetual service there. He had the heart of his deceased 
wife, Jeanne de La Roere, deposited in the choir in 1549. When 
this old church was repaired in 1864 the cognizance of the house 
of Chastellux, as seigneur du clocher, was found each side of the 
door, with the date of 1101. The entrance is through an old 
porch of the twelfth century, with rude carvings around it. This 
church, a monument of the piety of the sires of Chastellux, 
stands on the culminating point of the village of St. Andre, which 
is picturesquely seated on a hill nearly surrounded by the Cure 
and the Chaloire, which unite at its base ; the former flowing 
calmly out of a narrow ravine bordered by hills that rise almost 
perpendicularly six hundred feet, and sweeping with a deep bend 
around the height on which the village is built. St. Andr6 was 
one of the five parishes belonging to the comt6 of Chastellux, 
and all the inhabitants owed their lord military service and 
were under his civil jurisdiction. 

Oliver, son of Louis de Chastellux, was one of the most dis- 
tinguished men of the race. Though a sincere Catholic, he early 
joined the party of Henry of Navarre, and was made governor 


of O16ron and Arnay, on account of which Catherine de' Medici 
made complaints to his father. After his father's death he went 
to Auxerre, attended by Saladin de Montmorillon and a crowd 
of other lords, to take possession of the canonicate at the cathe- 
dral of St. Etienne, given his ancestor, Claude de Beauvoir. He 
did not lose sight of his own castle, but added to its defences, 
and built the Tour d'Amboise, so called in honor of Marguerite, 
his wife. After Henry of Navarre succeeded to the crown he 
made Oliver de Chastellux governor of Cravant on account of 
his military services and his fidelity to his cause. As Francois 
de Beaucaire, abbot of Regny, and all his monks had joined the 
League, they were punished by the confiscation of their tithes 
and revenues in Morvand, which were given to Oliver de Chas- 
tellux, as well as their seigneurie of Charbonnieres. But the 
latter, at least, seems to have been restored to the monks, for we 
find it belonging to them in 1740. Of Oliver's children three be- 
came nuns. One was abbess of Crisenon, and when the island 
was invaded by the Duke of Mayenne, and the nuns were obliged 
to flee, she, in the disguise of a peasant, took refuge at Chastellux 
till her father routed the duke. His daughter Helen became a 
nun of the Visitation at Moulins during the lifetime of St. Jane de 
Chantal, who died there, but she was afterwards placed at the 
head of the convent established at Avallon in 1646. 

The tomb of Oliver de Chastellux may still be seen in the 
church of Quarre-les-Tombes. 

Hercules, son of Oliver, was created Count of Chastellux by 
Louis XIII. in recognition of his father's services. He himself, 
however, stood high in the king's favor and received the ap- 
pointments of chamberlain, governor of Cravant, etc. His piety 
is shown by his foundations in the churches of St. Lazare and of 
the Minimes at Avallon. He also built the chapel cf the Virgin 
in the village of Pont, near Chastellux, where he founded a Mass 
and Vesper service on all the festivals of Our Lady. He was 
buried at St. Lazare in Avallon, as well as his wife, Charlotte de 
Blaigny. Their tombs, which stood on the left side of the choir, 
disappeared in some of the civil disturbances, but were found in 
1 86 1 among the rubbish of the church, and placed in the tower 
of the Horloge at Chastellux. Of his nine children two became 
nuns. His son Cesar Philippe served under the Duke d'Enghien. 
Count Cesar, at his accession, did not neglect taking possession 
of the canonicate at Auxerre, hereditary in the family. The 
counts of Chastellux, on these semi-ecclesiastical occasions, wore 
a singular costume. He was booted and spurred, and wore a 


surplice over his secular attire, with a baldric over the surplice. 
He had gloves on both hands, and an amice on his left arm. In 
his right hand he held a plumed hat, and he had a falcon on his 
wrist. He appeared in full chapter thus attired, and took his 
oath of fidelity to the church of Auxerre, promising to defend 
its rights and to abstain from injuring it. Then the canons con- 
ducted him to the choir by the grand entrance and seated him in 
his stall. When Louis XIV. came to Auxerre in 1683 the Count 
of Chastellux appeared before him, as canon of the church, in the 
above-mentioned costume. Some of the courtiers laughed at its 
singularity, but the king instantly put a stop to their jests, saying 
that any of them ought to feel honored to fill such an office. 
This count founded, for the repose of his parents' souls, a Mass 
in perpetuity in each of the five parish churches in his county, in 
which all of the five cures were to take part, and each one give, 
in his turn, a dinner to the rest. After his death his heart was 
deposited in the church of the Cordeliers at Vezelay. 

His third son, Guillaume Antoine de Chastellux, was intended 
for the ecclesiastical profession, but, after the death of his two 
older brothers, succeeded to the family estates. He was appoint- 
ed governor of Roussillon, and died at Perpignan in 1742. His 
wife was the daughter of Chancellor d'Aguesseau. Their chil- 
dren all distinguished themselves. Cesar Francois, the oldest, in- 
herited the county of Chastellux. The youngest, Jean Francois, 
took part in the wars in Germany, and afterwards came to the 
United States with the Count de Rochambeau. At his return to 
France he published a book entitled Voyages dans r Ame'rique Sep- 
tentrionale, and was chosen member of the French Academy. He 
seems to have unfortunately imbibed the spirit of the so-called phi- 
losophy of the period, but could not help paying now and then a 
tribute to the church so dear to his forefathers. In 1787 he mar- 
ried the daughter of General Plunkett, an Irish officer in the 
Austrian service, whom he met at the watering-place of Spa. 
He died the next year, leaving one son, Alfred de Chastellux, 
who became member of the Chamber of Deputies from Yonne, 
and was appointed chevalier d'honneur to the Princess Adelaide of 
Orleans. His mother was, from the time of her marriage, maid 
of honor to the Duchess of Orleans, mother of King Louis Phi- 
lippe, and followed her to prison and exile. She died in 1815, 
greatly regretted by the poor. Henri Cesar, Count of Chastel- 
lux after the death of his father, Cesar Frangois, was appointed 
chevalier d'honneur to the Princesses Victoire and Adelaide, aunts 
of Louis XVI., and his wife was one of their ladies of honor. 


The count had the spirit of ancient knighthood, and with his 
family followed them into exile. After these princesses found a 
grave at Trieste he returned to France ; but his castle of Chas- 
tellux having been devastated by the revolutionists, he went to 
Normandy, where he died. His son Cesar Laurent was worthy 
of his descent. In his boyhood he shared his father's exile, and 
began his education at Rome, where he embraced the career of 
arms. He became afterwards an officer in the .French army un- 
der Louis XVI II., and took part in the war with Spain in 1823. 
He was subsequently made a peer of France. After the revolu- 
tion of 1830 he retired to his estates in Morvand, where he made 
great efforts to ameliorate the condition of the laboring classes. 
He restored the castle of Chastellux and the parish church, 
and built a parsonage on land he gave for the purpose, beyond 
which the countess established a school in 1846, kept by the 
Sisters of the Cross of St. Andrew. In the year 1849 ne gave 
seven acres of land near Quarre-les-Tombes for the monastery of 
Sainte Marie de la Pierre-qui-Vire. This originally belonged to 
the Benedictines, being part of the land given the abbey of Notre 
Dame de Regny in 1186 by Regnier de Chastellux, in gratitude 
for which the monks sent him two hundred lambs, a palfrey, and 
ten sous every year. The name of Pierre-qui-Vire is derived 
from a granite dolmen, formerly believed to turn on its base 
three times every day at the noontide hour. It stands on a rock 
blackened by time, half buried in the earth, in the midst of a vast 
forest, the silence and wild solitude of which were then only 
broken by the torrent of the Trinclin pouring along the foot of 
the cliff on which the monastery is now built. Near by is a time- 
honored fountain of the Virgin. When the monks went to take 
possession of this secluded spot in 1850 four thousand people 
accompanied them across the forests. Their monastery forms a 
striking feature of this woodland scene. Near by they have 
erected a solemn Way of the Cross in the open air, which you 
follow through the cliffs from the bridge of the Gue d'Arfant to 
the old dolmen among the oaks once sacred to the Druids, on 
which a colossal statue of Our Lady is now enthroned. The 
place once more, as in the middle ages, is part of the dower of 



THE " In Memoriam " of Mr. Tennyson has called forth the 
greatest display of the varied gifts of his wealthy imagination. 
It contains more sentences that will live as classical than any 
other poem written in this century, and perhaps more than all 
his other productions together. In no one of his poems are 
clustered so many sure marks of his poetical genius. Though 
Mr. Tennyson comes far short of the ideal, still he shows more 
the workings of a Christian mind than any other modern poet of 
notable celebrity, either in England or the United States. His 
muse rises to the highest he has been taught to believe or feel 
as a Christian, and oftentimes it takes its flight far beyond that. 
" In Memoriam " is no pagan threnodiac wail over death. 

Appreciating to the extent of our feeble capacity this remark- 
able product of his genius, we cannot, while admiring as we read 
it, help noticing how often the poet's muse fails to reach the height 
he might easily have gained not because of poverty of his 
poetical gifts, with which he is so lavishly endowed, but for lack 
of that full-orbed faith which is not his, and the brightness of its 
light, which would have brought the sadly missed truths within 
the horizon of his poetic vision and have added to the greatness 
of the poet. But ours is not to depict the poet of the coming 
age an age of increased light of faith and knowledge, when an- 
other Dante, in presenting the drama of divine action in human 
events, will " make music as before, but vaster." 

Let it not be supposed that we are in search after profound 
theological lore, or after philosophical proofs strongly knit to- 
gether, in these singularly tender songs poured forth from the 
soul of a truly great poet ; though it would require an ampler 
knowledge of these satisfactorily to settle the grave problems 
which he not only frequently touches upon but often most deeply 
stirs. We are content, however, to look at his poems from his 
own standpoint, and accept the estimate he himself has placed 
upon his work ; which estimate does him, in our opinion, less than 
scanty justice, and hardly justifies the bringing forth into so 
bright a light as he sometimes certainly does questions from the 
profoundest depths of the soul, and then to utter not seldom in 


reply " wild and wandering cries." Far be from us the wish 
to transform the poet into a theologian or a philosopher. Let 
the poet be a poet, not less but more ; such is our heart's desire. 
But if, in an age of doubt, the poet's vision of truth be too clear 
or his speech too firm, he loosens his hold upon it, and will he not 
fail in his highest work ? Let, then, his sight be dim and his lips 
stammer, so that his muse captivates men's minds to a higher 
range of thought and sways their hearts to a nobler love. It is in 
this sense the following canto may be accepted as an explanation 
of his purpose and as an excuse for his occasionally faltering 

" If these brief lays, of Sorrow born, 
Were taken to be such as closed 
Grave doubts and answers here proposed, 
Then these were such as men might scorn : 

" Her care is not to part and prove ; 

She takes, when harsher moods remit, 
What slender shade of doubt may flit, 
And makes it vassal unto love : 

"And hence, indeed, she sports with words, 
But better serves a wholesome law, 
And holds it sin and shame to draw 
The deepest measure from the chords : 

" Nor dare she trust a larger lay, 
But rather loosens from the lip 
Short swallow-flights of song, that dip 
Their wings in tears, and skim away." 

In the proem of this series of elegies, after the invocation begin- 
ning with the line : 

" Strong Son of God, immortal Love," 
he tells us in the third stanza : 

" Thou madest man, he knows not why." 

Is this so? What means the Incarnation of the " Son of God," 
and nineteen centuries of light of his divine teachings? But, 
thanks to this light, man does know why, and so does the poet, 
and he tells us in the very same canto plainly the why : 

"Our wills are ours, we know not how; 
Our wills are ours, to make them thine." 


Surely, he who can truly say, The will of God and mine are one, 
has attained the height of perfection. 

" Our wills are ours, to make them thine." 

How can we say more, do more, or aim at higher than this? 
How, then, can the poet say, 

"Thou madest me, I know not why" ? 

Does he mean that man's destiny is a secret locked within his 
Creator's bosom, and so sublime and noble is the end for which 
God made man that, until he please to reveal it, man cannot 
know why ? Perhaps. Or does his doubt settle about the motive 
of God in the creation of man ? which the Angel of the Schools 
teaches was God's love for his own goodness, that is by its na- 
ture diffusive and lives out of itself. The poet's meaning is not 
clear. Again, in the same canto he teaches : 


" Merit lives from man to man, 
And not from man, O Lord, to thee." 

A poet, when he dogmatizes, unless he be inspired like David, 
the singer of Israel, or equipped as Dante, creates only confusion 
and fails in truth. For grant that merit exists from man to man, 
since they stand on a footing of equality ; but why should not 
merit also exist " from man to God," when it has pleased God to 
become man, and to raise man, by making him by adoption his 
child and a participator in his nature, to a certain equality with 
himself : 

" Here is the source, 
Whence cause of merit in you is deserved."* 

Otherwise how shall we read the cheering words addressed by 
Christ to man : " Well done, good and faithful servant ; enter 
thou into the joy of thy Lord ! " " He that glorieth," so runs 
the text of Holy Writ, " may -glory in the Lord." To esteem 
ourselves less than God has made us is not humility. 

It would be a wrong done to our author if we harbored the 
thought that he were insensible to the shortcomings of his song. 
Listen to an open confession in the last stanzas of this prefatial 
poem, and in its last line the breathing of a lowly and most sub- 
lime prayer : 

* Dante. 


" Forgive these wild and wandering cries, 
Confusions of a wasted youth ; 
Forgive them where they fail in truth, 
And in thy wisdom make me wise." 

We know not in what writer of our day one can find so often 
and so perfectly expressed the different states of the soul com- 
mon to men who fain would be Christians in this sceptical age, 
and the thoughts and feelings to which these give birth, as in 
the poems of Alfred Tennyson. The basis of his wide-spread 
popularity is real and well deserved, and men of competent in- 
telligence look upon him as the prince of poets of the nineteenth 
century. He has his religious doubts doubts deep and strong 
and what earnest man of this age has not, or has not had his mind 
clouded with like doubt? We speak not now to Catholics ; for 
them to be tormented with such doubts is no mark of earnest- 
ness or intelligence, but of delinquency or of culpable mismanage- 
ment. He, too, does not hesitate to bring his dismal thoughts to 
full utterance and say : 

" My will is bondsman to the dark ; 
I sit within a helmless bark." 

But he does not publish them boastfully or recklessly like 

" Some wild poet, when he works 
Without a conscience or an aim." 

His voice of sincere confession of darkness usually issues into 
an earnest cry for the light : 

" But what am I ? 
An infant crying in the night : 
An infant crying for the light : 
And with no language but a cry." 

Alas ! where will this soul, whose " will is bondsman to the dark," 
find the light ? Will the muse of a soul baptized like a neo-pagan 
one presume to mock us and say : 

" All my hurts 

My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk, 
A quest of river-grapes, a mocking thrush, 
A wild-rose, or rock-loving columbine, 
Salve my worst wounds." * 

Not so ; this would be making Nature more (which is false) not 
less divine (which she is) than man. Without disparaging her 

* Emerson, " Musketaquid." 


precious gifts, our poet, urged by a wound which no spade, or 
bird, or flower has the virtue to heal, exclaims : 

" And all the phantom, Nature, stands 
With all the music in her tone, 
A hollow echo of my own 
A hollow form with empty hands." 

Nor can the sorrow of his loss be drowned in forgetfulness born 
of commonplace : 

" One writes, that ' Other friends remain,' 
That ' Loss is common to the race ' 
And common is the commonplace, 
And vacant chaff well meant for grain." 

" And what to me remains of good ? 
"And unto me no second friend." 

But what mysterious power upholds the poet ? He dimly ex- 
presses it : 

" My Arthur ! whom I shall not see 
Till all my widow'd race be run." 

It is not nature, or the Stoic's lesson got by rote, but the sweet 
hope of meeting his friend, and their mutual recognition in the 
ampler future life, that secretly sustains the almost vacant long- 
ings of his soul in its bitter grief at his present loss, as we shall 
see. Let the poet recount the steps by which this height was 
reached. On Christmas eve, he tells us, 

"Then echo-like our voices rang ; 

We sung, though every eye was dim, 
A merry song we sang with him 
Last year : impetuously we sang : 

" We ceased : a gentler feeling crept 
Upon us : surely rest is meet : 
' They rest,' we said, ' their sleep is sweet,' 
And silence follow'd, and we wept." 

To know that the loved ones who are gone before us sleep 
to know this and nothing more is a comfort, but a very slender 
comfort : a comfort too slight to still the tenderest and deepest 
yearnings of the soul and the poet says properly : 

"And silence follow'd, and we wept." 
VOL. xxxiv. 14 


On this holy eve a diviner faith solicits their souls, and brings to 
perfect birth nobler and more comforting truths, which find their 
way to their lips and expression in his song : 

" Our voices took a higher range ; 

Once more we sang : They do not die 
Nor lose their mortal sympathy, 
Nor change to us, although they change ; 

" ' Rapt from the fickle and the frail 

With gather'd power, yet the same, 
Pierces the keen seraphic flame 
From orb to orb, from veil to veil.' " 

Well may the poet, after such a spontaneous and triumphant 
outburst of divine faith, conclude, not with silence and in tears, 
but in nobler tones of joy which until now has not been heard 
from his mournful muse : 

" Rise, happy morn ! rise, holy morn ! 

Draw forth the cheerful day from night : 
O Father ! touch the east, and light 
The light that shone when Hope was born." 

Other things may be gathered from this and other poems of 
Mr. Tennyson, some favorable, and markedly so as displaying Ca- 
tholic instincts, and some things vague, doubtful, and at times, but 
rarely, uncatholic. Uncatholic we do not say unchristian, for 
it can be said, in excuse, where there are no defined limits or cri- 
terion of divinely revealed truth, unless it be what each one in 
his own eyes sees fit to hold, who can say where Christianity be- 
gins or where it ends ? But we note distinctly, and at the same 
time with thanks, that, unlike our Bryant, Longfellow, Emerson, 
Whittier, because better instructed or less swayed by bias, per- 
haps, he does not allow himself to indulge, as we regret to say 
they do, in circulating oft repeated and as oft refuted calumnies 
against the Catholic faith or the church. We do not remember 
one instance in contemporary non-Catholic poets of their fear- 
lessly stepping forward, as he does, against fanaticism, in favor 
of both. Acknowledging in the " St. Simeon Stylites " of the 
poet a certain appreciation of much of what is Catholic, neverthe- 
less the attempt of his muse to depict in proper colors the cha- 
racteristics of a Catholic saint is, in our opinion, a failure. This 
is not to be wondered at, for Christianity, as he has been led to 

1 8 8 1 .] TENN YSON* s l I !N MEMORIAM. " 211 

understand it, furnishes him with no type of human sanctity by 
which he could interpret his superhuman excellence. By super- 
human we do not mean non-human, because superhuman, in a 
Catholic sense, means supremely human, divinely human. 

Though we have not said the thousandth part of what we 
have to say on this singular poem, and have but touched upon 
a few of the elegies which it contains, we should not do their 
author justice if we passed without noting the fact that he does 
not hesitate to smite, with all his strength and scorn, the oppo- 
nents of Christianity, whether pantheist or atheist. Here is one 
of his blows aimed at the latter foes : 

" I trust I have not wasted breath : 
I think we are not wholly brain, 
Magnetic mockeries ; not in vain, 
Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death ; 

" Not only cunning casts in clay : 

Let Science prove we are, and then 
What matters Science unto men, 
At least to me ? I would not stay. 

" Let him, the wiser man who springs 
Hereafter, up from childhood shape 
His action like the greater ape, 
But I was born to other things." 

Our pleasant task is ended, though it has not been the more 
genial one to cull the flowers and precious gems that spring luxu- 
riantly on every page and in almost every line of these songs. 
Ours has been rather to appreciate, enjoy, and admire these gift's, 
as far as our capacity allowed, in our solitude, and to touch 
lightly and mostly on a few points when we have felt envious 
that he who had done so much for us should not have done, 
what he might have done, all. 

212 KELT AND TEUTON. [Nov., 


ONE of the most widely received ideas of the day is that 
"English" and "Anglo-Saxon" are synonymous terms. For 
many reasons an inquiry into the validity of this opinion would 
prove interesting. It so happens that the modern Irish have 
never been entrusted, in Ireland, with self-government ; it so hap- 
pens that the English have built up in England a great and sub- 
stantially free state which has challenged the admiration and 
hatred of the world. Some admire the government ; others do 
not. De Lolme devoted a book to showing the working of the 
constitution ; Ledru-Rollin had nothing but condemnation for 
what he regarded as an unmitigated oligarchy. However, the 
many grand qualities of the English people are admitted on all 
hands. It would be folly to deny them. Whence came this peo- 
ple ? The average answer of the present day would be, " from 
the Teuton race." 

Is the Kelt, then, by nature an inferior being ? Compare 
England with Ireland, we are told. The comparison is, of 
course, to the advantage of England. But is it fair? 

To be fair we should see, not what the Irish as a people are 
to-day, but the best development they reached in an independent 
state. They touched the highest point, most likely, just before 
the invasion of the Danes and three hundred years before the 
coming of the English. At that time they possessed as many of 
tbe comforts of every-day life as the English of the same epoch. 
If we consult the candid historians of each country we shall find 
that their houses, their food, their system of agriculture, and the 
few rudiments of the mechanical arts they had attained to were on 
some points better, and on some worse, in the respective states. 
Look, too, at the Brehon code of laws, which had existed among 
the Irish from time immemorial, modified by the introduction of 
Christianity, but substantially the same. Those laws embodied 
a gentleness which men living under a harsher system have al- 
ways struggled for and are just now obtaining. While in this 
respect freedom from capital punishments they will compare 
favorably with the code in force in England one hundred years 
ago, it also testifies to the character of the people in a more im- 
portant way. In an independent state harsh laws. are the out- 

1 88 1.] KELT AND TEUTON. 213 

come of evil living. Now, while the face of Irish history presents 
a constant succession of crimes, in private life they must "have 
been very different, else mild laws would have been insufficient 
to sustain the fabric of society. The missionary spirit of the isl- 
and, and its fame as the home of learning and religion, during 
that epoch of history, are too well known to need any comment. 
Taking all these facts into consideration, it would not be far 
from right to say that the civilization of the Irish was not infe- 
rior to the civilization of the English of the same age.* 

That civilization did not abide. When the English came they 
found the country in great disorder. The Danes had been ex- 
pelled, and the sparks that had been trampled down were begin- 
ning to glow again. But the incessant invasions of three hun- 
dred years had left marks not to be easily effaced. However, it 
does not fall within the scope of the present paper to discuss the 
causes and nature of that decline. All that has to be shown is 
that a high comparative degree of civilization was once attained 
by the Keltic race in an independent nation. 

To say that this race was proud, factious, tribal, and often 
engaged in civil strife is merely to describe the state of that 
epoch in all lands. The same objection might have been urged 
by Xerxes against the old Greeks. It argues no failure in gov- 
ernmental ability, except one fatal in an age of force. During 
a civil war a foreign power has an opportunity to subjugate the 
country. And this was the actual result in the case of the Irish. 
It happened that a neighboring power England was strong 
and united, while the Irish were weak and divided ; hence the 
present relations of those countries. 

But suppose that no foreign power had interposed, or sup- 
pose that the Irish had united, as they had done after many years 
in the case of the Danes, and that they had expelled the hand.ful 
of English who were gaining a foothold in the land. Can we not 
conceive a fair civilization growing out of the beginnings that 
then existed ? If it had thus developed, with only the normal in- 
fluences of other nations acting upon it, it would have been a 
singular, as Mr. Froude justly says, but nevertheless a better 
development for the Irish themselves than that which they have 
been forced through. Fatal as civil war is, it is better than con- 
quest by a foreign power. If Darius had conquered Greece, and 
thus barred off that independent interval between his invasion 

* Consult Cusack's History of Ireland. This work is valuable especially for the reason 
that it brings into the compass of a popular handbook many of the researches into the civiliza- 
tion of the ancient Irish. 

214 KELT AND TEUTON. [Nov., 

and the coming of the Romans, the name of Greece would have 
been little more familiar to us than the names of Persia's appen- 
dages. A distracted France is better than a dead Poland. 

Let us leave these speculations on the what-might-have-been, 
and turn to actual facts. England is amply recognized as a 
great nation, and the greatness of that nation is generally re- 
ferred to Teutonic sources. Writers who differ on thousands of 
other points are all agreed upon this. And those English histo- 
rians Mr. Freeman and his younger followers, Canon Stubbs 
and Mr. Green whom the world credits as the best constitu- 
tional authorities on the history of their country have given 
a weighty import to a vague popular belief. What is here said 
is not meant to be derogatory to Mr. Freeman in any other 
respect than as to his attitude towards this theory of race. In- 
deed, on questions involving pure matters of history such as the 
actions of men in this or that age he has exhibited a notable im- 
partiality. By a close study of chronicles and state papers he 
has cleared English history of many errors and hasty false- 
hoods. But the time has now come when the scientific spirit of 
the age questions the supreme authority of old chronicles ; and 
the conflict between what those old chronicles say and the con- 
clusions of anthropology is so sharp and violent on this matter 
of the ancestry of the English people that one or other must be 

The opponents of the Teuton theory have not hesitated to at- 
tack it even on its favorite ground. When the chronicle of Gildas, 
on which so much reliance is placed, is shown to be untrust- 
worthy, a shock is administered to the whole line of annalists. 
And now, in addition to Dr. Nichols' laborious work, The Pedi- 
gree of the English People, in which the above result was obtained, 
we have Mr. Skene, in his Keltic Scotland, showing, on purely 
documentary evidence, that the Teutons do not predominate in 
that section of the island. But the field here is so vast that it will 
be many years before any sweeping conclusion can be formed. 
Nevertheless, this aspect of the question will not be neglected ; 
and as the historical inquiry will seem more valid to many than 
scientific observation of existing peoples, we may expect to see 
works of this kind appear from time to time. They will be con- 
firmatory, at all events. 

Now let us see what the scientists have to say upon the sub- 
ject. Anthropology, the science that divides races by noting 
their physical peculiarities, is now admitted by the best philolo- 
gists to be a more decided test than language. Chronicles upon 

1 88 1.] KELT AND TEUTON. 215 

this subject are probably weaker than either, on account of their 
inherent nature. Every one will have to form his own estimate 
when they come into conflict with anthropology. The task I 
have set myself is merely to show what anthropology reveals as 
to the ancestry of the English people. 

Professor Huxley is a writer whose philosophical opinions 
have deservedly found few followers ; but as a scientific authority 
he will not be disputed by many. More than nine years ago he 
showed that the population of western Europe may be broadly 
divided into two types, the dark and the fair. It had till then 
been popularly supposed that the Kelts were dark. But he 
pointed out that all ancient authors were agreed that Kelt and 
Teuton were alike fair, and it then remained for him to show 
whence came the dark race. But of this dark type there are two 
races, perfectly distinct from each other. One the Silurians 
have long and narrow faces and heads, high noses, and frequently 
retreating chins and foreheads ; the other the Ligurians have 
short and round heads and faces, small and fleshy noses, and fore- 
heads round and inclined to bulge. The first are found among the 
Basques on the slopes of the Pyrenees, as the Silures in Wales, 
and were generally considered to form the dark stock of Britain. 
This view is partially adopted by Mr. Grant Allen.* The Ligu- 
rians were estimated by M. de Boisjoslin in his work, Les Peuples 
de la France, to form ten millions of the French. They have lost 
their original speech, but the name is preserved in the Ligurian 
Alps and the river Loire, formerly Ligur. The Logrians were 
a British tribe at the time of the Saxon invasion ; and the name 
Liogairne occurs in Ireland. These Logrians were most likely 
identical with the continental Ligurians. Professor Phillips, 
quoted in Mr. Grant Allen's article, describes the exact dark type 
of the race, which he found in Yorkshire and some of the eastern 
counties. The conjecture has been hazarded that they occur 
most often in the east, while the Silurians or Basques are chiefly 
found in the west. Mr. Larminie is inclined to add another race, 
but this is rather hypothetical. The Mongolian or Eskimo type, 
descended from the Cave-men of the glacial epoch, are too far off 
for anything certain to be known about them, and the present 
complications of the British race are quite sufficient. 

Mr. Larminie shows how these facts bear upon the Teuton 
theory in such concise sentences that I cannot do better than 
quote him : 

* Fortnightly Review, October, 1880. 

216 KELT AND TEUTON. [Nov., 

"... We see that the Britons were composed of at least three races, 
two of them dark, the Silurians and Ligurians, and one fair, the Kelts. Mr. 
Freeman tells us that these people were exterminated by Teutons in the 
fifth and sixth centuries throughout the greater part of England. But Pro- 
fessor Huxley is still able to divide our population into two principal types, 
the dark and the fair. Now, if the Teutons, who were undeniably fair, com- 
pletely destroyed the earlier races, how comes it that there is a dark type 
in England at all ? The dark types, by their presence amongst us, tell the 
story of their own survival, and testify to a fact which it might otherwise 
have been hard to prove. The true Kelt, being himself fair, can with diffi- 
culty be distinguished from the Teuton in our existing population ; but the 
dark Briton having survived, we cannot suppose that the fair Briton per- 
ished ; so that while the whole of our dark stock is non-Teutonic, so also is 
perhaps one-half of our fair stock, while only the remaining half of the 
latter is really of Teutonic descent." * 

The word Keltic is now used to designate the composite pre- 
Saxon race. With this understanding Mr. Grant Allen, in the 
article already quoted, has been able, by studying the English 
people as they are, to map off the Keltic area of England as 
follows : 

In the southwest it extends along the southern coast far 
enough to include Hampshire. 

Many west and west-midland counties are either Keltic or 
half-Keltic in blood. 

The important northwestern counties are chiefly peopled by 

In addition to the original foundation of Keltic population, 
the western counties have received continual reinforcements of 
the same element from Wales. Also, into the great manufactur- 
ing towns of the north, and into London, there has flowed a con- 
stant stream of Kelts from Wales, Ireland, and the highlands of 
Scotland. He estimates that the population of London is re- 
cruited to the extent of thirty per cent, from English counties, 
such as Devon and Somerset, that are intensely Keltic. 

Mr. Larminie brings philology and history to fortify the 
position of the scientists : 

" It is clear that the Teutonic conquest of these islands was much less 
complete than the previous Keltic conquest. In the earliest times of 
which we know anything the Keltic speech had penetrated into every cor- 
ner of Britain and Ireland, and had completely driven out the earlier 
tongues. The races, however, who spoke those tongues had not been de- 
stroyed. Now, English, in spite of its advantages as the language of a great 
civilized empire, has but recently replaced Keltic in Cornwall, has as yet 

* Gentleman's Magazine, February, 1881. 

i88i.] KELT AND TEUTON. 217 

failed to establish- itself in many parts of Scotland and Ireland, and has 
hardly gained ground at all in Wales. In connection with these facts let 
us note at what a late period Wales was finally conquered, the Saxons even 
under Egbert being unable to accomplish the task. But if all England up 
to the Welsh mountains had been occupied by a homogeneous Teutonic 
population, can we believe that Wales would not have been at once over- 
whelmed, and that the Keltic name and language would not have been 
completely obliterated ? The Saxons were evidently not strong enough 
really to colonize the western half of England ; they were able only to con- 
quer it and occupy detached positions sufficient for that purpose. With 
regard to the west generally, we may sum up by saying, in Professor Hux- 
ley's words, that it is probably more Keltic, as a whole, than Ireland itself."* 

Assuming, as we have now abundant right to do, that the 
ethnological topography is to a certain extent settled, we may 
pursue the inquiry by examining what each section of the British 
Empire has contributed towards building up the fabric of its 
greatness. I may be met at the outset by the objection that, no 
matter what part of England we take as an illustration, Teuton 
blood has supplied the brain and energy which went into the 
creation of her wealth and mind. Why ? Certainly the original 
Saxon has not achieved much in his own country. In truth, no 
reason can be given. And ethnology is a vain study, if the con- 
clusions of anthropologists can be overruled by such an empirical 

In war, both by sea and land, the Scotch and Irish are allow- 
ed to be unsurpassed by any other nations. The northwestern 
counties, in manufacture ; the west, including Liverpool, in com- 
merce ; the southwest, extending along the southern coast to 
Hampshire, in agriculture all these represent the energy and en- 
terprise of the Kelt in those respective spheres of human en- 

This, in the light of Professor Huxley's remarks, is so obvious 
that it need not be dwelt upon. But how about that widest 
field for the work of the human brain which, now that it has such 
extensive development, is also held to be the highest? I mean 
literature. Can the Kelt hold his own with the Saxon here ? 

The answer hitherto has been, no. The Kelt, it was said, was 
able to make sporadic efforts of great brilliancy. In song- writ- 
ing, for instance, the Kelts were allowed the highest mark. The 
best song-writers in English literature were born in Scotland and 
Ireland. But when the Kelt ventured into the more continuous 
and grander form of the epic and the drama his endurance 

* Gentleman's Magazine, February, 1881. 

218 KELT AND TEUTON. [Nov., 

failed. The reason alleged is the lack of force in mental cha- 
racter. Is this so ? May not the absence of great works of art 
in Scotland and Ireland be accounted for on much humbler and 
better comprehended grounds ? Keltic France possesses such 
works. Therefore the absence of them in Scotland and Ireland 
cannot be attributed to any serious defect in mental character. 
The true cause of barrenness was want of demand. The drama 
had no national capital in either Scotland or Ireland to exhibit 
itself in ; and both the epic and the drama would have proved 
too ponderous works for countries always struggling for their 
rights. Subject countries have never produced epics and dramas. 
The necessities of their situation and the nature of their exis- 
tence straiten the national efforts at expression to the short 
and stirring song. Subject countries have produced the most 
and the best song-writers. Let us now examine whether, under 
more favorable circumstances, the Kelt was able to produce great 
works of an abiding character. 

The apotheosis of Anglo-Saxonism is probably reached by M. 
Taine in his English Literature. And it is rather singular to no- 
tice, in this connection, how little of the Anglo-Saxon talk is done 
by true Anglo-Saxons. Professor Huxley and Mr. Matthew Ar- 
nold, who strenuously combat the idea of Teuton superiorit}^, 
are both true Anglo-Saxons ; while it is left for a Kelt like M. 
Taine to give the most continuous and emphatic expression to 
the theory. According to him, every eminent English author 
from Chaucer to Tennyson is but an insular development of 
Germanic forms of thought. How such a theory could prove 
palatable to the proud English is a mystery. It only concerns us, 
however, to ask, is it true ? 

If it is, then those authors must have been born in East Eng- 
land. Now, I have taken the trouble to make out a list of Eng- 
lish authors, selecting only those who produced a marked im- 
pression on the thought of their country. Taking the counties 
in which they were born as an indication of the prevailing stock 
from which they came, and of course including Scotland, Ireland, 
and Wales on the Keltic side of West England, East England 
was credited to the Teutons, and London was marked neutral. 
The result is this : the West has one hundred and eight, London 
thirty-four, and the East forty-nine. Or, again, let us take those 
authors who, in M. Taine's opinion, embodied the strongest es- 
sence of the Teuton spirit, and about whose great names he con- 
structs his whole book. 

Of these the West claims : Ben Jonson (Scotch parentage), 

1 88 1.] KELT AND TEUTON. 219 

Shakspere (Warwick), Joseph Addison (Wilts), Swift (Ireland), 
Henry Fielding (Somerset), Tobias Smollett (Scotland), Robert 
Burns (Scotland), Wordsworth (Cumberland), Byron (Scotland), 
Walter Scott (Scotland), Charles Dickens (Portsea), Thackeray 
(a Keltic name), Macaulay (Scotland), and Carlyle (Scotland). 

London has Chaucer, Milton (whose father came from an 
eastern family, but whose mother, as Dr. Johnson informs us, was 
Welsh), Defoe, and Pope. 

The East claims John Dryden (Northampton), Samuel Rich- 
ardson (Derby), and Alfred Tennyson (Lincoln). 

The above is the result, if we accept M. Taine as a critic who 
has taken pains to estimate correctly the merits of the men he 
dealt with, and has given them their true positions. Many will 
not be inclined to do so ; they will think he exalts some and 
passes over scores unjustly ; but however a candid man may look 
at it, he will find that the Keltic parts of England have at least 
contributed their share to the intellectual wealth of the country. 
In one department the Teutons can claim a just predominance : 
out of the thirty most famous theologians the East gave twenty, 
London four, and the West only six. 

If the Keltic theory is made out important results may be ex- 
pected. But we should be cautious in accepting one theory as 
against another, especially when that other is old and well estab- 
lished. And apart from the fact that no conclusive reply has yet 
come from the upholders of the Teuton theory, opposed to an- 
thropology will be found the still accredited chronicles, the great 
fact of language, and an idea which has become a popular tradi- 
tion. As to the objection on the score of language, among others 
Mr. Matthew Arnold has recently attempted to show the kinship 
between the forms of phrase and imagination to be found among 
the Kelts and in various English writers. But in this he was 
rather unfortunate, his results being not exactly in accordance 
with the results obtained by the anthropologists. And it should 
be understood that no arbitrary line can be drawn so as to de- 
signate this county Keltic and that Teutonic. The utmost that 
can be said, even accepting the scientific view, is that a predomi- 
nance of one or other is found. It will in the end be decided, in 
my opinion, that Kelt and Teuton enter into the existing popula- 
tion of the British Islands in something like equal quantities. At 
all events the Kelts, in asking a recognition at the hands of the 
Teutons, should not depreciate the merits of the latter. 

And the recognition which the Irish Kelts are seeking from 
their English brothers a recognition of their capacity for self- 


government will be hastened by the present agitation of the 
question in England. The misgovernment of Ireland has never 
had its root in any great want of justice in the English people 
a fact testified to by the frank admission of the iniquity of those 
seven hundred tyrannical years. The complacent assumption of 
superiority on the part of the English, by virtue of their sup- 
posed Teutonic descent, is the real cause. The Kelts, in their 
eyes, were an inferior people, not worthy of constitutional gov- 
ernment ; and though the strong hand was to be deprecated, it 
was the only means to keep them in order. But now, when we 
find that their thinkers are beginning to show them that this 
same despised Keltic race is most likely the prevailing element 
of the English people, their complacency will be mightily shaken 
and a kinder feeling will grow out of this result. A decided 
anti-Teutonic sentiment has for some time animated a large sec- 
tion of the English, as we may see by consulting such popular 
writers of the past as Cobbett, and they may be trusted to push 
the new Keltic theory into popularity. 


THE only portrait of Bourdaloue was taken after his death. 
The calm, placid face and closed eyes gave occasion to a tra- 
dition that he whom Lord Brougham considered the greatest 
preacher of modern times delivered his immortal sermons with 
the pose and the expression represented in the picture. The en- 
graving prefixed to Pere Brettoneau's edition of the Ouvrages of 
Bourdaloue has the motto : Et loquebar de testimoniis tuis in con- 
spectu regum, et non confundebar : " I spoke of thy statutes before 
kings, and I was not ashamed " an admirable summary of the 
career of the king of preachers and the preacher of kings. 

Louis Bourdaloue was born at Bourges, August 20, 1632, just 
eight years before the birth of Louis XIV., whose reign he 
chiefly was to immortalize ; for such is the severity of modern 
criticism that it is now held that of all the glories of the Augustan 
age of French literature only Bourdaloue and Moliere perma- 
nently abide. The fearful tests of time, change, novelty, fashion, 
enthusiasm, and indifference have been successively applied to 

1 88 1.] BOURDALOUE. 221 

the preacher and the dramatist, and both have survived them. 
Nor is criticism abashed at thus dividing the laurel between the 
priest and the player, for it judges only of the indestructible ele- 
ment in the works of each. Bourdaloue held very stringent 
views regarding the dramatic profession, and it is probably 
owing to these views and their fearless expression that the drama 
of the age of Louis XIV. was ennobled with the masterpieces of 
Corneille and Racine, and that comedy was taught that it might 
be laughable and at the same time pure. What criticism has 
chief regard to in Bourdaloue is the presence of pure intellec- 
tual power, dominating the imagination and the feelings, and 
shining with the steady lustre which we instinctively associate 
with the permanence of truth. In pure intellect Bourdaloue 
stands as the representative man of his era ; of sensibility, natural 
and spontaneous, Moliere is the master. 

It must be said in fairness that the judgment which assigns to 
Bourdaloue the highest place not only in the eloquence of the 
pulpit but in the oratory of modern times is an English judg- 
ment, or rather a legal decision, resulting from a,n .examination, 
criticism, and sifting which no other preacher, 4^, such', c&n stand. 
For it is manifestly trying to apply to a sermon '$fr& tests which 
hold good in regard to a merely theological thesfs.v A sermon is 
infinitely more than a dry, scientifically constr$et<i|3js's 1 ertation. 
The very nature of a sermon implies eloquence.- ,. It cannot be 
handled as a judicial opinion, or a paper read before a learned so- 
ciety, or an historical essay. Now, in the opinion of Brougham, 
this is the unique excellence of Bourdaloue : that he is supremely 
judicial, and yet of mighty eloquence. Lord Erskine approaches 
in this power the illustrious preacher of the Augustan age of 
France. Erskine is now acknowledged to have been the greatest 
advocate that ever addressed an English jury. Another point of 
resemblance between these two advocates for Bourdaloue was 
God's advocate is that there is no record of the manner in 
which they prepared their discourses. There is not a hint about 
Erskine's preparation, except that implied in his having always 
been ready. Bourdaloue preached for thirty-seven years, and, 
says La Bruyere, who spent twenty years in preparing his little 
book, the Caracteres, each sermon was better than the last. Yet 
during that time he was six hours daily in the confessional, had 
an attraction for attending sick-calls which amounted to a divine 
passion, and held intimate social relations with all the great men, 
authors, painters, and warriors, of his famous era. When did 
he study ? The quotations from the Fathers were made from 

222 BOURDALOUE. [Nov., 

memory, yet they have all been verified almost to the phrasing. 
There is material for a dozen sermons in almost every paragraph 
of his discourses, which are, nevertheless, marvels of unity. 
Even as we have his orations, it is clear that they are only out- 
lines and drafts. He had no models of that style of preaching 
which the modern pulpit owes to him. Before him the sacred 
chair had degenerated into a place for the reading of the pettiest 
moral essays. The Protestant Reformation and Erasmus had 
thrown ridicule upon the philosophy and the theology of the 
schools a ridicule the injustice and ignorance of which Bourda- 
loue demonstrated. 

It seems to us that a mighty fountain whence Bourdaloue 
drew his inspiration was the study of the Christian Fathers. His 
mind had an affinity to theirs. Most of us read the Fathers in 
a scrappy, unconnected way, perchance only for their doctrinal 
value in controversy. We limit our acquaintance with them to 
the extracts in a handbook of dogmatic theology. We know 
what they say about confession, or the Eucharist, or baptism ; but 
knowledge of this kind is of little use outside controversy, and 
even in that such half-knowledge is unavailing, as an opponent 
may place his " scrap " from patristic sources alongside of our 
scrap and confuse us. To realize what St. Cyril of Jerusalem 
taught about baptism or the Eucharist we must read at least the 
Catechism entire. To appreciate St. Cyril of Alexandria's witness 
to the divinity of our Lord we must study his commentary on 
St. John. We must read the whole Dialogue with Trypho to grasp 
the grand faith of St. Justin Martyr. And in proportion as we 
absorb the spirit of the Fathers we grow into a perception of the 
strength of Bourdaloue. That antique majesty is not the same as 
Athanasius', but akin to it. That wonderful analysis of text is 
Augustinian, and in the denunciation of sin we hear the voices 
of Ambrose and Chrysostom. But in all Bourdaloue never loses 
his own individuality. It is not Ambrose rebuking Theodosius, 
but Bourdaloue reproving Louis. It is not the corrupt court of 
Arian emperors that awakens the zeal of the new Chrysostom. 
His genius seizes the spirit and the principles of the Fathers and 
applies them to his own day. Bossuet read Homer before 
preaching. Bourdaloue needed nothing to fire his mind, which 
lived in calm. The Eagle of Meaux loved the tempest and storm 
of ideas, the mountain-peaks of thought, and the sublimities of 
imagery. The effects of Bossuet's eloquence were astonishment, 
rapture, applause ; of Massillon's, delight and tears ; but it was 
truer of Bourdaloue than of any other orator, before or since 

1 88 1.] BOURDALOUE. 22$ 

him, that " vanquished senates trembled as they praised." And 
the fear was that supreme one which comes from profound con- 
viction and unanswerable and inexorable demonstration. 

It is interesting to note that amid the variant opinions re- 
garding Bourdaloue in the most brilliant and intellectual court 
that Europe has ever seen, one impression was general that 
the great preacher was utterly indifferent to the opinion itself, 
whether it was flattering or the reverse. La Bruyere, who was 
a very keen man, saw that this indifference, whether arising from 
a moral or only a natural cause, was, in a man of Bourdaloue's 
transcendent powers, the simple result of his greatness. He was 
too great to be proud, or touchy, or heated about reputation. 
Bossuet had a severe struggle to keep himself from being carried 
away by his commanding fame. Fenelon's holy humility is pro- 
verbial. But Bourdaloue made no pretensions to humility or to 
extraordinary piety, though it was said truly of him that his life 
was the best refutation of the Provincial Letters. He was simply 
great. Courtly preachers never forgave the king for saying that 
he would rather hear an old sermon of Bourdaloue's than their 
new ones. And Louis was more than a mere king whose whims 
are laws. He fully deserves his title of Great. To Bourdaloue, 
in the truest and deepest sense, the king and court were only 
men and women with souls to save. Among his hearers were 
men destined to earthly immortality, but he thought only of the 
life everlasting. That handsome, grave gentleman who thrilled 
with every poetical allusion was, to Bourdaloue, Jean Racine, 
whose talents only imposed upon him a stricter inquiry when 
the divine Trader came. He spoke to Turenne and Conde, to 
Corneille and Boileau, to Puget and Claude Lorraine, to Colbert 
and D'Aguesseau, but to them as men, as sinners, and as Chris- 
tians. He had not one style for the poor and the unlettered, and 
another for the courtier and litterateur. He was as self-possessed 
in the pulpit of Versailles as on the altar of a village church. 
The blaze of diamonds, the pomp of arms, the splendor of king- 
ship, of art, and of letters ; the overpowering consciousness to a 
weak man that all this grandeur was forgotten in hearing him 
speak, and that he, for a season, was a king greater than Louis in 
the sway over mind, imagination, and feeling, never disturbed his 
great soul, which judged men and all things by the standard of 
the cross of Christ. Massillon burst into tears when he ascend- 
ed the pulpit to preach the funeral oration of the Grand Monarch, 
and beheld assembled the pride and glory of France. Flechier 
was so agitated at the obsequies of Turenne that he trembled 

224 BOURDALOUE. [Nov., 

violently. Cicero fainted when he tried to deliver his oration for 
Milo. With all his animal courage, amazing effrontery, and pre- 
tended sincerity, Luther could hardly articulate a word before an 
assembly of peaceful and gentle ecclesiastics who simply asked 
him to explain and defend his opinions. The serenity of Bour- 
daloue marked a soul that lived in a sphere above merely earthly 
interests. In the zenith of his fame which, indeed, never had a 
setting he longed for his cell and the companionship of his 
brethren of the Society of Jesus. But, as if God intended to 
mark him out as a constant teacher, he was refused permission to 
retire from the desk of truth, and he died, in almost the very 
exercise of his sacred ministry (May 13, 1704), after an illness of 
only two days. 

Cardinal Maury (Essai sur r Eloquence de la Chavie] does not 
assign the first rank to Bourdaloue, on account of the great 
Jesuit's departure from the French idea of oratory ; ably defended 
by the cardinal as consisting in a series of majestic and moving 
pictures. Cardinal Maury holds that the supreme triumph of 
eloquence is in stirring the passions, and he seems to hold that in 
bringing about this result the appeal to the imagination is the 
most availing. The astonishing effects of a powerful delineation 
are dwelt upon with great earnestness, and the student is coun- 
selled to cultivate all the imaginative power he has, aiding it by 
the study of poetry and other such literature. We readily grant 
that no one can be a great orator without a great imagination, 
but it seems to us that, however acceptable and even necessary 
this view may be to Frenchmen, it has never been the one insist- 
ed upon in English rhetorical training. What, therefore, Cardi- 
nal Maury regards as a defect in Bourdaloue is, in our eyes, a 
merit. We are fonder of proof, reasoning, calm illustration and 
argument than of grand pictures, which, if not done by a master- 
hand, are sure to seem daubs. Bourdaloue's sermon on the Pas- 
sion is universally admitted to be the highest uninspired utter- 
ance on that subject of which written record remains the very 
retort of the argument that the cross is a stumbling-block and a 
scandal, carrying St. Paul's declaration to its completest human 
expression. Now, tableaux of the Crucifixion do not permit that 
reach of thought. We have a most powerful portraiture of the 
Agony in the Garden by Cardinal Newman (unquestionably the 
most striking tableau, in Maury 's sense, in the sermon-literature 
of the English language), but it does not bring one's intellect into 
subjection, as Bourdaloue's Passion sermon, which avoids the de- 
tails of the Crucifixion in order to fix the mind, soul, heart, and 

1 88 1.] BOURDALOUE. 22$ 

the whole being on the two simple points the cross is the 
power and the wisdom of God. 

The French preachers excel in portraiture ; and as this grace 
of eloquence possesses a powerful attraction for the people, its 
sedulous cultivation is enjoined. The language itself, copious as 
it is, and fitted for the expression of the highest metaphysical 
speculation, lends itself most readily to description. It is pre- 
eminently the language of history and romance ; and if the form 
which its epic poetry is forced to take seems to us unfavorable 
to harmony, the poetical thought is there. Gibbon hesitated long 
whether to write his history in French or in English. The grace 
and expressiveness of their beautiful tongue appear equally in the 
romances and in the driest philosophy of the French. The 
charm of Malebranche's style won him more disciples than his 
logic. There is no people so quick as the French to understand 
and to appreciate an excellence foreign to their own. To read 
their translations is a pleasure not often given to the reading of 
the original, so true are they to the thought, so appreciative of 
the sentiment. It is this sympathy with intellect and sensibility 
that makes France, after all, the idol of the world, and her lan- 
guage the form in which every intellectual man secretly wishes 
his own thoughts to be enshrined. How tender and sympathe- 
tic in tone are even the criticisms that condemn ! How bravely, 
for example, does Cardinal Maury strive to render justice to the 
unspeakably dull sermons of Hugh Blair ! The Scotch divine 
knew too much about rhetoric to write naturally, and he ground 
out orations on the principle of a grammarian arranging senten- 
ces for parsing. 

The best sermon-literature of France, viewed as to style and. 
expression, thus runs in portraiture, panegyric, and imagery. 
What a noble gallery has not Bossuet painted ! These are ideal 
men and women transfigured by his imagination. How startling 
are the pictures of Massillon ! His description of Famine, as liv- 
ing and terrible, woke cries of horror in the church. All virtues 
and vices become living in this great school of impassioned ora- 
tory ; and we sigh over the departure of days when men of a 
simpler and more impressible heart listened to the preacher 
as their fathers looked upon the Vice of the old morality-plays.. 
But the Revolution is between Massillon and Montsabre. 

Now, Bourdaloue is the orator that faces this nineteenth 
century with the characteristics of the speaker for all time 
universality, the appeal to ultimate reasons, the why and where- 
fore of virtue and of vice, the grounds of faith, the power of 

VOL. xxxiv. 15 

226 BOURDALOUE. [Nov., 

the everlasting Gospel. We read the Esther and the Athalie of 
Racine, but do not relish them as so presented from the pul- 
pit. We love to contemplate the Blessed Virgin as discoursed 
on by the genius of Ventura, and we treasure more highly 
than the sweetest description of the Last Supper the work of 
Arnauld on the Perpetuity of the Church's Faith in the Eucharist. 

The mind of Bourdaloue, essentially analytic and Thomis- 
tic, treated metaphor and allegory only as subservient to a 
theme. They were scholia, which the proof of the proposition 
could dispense with. The text was made to yield up all its 
treasures, as in his sermon on St. John the Baptist's witness to 
Christ, which reads like an articulus of the Angelical's "Five 
things are necessary to a witness: faithfulness and disinterest- 
edness ; exact knowledge ; evidence of proofs ; zeal for the truth 
of the testimony ; constancy and firmness in giving the testi- 
mony." Such was the Baptist's witness to Christ. Our Sa- 
viour's witness to him regarded his greatness, the dignity of 
his ministry, the excellence of his preaching, the value of his 
baptism, the holiness of his life, and the austerity of his pen- 
ance. All these noble thoughts, each suggesting a sermon, 
are taken clearly and without effort from a few pages of the 
Gospel. An inferior preacher would content himself with a 
scenic representation of the Baptist in the wilderness, clothed 
with camel's hair and filled with memories and musings. Of 
course a powerful picture full of lights and shadows might 
be sketched, and no doubt an audience might be entranced 
with it, but its permanent value would be simply nil. St. John 
did not wish to be represented en pose. 

There is no better model of the style of general teaching 
which the present Sovereign Pontiff is desirous of having intro- 
duced, or, where introduced, perfected, than the style of Bour- 
daloue. The pulpit is to become the professor's desk, and the 
faithful the class ; and though we may feel a natural pang at put- 
ting aside our flowers and pictures, it is a call to labor in the 
deepest parts of the Garden that gives the flowers, and to build 
up the walls upon which our pictures are to hang. 



IN Abyssinia, erected into a vicariate in 1846, and the popu- 
lation of which is supposed to exceed three millions, the French 
Lazarists, or Vincentians, are prosecuting the work of evangeli- 
zation begun by that model missionary and true disciple of St. 
Vincent de Paul, the saintly Jacobis. After serving a rude ap- 
prenticeship to the apostolate Jacobis lived and labored as bishop 
of this country for twelve years, during which time he never 
wore the episcopal dress, but, clad in poor, tattered clothes, led 
a life of poverty and penury. He gathered into the fold twenty- 
five thousand souls, and left behind him, when he lay down to 
die upon this African land, the nucleus of a native ministry des- 
tined to supply the pressing spiritual needs of this renascent 

"There is a report spread through the whole kingdom of Hamara," 
wrote Jacobis in June, 1843, when he was simply prefect, "that at the time 
when Oobiay was sending to the Coptic patriarch for a bishop, a hermit, 
who had lived for a long time in the desert of Bajoolo, near Gallas-Egion, 
appeared at Gondar, saying that a bad bishop, sent by the Copts, would 
come into Abyssinia ; that, after him, another bishop would be given by 
Rome, and that this would be the time when Abyssinia would become 

He little thought, when penning these lines, that he himself was 
the future apostle of Abyssinia, thus, as it were, prophetically 
indicated, who was to inaugurate the restoration of Catholicity 
in this country, which in days long gone by was the refuge of the 
persecuted faithful hunted out of Egypt by the Arians, Euty- 
chians, and Nestorians, and which seemed to him reserved for 
some great religious events. 

This consummation so devoutly to be wished seems, however, 
rather far from its complete accomplishment. The present em- 
peror, Ati-Joannes, an astute prince, much dreaded but little 
loved by his subjects, whom he treats as slaves, is no friend to 
Europeans, whom he sets at defiance, and is an inveterate enemy 
of the faith of Rome. Though perfidious and much given to 
plunder, it seems the people have an innate respect for religion, 
and, if purged of the bad leaven of schism, might become good 
Catholics in process of time. For example, Jacobis says : " Let 


no religious order of women fear to come to this country : the 
Abyssinians have the greatest respect for Christ's spouses, and 
will defend them on every occasion at the risk of their own 
lives." The present vicar-apostolic is Mgr. Touvier. 

Farther inland and north of the equator, among the Gallas 
tribes a vigorous race, who derive their name from the Galla ox 
(remarkable for its immense lyre-shaped horns), and who fought 
and conquered their way from Abyssinia far to the southward 
we find the French Capuchin friars, whose numbers were rein- 
forced at the time of the expulsions in France, and who, under 
the jurisdiction of Mgr. Taurin, have been evangelizing this por- 
tion of eastern Africa, erected into a vicariate in 1846. A dark 
cloud, however, has obscured the horizon of missionary prospects 
here. At the instance of the Abyssinian emperor, who is lord 
paramount over these countries, and whose word is law, Menelik, 
King of Choa, his vassal, has been compelled to banish from his 
states Mgr. Massaja, Bishop of Cassia in partibus, and formerly 
vicar of the Gallas ; his successor, Mgr. Taurin Cahange, Bishop 
of Adramythe in partibus ; and Father Louis Gonzaga, Capuchins, 
on the specious pretext of sending them on an embassy to Eu- 
rope. The emperor complained that Abyssinia was, as it were, 
invested and blockaded by Egypt, which will allow neither arms, 
nor munitions of war, nor merchandise to pass the frontier, and 
that to remedy this state of things the missionaries above named 
should plead his cause in Europe. It was a pure deception. As 
soon as they left Choa they were constituted prisoners for the 
faith. Ras Aria, the emperor's uncle, was present when the lat- 
ter dictated his ultimatum to Menelik in these terms : " Expel 
these people who are teaching a faith contrary to mine, or pre- 
pare for war." The order had to be obeyed, and the missiona- 
ries were sent to Matama by way of the Soudan, a painful jour- 
ney, rendered still more painful and perilous by forced marches 
in the midst of wasting fevers, occasionally solaced, however, 
by the succors of some Good Samaritans. The Capuchins are to 
be met in the Seychelles Islands also, an insular dependency of 
the Mauritius, formed into a vicariate in 1860. 

The fathers of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost and the 
Holy Heart of Mary, founded by Libermann, administer on the 
east coast the immense prefecture of Zanguebar, where there are 
from six thousand to eight thousand Catholics, and a still larger 
extent of the west coast, including the prefectures of Cimbe- 
basia (running northward from the mouth of the Orange River), 
Congo, Senegal, and the vicariates of the Two Guineas, Sierra 


Leone (begun by Father Blanchet, in 1866) and Senegambia. 
These fathers, Mgr. Lavigerie assures us, have done wonders at 
Bagamoyo, on the east coast, and the letters of the Algerian 
missionaries, who make this their way to the interior, overflow 
with eulogies of their charity and hospitality, frequently called 
into active exercise at Zanguebar, where the Somalis, a fanatical 
tribe of Arabs, impede the passage of travellers and missionaries. 
They have charge of one of the most trying missions in Afri- 
ca, for the climate is especially destructive in the region ex- 
tending from the east coast to the great lakes. The lands are 
low and marshy, owing to the heavy rains, and the miasma and 
fevers which are thus generated develop with extraordinary ra- 
pidity under the action of a tropical sun. French priests of this 
Congregation are also stationed in a civilized and settled portion 
of Cape Colony within Mossel Bay, George Oud's Town, and 
Victoria West districts. Stretching up northward and west- 
ward from the latter place is a vast tract of country thinly peo- 
pled by a nomadic tribe called the Korannas, described as one of 
the least promising and most contracted fields in South Africa. 

Considerable attention has been of recent years drawn to the 
South African missions, where Bishops Leonard, Rickards, and 
Jolivet, and the Jesuits, are doing wonders. Cape Colony is di- 
vided into three vicariates, the eastern, western, and central. In 
the western vicariate, the headquarters of which are at Cape 
Town, where there are about thirty-five hundred Catholics, the 
vicar- apostolic, Dr. Leonard (formerly of Dublin), has twelve 
priests under his jurisdiction, who are aided by Marist Brothers 
and Dominican nuns in the education of the children. The Ca- 
tholic population of the colony is almost entirely Irish or of Irish 
extraction. Dr. Leonard's general views on the subject of Afri- 
can missions are that Catholic missionaries should be first in the 
field, that they should be able to preach to the natives in their 
own language, and that the work should be undertaken by the 
members of a religious community or order, who could be pro- 
perly prepared for the life they would necessarily have to lead 
in places so far removed from the civilized world. The eastern 
vicariate is bounded on the north by the Orange River, and on 
the east by Kaffraria proper, and contains more than five thousand 
Catholics, about two thousand of whom live at Port Elizabeth, five 
hundred at Graham's Town, and the rest at King William's Town, 
Graaff-Reinet, Algoa Bay, Uitenhage, Fort Beaufort, and Bedford, 
at each of which towns there is a chapel and one or more priests. 
There are from twenty to thirty thousand Protestants and two 


hundred and fifty thousand unconverted blacks. The vicar-apos- 
tolic, who is also titular bishop of Retimo, left Maynooth thirty 
years ago, then subdeacon, to labor in the vineyard which the 
indefatigable zeal and apostolic spirit of Mgr. Devereux had 
planted, and which, extending from the banks of the Orange 
River to the Indian Ocean and comprising one hundred thousand 
square miles, then contained only a comparative handful of Ca- 
tholics. When Mgr. Rickards was consecrated in 1871 there 
were only five priests in the vicariate ; in 1879 there were thirty- 
one, and five new stations had been established that is, they had 
bought lands, built churches and presbyteries, and were breaking 
fresh ground where no priests had hitherto been. The college of 
St. Aidan, erected at a cost of ten thousand pounds and directed by 
the Jesuits, contained at that date fifty boarders and one hundred 
and sixty extern pupils, mostly English or Irish, whose number has 
since been greatly augmented, and there is a convent of fifteen 
Dominican nuns at King William's Town ; while the Marists have 
a well-attended school at Port Elizabeth, and have established a 
novitiate destined to keep up the supply of teaching brothers in 
all the missions in South Africa, besides a school for farmers and 
others unable to send their sons to St. Aidan's. Three new con- 
vents are in process of erection. The vicariate now counts fifty- 
three hundred Catholics : twenty-four hundred at Port Elizabeth, 
more than one thousand at Graham's Town, and over eight hun- 
dred at King William's Town, the number in the other missions 
varying from seventy to one hundred. In all there are eleven 
missions and nearly twenty stations to meet the spiritual needs of 
the Catholics thinly scattered through about twenty-five towns 
and villages far apart, who are visited three or four times a year, 
the missionaries being ready to mount horse night or day in all wea- 
thers, and traverse distances sometimes exceeding one hundred 
miles, to administer the last sacraments. For over twenty years 
pious priests and devoted religious have been laboring in secret 
and unknown, so to speak, in the very heart of Kaffraria. The 
Oblates of Mary possess in Basutoland several houses, where the 
Kafirs have proved that they are susceptible of being instructed 
in our holy religion, and may become as worthy sons of the church 
as any other race on earth. The Trappists have established 
themselves on a vast tract of land, comprising twelve square 
miles, purchased by Mgr. Rickards for five thousand pounds, and 
have founded a monastery which it is expected will rival that 
of Staoueli (" land of saints," situated ten miles from Algiers on 
the way to Koleah, and which has two thousand acres of land), 


besides another monastery in Tambookieland in process of estab- 
lishment. Much is hoped for as the result of the introduction of 
the monks into South Africa. The four dioceses of South Af- 
rica contain altogether about twelve thousand Catholics ; forty 
years ago they hardly numbered five hundred. 

The Central Cape district, which extends from east to west, 
dividing the two districts above referred to, constitutes an apos- 
tolic prefecture and is administered by the Society of African 
Missions of Lyons. The largest of the South African vicariates 
that of Natal, which takes in the Orange Free State, West Gri- 
qualand, Basutoland, and the Transvaal is chiefly supplied by 
French Oblates, who are under the jurisdiction of Mgr. Jolivet, 
vicar-apostolic, formerly resident in Liverpool. Most of the Ca- 
tholics here are Irish, of whom there are from three to four thou- 
sand. In the outlying stations the faithful are few and far be- 
tween. The largest and richest congregation is at Kimberley, in 
Griqualand West, a place which only a few years ago was in the 
inaccessible wilds ; while there has been for some years a suc^ 
cessful native mission in Basutoland at the sources of the Orange 
and Val rivers. 

The vast district between the Limpopo and the Zambesi^ 
which comprises the enormous area of over nine hundred thou- 
sand square English miles including Lake Bangweolo, on the 
shores of which Livingstone died ; both banks of the Zambesi, 
with four hundred miles of unexplored country between the lake 
and the river ; Lake Nyassi and the country peopled by the power- 
ful tribes of the Bamanguato and Amandebele has been assigned 
to the Jesuits, who administer the prefecture of Madagascar also, 
and the cluster of small islands lying between Madagascar and 
the continent. For reasons fully detailed in Father Weld's in- 
teresting pamphlet the Jesuits have resolved to make Cape Co- 
lony their basis of operations, and Graham's Town where they 
conduct the college of St. Aidan, the foundation of which gave 
the African mission an existence and pointed out the direction 
which future development should take their point of departure. 
These zealous missionaries are now penetrating into regions 
which but lately were unknown even to our best geographers, 
and there, where no Catholic priest had ever before been seen, 
there is good hope that serious missionary labors will begin a 
new era. 

It only remains to speak of the districts assigned to the So- 
ciety of African Missions,* established about twenty years ago 

* The headquarters of this society, of which the superior-general is the Very Rev. Father 


at Lyons by Mgr. Marion-Bresillac, who, after an apostolate of 
twelve years in British India, conceived and carried out the idea 
of creating 1 a body of missionaries who should devote themselves 
to the most abandoned of the African races, and be always ready 
to respond to the needs of the moment, striving by every possi- 
ble means to penetrate wherever and whenever occasions pre- 
sented themselves of opening this vast continent, and occu- 
pying gaps between missions already existing. They have the 
prefecture of the Gold Coast and the vicariate of the Benin, 
where they have established some of the best administered and 
most promising missions in Africa, although having had to con- 
tend with difficulties it is no exaggeration to describe as simply 
appalling, the climate alone being sufficient to deter any but men 
full of apostolic courage, constancy, and fervor, not to speak of 
the desolating scourges of slavery and human sacrifices, which 
have made Dahomey one of the darkest spots in the dark conti- 

" How easily we could free slaves, if we had but the money ! " wrote Fa- 
ther Holley, one of the missionaries of this society, from Abeokuta. " To 
feel this, after each warlike expedition we need only visit one of the great 
squares (and they are many) and see entire families of captives exposed 
pellmell for sale. The poor creatures will hold out their arms towards us, 
as if to cry, ' White man, buy me ! ' But why subject one's self to so afflicting 
an experience, since we have not money for such a purpose? The poor 
children, who might be the objects of the missionaries' care, will certainly 
be ruined by their merciless masters. ' For them the fetishes are good 
enough,' they say of these poor things. ' No one can do anything with 
such brutes. They are born thieves, and thieves they will die ! ' If those 
thousands of Christians who only seek a real opening to do good, and thus 
put out their income at good interest, could once witness these deplorable 
sales of human flesh and blood, many of them would hasten to rescue the 
miserable life of one of these poor brothers, who are truly worthy of all our 
sympathy. How many pious souls could do this unspeakable good to 
their poor African sisters without saying good-by forever to the sweet ties 
of family life, without leaving their beloved native land ! To rescue a poor 
black and put him in the way of becoming a child of God is easy so little 
effort is required to give him into our charge to be transformed from a 
little slave of Satan into a Christian who will call a shower of blessings 
from heaven on his benefactor's head ! " 

And referring to those horrible human sacrifices which for- 

Planque, are at Lyons. A branch house has within the past few years been established at 
Cork, Ireland, mainly through the exertions of the local superior, Father Devoncoux, and the 
fathers associated with him, Fathers Barrett and Pagnon. Although at present only a lesser 
seminary for teaching the humanities to such subjects as offer themselves, and preparing them 
for the philosophy course at Lyons, it promises, funds permitting, to develop at no distant date 
into a greater seminary and become a valuable basis of operations. 


merly took place by day, but now are never perpetrated except 
at night, Father Zimmerman says : 

" If our brethren in Europe and America only knew the sad fate of the 
blacks, if they only reflected on the misery of their state, they would pray 
to heaven more fervently that the divine grace might be shed abundantly 
on these poor abandoned nations. Doubtless all cannot come and preach 
the Gospel to the Africans, but nearly all could give their penny to the As- 
sociation for the Propagation of the Faith ; and if they did we should have 
more schools and be able to buy more children, some of whom would be- 
come fervent Christians and others schoolmasters and catechists." 

As it is the Mussulmans who almost exclusively carry on this 
debasing slave-trade, and as Mussulman society is so organized 
as not to be able to exist without slaves, its complete abolition, 
one of the grand aims of the African missions, will at the same 
time weaken the power and influence of Mohammedanism, which, 
Sir Bartle Frere avers, is an advancing and converting religion 
and the chief obstacle to the evangelization of Africa. 

Although the public sale of slaves has been abolished at Zan- 
guebar, in the interior and at certain points of the coast they still 
carry off the unfortunate natives and transport them to the 
depths of Asia and every part of the Mohammedan world ; whole 
provinces having been depopulated and changed into deserts, the 
bare, bleached bones of the wretched negroes who have fallen 
victims to hunger or brutal ill-treatment indicating the passage 
of the slave-gangs to the coast ghastly evidences of " man's in- 
humanity to man." The American, recalling the unhappy share 
which his great country at one time had in this infamous 
slave-trade, which Pope Gregory XVI. characterized as " the op- 
probrium of the Christian name," must be indeed callous to all 
sense of shame, indignation, and human sympathy who can read 
of the sad fate of the poor blacks, so long " seated in darkness and 
the shadow of death," without resolving, as a debt of reparation, 
to do all that may lie in his power to aid the grand work of the 
evangelization and liberation of these fallen races. It has been 
said that if one were to lose his way from the interior to the 
towns on the coast where the slave-markets are held, he would 
easily find it again by the whitening bones of the corpses that 
strew the route. Every year more than a million are subjected 
to this dreadful fate, and under such conditions that an eye-wit- 
ness affirms that if one were to accumulate every detail of horror 
and suffering it would not exceed the truth. 

" They have closed the seas and highways of the new world to it," says 


Mgr. Lavigerie ; " it has multiplied in the interior and has there become 
more murderous. In vain the powers of earth are leagued to abolish the 
inhuman commerce that ensanguines Africa. Their efforts are powerless. 
The leprosy prevails. What do I say? It is extending its ravages. 
Whether the measures are insufficient because they only reach those who 
sell and not those who buy, or that the evil is too deep-rooted to be healed 
by the hand of man, slavery is still erect, and the narratives of the latest 
explorers of the equatorial regions are full of its horrors. It is no longer 
foreigners alone, it is the blacks themselves who, taught a contempt of 
man, have become the artisans of their own ruin so low the human mind 
sinks when it finds not in a purer illumination the force to combat the 
brutalities of nature ! " 

It is to diffuse this pure light, to illuminate and liberate these 
suffering and enslaved races illuminare his qui in tenebris et in 
umbra mortis sedent that men full of that spirit of sacrifice 
without which nothing truly great and good was ever done for 
God, the church, or humanity are generously and unselfishly de- 
voting their lives. And it is an appalling thought that, after 
nearly nineteen centuries of Christianity, there should still be 
within easy and rapid reach of Europe a vast continent where 
there are millions of human creatures still sunk in utter bar- 
barism, wholly ignorant of God and of his law. In Africa, as 
Father Weld observes, there are many millions of souls in abso- 
lute danger, unless we make haste, of being taught all the cor- 
ruptions of a premature civilization before they have had the 
opportunity of knowing the truth, and of being, therefore, cast 
into a state even more hopeless than ever. All the cry of the 
missionaries who have penetrated into the densely-populated dis- 
tricts of the interior, where the fields are already white with 
the harvest, is for more apostolic laborers. The men wanted for 
this difficult but glorious mission are not men of the common- 
place type, who would pause to weigh the personal advantages 
or disadvantages of attaching themselves to this or that order or 
congregation engaged in what the writer has ventured to de- 
nominate one of the grand achievements of the church the spiri- 
tual conquest of Africa. To summon these slumbering nations 
to life and liberty to the supernatural life of faith and the lib- 
erty of the children of God ; to vitalize and energize these dry 
bones and make them live again ; to spiritualize a people so long 
sunk in sensualism and fetishism, would assuredly need apostolic 
men, men like Jacobis or Gonzalez Silveira, full of the spirit that 
quickeneth ; and such men, though they are always to be found, 
are still not numerous enough for all the church's needs. 


1 88 1 .] CHRISTIAN JER u SALEM. 235 


PART V. A.D. 335-456. 


THE splendor with which Christianity and the church burst 
forth at the epoch of Constantine and the First Council of 
Nicaea was obscured by the cloud of Arianism. Ecclesiastical 
historians have occupied themselves so much in describing the 
contentions and persecutions arising out of this heresy that the 
whole history of this age has come to be regarded as identified 
with the war waged for and against the Symbol of Nicasa. This 
was, however, only one great incident of this history, and not the 
whole history itself, which is most glorious, not only through 
the victory of the faith over heresy, but in a thousand other 
ways. Moreover, there is much exaggeration and misunder- 
standing prevalent respecting the extent of the actual ravages 
which formal heresy, whether Arian or Semi-Arian, made in the 
faith either of bishops and clergy or the lay people. There were 
numerous heretics in all these classes, and relatively more among 
bishops, emperors, and the grandees of the laity than in the com- 
mon ranks of the clergy and people. But we are not to suppose 
that by dividing between the open and firm adherents to the 
Nicene Symbol and the cause of St. Athanasius, and the rest of 
professed members of the Catholic Church, we can also divide 
between the orthodox believers and the heretics. The latter 
were always a party and in the minority ; the Christian world 
was generally and invariably orthodox. The show of numerical 
superiority and the actual possession of power on the part of the 
Arian faction were due to the fact that its able and unscrupulous 
leaders were cunning enough to keep or gain possession, at times, 
of some of the principal sees. This was effected through the 
support of the men who wielded the civil power, and who were 
either deceived by their art, or themselves virulent enemies of 
the Catholic faith. They did not seek to make a new sect, but, to 
make good their position in the Catholic Church, they concealed 
and masked their heresy under ambiguous formulas, they perse- 



cuted the clear-sighted and intrepid champions of Nicene ortho- 
doxy under false pretexts, and it was only after a long time and 
many vicissitudes that they were completely unmasked and defini- 
tively driven out from the external communion of the Catholic 
Church. The greater number of the bishops who were drawn or 
driven into complicity with their acts and measures, and who are 
generally classed under the head of Semi-Arians by historians, 
were really neither infected with Arian or Semi-Arian heresy, 
and were only deficient in clear-sightedness and courage. They 
were more or less duped and deceived by the hypocrisy and 
fraud of Arius, Eusebius of Nicomedia, Acacius of Cassarea, and 
their companions or successors in heretical malice and astute- 
ness. They were bewildered by the abstruse and subtle contro- 
versies about ideas and terms relating to the most profound of 
all mysteries, or daunted and oppressed by the arrogance and 
violence of worldly and powerful prelates and the insolence of 
civil rulers. These tyrants, with the connivance of heretical 
bishops, usurped authority over the church, and both together 
succeeded in carrying, with the acquiescence of the majority, doc- 
trinal decrees and administrative measures whose whole tendency 
and scope, it was afterwards clearly seen, were to undermine the 
faith of the Nicene Council and destroy its faithful defenders. 

There are many difficulties in the way of attaining correct 
and certain knowledge of the details of ecclesiastical history in 
the fourth century, especially in regard to certain particular per- 
sons who figured in its events and transactions. One of these 
obstacles is the great amount of forgery and falsification perpe- 
trated by the Arian faction. Moreover, we cannot follow blindly 
even the statements and judgments of orthodox writers, though 
these may be canonized saints and doctors, when they speak of 
certain persons and transactions. Modern critical history has 
done much in the way of approximating to a correction of cur- 
rent and loose misapprehensions of facts and characters. There 
still remain, however, disputes and differences of opinion among 
the soundest scholars. It is becoming, therefore, to use a mod- 
est reserve and caution in expressing positive judgments upon 
matters of this kind, unless one is prepared to furnish conclusive 

The question about the orthodoxy and Catholic loyalty of 
Eusebius of Cassarea is one of this kind. We cannot enter into a 
discussion of his character, and will merely state our impression 
that although an indifferent theologian, and far from the saintly 
type of episcopal virtue which is seen in St. Athanasius, he was 

1 88 1 .] CHRISTIAN JER u SALEM. 237 

really Catholic in faith, and on the whole a worthy prelate. We 
see no reason, either, for doubting the orthodoxy of the Emperor 
Constantine and his sincere devotion to the welfare of the Catho- 
lic Church. The view taken of these two great men, one the 
principal instrument of effecting the triumph of Christianity in 
the fourth century, the other the principal historian of early 
Christianity, must necessarily modify the impression one gets of 
their epoch and its most interesting events. 

Among these events, the dedication of the grand basilica of 
the Martyrium at Jerusalem, described by Eusebius, in our esti- 
mation, stands pre-eminent, as one particular instance, and as a 
general type, of the grand triumph of Christ in his church over 
Jewish and heathen persecutors. In the order of our narrative 
we have reached this event, which took place A.D. 335, six years 
after the beginning of the work, which was described in our last 
number. Eusebius, in his account of the preparation for con- 
structing the basilica which is by no means full and complete, 
his object being rather to give a personal biography and eulo- 
gium of Constantine than to write a history passes over the find- 
ing of the cross. It is, however, attested by Ruffinus, Theo- 
doret, and St. Cyril of Jerusalem, and generally so well known 
that we need not here enlarge upon it. 

The following is a description of the dedication of the great 
Church of the Resurrection from the pen of Eusebius, who was 
present, and, as the metropolitan of Palestine, was one of the 
principal prelates who took part in this great and splendid cele- 
bration : 

" When these injunctions [those, namely, contained in an imperial re- 
script to the bishops assembled at Tyre] had been carried into effect, another 
messenger from the emperor arrived, bringing an imperial missive, in which 
he exhorted the synod to come without delay and as soon as possible to 
Jerusalem. All, therefore, departing from the province of Phoenicia, took 
the public road for the place where they were commanded to assemble ; and 
the whole city of Jerusalem was crowded with a concourse of the ministers 
of God, bishops of distinguished rank, who had come together there from 
all the provinces. For the Macedonians had sent the bishop of their first 
see, and the Pannonians and Mysians had deputed the choicest flower of 
their clergy, the chief glory of their nation. The ornament of the bishops of 
Persia, a holy man thoroughly versed in the divine Scriptures, was also 
present. Bithynians, also, and Thracians adorned the assembly by their 
presence. Nor were most illustrious bishops from Cilicia wanting. Like- 
wise from Cappadocia some remarkable for learning and eloquence occu- 
pied a conspicuous place in the midst of the assembly. Moreover, all Sy- 
ria, Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, Arabia, Palestine, Egypt, Libya, and the dwell- 
ers in the Thebaid were present by their representatives collected to- 


gather and filling up that grand choir of God. An innumerable multitude 
of men from all the provinces followed these prelates. These were all pro- 
vided for with royal bounty; and men of well-known probity were sent from 
the imperial palace to oversee the distributions made at the emperor's ex- 
pense and add lustre to the festivity. A man of rank in the service of the 
emperor, who was conspicuous for faith, religion, and knowledge of the Sa- 
cred Writings, presided over all these ; and as he had in the times of ty- 
rannical oppression made himself illustrious by many confessions of the 
faith for the defence of piety, he not undeservedly had this charge com- 
mitted to him. In the discharge of this duty, which he fulfilled i'n faithful 
obedience to the orders of the emperor, he honorably entertained the as- 
sembly of bishops with a singular comity and the most magnificent feasts 
and banquets. He distributed also to the needy and destitute of clothing, 
and to the infinite multitude of poor of both sexes who were suffering from 
scarcity of food and other necessaries a great deal of money and a great 
many garments. Finally, he adorned the entire basilica magnificently 
with royal gifts. In such a manner did this man fulfil the office with which 
he was entrusted. 

"The priests of God, on their part, adorned the festivity partly by their 
public offices of prayer, and partly by their discourses. Some of these, 
namely, delivered eulogies on the devotion of the religious emperor 
toward the Saviour of all men, or magnified in their orations the splen- 
dor of the Martyrium. Others offered to their hearers a spiritual banquet 
by discoursing on the sacred dogmas of theology in a manner appropriate 
to the occasion they were celebrating. Some interpreted lessons from the 
sacred books, bringing to light their hidden and mystical significations. 
Those, moreover, who could not aspire to such efforts as these, by UN- 

offering supplications and prayers to God for the church of God, for the em- 
peror, the author of so many benefits, and for his most pious children. There 
we ourselves, also, having obtained more favor than our merits deserved, 
contributed to the honor of the solemnity by various discourses delivered 
in public, at one time reading a written description of the beauty and mag- 
nificence of the royal fabric ; at another interpreting the sense of the pro- 
phetic oracles in a manner suitably accommodated to the figures and images 
of the things foretold which were present to our sight. Thus was the so- 
lemnity of the dedication celebrated with the greatest rejoicing at the time 
when the emperor had completed the thirtieth year of his reign " (De Vit. 
Const., lib. iv. cc. 43-45).* 

* The following ingenious and perhaps tenable supposition of Dr. Sepp is worth inserting in 
this connection : "The Messiah himself, as he drove out the trafficking Jews and proclaimed the 
insufficiency of the Mosaic sacrifices, exclaimed : ' Destroy this temple, and in three days I will 
raise it up.' The rabbins affirm that the Holy House was to be built three times : the first was 
the Temple of Solomon, the second the Temple of Ezra, the third the Messiah should build. 
We read in the Midrasch Tanchuma : ' The third temple will the Edomite people (that is, the 
Roman Christians) build, as it is said '. The Edomite kingdom will restore the crown after 
the destruction of the temple.' But Christ spoke of the temple of his body, as John informs 
us (ii. 21) i.e., of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which nevertheless was not to be erected 
on Mt. Moriah. So far as relates to the three days, we can reasonably explain this to mean 
the three hundred years before Constantine " (Jerus. und das H. Land, vol. i. p. 106). 


This is the bright side of the picture. It has a dark side, 
also, which Eusebius, as a partisan of his namesake of Nicomedia, 
and too much given to adulation of the emperor, fails to present. 
Arius was present at this grand celebration, and at its close was 
absolved from the censures inflicted upon him by the Council of 
Nicasa and restored to the communion of the church, so far as 
the authority of that synod of Jerusalem went. It had previ- 
ously condemned and pretended to depose Athanasius at Tyre. 
This synod had within it and was actually managed by a knot of 
the most malicious heretics and worst men who have ever dis- 
graced the episcopal order. Nevertheless, although the infa- 
mous character and policy of these men, from whom began and 
proceeded the troubles which disturbed both church and state 
for the next fifty years, cast a dark shadow into the historical 
picture of this epoch of triumphing Christianity, this is not a 
singular or isolated phenomenon either in secular or ecclesiasti- 
cal history. The mixture of dark and bright is incident to all 
human affairs, and will be, in our opinion, to the end of the 
world. The considerations presented at the beginning of this 
article come here into play to determine a just and impartial 
estimate of men and things at this critical period. The absolu- 
tion of Arius was not, in the intention of the majority of the 
bishops or of Constantine, the absolution of heresy and a renun- 
ciation of the Council of Nicasa, but the absolution of the man 
from censures inflicted on account of a- heresy which he disavow- 
ed, and for which God judged him a year afterwards. Eusebius 
of Nicomedia and his chief partisans had signed the decrees of 
Nicasa and had not retracted their external assent. So far as the 
.bishop and church of Jerusalem are concerned, with which we 
are specially occupied in this writing, they were always orthodox 
and pure from the Arian taint. St. Macarius was one of the first 
to discover and condemn the heresy of Arius, and was one of the 
leading prelates at the Council of Nicsea. His successors, be- 
tween that council and the First Council of Constantinople, 
which gave the death-blow to Arianism, were St. Maximus and 
St. Cyril. Maximus was the dupe of the astute Eusebians at 
Tyre to some extent, though it does not appear with certainty 
how far he consented to or tacitly submitted to endure the illegal 
and unjust condemnation of Athanasius. He was again deceived 
by the hypocritical pretences of Arius and his associates at Jeru- 
salem. He withdrew, however, from all participation with that 
faction soon after ; when Athanasius was restored to his see he, 
with all the bishops of Palestine, two only excepted, received 


him cordially and with honor, and before his death he retracted 
all that he had done in common with his persecutors. 

St. Cyril is one of the principal Fathers and most illustrious 
ornaments of the church of the fourth century. In respect to 
dates and particular events of his life there is considerable uncer- 
tainty. In the ensuing brief account we give what seems to be 
the most probable history, according to good authors. He was 
born and bred of good Christian parents in or near Jerusalem, 
and both carefully educated and piously trained from childhood. 
His birth was shortly after the ceasing of Diocletian's persecu- 
tion and a few years before the Council of Nicasa. At the dedi- 
cation of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre he was about twenty 
years of age, and near about this time was ordained deacon by 
Bishop Maximus, who promoted him to the priesthood about ten 
years later, and two or three years afterward appointed him to 
the high and responsible office of catechetical lecturer i.e., su- 
perintendent and instructor of the classes of catechumens who 
were prepared for baptism and the other sacraments. These 
catechetical lectures were delivered in the Church of the Holy 
Sepulchre and form the principal portion of his works. In the 
year 350 or 351 he was raised to the dignity of Bishop of Jeru- 

The beginning of his episcopate was signalized by the remark- 
able phenomenon of the appearance of a brilliant luminous cross 
in the air on the 7th of May, 351. It appeared at nine o'clock in 
the morning, extending from Golgotha to the Mount of Olives, 
a distance of fifteen stadia, effacing the light of the sun, and last- 
ing for several hours. All the inhabitants of the city, Christian 
and heathen, even the virgins who lived in strict seclusion in 
their houses, ran together to the churches, struck with mingled 
emotions of joy, astonishment, and fear. St. Cyril sent an ac- 
count of this wonderful event to the Emperor Constantine in a 
letter which is still extant. 

The church of Jerusalem flourished so well under St. Cyril's 
administration that St. Basil says in one of his epistles (ep. iv. 
ad Monach. Laps?) that he found the city peopled with saints. 
Acacius of Cassarea, the disciple and successor of Eusebius, a 
man of versatile faith and unprincipled ambition, who changed 
his profession of faith from Semi-Arianism to extreme Arianism, 
and backward to Nicene orthodoxy, when his interest could 
be served by his hypocrisy, but was always a heretic at heart, 
early began a quarrel with Cyril. The bone of contention was 
the respective rights of the see of Jerusalem and the metropoli- 

1 88 1 .] CHRISTIAN JER u SALEM. 24 1 

tan see of Cassarea. Besides this cause of dispute Acacius made 
a charge of Sabellianism against Cyril a common artifice of Ari- 
ans to disguise the real motive of their persecution of the ortho- 
dox. He accused him, also, of wasting the treasures of the 
church a charge which really redounded to his honor, since it 
was founded on the liberal alms which he distributed among the 
poor during a pestilence in 357, when he sold some of the pre- 
cious vessels and vestments presented by Constantine. Acacius 
succeeded in getting a sentence of deposition decreed by a synod 
in Palestine, which was afterwards confirmed by another held at 
Constantinople. Force was employed to carry into effect this 
sentence, the validity of which Cyril refused to recognize, and 
against which he appealed to a higher authority. He was oblig- 
ed to leave Jerusalem, and was on the way to Antioch when, 
learning of the death of the Patriarch Leontius, he turned aside 
to Tarsus and took refuge with the bishop of that see, who en- 
tertained him honorably during his exile. The synod of Seleu- 
cia annulled the illegal sentence against Cyril and deposed Aca- 
cius ; but its decrees were not carried into effect, and Cyril 
was only restored in 361, when the Emperor Julian recalled all 
the exiled bishops to their sees. The effort made by this apostate 
emperor to rebuild the Temple on Mt. Moriah, and its frustration, 
are too well known to need special notice. Cyril continued in 
peaceable possession of his see until 367, when he was again ex- 
iled by the Arian Emperor Valens, and did not return to Jerusa- 
lem before 378, under the Emperor Gratian. From this time, dur- 
ing the remaining eight years of his life, he continued to govern 
his church and exerted himself to repair the great damages it 
had sustained during the period of heretical troubles and perse- 
cutions, supported by the authority of Theodosius, the colleague 
of Gratian, and the co-operation of Gelasius, the successor of 
Acacius in the see of Cassarea, who was his own nephew and dis- 

In the year 381 the council of Oriental bishops held at Con- 
stantinople and presided over first by St. Meletius of Antioch, 
and next by St. Gregory of Nazianzen, at that time bishop of the 
imperial city of the East, renewed the condemnation of the Arian 
heresy, condemned that of Macedonius, and added some new and 
more explicit terms to the Nicene Symbol. This council, on ac- 
count of the ratification given to its dogmatic decrees by the 
popes, in which the bishops of the Western church, and after- 
wards the succeeding oecumenical councils of Chalcedon, etc., 
concurred, is reckoned as the Second (Ecumenical Council. St. 

VCL. xxxiv. 16 


Cyril and his nephew Gelasius were present and took part in its 
action. It is probable that St. Cyril laid before this council a 
full account of his promotion to the see of Jerusalem, and vindi- 
cated himself against all the charges made against him to the full 
satisfaction of the fathers. For the same bishops, for the most 
part, were reassembled the following year at Constantinople, and 
sent three deputies to the pope and a council of Western bishops 
at Rome, with a full report concerning the principal matters which 
had been transacted at the East ; and in the letter which they 
sent by the three bishops, having given account of the election 
of Nectarius to the see of Constantinople, and of Flavianus to 
that of Antioch, they speak as follows of the see of Jerusalem 
and of Cyril : " We recognize the most venerable and beloved 
of God Cyril as the bishop of the mother of all the churches, 
which is in Jerusalem, canonically ordained long ago by all the 
bishops of the eparchy, and who has suffered many things in 
divers places from the Arians " (Theod., Hist. EccL, lib. v. c. ix.) 
St. Cyril is supposed to have died in the year 386, in the seven- 
tieth year of his age and the thirty-fifth year of his episcopate, 
having passed nineteen years in the actual government of his 
diocese and sixteen years in exile.* 

Just about the time when the (Ecumenical Council of Con- 
stantinople was held died St. Hilarion, the St. Anthony of Pa- 
lestine, whose biography St. Jerome wrote. Elijah, Elisha, St. 
John Baptist, and the Essenes had set the example of an austere 
and ascetic life in the solitudes of the Holy Land, and our Lord 
had given it the supreme sanction of his own strict fast and re- 
treat of forty days upon Mt. Quarantain. Protestants are put 
to wonderful shifts in their efforts to turn aside the significant 
lesson of the examples of St. John and Jesus Christ, which the 
Catholic Church has read aright and put in practice. The con- 
secration of individuals to a strict religious life of continence, 
fasting, poverty, and seclusion dates from the foundation of the 
church, among Christians. In the fourth century this monastic 
way of living took a more regular form and received a more ex- 
tensive development in Palestine through the influence of St. 
Hilarion. He was born of heathen parents at the little village 
of Tabatha, near Gaza, about A.D. 292. Converted in his boy- 
hood at Alexandria, he became a disciple for a time of St. An- 
thony, and in the year 307, being only fifteen years of age, he re- 
turned to the desert region of Palestine nearest to Egypt to be- 

* For a critical analysis of the life and writings of St. Cyril see Saint Cyrille de Jlrusa- 
lem, sa Vie et ses CEuvres. These pour le Doctorat par M. 1'Abbe E. Delacroix. Paris. 1865. 


gin for himself a life similar to that of his master. He is regard- 
ed as being, with St. Paul the Hermit and St. Anthony, one of 
the founders of the monastic institute, and the father of the nu- 
merous and flourishing communities of Palestine and Syria. His 
example was followed by thousands, his saintly progeny was 
spread over the whole region from Idumsea to Libanus, from 
the sea to the Arabian mountains. The grottoes, cells, and ruins 
of monasteries which they inhabited are still to be seen dotted 
all over the surface of Palestine and Syria, and at this day, in 
Jerusalem, on Mt. Carmel, at St. Sabbas, and in many other 
places, the Catholic and Greek monasteries, and the religious 
communities of various kinds, bear witness to the genuine and 
primitive nature of Christianity, to the original idea of the most 
perfect state of Christian life, and the true interpretation of our 
Lord's counsels of perfection. 

In this same century began also those pilgrimages to the 
Holy Land which have continued in an uninterrupted stream to 
our own day, either from piety, or from curiosity, or from mixed 
motives. " In proportion," writes M. Poujoulat,* " as Christian- 
ity extended itself in the world Jerusalem took possession of the 
minds of men ; the adorers of Jesus crucified informed themselves 
with pious ardor concerning the places where the days of his 
mortal life had been passed, where his divine mission had been 
fulfilled. No country was more holy or venerable for them than 
Judasa ; the Christians of distant lands regarded those as a thou- 
sand times happy whose destiny had given them birth around 
Calvary and the holy sepulchre, near the Mount of Olives, at 
Bethlehem, on the banks of the Jordan and the Sea of Galilee, 
and they dreamed of a pilgrimage to Palestine as one dreams of 
the felicities of heaven." The Itinerary of a Pilgrim of Bordeaux 
was composed in the year 333. So general and enthusiastic did 
this movement become that it was the incidental cause of grave 
inconveniences and scandals, so that St. Gregory of Nyssa, and 
even St. Jerome, found it necessary to protest against the exces- 
sive and extravagant passion for pilgrimage which had seized on 
the minds of the multitude. But though it was well to repress 
what was disorderly, to moderate the excitement of an unen- 
lightened religious emotion, and to rebuke the scandals oc- 
casioned by the gathering of a miscellaneous crowd around the 
holy places, the mainspring of the movement was a reasonable 

* Hist, de Jerusalem, Ouvrage couronnee par 1' Academic Franchise, t. ii. p. 151. This 
work is recommended to those whose interest has been awakened in the subject of our brief 


and pious sentiment. This sentiment moved numbers of the 
best and most elevated souls to seek for grace and consolation by 
visiting, or even by taking up their permanent abode in, the vici- 
nity of Jerusalem. Melania, an illustrious and rich Roman lady, 
went in 368 to visit the solitaries of Egypt, and from there came 
to Jerusalem, where she lived for twenty-seven years. Paula and 
Eustochium, and several other ladies of Rome of the highest 
rank and education, imitate^ her example. St. Jerome came to 
Bethlehem toward the close of the fourth century to pass there, 
in the monastery which he founded and governed, the rest of his 
life, which was closed in 420. St. Jerome's monastery for men 
and Paula's convent for women were filled with numerous and 
fervent inhabitants. 

St. Cyril had been succeeded in the episcopal chair of Jerusa- 
lem by John, a bishop who is made very prominent in ecclesias- 
tical history by his relations with St. Jerome, and the part which 
he took in the vehement controversies about Origen and the 
Pelagian heresy which arose during his episcopate. It is very 
difficult to form a just appreciation of his character and of the 
line of conduct which he pursued, so many different and contra- 
dictory judgments were passed upon him by those who lived 
during or near that time. The impression one receives from the 
history of that period, as we have it in ecclesiastical authors, is on 
the whole not very favorable, yet there are reasons for withhold- 
ing the very severe judgment which we should be warranted in 
making, were we to consider St. Jerome's estimate of him as 
strictly just and impartial. Pope Anastasius, St. John Chrysos- 
tom, Theodoret, and Basil of Seleucia have praised John of Jeru- 
salem, and Cardinal Noris calls him a bishop illustrious by the 
holiness of his life and the excellence of his doctrine. Perhaps 
the safest opinion we can form, after balancing these testimonies 
in his favor against the opposite ones of Pope Innocent I. and St. 
Jerome, may be that he was on the whole both orthodox and 
upright in his intentions, but with great faults of character 
and prone to fall into great mistakes in his administration. The 
greatest of all these was the countenance he showed to Pelagius 
and his partisans, for which the excuse is made that he was de- 
ceived by them in respect to their real doctrine. His episcopate 
closed with his life in 417. The most glorious event of his reign 
was the discovery and translation of the relics of St. Stephen, of 
which we have spoken in a former number. 

Praylus succeeded to the place of John, and in the first year 
of his rule drove the Pelagians from his diocese. Philostorgius 


relates that in 419 fearful earthquakes visited Palestine, accom- 
panied by volcanic eruptions and other convulsions of nature, 
causing the destruction of towns and villages. The terror of 
these disasters drew multitudes of Jews and pagans to seek for 
baptism, and St. Augustine speaks of seven thousand persons of 
this kind who were baptized at this time. 

In 421 or 424 Juvenal succeeded Praylus and was the first 
bishop of Jerusalem who was formally placed in the rank of 
patriarchs with metropolitan jurisdiction. He sided for a time 
with Dioscorus of Alexandria, taking part in the Latrocinium of 
Ephesus, for which he was near incurring excommunication and 
deposition from the pope. He renounced this party, however, 
was reconciled with the pope and received among the orthodox 
prelates by the Council of Ghalcedon, which recognized and con- 
firmed his claim to the patriarchal dignity. He had a long reign 
of forty years, during the latter part of which he was for a time 
dispossessed by an Eutychian usurper named Theodosius, but he 
regained his place three years before his death, which took place 
in 456. 



SPAIN is, perhaps, the most Catholic of European kingdoms ; 
England the richest and most powerful of Protestant nations. 
The legally-recognized bishops of both are regularly paid, the 
former by the state, the latter by endowments. The compensa- 
tion allowed by the Spanish government to the bishops and 
clergy is the smallest in Europe, whilst there never was a richer 
or better-paid Protestant ministry than that of England. When 
one reads of the immense sums left by Protestant archbishops 
and bishops he concludes that these " servants of the servants of 
God " took more than ordinary care when in the flesh and world 
to place their surplus income in the place where it would draw 
the largest interest. 

The predecessor of the present Protestant Archbishop of Ar- 
magh left his heirs the trifling sum of 3 50,000 ($1,750,000). Agar, 
the Archdeacon of Kilmore, County Cavan, who died in 1868, 
left ; 1 50,000; and his ancestor, the Bishop of Ossory, who found- 
ed the Clifden family (Agar Ellis), left .450,000, or $2,250,000, 


and several estates. Bishop Agar lived in those rare old times 
when an Irish Protestant bishop's power to amass was only 
bounded by the area of plunder. The now disestablished Church 
of Ireland was a well of delights to the favored few. His Loreh- 
ship the Archbishop of Dublin had a net income of $40,000 a 
year ; his brother of Armagh received the sum of $50,000 ; the 
Most Rev. premier (Protestant) Bishop of Ireland, at Navan, $20,- 
ooo ; the Lord Bishop of Derry and Raphoe, $32,000; the Bishop 
of Down, Connor, and Dromore, $20,000 ; the Bishop of Kil- 
more, Elphin, and Ardagh, $26,000 ; the Hon. and Right Rev. 
Bishops of Tuam, Killala, and Achonry, $25,000; the Bishops of 
Ossory, Cashel, Cork, Killaloe, and Limerick received each $20,- 
ooo per annum. If this was not liberal we don't know what is. 

But in England the pay is higher. The Archbishop of Can- 
terbury receives $75,000, and the Archbishop of York $50,000 ; 
while the Bishop of London draws $50,000, of Durham $40,000, 
of Winchester $35,000, of Bangor $21,000, of Bath and Wells 
$25,000, of Carlisle $23,000, of Chester $23,000, of Chichester 
$23,000, of Ely $28,000, of Exeter $17,000, of Gloucester $25,000, 
of Hereford $22,000, of Lichfield $22,000, of Lincoln $25,000, of 
Llandaff $22,000, of Manchester $22,000, of Norwich $22,000, of 
Oxford $25,000, of Peterborough $22,000, of Ripon $22,000, of 
Rochester $22,000, of Salisbury $25,000, of St. Asaph $25,000, of 
St. David's $22,000, of St. Albans $22,000, of Worcester $22,000, 
of Truro $15,000, and of Sodor and Man $10,000. The Anglican 
bishops' incomes are without doubt the largest in the world. We 
must not omit some dozen or more deans, like him of Westmin- 
ster, who have $10,000 or more per annum. 

The last generation saw some strange things in the English 
hierarchy. Dr. Markham w r as tutor to George IV., and was re- 
warded for his care of " the first gentleman in Europe's " morals 
by being appointed Archbishop of Canterbury. Pitt's tutor, Dr. 
Pretyman, was made Bishop of Lincoln. He wrote a biography 
of his pupil, which Macaulay declares is only remarkable as be- 
ing the worst biography of its size in the English language. The 
Marchioness of Conyngham had the instructor of her sons made 
Bishop of Winchester. Dr. Sparkes was tutor to the Duke of 
Rutland, and got the mitre of Ely with the enormous income of 
27,000, or $135,000, per annum. He loved " the Sermon on the 
Mount " so profoundly that he gave to his son Henry three valu- 
able livings and a prebendal stall in Ely Cathedral, and to his 
son Edward three livings and a prebendal stall. To his son-in- 
law he gave livings amounting to $18,000 a year. 


The tutor of Mr. Pitt, as soon as he became Archbishop of 
Canterbury, set out to provide for his three elder sons. " He that 
provideth not for his own house is worse than an infidel," was a 
favorite quotation of his. He was not an infidel. His successor, 
Dr. Sutton, was the champion nepotist of England. He gave 
his seven sons sixteen valuable livings. When Hugh Percy, 
son of the Earl of Beverley, married Dr. Sutton's daughter, the 
good father-in-law gave him eight important livings. He was 
also a most sanctimonious sycophant to the minister of the day. 
In one of his charges he regretted the change that had come 
over the laity in his generation. " There was no longer," he 
said, " that prostration of the understanding which ought to be 
found among a pious people." 

The tutor of George IV. before mentioned, a few years pre- 
vious to his death, presented each of his grandchildren, fifty-two 
in number, with a New Year's gift of ^"1,000, so that he might with 
propriety be surnamed the Munificent Doctor ! As to how the 
Sumner family feasted on the revenues of Canterbury and Win- 
Chester one need only glance at any ordinary English directory. 
It was the favored family, and took extraordinary care to quarter 
its scions upon all the vacant benefices, and to reserve and pre- 
serve the unemployed for prospective stalls and empty mitres. 

The comedy going on in England under the name of High- 
Churchism is graphically illustrated in the life of the late Rev. 
Mr. Browne. That gentleman had been in the army. After 
Waterloo his occupation was gone. His friend, however, " the 
last and worst " Duke of York, wrote him that he could have the 

excellent living at in Cornwall. His Royal Highness said : 

" You needn't reside, you know ; you can get a curate to do 
the work for eighty pounds a year or so, and you can live about 
town on the rest." The ex-officer was delighted, but he was not 
in orders. The commander-in-chief of the army, the paragon 
of English morals, overcame that seemingly insuperable ob- 
stacle by writing to the Bishop of Cork as follows : 


"Ordain Browne. Yours, 

" YORK." 

In a few days after the reception of the above the " Rev." Mr. 
Browne presented himself before the duke, to whom he gave the 
following note: 


" Browne is ordained. Yours, 



The " reverend " gentleman went down to Cornwall, read him- 
self in, returned to London, and never again visited his bene- 
fice, although he lived for some fifty years after his ordination. 
This reminds one of the case of the Bishop of Llandaff who never 
visited his diocese, but spent his days " meditating upon matters 
and things super and sublunary on the banks of the Winder- 

Such men would find it rather unpleasant nowadays since 
Lords Carnarvon and Onslow, and several other peers of the 
realm, " in the season," have interested themselves in the atten- 
dance on Sunday at religious services. The noble lords aforesaid 
are not afraid to call attention to the apathy of the clergy of Lon- 
don. Lord Onslow lately declared that there are fifty-seven 
churches in London which have an income of $201,500, and out 
of a congregation of 31,000 the average attendance on favorable 
Sundays was 6,732 persons. Of these 571 were officials and 
their families, 706 paid choristers, 227 were applicants for alms, 
1,374 were children attached to schools, while of the remaining 
3,854 of the general public but 1,200 were adult males! This is 
a bad exhibit for a church whose property, according to the 
Clergy List (London, 1880), is valued at nine hundred and seventy- 
five millions of dollars. 

This immense property is so situated and divided that " the 
crown " has only a limited number of livings at its disposal. 
The great land-owners, including the dukes, marquises, and earls, 
from his grace of Portland to the owner of Hawarden Castle, 
have the bestowal of church livings ranging each from $20,000 
to $1,000 per annum. There are of this class 218 in number. 

If one is inclined to be risible after reading of Browne's " or- 
dination " he must laugh heartily when he encounters, as one 
occasionally does, among the thinly-settled pastures of Anglican 
High-Churchism a clerical Jack-of-all-trades, who, in variety of 
employment and multiplicity of vocations, excels the broad- 
shouldered Western Baptist minister who kept a tannery, a 
country store, was a stage-coach proprietor, and attended ser- 
vice on Friday and twice on Sunday. Not far from the main road 
leading to the summit of Snowdon, and in the vicinity of the 
ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, there is an Anglican clergyman 
who is the pastor of three churches, works a salmon-fishery, has 
a farm in lease, is a coal merchant, a general carrier, a car pro- 
prietor, a private road contractor, a partner in public baths and 
mineral wells, holder of turnpike gates, a lodging-house keeper, 
a guardian of the poor ! 


When alumni of Oxford and Cambridge contemplate such 
a state of religious negation and apathy, it is only natural that 
deep thinkers, eminent scholars and logicians among them, such 
as Cardinals Newman and Manning, born in the purple of Pro- 
testantism, should seek the centre of faith Rome and dedicate 
their big brains and rare erudition to a peaceful eradication of 
error and religious comedy, and restore to their mighty country 
the ardent faith of Austin, who found England a wilderness and 
left it a garden of roses. 

Let us look at the venerable archbishops, bishops, and priests 
in the Spanish Peninsula. There are nine religious provinces 
in Spain : Toledo, the seat of the primate, Burgos, Saragossa, 
Tarragona, Valencia, Granada, Seville, Valladoiid, and Santiago, 
and forty-four (suffragan) dioceses. 

Spain was a rich kingdom before Protestantism was known. 
From the coming of St. James, her patron saint, to the date of 
the abolition of the Established Church in Ireland she has never 
wavered in allegiance to the chair of Peter. Her schools of di- 
vinity once were the first in Europe ; the philosophers and theo- 
logians of Salamanca outranked those of Bologna or Paris. Her 
hierarchy is learned and frugal ; her priesthood poorly paid, but 
second to none in learning. Of the nine archbishops four are 
generally members of the College of Cardinals. 

The primate of Spain, the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, 
receives $8,000 as archbishop and $1,000 as cardinal. The other 
cardinal archbishops receive $6,500 as archbishop and $1,000 as 
cardinal. The four receive altogether $31,500, the remaining 
five $34,000. 

There are forty-four suffragans ; one receives $5,500, four 
$5,000, twenty-one $4,500, and eighteen $4,000 per annum ; total, 
$192,000. Add amount received by cardinal archbishops and 
archbishops, and we have the sum of $257,500, or fifty-one thou- 
sand five hundred pounds sterling. 

The two archbishops and the twenty-five bishops of England 
and Wales alone receive the enormous sum of $773,000, against 
the sum of $257,500 allowed the four cardinal archbishops, five 
archbishops, and forty-four bishops of Spain. Thus we find 
twenty-seven English prelates receiving three times (with about 
$3,500 of a surplus) the amount allowed to fifty -three Spanish 
bishops of all grades. 

Why, then, wonder that in this age of great changes, of rail- 
roads and telegraphs, there are men in the Protestant commu- 


nion who wish to reform the church that was set up, after shed- 
ding cataracts of blood and spending tons of treasure, " to reform 
the world." These large salaries and the mode of appointment 
tend very rarely to an elevation of piety among the English poor, 
who are the worst religiously instructed people, as a class, of all 
the English-speaking people in the world. 

The reform will be a radical one the disestablishment of the 
church, perhaps. It may not take place during the present reign, 
but it is sure to come, for the lords spiritual of the upper 
house of the British Parliament are not in harmony with the peo- 
ple, but are, as they ever were, hostile to all kinds of genuine re- 
form, because they imagine that in reform they see the spectre of 
short commons and hard work, earnest labor among the people, 
true apostolic self-denial, and the divine poverty from which 
Christianity sprang among the hills of Judea two thousand years 


I HERE return to the history of the two last survivors of the 
Charter-house community, and the part enacted against one of 
them by Archbishop Cranmer and the Protector Somerset. 

Andrew Borde, who sometimes in Latin calls himself Per- 
foratus, was a native of Sussex. He was educated at Oxford, and 
subsequently joined the Carthusian Order at the Charter-house. 
When the majority of the Carthusian Fathers perished on the 
scaffold or in the deadly enclosures called prisons, Father Borde, 
like Maurice Chauncy, escaped by a mere accident. Borde 
travelled in France, Spain, Italy, Austria, and other parts of 
Europe. He subsequently settled down at Montpellier, where 
he applied himself to the study of medicine, and became "a regu- 
lar doctor, with the usual license to practise at the said learned 
profession." On his return to England he was " incorporated at 
Oxford, and also in the College of Physicians of London." The 
medical authorities had no idea, nor had the government, that 
the medical student of Montpellier had been a member of the 
disbanded Carthusian community. Anthony Wood has chroni- 
cled a favorable character of this learned and eccentric cleric. 
" For a considerable time," writes Wood, " he had no fixed abode. 
For a few months he remained with his relatives in Ponsey, who 


were persons of rank and wealth, and no doubt furnished him 
with money. He was most cordially received in respectable so- 
ciety, on account of his agreeable manners and conversational 
powers. His knowledge as a scholar was very extensive. He 
took up his residence at Winchester a place long known as the 
haunt of learned men and witty women with charming con- 
versational talents. Notwithstanding Borde's rambling life and 
secular occupations, he constantly practised the essential duties 
of the Catholic religion. Three days a week he drank nothing 
but water and partook of bread as food. He wore a hair-shirt 
at certain penitential times ; every night his shroud was hung up 
at the foot of his bed to remind him of his last end and the great 
hereafter which was sure to follow." For a time the fact of 
Borde's being a priest was known to a few personal friends only, 
and the most devoted amongst them were two Protestant gentle- 
men of Winchester. Several of the " Reformed clergy/' as the 
apostates of those times were styled, having visited Winchester, 
Borde seeing the grossness and levity of their conduct, and 
being a rigid observer of his own vows of chastity, publicly 
denounced some leading men of the "new order of religion." 
This course of action created for him a bitter enemy in the per- 
son of Dr. Poynet, the new Bishop of Winchester, who would not 
countenance any priest until he was first " wifed" Poynet was 
appointed bishop of the ancient see of Winchester by the Protec- 
tor Somerset, and the appointment was a disgrace even to the 
government of Edward VI., the " boy-king." I cannot resist the 
opportunity of laying before my American friends a portrait, 
however brief, of Poynet's career, for it will illustrate the class of 
men who came forward to " reform religion " in England on the 
death of Henry VIII. 

John Poynet was an eminent scholar of King's College, Uni- 
versity of Cambridge. His mechanical skill first made him 
known to Henry VIII. , who subsequently appointed him to the 
office of a royal chaplain. He attracted the notice of Archbi- 
shop Cranmer also. Poynet conducted himself in Henry's reign 
with apparent propriety. He celebrated Mass with seeming de- 
votion, preached before the king, and denounced heretics, whilst 
at the same time he had secretly violated nearly all his vows as 
a priest. Upon the accession of Edward VI. he publicly pro- 
claimed his adhesion to the Reformation. Poynet was highly 
favored by Cranmer and esteemed by Roger Ascham and the 
leading Reformers of Edward's reign. He was an excellent 
mathematician. He gave Henry VIII. a wonderful dial of his 


own invention, showing not only "the hour of the day, but also 
the day of the month, the sign of the sun, the planetary hour ; 
yea, the change of the moon, the ebbing and flowing of the sea, 
with divers other things as strange, to the great wonder of the 
king, whose commendation he deservedly received in this case." 
As a linguist he had no rival at Cambridge. He was widely 
known for his knowledge of Latin, Greek, Italian, Spanish, and 
German. John Strype, the worshipper of the leading English 
Reformers, declares that King Edward a boy some twelve years 
old was " struck by the admirable sermons preached by Dr. Poy- 
net," which led to his further promotion ; but there happened to 
be a gulf of some depth between the "moral essence of the noted 
preacher " and his practice. Whilst Bishop of Rochester Poynet 
cohabited with the wife of a Nottingham butcher, and subse- 
quently went through the form of a marriage with this woman. 
He was divorced from the dame at St. Paul's, and there amerced 
in fines. The Camden Society have disentombed several docu- 
ments which proclaim to posterity the sadly profligate life led 
by this "Reformed bishop." 

Under the year 1551 (Edward VI. 's time) we have the fol- 
lowing in Maehyn's Diary, p. 8, whose words are modernized 
for the general reader: "The 2/th day of July the new Bishop 
of Winchester was divorced from the butcher's wife with shame 
enough" In the Grey Friars Chronicle the record of Poy net's 
divorce is set down as follows : " On the 27th day of July the 
Bishop of Winchester, that was there, was divorced from his wife 
at St. Paul's ; the woman was the real zvife of the Nottingham 
butcher, who was accorded a certain sum by law, which Dr. 
Poynet had to pay to the said butcher." 

Poynet was afterwards married at Croydon to a girl named 
Maria Simmons. Archbishop Cranmer was present at this mar- 
riage. The Poynet scandal was well known to the inhabitants 
of London in the reign of Edward VI., when some very gross 
ballads were circulated concerning the " bishop that robbed the 
butcher of his w r ife." 

Upon the death of Edward VI. Poynet joined the conspiracy 
to raise Lady Jane Dudley to the throne, but soon abandoned 
the cause of that ill-fated lady and joined Sir Thomas Wyatt's 
insurrection. Here he again proved false and fled to Strass- 
burg. It was with evident reluctance that Heylin ever wrote 
a line derogatory to the reputation of a Reformer, and more 
especially one regarded as a leader ; nevertheless, this noted 
Protestant historian felt compelled to write thus of Poynet, 


briefly yet significantly : " John Poynet, a better scholar than 
a bishop, was purposely preferred to the rich bishopric of Win- 
chester to serve other men's purposes." Burnet denies that Poy- 
net's life was in any way immoral. For making an unblushing 
assertion Gilbert Burnet had only one rival John Foxe. The 
late Dean Hook, in his voluminous and learned work, the Arch- 
bishops of Canterbury, censures his hero, Cranmer, for having 
been the patron of Poynet, whose evil deeds Dr. Hook condemns. 
" Poynet," he writes, " was an immoral and a bad man, and at 
last became so lost to all sense of shame that he lived in open adul- 
tery with a butcher s wife." Such was the man selected by Cran- 
mer and the arch-Reformer, the Duke of Somerset, to succeed 
in the see of Winchester Dr. Gardyner, who, with all his faults, 
was a stern man, of strict morality, and always mindful of the poor 
of his diocese, towards whom he acted as a father. 

Poynet died at Strassburg in 1556, in his fiftieth year. Of his 
life in Germany little is known, but that he "got wifed again, and 
took to black beer and dice." Such was the end of the gifted and 
the fallen", the persecutor of honest Andrew Borde, the " priest- 
doctor " of Hampshire. 

To return to Father Borde. His position in Winchester was 
that of a layman more than a cleric, for none of the "pope's 
priests " were tolerated by Somerset and Cranmer. The noted 
John Bale was also numbered amongst his enemies. Bale made 
the vilest accusations against this good and virtuous priest. It 
is possible, however, that even in those corrupt times few paid 
attention to the accusations of a being like this, apostate friar, as 
gifted as he was immoral. Bale did the work of his employ- 
ers to their own and his satisfaction. It been truly remarked 
by Macaulay that " none hate with such intense malice as the 

The " priest-doctor's " life was made miserable by the " gov- 
ernment spies and the hunting-down " process adopted by the 
" Reformed clergy," to whom I have just referred. The Reform- 
ers at last determined to remove Borde from Winchester. He 
was arrested ; his papers and books a treasury in themselves 
were seized upon and carried to London, and perhaps there met 
the fate of many similar collections. Borde was lodged in the 
Tower for some weeks, and then transferred to the Fleet, where 
he died from " ill-treatment, bad food, and neglect" in 1549-50. 
Thornclale says that while in the Tower Borde cured some of 
the prisoners of virulent diseases. He was also brought to at- 
tend Lady Jane Seymour, the protector's daughter, who was 


dangerously ill. After three or four visits from the " priest- 
doctor" the young lady rapidly recovered. The London physi- 
cians petitioned the council " to set their learned brother free, 
because he had committed no crime and was a benefactor to all 
mankind." Somerset, whose daughter he had recovered, was 
" inclined to mercy," but Archbishop Cranmer was altogether 
opposed to clemency. He said there were more than twenty 
of the pope's priests playing the part of medical doctors at 
that moment in England, that it was a device to. overturn the 
" Reformed religion," and, however harsh it might appear, Borde 
should not be released unless he adopted the principles of the 
Reformed church. This "act of mercy" Borde declined to ac- 
cept. So, like many other good and noble characters, he died in 
a pestilent cell of the Fleet Prison. 

Father Borde had high repute as a medical practitioner in 
Hampshire and the surrounding counties. His kindness to the 
poor patients whom he attended was widely kno\vn and fervently 
appreciated. He received large fees from his wealthy patients, 
and spent them upon the poor. It has been related by a physi- 
cian of Hampshire that "his kindly manner to the ailing did 
much to bring about a speedy recovery, and he always left his 
patients in a cheerful mood." " And," adds Dr. Whitworth, 
" the Reformers of the extreme party had faith in my popish 
friend as a medical adviser, for his heart, his mind, and his splen- 
did talents were alone directed to the performance of good offi- 
ces for the afflicted of body or mind. Fie labored thus for the 
honor and the glory of God, and I hope he has received his re- 

Pomeroy, another Protestant contemporary of Father Borde, 
says " that there was much humor both in his writings and con- 
versation." Borde was the author of several interesting works, 
now almost unknown. He published a small book in French on 
his visit to Vienna. It related to the position of society in that 
city, and is described by Mr. Fenton as highly interesting ; but 
few copies of it ever reached England. In 1542 Father Borde 
published a book upon Fashions and old Coins. Carlo Logario 
says that Borde had written a book upon his travels and " the 
strange folks with whom he became acquainted " ; but the MS. 
was accidentally consumed by fire in Winchester. Logario, who 
was himself a physician and personally acquainted with many 
of the Carthusian Fathers, joins in the general tribute offered 
to the merits and the memory of Andrew Borde. 

I cannot close the tragic story of the martyrs of the Charter- 


house without recurring- again to Maurice Chauncy. He was 
undoubtedly a native of Ireland, and born within a few miles of 
the picturesque bay of Carlingford. It is stated in an old book 
entitled the Irish Friars that Chauncy was a native of Suffolk and 
of Irish parents. This statement is contradicted by the nephew 
of Chauncy, who names Carlingford as the place of his birth. 
Mr. Froude " does not believe that he was an Englishman ; he sus- 
pects he was born in Ireland." It has been asked, " What would 
induce Irish monks and nuns to visit England in those days ? " 
In the course of my research, ranging over twenty years, I find 
that in the days of the Heptarchy, down to the Wars of the 
Roses, and later still, many monks and nuns from Ireland joined 
the English abbeys and convents, and the Irish religious houses 
were largely recruited from England. For a long period the 
famous Abbey of Bective, in Meath, had a number of English 
monks, and the good feeling which existed between the " soldiers 
of the cross " was most edifying. 

At the period of Lord Crumwell's inquisition of the English 
religious houses the nuns made some resistance ; but the bravest 
opposition offered to Crumwell's'i unmanly "intruders" came 
from Irish ladies, who courted martyrdom on several occasions. 
Dean Seaton, one of Crumwell's agents, in a letter to his em- 
ployer declares " that if the nuns were all Irishwomen it would be 
impossible to put them down." Thorndale heard " something simi- 
lar from Layton's own lips." Two of Maurice Chauncy 's sisters 
were nuns in the convent of Shaftesbury, and they became 
noted for the courageous resistance they made to Dr. Layton 
and his inquisitors. 

Father Chauncy continued a zealous advocate of the doctrines 
of the Catholic Church to the close of his long life. In his his- 
tory of the Carthusians of the Charter-house he laments not 
having stopped and awaited the martyrdom of his brethren. He 
excited the particular hatred of Lord Crumwell and his royal 
master. Thomas Wyatt was informed by his patron, Lord 
Crumwell, that the king charged him " specially to hang Chaun- 
cy the moment he was caught." This speedy execution was 
under the provost-marshal warrant. Such executions were fre- 
quent in the reign of Elizabeth. 

Dodd describes Maurice Chauncy as " a man of primitive 
zeal, and much esteemed by the English residents on the Conti- 
nent." Archibald Graham, a Scotch Puritan, says that " Chaun- 
cy would do a kind office for a Protestant as soon as for one of 
his own creed, provided the person was worthy of being aided." 


Jacob Alloar, a Prussian Lutheran cleric, speaks in the highest 
terms of " the kind and Christian feeling which marked the in- 
tercourse of Maurice Chauncy with those of opposing creeds." 
The high-minded Anthony Wood pays an honest tribute to the 
memory of this last survivor of the Charter-house slaughter. 
" It is not denied," writes Wood, " by any intelligent and mode- 
rate Protestant but that the name of Maurice Chauncy is worthy 
of being kept in everlasting remembrance." 

Upon the accession of Queen Mary, Chauncy's community 
few in number returned to England for a short time. In 1575 
Chauncy again visited London in the guise of a Flemish physi- 
cian, when he discovered that nearly all his former friends were 
either dead or immured in dungeons. Dr. Chauncy, the kinsman 
of the expatriated Carthusian, says that he accompanied him in 
a walk round Westminster Abbey and amidst the ruins of the 
Carthusian houses. On approaching those sacred wrecks " he 
was seized with a melancholy ; clasping his hands and casting his 
eyes downwards, he spake not a word for some time. He then 
hastened from the spot, shedding many big tears ! " He next 
visited the grave of Bishop Fisher at Barking. Kneeling beside 
the last resting-place of the martyred prelate, he begged to be 
alone for a while. . . . On the following day Father Chauncy 
sailed from the Thames for Antwerp. A few hours after he left 
London Sir Francis Walsingham's agents discovered that they 
had missed their prey. The narrator of the above sa} r s : " I 
never saw my good uncle again." Father Chauncy ended his 
eventful life at Bruges in July, 1581.* He must have been 
beyond eighty years of age at the time of his death. 

I now approach the tragic story of another religious com- 
munity, whose history has been but recently discovered, al- 
though written on the wall of Time, with this text for their ac- 
tions: " For the honor and the glory of God." 

The Observant Fathers f of Greenwich had many claims upon 
the kindness and protection of King Henry. They had been 
fostered and aided in good works by his father and mother. His 
aunts of the House of York were constant in their visits to Green- 
wich Chapel, where, before the great altar, the Countess of Rich- 
mond knelt, and where the Seventh Henry and his queen had 

* MS. records of the English Carthusians ; Diary of Douai College ; Thorndale ; Athen. 
Oxon.; Pomeroy's Chronicle ; Dodsray, p. 527. 

t The Observant Friars, or Observan tines, are a branch of the great Franciscan Order. 
ED. C. W. 


many times received Holy Communion, to the great edification 
of the people. The Eighth Henry was born in the vicinity of 
this sacred edifice, and he was baptized at its font; here, too, 
Henry, Duke of York, in the presence of his father, mother, 
grandmother, and aunts, made his First Communion. Time 
brought many other memorable events. For instance, in the 
bloom of a hopeful youth this same Henry Tudor, then a king, 
on an early morning in June besought one of the Observant 
Fathers to join him in wedlock to the " bride of his first love." 
Twenty years had scarcely passed from that interesting scene 
when all kindly remembrance seemed erased on the monarch's 

Thorndale relates that the Observants were not only broken 
up as a community, but they had been " hunted down, owing 
to a decree that no religious house should give them meat, 
drink, or shelter." Two hundred of their number were quick- 
ly imprisoned ; forty " died from putrid or prison fever " ; and 
the others, who were in extreme old age, died from cold and 
hunger. Lord Crumwell's agents went forth on the highways 
to denounce them as "lazy and profligate." Unmeet and cruel 
treatment this for such generous benefactors of the needy, the 
sick, and the dying, whose last moments they consoled and whose 
faith they strengthened. 

John Stowe, a Reformer, and almost a contemporary of the 
Community, has left on record an interesting narrative, disclosing 
much observation on the " manners and passions of those licen- 
tious and turbulent times." Stowe writes thus : 

"The first that openly resisted or reprehended the king's highness 
touching his marriage with Anna Boleyn was Friar Peto, a simple, devout, 
and fearless member of the Order of Observants. This goodly man 
preaching at Greenwich upon the two-and-twentieth chapter of the First 
Book of Kings viz., the last part of the story of Achab saying, ' And even 
where the dogs licked the blood of Naboth, even there shall the dogs lick 
thy blood also, O king ! ' and therewithal spake of the lying prophets, 
which abashed the king; 'and I am,' quoth he, 'that Micheas whom thou 
wilt hate, because I must tell thee truly that thy marriage is unlawful ; and 
I know I shall eat the bread o'f affliction, and drink the water of sorrow, 
yet because our Lord hath put it into my mouth I must speak it.' And 
when he (Peto) had strongly inveighed against the king's second marriage, 
to dissuade him from it, he further saith : ' There are many other preachers, 
yea, too many, who preach and persuade thee otherwise, feeding thy folly 
and frail affections upon the hope of their own worldly promotion ; and by 
that means they destroy thy soul, thy honor and posterity, to obtain fat 
benefices, to become rich abbots and get episcopal jurisdiction and other 

VOL. xxxiv. 17 


ecclesiastical dignities. There, I say, are the four hundred prophets who, 
in the spirit of lying, seek to deceive thee ; but take good heed lest you, 
being seduced, find Achab's punishment, which was to have his blood 
' licked up by the dogs,' * saying it was the greatest miscarriage of princes 
to be daily abused by flatterers. 

" The king, being thus reproved, endured it patiently, and did no vio- 
lence to the courageous Peto. The following Sunday, being the 8th of 
May, Dr. Curwin preached in the same place, strongly reproached Father 
Peto and the style of his discourse. He called Peto dog, slanderer, base, 
beggarly liar, closeman, rebel, and traitor, saying that no subject should 
speak so audaciously to princes. And having spoken much to that effect, 
and in commendation of the king's marriage, thereby to establish his family 
for ever, Dr. Curwin supposing he had utterly suppressed Father Peto, he 
lifted up his voice and said: 'I speak to thee, Peto, which maketh thyself 
Micheas, that thou mayest speak evil of kings; but now thou art not to be 
found, being fled for fear of shame, as being unable to answer my argu- 
ments.' But whilst he thus speaketh there was one Elstow, a fellow-friar 
to Peto, standing in the rood-loft, who, with a bold voice, said to Dr. Cur- 
win : ' Good sir, you know that Father Peto, as he was commanded, is now 
gone to a provincial council holden at Canterbury, and not fled for fear of 
you, for to-morrow he will return again. In the meantime I am here as an- 
other Micheas, and will lay down my life to prove all those things true 
which he hath brought out of the Holy Scripture, and to this combat / 
challenge thee before God and all equal judges. Even unto thee, Curwin, I 
say, which are one of the four hundred prophets into whom the spirit of 
lying has entered, and seek out of adultery to establish a succession, be- 
traying the king unto endless perdition, more for thy own vainglory and 
hope of promotion than for the discharge of thy dogged conscience and the 
king's salvation ! ' 

" On this Father Elstow waxed hot and spake very earnestly, so as 
they could not make him cease his speech, until the king himself bade him 
hold his peace, and gave order that he and Peto should be convented 
[cited] before the council, which was done the next day. And when the 
Lords had rebuked them, the Earl of Essex [Thomas Crumwell] told them 
that they deserved to be put into a sack and cast into the Thames. Where- 
upon Elstow, smiling, said: 'Threaten these things to rich and dainty folk, 
who are clothed in purple, fare deliciously, and have their chiefest hope in 
this world ; for we esteem them not, but are joyful that for the discharge 
of our duties we are driven hence, and, with thanks to God, we know the 
way to heaven to be as ready by water as by land, and therefore we care not 
which way we go ! ' ' 

* Father Peto's reference to the statement recorded in Scripture actually occurred in Henry's 
case. Here is the startling incident : The royal remains being carried to Windsor to be buried, 
the coffin, placed on a stand, remained all night under the dilapidated walls of the Convent of 
Sion, and there, the "leaden shell being cleft by the shakening of the rude conveyance along the 
bad roads, the pavement of the church was wetted with King Henry's blood. In the morning 
came plumbers to solder the coffin, under whose feet I tremble while I write it (says the 
narrator) was suddenly seen a large black dog licking up King Henry's blood. It was with 
difficulty that the animal was driven away." This statement is to be seen in a MS. in the 
Sloane State Papers, also in the correspondence of Thorndale, Hapsfield, Sir Aedward Deny, 
and Sir Anthony Brown, all of whom were present on that morning. 


John Stowe concludes his narrative in these words : " Peto and 
his devoted brotherhood were subsequently banished from 

Curwin was made Dean of Hereford for his pliant action as 
to the king's conduct. When Cuthbert Tunstal preached against 
the pope's Spiritual Supremacy in England he was answered 
by several powerful sermons from the Observant Fathers. They 
constituted missions throughout the country, and enjoined the 
people "not to leap out of Peter's ship," and to beware of the 
many false prophets who were ministering to the king's vanity.* 
In Yorkshire thousands of people came forth to greet the 
Observant Fathers. They were fearless in denouncing all en- 
croachments upon the church, for which they earned the enmity 
of the court party concurrently with the reverence and affection 
of the people. 

Many deliberate misrepresentations have been made by Puri- 
tan writers as to the merits of the Observants. The Observant 
Fathers were long known to, and much regarded by, Henry VII. 
He gave them a small piece of land near Greenwich Palace, and 
one thousand pounds to set them forward on their works of 
goodness and mercy, all which works were performed for " the 
honor and the glory of God." There were two young friars in 
this community who were the special favorites of Henry VII. 
namely, John Forrest and William Peto, both remarkable for 
their calm courage and high sense of equity. The intercourse 
between these friars and the royal family was courteous, re- 
spectful, edifying, kindly. According to the rules of the com- 
munity, they were vowed to live in poverty and obedience ; they 
supplied a meat dinner for visitors or for the poor, whilst they 
themselves partook of vegetables, bread and water, and only two 
curtailed meals in the twelve hours ; they were to attend the in- 
sane, the outcast, and the leper ; they were the unpaid nurses of 
the sick, the unsought teachers of the poor; they went into 
woods and forests to seek for outlaws and desperate characters, 
and converted many of those sorrow-laden creatures who were 
styled "the lost sheep." The Observant Fathers were celebrat- 
ed for the cultivation of herbs ; they studied medicine, chemis- 
try, and surgery; they were admirable gardeners, and made most 
nutritious vegetable soups for the sick 'poor. The Observant 
communities tilled the land ; they planted fruit-trees for the poor 
beside the cottage homes ; and, in the words of a distinguished 
Protestant historian, "they did work which no L^e else would 

* Adam Goodchylde's Account of the Sufferings of the Observant Fathers. 


look after," and refused all payment for their labor. Where, in what 
land, have the Gospel expounders of the Reformation produced 
such a community ? The Observants had every description 
of toil, which they cheerfully performed for the honor and the 
glory of God. They were bound by their vows to follow armies 
on the march, to shrive (confess) the dying, and to decently 
cover the dead in the grave. In fact, most of the heroic deeds 
of the present day are but imitations of the example set by the 
religious orders in the days of yore. The " Geneva Cross " of 
recent battle-fields is a welcome repetition by conscious and un- 
conscious believers of the present day in those unselfish men who 
derived their faith and fearless devotion direct from the cross of 
the Divine Founder of Christianity. 

Queen Katharine was a tertiary Sister of the Observant Or- 
der ; and the brotherhood were much indebted to both king and 
queen. At Greenwich the Observants had five houses, which were 
dedicated to the Virgin Mother, to St. Francis, St. Joseph, and 
other saints of blessed memory. Henry VII. left six hundred marks % 
to keep those houses in repair, and as soon as Katharine became 
queen she expended large sums of money on the community. 
Whilst at Greenwich she repaired every morning to the neatly- 
decorated chapel. There she knelt and prayed before the high 
altar, at which not many years before the lovely and hopeful 
Castilian maid pledged her bridal vows to Henry Tudor. Fa- 
ther Forrest and his brotherhood were Katharine's devoted 
English friends. They had witnessed the sunshine which sur- 
rounded her for many years ; later, when the sudden change came, 
they participated in the darkness of her fortunes, and as the 
thunderstorm burst around the royal lady these poor, honest- 
minded men shrank never from the way of duty. They took 
their part in the path of danger, and were not only not afraid to 
vindicate the wrongs, but to the cold mind of philosophy seemed 
officiously to anathematize the wrong and denounce the wronger, 
never afraid to speak God's truth. When divested of her queenly 
titles the Observant Fathers still adhered to Katharine. But the 
end soon came ; the queen sank into the grave, a broken-hearted 
heir to the reverence of posterity. Father Forrest perished by 
a barbarous immolation, and the rest of the community were 
ruthlessly driven from the dismantled home of their edifying and 
beneficent duties. The people of the south of Ireland extended 
their hospitality and sympathy to a few of the Observants who 
landed upon the shore of Kinsale, hunted like the wolf from their 
own once happy land. 



THERE is a tendency in physical nature, if it is not a law, to 
condense force in some one of a family to the detriment of its 
other members. How seldom two of the same name become il- 
lustrious in letters, statesmanship, or military glory ! If, how- 
ever, we sometimes find two of the same family sharing the same 
gifts, one will be found to be but an echo or a reflection of the 
other. There are not two Homers, nor two Shaksperes, nor two 
Newtons, nor two Ciceros, and, in the sense in which we write, 
are we not justified in saying that there have not been two Bona- 
partes ? There is, indeed, a whole family of the name which still 
counts its members by the dozen and its ramifications by the 
score, but in the light of recent history the fact is evident that 
only one of them was gifted in an extraordinary manner. The 
Corsican who rose from the post of minor officer in the French 
army by the force of his own talents to be the tamer of the revo- 
lution, the conqueror of Europe, the Emperor of France, and its 
lawgiver even to the present time, left no Eliseus behind him to 
wear his mantle or share his greatness. Nor should it be over- 
looked that the genius of the first Napoleon is not so apparent in 
the battles that he won as in the code of laws which he framed 
and bequeathed to France. The " Code Napoleon," written with 
the clearness of Caesar and the pith of Tacitus, places its author 
in a rank higher than that of Lycurgus or Solon, or even of 
Charlemagne. The vices of the man as told us in authentic his- 
tory, his private failings as portrayed in the somewhat preju- 
diced pages of Remusat, will never make men forget the spirit of 
equity which breathes through this Code, nor cease to admire 
the greatness of the restorer of public order in France, the victor 
of Austerlitz, and the founder of new dynasties all over Europe 
dynasties which failed everywhere, because, although many bore 
the name, only one possessed the genius of Napoleon. This fact 
is well illustrated in the history ol the last of the name who held 
the sceptre of his uncle. Those who had looked at the outside 
only of things during the twenty years' reign of the last of the Na- 
poleons, and judged him by the material prosperity of France, the 
embellishment of its capital, the respectful fear of other nations 
and the homage of their monarchs, the military success of the 
Crimean and Italian wars, and the annexation of Savoy, were dis- 


posed to think that the nephew, although not the military peer 
of his uncle, was his equal in statesmanship and his superior in 
diplomacy, and that the glory of the Napoleonic dynasty had 
risen from the tomb at the Invalides for a second apotheosis. 
But now, after the disgraceful surrender at Sedan, the invasion 
of France and capture of Paris by the countrymen of Bliicher, 
guided by the son of Queen Louise ; after the fall of the dynasty 
and the revelation of its secret history, its vices, and its weakness, 
we are forced to conclude that the nephew was but a caricature 
of his uncle in short, a " Badinguet" as the audiences in the 
French theatres wittily nicknamed him. 

Charles Louis Napoleon, or Napoleon III., was born in Pa- 
ris April 20, 1808, and died at Chiselhurst, in England, January 
9, 1873. He was the son of Louis Bonaparte, for a time King 
of Holland, third brother of the great emperor, and of Hortense 
de Beauharnais, daughter of Josephine. Charles Louis received 
a good education under the care of a mother who, whatever 
other faults she may have had, was certainly not lacking on the 
score of devotion to her children. His early life was one of wild 
and often foolish adventure. In 1836 at Strasbourg, and in 1840 
at Boulogne, where he displayed a tame eagle as the symbol of 
his dynasty, he made ridiculous attempts to overthrow the gov- 
ernment of Louis Philippe. After a novitiate spent in insurrec- 
tion, conspiracy, travel, and jail, he was elected a member of the 
French Assembly in 1848, and chosen president of the republic 
for four years on December 10 of the same year. On December 
2, 1851, he overthrew the existing government by force, and just 
one year after, on December 2, 1852, by a successful conspiracy 
and a violation of his oath, he became Emperor of the French. 
At the instigation of Jules Favre, on September 4, 1870, after the 
surrender of the French troops at Sedan, the French Assembly 
voted his dethronement and the re-establishment of the republic. 
Thus Napoleon as emperor controlled the destinies of France for 
almost twenty years, and for eighteen of them his sway was al- 
most despotic. He had the initiative of the law-making power 
and the unchecked disposition of the army, navy, and finance of 
the greatest nation in Europe for eighteen years time enough 
to mould a full generation of men. 

But what is the record which he left? The republic of 1848, 
conservative for a time, was so disturbed by insurrection of the 
dangerous classes that good men lived in continual terror of 
communism and socialism. A licentious press threatened, con- 
spiring clubs menaced, peace, law, order, and religion. Conse- 


quently when Napoleon seized the reins of power and repressed 
the incipient Commune the better-minded men of France and the 
rest of Europe, although condemning the means employed by 
him, rejoiced at their consequence ; for they hoped that his 
strong arm would shield property and religion from mob aggres- 
sion. They were encouraged the more to hope this because the 
men who surrounded his throne in the beginning were generally 
able and well disposed to the higher interests of society and to 
Christianity. Rouher and Troplong were conservatives, and his 
Spanish wife, Eug6nie, was said to be a devout Catholic. Canro- 
bert, Saint-Arnaud, and afterwards Niel and MacMahon, were 
soldiers of the old school, uncorrupted by the license which at a 
later date ate the heart out of the discipline of the French army. 
And so Napoleon, after the Coup-d 'ttat ', was hailed even by the cler- 
gy of France as a new deliverer. Country curates in La Vendee 
and Brittany, the heart of the Legitimist faction, saluted him as law- 
ful king and met him at the door of their churches with smoking 
thuribles, as if he were Henry V. himself, while admiring pea- 
sants shouted, " Vive VEmpereur ! " from throats that had always 
been used to the cry of " Vive le roi!" France was at peace. 
" The empire is peace," said the emperor, and prosperity bright- 
ened the hills and valleys of the whole land. In a few years the 
whole world bowed to France. Her sword drove back the 
Cossack from the Black Sea and the Austrian from the plains of 
Lombardy ; and her word settled the quarrels of the East and 
swayed the diplomacy even of England, timorous and distrustful 
of so great a rival. Cavour and Bismarck, then humble intriguers 
conspiring for the aggrandizement of their ambitious but intimi- 
dated states, bent low to the Cassar who held in his hands the 
sword of Brennus which decided the balance into whichever 
scale it was cast. The French army that had conquered Algiers 
and relieved Rome was believed to be invincible. Its prestige 
received a new lustre from the name of Napoleon of a Napo- 
leon, too, who had shown some evidence in his published works 
of being a philosopher as well as a strategist, in spite of the 
reveries scattered through them. Everything went well at first. 
With such an army, such a navy, so splendid a financial condi- 
tion, such a system of police as existed in France in 1852, what 
was there to prevent Napoleon from correcting the false notions 
of so many Frenchmen in regard to government by improving 
the education of the young, and by aiding religion in its en- 
deavor to recapture the hearts of the lower classes in French 
towns and cities, tainted by the infidelity that accompanied the 


first Revolution ? He had the control of the education of the 
whole of France, yet he did not correct the infidel tendency of 
the University, always jealous of Christian schools. Renan, an 
arch-infidel, was allowed to corrupt young France in the College 
de France until in 1864 public opinion forced his dismissal. The 
laws against religious orders were not enforced, it is true, as they 
have been lately under the new republic, but they were not 
abrogated. Instead of founding Christian schools among the 
laboring classes, Napoleon thought to convert them by giving 
them plenty of work at the public expenses-feeding them, as it 
were, at the public crib and to control them by mouchards in- 
stead of by religion. He should have prevented public work on 
Sunday, as he had the power to do ; but he feared the secret so- 
cieties and the Orsini bombs. The laboring classes were trained 
to infidelity by public sanction. His influence in the church was 
thrown on the side of Gallicanism not a Gallicanism of principle, 
like that of the old Bourbons, but one of sentiment and political 
expediency. George Darboy was the representative of this new 
form of Gallicanism, as Bishop of Nancy, and afterwards as Arch- 
bishop of Paris, and he received many reproofs from the pope for 
his trimming between him and Csesar. Thus did Napoleon fail 
to improve the moral condition of France while he was adding 
to its material wealth ; thus did he fail to understand that a 
Christian people loyal in obedience to the Ten Commandments is 
the only one upon which a ruler can depend for support in his 
hour of adversity. 

If we look at the chief events of his reign we shall perceive 
this lack of foresight more clearly. 

The first great event of his reign was the Crimean War. It 
is related that Louis Napoleon being at Stuttgart in 1847 a 
French journalist interviewed him. 

" ' What impression do I make in France ? ' said the prince. 

" ' A bad one, prince.' 

" ' Then you think my cause lost ? ' 

" Yes, lost ! ' 

" ' You are mistaken, sir. France cannot live without destroying the 
treaties of 1815 and avenging Waterloo. She knows that I alone will give 
her satisfaction.' " * 

The prince who spoke thus showed the inconsistency of his 
character when as emperor he became the ally of England and 
throughout his whole reign the slave of English diplomacy. In 

* Le Dernier des Napoleon, p. 113. 


1852 Russia menaced the interests of English power and com- 
merce in the East. England controlled Turkey politically and 
financially. Russia, irritated and desirous of extending her own 
influence in the East, declared war against Turkey in 1854. Eng- 
land alone could not withstand the Cossack ; France was neces- 
sary, and, through the unfortunate influence of Eug6nie, Napoleon 
became the ally of his uncle's only conqueror, contrary to his 
own and his country's true interest. The French army, at first 
decimated by cholera in the Dobruscha swamps, beat Menchi- 
koff at Alma, in the Crimea, saved the English army at Inker- 
mann, and took Sebastopol by storm September 8, 1855, after a 
long and bloody siege. Peace followed, but what did France 
gain? The hatred of Russia, in the first place a great misfor- 
tune for Napoleon's mushroom empire. The Russian power was 
only checked but not broken in the East. Nor did Napoleon 
know how to keep the friendship of his ally, for he refused to 
destroy Cronstadt and St. Petersburg. Thus he gained nothing 
even on the side of England, while through his fault France lost 
both her soldiers and her money. 

An incident that occurred on the occasion of signing the 
treaty of Paris, after this war, shows clearly the weakness of this 
imperial dreamer. He was master of the situation. His troops 
had won the battles of the Crimea. It was in his power to dic- 
tate his own terms and to form strong alliances. Russia could 
not resist, and England dared not. Yet, instead of acting for the 
future interests of France or of his own dynasty, he was specially 
occupied with the question of what kind of quill the plenipoten- 
tiaries should use in signing the treaty of peace ! A feather was 
pulled from the wing of an eagle in the Jardin des Plantes for 
the glorious purpose ; and the gentleman * who plucked it gave a 
certificate of authenticity in the following words : " I hereby cer- 
tify that I myself have plucked this quill from the wing of the 
imperial eagle." Here we have " Badinguet " and the women of 
his court, instead of the spirit of the great conqueror of Ma- 
rengo and Austerlitz. 

If the r61e of Napoleon III. in the Crimean War proved him 
to be the dupe of England, insincere in his words for he had 
said that the empire meant peace, just before going to war ; and 
that Waterloo should be avenged, previous to becoming the ally 
of Wellington's countrymen his conduct in the war of Italy 
showed further that he was a poor soldier, affiliated with the 
secret societies, and the tool of their conspiracies. Louis Napo- 

* M. Feuillet de Conches. 


Icon's true policy would have been to identify himself with the 
conservative forces in European society. He could not trust the 
revolution. He ought to have known that it would push him 
aside, if it ever obtained the upper hand. He should have known 
that the names of emperor and empire were as distasteful to the 
secret societies as those of king and kingdom. To placate the op- 
position of the followers of the old regime, to inspire confidence in 
the bosom of the conservative classes this would have been true 
diplomacy, for on this side alone lay the hope of his dynasty. 
Pius IX. and his much-abused minister, Antonelli, had repeat- 
edly warned him of the danger of joining in the intrigues of 
Cavour and the other subalpine conspirators. He had already 
alienated Russia, the great conservative power of the North. He 
next alienated Austria, the great conservative power of Germany, 
by making war on her in the interest of all the Red Republicans 
in Europe, the sworn enemies of his own throne. 

Count Cavour, true disciple of Machiavelli, knew how to 
manage the hesitating and irresolute Louis Napoleon. Partly 
intimidated by the attempts at assassination, partly cajoled, and 
partly from sympathy for had not some of his youth been spent 
in attempts at Italian revolution ? the emperor declared war 
against Austria on April 13, 1859. All Italy was in arms. The 
cohorts of Mazzini, with whom Napoleon had always held a mor- 
ganatic relation, brought the knife of the assassin to assist, but to 
sully, the sword of the gallant French army. The battle of Ma- 
genta, won on June 4, 1859, by Marshal MacMahon ; and the battle 
of Solferino, won on the 24th of the same month by Marshal Niel, 
terminated the campaign. Napoleon took a personal part in the 
war and manifested absolute incapacity as a soldier. His two 
brave marshals saved him from complete disaster, and achieved 
victory where alone he would have experienced defeat. Incom- 
petent as a soldier, he again showed his incompetency as a diplo- 
mat. He went to war for the sake of Italy, yet abruptly made a 
treaty with Austria at Villafranca, leaving the north of Italy still 
in the hands of the detested foreigner. The Italians cried out 
against the French emperor for deserting them after having de- 
clared that he would free Italy " from the Alps to the Adriatic." 
They forgot that only for his assistance Austria might have 
crushed them to powder, as she had already done during the 
reign of Charles Albert. Napoleon made peace with Austria 
because he was afraid of Prussia, who was afterwards to become 
his conqueror. 

There was another conservative force in Europe which Napo- 


Icon III. should have kept friendly at all hazards: that was the 
Papacy. Its temporal power was the oldest sovereignty in Eu- 
rope, guaranteed by the law of nations. It represented law and 
right. It represented the great Catholic party of France and the 
world. It stood in the way of the ambition of the subalpine 
kingdom, ever grasping and aggressive, and plotting the over- 
throw of all the other Italian principalities for the pretended 
cause of Italian unity, but really for the sake of Sardinian domi- 
nation. Napoleon should have seen that Italian unity meant the 
creation of a great force hostile to France on the south, as Prus- 
sia was hostile to her on the east. But he seemed to be dazed. 
The blindness of his uncle fell on him. The uncle had tried to 
get rid of the vieux calotin, Pius VI L, and the nephew tried to 
get rid of his namesake, Pius IX. Both broke their power on 
the same rock. The curse of Rome followed them and their 
armies, the one to the Borodino and Moscow, the other to the 
Rhine and Sedan. 

Napoleon became more unprincipled as he grew older. He 
fell under the domination of the subalpine clique, more especially 
after the marriage of his cousin Prince Jerome to the daughter 
of Victor Emmanuel. So it was decreed that the pope's tem- 
porality should first be sacrificed after the kingdom of Naples 
had been abolished. Napoleon wrote to Pius IX. letters signed 
" Your devoted son," expressing his anxiety for the papal wel- 
fare, and sent words of sympathy to the King of Naples, holding 
out hopes of aid to him, while at the same time he was tolerating 
or secretly encouraging Cavour and Garibaldi to destroy the tem- 
poral power of both. Lamoriciere, the pope's general, asserted 
that he had the word of Napoleon for it that the Piedmontese 
army should not be allowed to interfere at Castel Fidardo. 
King Ferdinand had his promise of non-interference at Gaeta. 
But the word and the promise were of a true Corsican. The 
Italian general, Cialdini, told Lamoriciere at Castel Fidardo 
that he had seen the emperor and was sure of his sympathy. 

With the fall of the papal sovereignty Napoleon lost the sym- 
pathy of all the Catholics in France and in the world. He never 
had the full sympathy of the infidel body, and so when he sur- 
rendered at Sedan no one wept for his fate. Before that event 
came, however, he was to commit more blunders, one of which 
made him as detestable to Americans as he had become to the 
best classes in European society. 

This blunder was the expedition to Mexico. It was the less 
excusable because Napoleon, having lived for some time in our 


country, ought to have known that his interference in the af- 
fairs of this continent would be resented. In virtue of the Mon- 
roe doctrine we are jealous of European interference in our own 
or in the affairs of our neighbors. Our national sympathies are 
with republics and democracies everywhere, but especially in 
America. Napoleon knew that he would alienate the feelings 
of all the inhabitants of the United States by taking advantage 
of our civil dissensions to attempt to erect an empire at our very 
doors. His sympathy for the Southern rebellion created a bitter 
feeling against him in the North. His effort to destroy the 
Mexican republic and turn it into an empire under an Austrian 
prince intensified our hostility to him and his dynasty. Even 
if he had succeeded in realizing his foolish dream of a Latin 
empire in Mexico it could not have lasted. We would have 
crushed it so soon as our civil war would have been over. This 
state of feeling in the United States Napoleon himself perhaps 
knew ; but, with his usual weakness, he allowed himself to be 
influenced by the royalist Spanish camarilla that so often con- 
trolled his court. Labastida, the exiled archbishop of Mexico, 
full of resentment against the republic, is said to have used his 
influence with the empress, and both, together with Juan Prim, of 
Spain, engineered the plot to turn Mexico into an empire. La- 
bastida's motive was probably the interest of his own party ; 
Prim expected to be made emperor himself; and Napoleon's 
vanity was stimulated by the project. It seemed easy to be real- 
ized while the power of the United States was divided by the 
civil war. On the 3Oth November, 1861, France, England, and 
Spain agreed to interfere in the domestic affairs of Mexico. 
The French army, sent across the Atlantic at enormous ex- 
pense, was decimated by disease. France was robbed by the 
expedition. Prim, perceiving that he was not to be the empe- 
ror, induced Spain to desert, and England, selfish and cunning, 
left Napoleon to carry out the scheme alone. Bazaine, a name 
since Metz infamous in France, was the agent, and Maximilian 
the victim, of this unfortunate undertaking. The result of it is 
well known. The United States threatened; Juarez held out; 
France withdrew, and Maximilian, one of the bravest names that 
ever gave glory to the house of Hapsburg, was left to fight his 
battle alone. He died like a hero, shot by the republican soldiers 
of Juarez at Queretaro on July 19, 1867 almost on the anniver- 
sary of the battle of Waterloo. His death was a second Water- 
loo for the Bonaparte family, for from it broke out that feeling 
of hatred in Austria, and that feeling of contempt in France and 


throughout the world, which culminated in execration after the 
surrender of Sedan. 

Austria never forgave the interview between Maximilian's 
wife, Carlotta, and Napoleon III. in a hotel at Paris previous to 
the fall of her husband. She begged Bonaparte not to desert him, 
telling him that it would be dishonorable to do so. She threw 
herself at his feet as a suppliant, but in vain. " It is useless to 
insist, madame," said the cold-blooded son of Hortense. " I shall 
not give your husband another man, not another crown." The 
words broke her heart and disordered her brain. She rose to 
her feet, and with flashing eyes, from which shot the fires of in- 
cipient insanity, exclaimed : " Ah ! I was not, then, deceived in 
you. I know you, destroyer of my family ! You have your re- 
venge on the granddaughter of Louis Philippe, who saved you 
from misery and the scaffold." She followed him to the door 
as he departed, crying after him: " You think you can, through 
.your police, tear from me your letters and promises; but you are 
mistaken. They are secure. Go ! and may the curse of God 
fall on you as on Cain ! " 

She lost her reason, and the curse fell on the betrayer of Maxi- 
milian. As the ghost of Cassar haunted Brutus at Philippi, so 
did the vision of Maximilian's bloody corse and the shadow of 
his insane wife haunt Napoleon at Sedan. 

Step by step the crisis was approaching. The Catholic party 
alienated by his treachery to the pope ; England and Russia both 
distrustful ; the conservatives of Italy unfriendly on account of 
his having betrayed the exiled sovereign of Naples ; the radicals of 
Italy discontented by the abrupt treaty of Villafranca ; Austria 
hostile on account of the Italian war and his desertion of Maxi- 
milian ; the United States unfriendly on account of his Mexican 
enterprise and because of his well-known sympathy for the 
Southern rebellion; Prussia watching the game and making 
ready for the inevitable struggle : how stood France to Napoleon ? 

The secret societies to which the emperor had belonged, and 
to please which he had betrayed the pope and attacked Austria, 
still continued to plot. Their motto was nationality and an in- 
ternational republic. By nationality they meant a union of the 
people of the same race in spite of geographical, financial, or 
municipal reasons. By internationalism they meant socialism 
and communism. True nationality, like true liberty, is based on 
the preservation of municipal rights and is opposed to central- 
ization. Our form of government, with its system of separate 
States, each preserving its own peculiar privileges, serving as a 


check to centralized uniformity ; or Switzerland with its distinct 
cantons ; or the confederation of the Italian States, each retaining 
its own constitution and laws, as advocated by Gioberti ; or the 
Spanish system, in which some of the provinces retain their own 
customs <mdfueros, would not satisfy the advocates of national 
unity. They wanted a geographical, legal, and centralized na- 
tionality, which could be moved from one extreme to another, as 
an electric current is set in motion by the touch of a button un- 
der the thumb of one executive. They wanted, not a nationality 
like a mosaic, with variety in unity, but a nationality vulgarly 
uniform. Prince Jerome was the friend and protector of all 
these dreamers and schemers, while at the same time he held re- 
lations with all his cousin's theories regarding the perpetuity of 
the Napoleonic dynasty. Indeed, it was in the interest of this 
cause that he courted the socialists and publicly seemed to favor 
the Internationale while the emperor was prosecuting it. Both 
imagined that, despite the opposition of Legitimists and Orleanists, 
they could at last found a liberal Napoleonic dynasty on the sup- 
port of the irreligious masses. They imagined that they could 
make the Commune content with a liberal empire, and cheat the 
people out of their desire to re-establish the republic. But they 
counted without Gambetta, Favre, and Rochefort. They did 
not expect that Pierre Bonaparte was going to murder Victor 
Noir, one of the idols of the Parisian mob. They forgot that the 
more the tiger of communism gets the more he wants. They 
forgot that the empire had lost its hold on the French heart, and 
that Bismarck knew it. Rouher and the old Bonapartists saw 
the chasm into which the emperor was going to plunge ; but he 
would not listen to them. He preferred the counsels of his 
quondam enemy, the demagogue Emile Olivier, to those of his 
tried friend, Rouher ; and he trusted Le Boeuf, the imbecile Min- 
ister of War, rather than Niel and MacMahon, the true victors 
of Solferino and Magenta. Honest Niel was dead ; MacMahon 
was in quasi-exile in Africa. Thiers' advice would not be listened 
to. Bismarck was ready. Prussia was armed and longing for 
the fray. France was rich, but the administration of civil affairs 
had become corrupt and the nerves of discipline, both in the 
army and the navy, were fatally relaxed. 

We now reach the last act in this emperor's reign, one that 
began in such splendor and ended in such disgrace. We saw in 
the beginning the genius of Cavour leading him into the blunder 
of the Italian campaign, the result of which was to raise up on 
the southern frontier of France a rival power discontented with 


the half- measures of Villafranca. We shall now see a German 
statesman lead Napoleon to ruin at Sedan. Bismarck, like Ca- 
vour and Napoleon, belongs to the Machiavellian school of poli- 
tics. Hatred of France and of everything French had been in- 
stilled into King William's mind from his very infancy, and de- 
testation of the Napoleons was with him almost a monomania. 
Bismarck was a strange agent for this royal son of Luther, half 
fanatic in his Protestantism and half savage in his policy, to 
choose. Yet the pair have ever worked harmoniously, the king 
calling on Providence, while the minister called on his Uhlans 
and his rifled cannon, to carry out the policy of deception, of blood 
and iron, which was to enlarge the Prussian kingdom into an em- 
pire and humiliate France. Bismarck played his game astutely. 
He helped Cavour to gain Italian unity, in order to weaken Aus- 
tria and create sympathy for Prussian aims beyond the Pyre- 
nees, and then he duped Napoleon into non-interference in the 
war with Austria. 

It is not probable that Bismarck at first hoped or intended to 
take Alsace-Lorraine from France. His aim was to drive the 
Austrian influence out of North Germany and leave it entirely 
under Prussian hegemony. But he could not do this without 
the leave of France. In order, therefore, to gain the sympathy of 
the latter he paid court to Napoleon, and in 1862 submitted to 
him a plan for the reorganization of Europe. The chief points 
of it were that France was to annex Luxembourg and Belgium, 
and afterwards the coal districts on the Rhine of Saar and Mentz. 
Prussia, in return for helping France to this piece of territory, 
was to get control of Hanover and all the German states as far 
south as the Main. He flattered, coaxed, bribed, and intrigued at 
the court in Paris and Biarritz, till Napoleon, weak and mute, al- 
lowed him to carry out his scheme. Napoleon perhaps thought 
that after the expulsion of Austrian influence from Schleswig- 
Holstein, and the breaking of her power at Sadowa, Bismarck 
would keep his word. It is strange that such an adept in du- 
plicity as Napoleon should have trusted a man like Bismarck. 
But the sybarite who presided over the destinies of France was 
every day growing weaker and weaker. In 1866 Prussia declar- 
ed war on Austria. Napoleon even then could have dictated 
terms to Bismarck. He could have at once pushed his army to 
the Rhine, which old Frederick II. said was the natural eastern 
limit of France. Both Prussia and Austria would have been 
obliged to assent. They were at war with each other. But the 
opportunity was lost, and after the Prussian victory at Sadowa 


it was no longer possible for France to dictate terms. Bismarck 
was allowed to achieve the work of Prussian aggrandizement 
without let or hindrance. The Prussian chancellor himself ex- 
pressed surprise at the stupidity of the French emperor. M. 
Drouyn de Lhuys, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and gallant Mar- 
shal Niel tried to awake him to his danger and exact from Bis- 
marck, while it was possible, some compensation to France for 
her friendly neutrality. But in vain. When the last scene in 
his inglorious reign opened Niel and Drouyn de Lhuys were 

On the 1 5th of July, 1870, the French parliament decreed war 
against Prussia, exactly four years too late. Rouher and the 
old imperial counsellors had been superseded by men like Olivier 
and Le Boeuf. The emperor had yielded up many of his pre- 
rogatives and relaxed his hold on the French people. He 
thought that the liberal constitution would reconcile them to his 
dynasty. A war with Prussia for refusing to give France the 
Rhine as a boundary would distract the attention of France, and, 
if it were successful, would make it forgive his Mexican and 
Italian mistakes. Success, of course, he expected. He always 
believed in his star. In a few months after a rapid march on 
Berlin he would return with spoil and glory, the conqueror of the 
victor of Sadowa. Prussian insolence, that had dared to favor 
the candidacy of a Hohenzollern for the Spanish throne, was to 
be punished at Berlin by the nephew, as it had been punished at 
Jena by the uncle. Yet suddenly it was found that nothing was 
ready. Luxury had destroyed the discipline of the French 
army. A veritable reign of " shoddy " pervaded all the depart- 
ments of the administration. Theft and imbecility were found 
everywhere. The commissariat was defective. The quota of 
the regiments was not filled. The officers did not know the 
geography of their own country. They had not even the maps 
necessary to study it. Yet all seemed right on paper. M. Le 
Bceuf, Minister of War, said that France was ready, that she did 
not need to buy even a gaiter-button. He said that there was 
a stock on hand of four millions of chassepot rifles ; in reality 
there were but eleven hundred. There was a powerful French 
navy, which Prussia especially dreaded, for it could have blockad- 
ed her Baltic ports and landed a force on her northern frontier. 
But the navy, commanded by Rigault de Genouilly another pro- 
duct of this reign of shoddy had no proper charts of the Baltic, 
and did absolutely nothing during the campaign. The adminis- 
tration in France had seen the growth of Prussia, her magnificent 


army and its splendid equipment, its thorough discipline and 
great prestige, especially after the. victory of Sadowa ; yet no 
proper preparations had been made for the struggle that 
every one saw to be inevitable. The most bitter satire that was 
ever penned against French vanity is not half so strong as the 
record of the battles in Napoleon's last war, from Worth and 
Forbach to Metz and Sedan. " On to Berlin ! " was the cry of 
the whole French people when Napoleon left Paris. They be- 
lieved in the prestige of French arms. They could not believe 
that the emperor was an absolute imbecile. They thought that 
all was ready , but the answer to their cry was the harsh " Nach 
Paris / " of the Uhlans. German sobriety, steadiness, discipline, 
and poverty trampled down in the dust the luxury, volatility, and 
licentiousness of the administration of the last of the Napoleons. 
The corrupt officers of his army, debauched by Mexican wealth, 
Parisian effeminacy, and government appointments irrespective of 
merit, were no match for the sinewy sons of Bavaria and the 
brawny braves of Brandenburg. France, still crippled and hu- 
miliated, will never forgive the disgrace of her last defeat, due 
to the neglect and blindness of her emperor. The defeat at 
Sedan on the 2d of September, 1870, ended the Napoleonic 

The man is dead, but his work survives him. The present re- 
public is a fit sequel to an empire begotten in perjury and nur- 
tured in deception. The charlatanism of the present leaders of 
French diplomatic thought, of Gambetta and Ferry, is but the 
fruit of Napoleon's failure to set France on the road to real 
greatness, to progress based on truth, honor, self-restraint, and 

Yet perhaps we should make some allowances for his short- 
comings. His moral education was bad, owing to the corrupt 
[surroundings of his youth. He was taught to be a Catholic 
rather because Catholicity was the religion of his family than on 
account of the fixed principles and strict practices which it en- 
tails. His only fixed belief was in his star, in his destiny. The 
government of Louis Philippe is accused of having purposely 
( given him opportunities of debauch in the prison at Ham. His 
physical and mental debility manifested after his escape give pro- 
bability to the story. He was a bundle of contradictions, a model 
of duplicity. He called himself a devout Catholic and acted like 
a free-thinker ; a son of the church, yet a Carbonaro ; and although 
a Frenchman by descent, he was a Corsican in insincerity and a 
Hollander in phlegm. His cold character, so unlike that of his un- 

VOL. xxxiv. 18 


cle, caused many to doubt his legitimacy. His public policy was 
tortuous, shuffling, Machiavellian. Perhaps at no period of his- 
tory does the contrast appear more striking between it and true 
Christian diplomacy than during his reign. Palmerston, Cavour, 
Bismarck, and Napoleon III., aiming at success by systematic ly- 
ing and deception, making the end always justify the means, were 
incarnate representatives of Machiavelli's system. 


" Praise the Lord, all ye nations; praise him, all ye peoples. For his mercy is confirmed 
upon us, and the truth of the Lord remaineth for ever." Psalm cxvt. 

How naturally these words of the Psalmist come to our minds 
and rise to our lips on an occasion like this ! We are here to 
give thanks to Almighty God for the great victory won on this 
spot a hundred years ago, which virtually ended our country's 
struggle for freedom and put the seal of the Lord of Hosts on her 
independence. Standing on this battle-field, and viewing in lov- 
ing memory that noble band of patriots who, after so many dis- 
couragements and from amid the gloom of so many difficulties, 
here beheld the glorious sunburst of hope nay, of assured suc- 
cess, gleam forth upon their country's cause, we feel anew the 
thrill of their relief, their exultation, and their gratitude, and we 
would fain sing forth our rejoicing to the Lord, our deliverer. 

From that event, as from their fountain-head, we see pouring 
forth the blessings of a century of national life, and our hearts 
rise up in dutiful thanksgiving to the Giver of all good. 

We behold the influence of these blessings shed abroad, 
through the myriad channels of human intercourse, till their 
power is felt in every corner of the world ; and we would fain 
have all the nations and peoples of the earth join in our canticle 
of praise. 

From the past and the present we glance to the future ; and, 
strong in our faith that the Almighty's providence has not be- 
stowed such wondrous bounty for evanescent purposes, but for 
great ends which he will surely carry to their full accomplish- 1 
ment, we recognize in his past mercies the best guarantee of his 

*The Discourse of the Right Rev. John J. Keane, D.D., Bishop of Richmond, Va., at the 
Mass of Thanksgiving at Yorktown, Sunday, October 16, 1881. 


future beneficence, and with gladsome trust we exclaim ; " His 
mercy is confirmed upon us, and the truth of the Lord remaineth 
for ever." 

And with our gratitude to the Almighty is inseparably bound 
up our gratitude to that noble nation which he was pleased to 
use as the agent of his providence in our country's behalf to 
chivalrous and generous France, to whom, under God, we are so 
largely indebted for all that we to-day give thanks for. To her, 
above all the nations of the earth, do our hearts on this day go 
forth, and on her we invoke heaven's richest rewards. 

Men have various sets of weights and measures for estimating 
the meaning and value of human events ; but we never see them 
in their true light, nor put upon them their right value, till we 
view them in the light of God's overruling providence and dis- 
cover the place which he has assigned them in the development 
of his plan, and the efficacy which he has given them in promot- 
ing and securing his purposes of wisdom and love. Viewed in 
its own proportions and amid its own surroundings only, the 
victory which we commemorate is dwarfed by many another of 
far greater brilliancy in the annals of mankind. But regarded as 
an element in God's providence over the nations of the earth, it 
ranks among the foremost of the great events that have shaped 
the destinies of the world. Faintly and imperfectly at best could 
the patriots of 1781 have imagined the growth that was to spring 
from the seed which they so laboriously and wearily planted. 
But now that the battle-clouds which then overshadowed it 
have long since passed away, and the tree of liberty spreads its 
branches far and wide, we can estimate their work aright, and 
trace the stream of providential guidance which leads up to it 
and flows from it. 

From the beginning God destined man to live in society, to 
have social relations each with his fellow-men. His social rela- 
tions as w.ell as his individual life were meant for his welfare and 
happiness, both here and hereafter. To this end every form of 
human authority and government called for by the social state 
was to contribute and to be subordinated. The Creator foresaw 
all the forms of imperfection and of evil that were to follow from 
the blundering and the perversity of men ; but his wisdom, which 
" reacheth from end to end mightily and ordereth all things 
sweetly," knew how to provide, and assuredly did provide, that 
the net outcome of it all should tend to the realizing of his plan 
and to the greater welfare of mankind. Whithersoever they 
migrated over the face of the earth, and whatever were, in sue- 


cessive ages, their ups and downs of fortune and of civilization, 
that heavenly guidance was ever with them, moulding their 
forms of society and of government into conformity with their 
capacities and their needs. Kings and emperors, . chiefs and 
princes, statesmen and legislatures and politicians, seemed ofttimes 
to shape the nations to their wills, and sway and use them ac- 
cording to their ambitions, their interests, or their caprice; while 
ever and anon mighty popular upheavals would burst all re- 
straints and overthrow the growth of generations in a day, and 
then, through fiery processes, settle into new social forms. But 
the eye and the hand of the Almighty were ever above them all, 
guiding the final results to the furtherance of his own all-wise 
ends. And these ends are all summed up in this : that men should 
be made nobler and wiser and happier by the suppression of all 
that disturbs or degrades them and by the promotion of all that 
elevates character and makes life peaceful and commodious. 
This is the providential purpose of all social systems, and the 
functions of every just government are comprised in these two 
things : to hinder every cause within its reach that tends to popu- 
lar unhappiness and evil, and to promote every cause within its 
reach that contributes to popular happiness and welfare. But 
these two ends of government, although equally necessary, are 
not equally noble and pleasing. The encouragement of good is 
an occupation equally pleasing to God and to noble minds, 
whereas the suppression of evil is a sad necessity imposed by 
human folly and wickedness. 'The greater and more numerous 
the moral evils that afflict or degrade a people, the more stern 
and severe must its government naturally become. And if the 
hands that hold the reins are also perverse, then despotism and 
tyranny rule and grow apace. The more this unhappy condition 
develops, the greater, too, becomes the alienation, and even the 
hostility, between the governing and the governed. Here we 
have the key to the appalling picture presented by nearly all 
governments and peoples before the Christian era. Human 
nature had almost universally perverted itself in the ways of con- 
cupiscence ; hence their greatness, as a rule, had fear for its 
treacherous prop, and their brilliancy was but an embroidered 
cloak for the corruption which finally wrought their ruin. 

Then Christianity came to shed its sacred light throughout 
the world and to mould the hearts of men to its blessed morality. 
Little by little the good leaven penetrated the mass, and the 
result was seen in legislation and government, as well as in do-j 
rnestic relations and private morals. The Divus Imperator, who 


claimed divine honors and absolute sway, gave place to the Chris- 
tian ruler, who bent his knee to the same God and Father as the 
lowliest of his subjects; who knew well, even though ambition 
might sometimes blind him to the truth, that he was only the 
responsible agent of a beneficent Providence, that the welfare 
of his people was the only reason and right for his holding sway, 
that the rights of the governed were as sacred as those of their 
ruler, that if he trampled on theirs he forfeited his own, and that 
he would best secure his own interests and happiness, here and 
hereafter, by identifying them with the interests and happiness 
of his people. Thus, on the one hand, a higher right and a more 
sacred sanction were given to authority, and, on the other, sub- 
jection to it was no longer a galling yoke, but a reasonable and 
voluntary submission to the essential conditions of peace, order, 
and prosperity. Authority was seen to be divine in its origin 
and its rights ; but equally divine the rights of the people which 
it was commissioned to guard and foster. Thus the governing 
and the governed, no longer two alienated or antagonistic classes, 
were drawn nearer and nearer together, and more and more 
blended and identified through common interests and reciprocal 
duties. And so the providence of God led steadily forward to- 
wards that perfect balancing of mutual rights, and that complete 
union and almost identification of the governing with the gov- 
erned, which was to be known as self-government. 

At different times and with various fortunes Christian states 
had essayed the republican form of government, so consonant 
with the spirit of Christianity, but our own favored land was des- 
tined to be the field in which the social system should assume this 
lofty shape in its grandest proportions. Twas for this that God 
cut her loose from swaddling-clothes and leading-strings, and set 
her strong and firm on her own feet, and gave her that individual 
responsibility which is the necessary condition for noble aspira- 
tions and lofty ends. Twas for this that the men of '76, taking 
their stand on the inalienable rights of man, proclaimed to the 
world their country's independence and consecrated to the holy 
cause their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. 'Twas 
for this that the fire of patriotism was spread abroad through- 
out the land, nerving the people with a heroism which neither 
dangers, nor hardships, nor disasters could overcome. Twas 
for this that, when the need was greatest, He gave her the sym- 
pathy of the noble French nation to cheer her on, and its strong 
right arm to aid her to victory. Twas for this that, on this bat- 
tle-field of Yorktown, He gave forth the fiat which sealed her 


freedom as an accomplished fact. 'Twas for this He guarded 
her amid the doubts and anxieties which at first beset her path- 
way, when scoffers said she had only to be let alone and they 
would soon see her end. 'Twas for this He gave wisdom more 
than human to our patriot fathers to store up safely the harvest 
which had been sown amid their tears, and watered with their 
blood, and reaped with their brave swords to launch a new 
world on its destined course and, shunning both the revolution- 
ary rashness which spurns the wisdom of the past, and the con- 
servative timidity which shrinks from the responsibilities of the 
future, to gather up all the experience of preceding ages and 
mould it into the new and better shape which was to mark an 
era in history and lift mankind to a higher level. 

'Twas thus that Washington viewed it when, at the close of 
the constitutional deliberations, to whose success he so largely 
contributed, he declared that it was through ways little short of 
miraculous that they had accomplished the framing of a Consti- 
tution which embodied all the progress that mankind had made 
in the science of government, and surrounded liberty with more 
safeguards than any other government hitherto instituted among 
mortals. In this spirit, too, he exclaimed : " We may, with a 
kind- of a pious and grateful exultation, trace the finger of Provi- 
dence through those dark and mysterious events which have, 
step by step, led to the Constitution, thereby, in all human pro- 
bability, laying a lasting foundation for tranquillity and happi- 
ness when there was but too much reason to fear confusion and 

We speak not boastfully but gratefully. We do not forget 
that, as our great Washington said, we must not expect anything 
perfect in this world ; and we doubt not that the treasures of 
God's providence contain still richer and higher blessings for 
future stages in the march of mankind. Nor do we forget that 
it would be a foolish and an evil thing to boast as if these bless- 
ings were our own making or the making of our fathers, and not 
the gift of the Most High. No ; we recognize and proclaim His 
bounty, and therefore are we here this day to pour forth to Him 
our loving thanksgiving. We thank Him for the destiny which 
He has vouchsafed our country, and for all the blessings which 
have thus far marked her pathway towards its realization. We 
thank Him for our patriot fathers, for their deeds of heroism, for 
the fortitude which upheld them amid untold trials, for the glo- 
rious success which crowned their efforts, and for the noble ex- 
ample which they have bequeathed to us and all subsequent 


generations, than which there is none grander in the annals of 
history. We thank Him for the wisdom which guided their 
counsels, and which used their timid and inexperienced hands for 
tracing and founding the majestic social fabric which himself 
had planned. We thank Him for having laid the foundations so 
deep and strong that the mighty convulsions of civil war have 
left the edifice as majestic and, we trust, as firm and solid as 
ever. We thank Him for having knit the ties of union and bro- 
therhood so close that they who, so short a time ago, met in the 
awful shock of battle meet here to-day with no strife or rivalry 
save that of enthusiastic devotedness to their common country, 
and are gathered here, around this old fountain-head of liberty, 
that all may drink deep of the patriotism of our fathers a patri- 
otism high and universal, knowing no limits of sect or section, 
no bounds save God and humanity. And while this mourning 
drapery entwined with the emblems of our exultation reminds us 
how, so lately, our country bent in tearful sorrow over the pros- 
trate form of her Chief Magistrate, cut off in the midst of his 
noble career by the iniquitous act of an assassin, yet we see no 
blanch of terror on her cheek, no tremor of anxiety in her hand. 
She inscribes his name on the list of her illustrious sons, and then 
points calmly onward and upward, strong in the faith that He 
who has so marvellously blessed her with unparalleled prosperity 
during this century of her life will not abandon his work and 
has not exhausted his treasures. To Him be all the glory, from 
whom all the good has come. 

Nor is there any narrow exclusiveness in our exultation and 
our thanksgiving. Our hearts must elate with world- wide sym- 
pathies to-day, because the blessings we rejoice in were meant to 
be world-wide in their influence. Our country was meant by 
divine Providence to be the home of liberty for all mankind, the 
refuge of the down-trodden in every land, the sanctuary of free- 
dom in which the noble-souled of every clime might find the ob- 
ject of their loftiest yearnings. Thus our country was meant to 
be the grandest exemplification of the universal brotherhood of 
men, and in the name of all we give thanks to the Father of all. 

Nay, more, the Almighty not only meant her to be a mo- 
ther-land, with wide-extended arms offering shelter and plenty to 
all ; she was meant to be a teacher, through whose lips and in 
whose life He was to solve all the social problems of the Old 
World. The European nations had grown, by slow stages, from 
the chaos of the fifth century to the civilization of the eighteenth. 
In their social systems, as in general culture, the movement had 
been ever onward ; but much of the husk and shell of transi- 


tion periods was still tightly clinging to the ripe or fast ripen- 
ing fruit. Hence arose anomalies and social problems involving 
contradictory views, and clashing interests, a*id opposing forces, 
and great dangers. Then the God of nations set our country 
apart from all the rest, and took from her all props and bandages 
that were no longer needed, and moulded her form and life in 
such wise as to solve all those problems and to show both the 
rulers and the peoples of the Old World how to lay aside tute- 
lage without falling into unruliness ; how to avoid both tyranny 
and anarchy ; how to reconcile the fullest majesty of authority 
and law with the highest popular intelligence and the complet- 
est popular liberty. Oh ! how beautiful is that spectacle to 
every one who loves liberty and who loves order. Blessed be 
the God of order and liberty, who has realized this grand ideal 
among the sons of men ! May his providence long preserve in 
our country this union of these two blessings the centripetal 
and the centrifugal forces of society which so many, erring 
through timidity or rashness, think to be incompatible, but 
which reason and our country's experience prove to be not 
only reconcilable, but to be the complement and the perfection 
of each other, and to constitute the true ideal of the Christian 

I say the Christian State, because Christianity alone has ever 
given the ideal, and Christianity alone ever has produced or 
ever can produce the character and circumstances of individu- 
als and of society which make the realization of such an ideal 
possible. It was Christianity that supplied the fundamental 
principles of our independence and of our social system by 
teaching and maintaining against all the traditions of paganism 
the God-given and inalienable rights of man. It was Christianity 
that vindicated, at the cost of the blood of her millions of mar- 
tyrs, the superiority of the rights and conscience of the indi- 
vidual man over the majesty of Caesars and the might of em- 
pires. It was Christianity that taught the great truth that all 
systems and appliances and forms of authority, whether re- 
ligious or secular, have for their providential reason of existence 
the welfare, temporal and eternal, of individual human beings, 
and the glory of God resulting from the happiness of his crea- 
tures ; and thus she gave the world the principle that the rea- 
son of government is the welfare of the governed. Hence we 
see how natural is the affinity of Christianity with a govern- 
mental system in which the authority which preserves order in 
all the general movement and in all its details is made to agree 
with and to foster the individual rights and uses and prosperity 


of every member of the body corporate. And as all man's natu- 
ral powers develop best in the air of freedom, tempered by law 
and order, so is it also with his spiritual being and with the work 
of Christianity ; for grace loves noble natures, and Christianity 
loves children whose characters are fitting reflexes of the beauty 
and nobleness and freedom of God. 

Here, again, we are not so boastful as to assert or imagine 
that this grand ideal has been realized among us in its perfection. 
No one, surely, could hesitate to acknowledge, with Washmg- 
ton, that we must not expect perfection in this world ; but, with 
him, we would gratefully declare our belief that God's provi- 
dence had better fitted our system and its principles for an ap- 
proach to that perfection than any that had ever preceded it. 
We, like all the rest of mankind, have abundance of human per- 
versity to lament, and it is evidently not best that there should 
exist the diversities and contradictions and antagonisms, in reli- 
gious and in secular matters, which are found among us. But 
all these imperfections and evils existed before our country was 
formed. They are pre-existing defects and difficulties which 
her principles have to contend with. But what we unhesitat- 
ingly assert is that, since these defects were already in existence, 
our country's principles were the best on which they could be 
dealt with. We falter not in our confidence that what is right 


and true will ever prevail in a fair field. We doubt not that, 
from amid pre-existing and unavoidable imperfections, the God 
of nations will lead our country to the highest development yet 
reached by man's intellectual, moral, social, and spiritual nature, 
and that Christianity, which has laid the foundations and begun 
the work, will carry it on to its completion. We cannot admit 
the fear that the minds and hearts of our people will ever lose 
their hold on Christianity, or withdraw themselves from its 
blessed influence, for there is and can be no antagonism be- 
tween Christianity and their highest and noblest aspirations. 
On the contrary, it is her finger that points them to the loftiest 
heights and exclaims : " Excelsior ! " She has given the world 
the only true civilization the world has ever known ; and she will 
be carrying out an integral part of her divine mission by not 
only accompanying man, but leading him, to the furthest ad- 
vances that civilization is capable of. For true civilization means 
our advancing in God's ways to God's destiny. He is the True, 
the Beautiful, and the Good, in himself and for us. His ways are 
the ways of the true, the beautiful, and the good ; and progress 
in them is the object both of civilization and of Christianity. 


Progress in truth, whether revealed or philosophical or scien- 
tific, is his gift, and is pleasing to him, and is meant to be a way 
that leads to him. Progress in the beautiful, in every form of 
art, in all that smooths and beautifies the path of life this, too, 
is his gift, and is meant to tell of him and lead to him. Progress 
in all that lifts up to well-doing and happy living, in all that is 
good and useful all this is from him and is meant to help us 
towards him. It is these three forms of progress that constitute 
civilization, and they are equally elements and aims of Chris- 
tianity. And the reason of this is plain. Both Christianity and 
civilization are from God, and there can be no contradiction in 
him or his work. He made both heaven and earth ; and earth 
was meant to lead to heaven, and there is no incompatibility. 
If only we bear Him in mind who is in all things our first be- 
ginning and last end, and remember always that it is his ways 
we are going in and his ends we are aiming at, then the grand- 
est efforts of genius and of energy will be blessed by him and 
we be perfectly in accord with the spirit of Christianity. Our 
longest reaches cannot reach beyond what he is and what he 
means for us ; and he " puts all things under our feet," that all 
may help on to him. In the words of the apostle : " All things 
are j^ours, and you are Christ's, and Christ is God's." Let our 
aspirations, then, be ever so exalted and our progress ever so 
advanced, neither the aspirations nor the progress need ever 
entail any sacrifice of the truth, the principles, or the spirit of 
Christianity. That may be dreaded wherever Christianity has to 
deal, in any degree, with a tendency to tyranny on the one hand 
or to unruliness or anarchy on the other. But wherever, as in 
our favored land, the principles of the social system are in accord 
with the principles of Christianity, then there can be no reason- 
able fear that the development of the one will lead to antagonism 
with the other. 

All that we have to fear is that passions and selfish interests 
may lead our people astray from the great principles alike both 
of Christianity and our country. We cannot forget Washing- 
ton's solemn words that we " can never be in danger of degene- 
rating into any despotic or oppressive form so long as there shall 
remain any virtue in the body of the people " / nor the oft-repeated 
warning that there can be no true liberty without morality, and 
no morality without religion. Nor can we close our eyes to the 
evil influences that are at work, and to the dangers which 
threaten both religion and liberty. We know but too well the 
tendency to substitute expediency for principle, selfishness for 


patriotism, and darkness for light. But our faith is in God and 
in our country's providence, and we would rather seem to err by 
being too sanguine than sin against him by want of trust. Only 
we would implore our people to remember that now, as in the 
days of old, " perpetual vigilance is the price of freedom " ; we 
would beg of them to appreciate the pricelessness of our coun- 
try's liberties, and to recognize that Christianity is their only 

Perhaps some one may be tempted to wonder that I have 
thus far said nothing distinctively as a minister of the Catholic 
Church. Not so, friends and brethren : every sentiment that I 
have uttered I have uttered not only as an American citizen 
and as a Christian, in the vague sense sometimes given to the 
name, but in my character as a Roman Catholic. Here before 
God and my country I profess my soul's innermost conviction 
that every word that I have said is in harmony with God's 
truth, with the principles which Jesus Christ gave the world, 
with the spirit and teaching of the Catholic Church, with all that 
is symbolized by the vestments just now worn at this altar, and 
with the robes in which I am clad as a Roman Catholic bishop. 
As such we have offered up the sacrifice of the Eucharist 
the highest Thanksgiving, as the name signifies to thank the Al 
mighty not only for the victory of Yorktown, but also for all 
the moulding of our country's form and all the shaping of her 
life which have followed as the consequences of that victory. 
And we have offered it in supplication, too, that he would render 
her social principles everlasting ; that he would guard and shield 
them against any hand which from any quarter soever, or for 
any motive soever, might seek to attack them, or change them, 
or misuse them ; and that through them he would lead our coun- 
try to the destiny for which he made her, that she may show to 
the world the highest manhood ennobled by religion, the highest 
intellect illumined by faith, the highest social progress beautified 
"by the order of the kingdom of God and by the " liberty of the 
children of God," and the highest physical and scientific pro- 
gress, giving means to spread that light and beauty and power 
into every nook and corner where darkness lurks, or misery 
crouches, or tyranny clutches its victims, or delusive unwisdom 
would cheat noble aspiration into Utopian morasses or plunge it 
into the abyss of anarchy and despair. Thus, we implore, may 
our country be, in the natural order, " the salt of the earth and 
the light of the world," because walking faithfully in the ways 
of Him who alone gives light and peace and true welfare. 

O friends and brethren ! let us on this day, and on this 


field sacred to liberty, rally more lovingly than ever around the 
11 landmarks of our fathers " and vow that we will ever make 
them the standard of our judgments, the guide of our delibera- 
tions, the measure of our social acts, the light of our onward 
pathway ; for they are the work and the gift, not of men, but of 

Let our final word be of France. Well may she hold a large 
share in our thoughts to-day, since one of the chief objects of this 
centennial celebration is to commemorate our alliance with her 
and the invaluable aid received at her hands. Blessings on that 
noble land which, alone of all the nations of the world, stood by 
our country in her hour of direst need and became the champion 
of her struggling liberties ! Blessings on her for the cheering 
sympathy poured into our country's drooping heart ! Blessings 
on her for the noble generosity which spared nothing and 
counted no cost of men or money ! Blessings on her for the 
chivalrous leaders who rivalled Washington himself in their de- 
votedness to the cause, and for the thousands of brave men who 
bore unmurmuringly the untold hardships of a dreary campaign 
in a strange land ; who panted for the fray as eagerly as our own 
patriot- soldiers ; who, on this battle-field, outnumbered the colo- 
nial forces, and laid down their lives more numerously to secure 
the glorious result. Never can our country forget Washington's 
declaration that, were it not for the aid given on this spot by 
France, not only would the victory of Yorktown never have been 
gained, but the disheartened colonial forces would probably have 
disbanded and given up altogether the struggle for liberty. 
Think, therefore, of what France has assured to us, and then 
think whether there ought to be, or ever can be, end or limits to 
our gratitude. May all that is honorable and noble die out of 
the hearts of men ere the remembrance of this die out of our 
country's heart ! May this soil, sacred to our country's liberties 
more sacred than even old Independence Hall, because while 
there she made the grand but almost desperate venture, here the 
wreath of victory was twined around her brow may it be ever 
doubly sacred because of the mingled blood that has hallowed it ; 
and may that mingled blood be the covenant of a friendship that 
can never die a friendship more lasting than the monumental 
shaft which here is to tell all future generations of the alliance 
between France and America ! 

And now let our concluding anthem of thanksgiving and sup- 
plication be one in which all can join ; and let every heart and 
voice give praise to God in the strains of the Te Deum. 

1 8 8 1 ] NE w PUBLIC A TIONS. 285 


CATHOLIC CONTROVERSY. A Reply to Dr. Littledale's Plain Reasons. 
By H. I. D. Ryder, of the Oratory. London : Burns & Gates ; New 
York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1881. 

In a small duodecimo of two hundred and sixty pages Dr. Ryder has 
condensed succinct and incisive answers to as many as one hundred counts 
of indictment laid by Dr. Littledale to the charge of the Roman See and 
the Catholic Church in general. The motto on the title-page aptly cha- 
racterizes the nature of Dr. Littledale's polemics : Dilexisti omnia verba 
prcEcipitationis, lingua dolosa " Thou hast loved all hasty words, O fraudu- 
lent tongue." Dr. Ryder says he was teased for several weary months and 
we can well conceive how weary must have been the months devoted to 
the irksome task of refuting such an odious book as Plain Reasons by the 
effort to account for the phenomenon which that book presents. He found 
the easy theory of deliberate lying repulsive and contrary to his experi- 
ence of human nature. This is how he solves the difficulty : " Dr. Little- 
dale, I am willing to admit, has committed himself to an illicit pursuit of 
truth, truth politic, truth artistic, it may be, at the expense of truths of 
detail, a respect for which ordinary folks associate with common honesty ; 
and he has failed, as such unscrupulous efforts deserve to fail " (p. 258). 
We find ourselves involuntarily smiling very much over this, and reminded 
of an anecdote which we heard forty years ago from a late very eminent 
Protestant bishop. An editor of a very evangelical newspaper of New 
York published a story of certain doings of this gentleman, who was then 
a professor in a college in this vicinity. The story was false, and in an in- 
terview with the editor was proved to be so by the professor, who demand- 
ed a public retractation and apology. The editor declined to accede to this 
demand, and justified himself on the ground that he considered it lawful 
and useful to recount any story illustrative of the nature and tendencies of 
Puseyism, whether it were true or not. If it were not true, it had, anyhow, 
verisimilitude. Dr. Ryder's solution of the problem, how men who are not 
liars can seek to promote politic and artistic truth " at the expense of 
truths of detail," is capable of application to several other writers besides 
Dr. Littledale e.g., Mr. Froude, who has said: "There is no cause for 
which any man can more nobly suffer than to witness that it is better for 
him to die than to speak words which he does not mean," and yet has 
written what he has written. We have to account also for the fact that 
some men speak and act in reference to Catholics at the expense of cour- 
tesy, decency, and justice in detail, without condemning these men as ruf- 
fians, and a little modification of Dr. Ryder's theory will enable us to do 

Calumnious and vituperative attacks on the Catholic religion have 
still very considerable influence on the popular mind in England and Ame- 
rica. Though irksome, it is most useful to answer them, and the briefer 
the compass of any sufficient answer the better it fulfils its purpose. Dr. 

2 86 NE w PUB Lie A TIONS. [Nov., 

Ryder's reply to Littledale is as thorough as it could be consistently with 
its brevity. Thoroughly acquainted with theology and history, very criti- 
cal in his mind and training, and enjoying the advantage of the excellent 
library of the Edgbaston Oratory, perfectly in command of his temper, and 
master of a most excellent and taking style, whatever he writes is well 
worth reading. The general divisions of his little book are as follows : 
Part I. The Privilege of Peter and his Successors in the Roman See. Part 
II. Charges against the Catholic Church in Communion -vith the See of 
Peter, subdivided under seven heads, viz.: i. Creature- Worship ; 2. Un- 
certainty and Error in Faith ; 3. Uncertainty and Unsoundness in Morals ; 
4. Untrustworthiness ; 5. Cruelty and Intolerance ; 6. Uncertainty and 
Error in the Sacraments ; 7. Lack of the Four Notes. Among all these the 
part on Creature- Worship has struck our mind as specially clear and able. 
This book, being small in size and cheap in cost, is admirably fitted for 
the most extensive reading and circulation. We recommend it emphati- 
cally both to Catholics, and to those who are not Catholics but wish to get 
correct notions about the Catholic Church and religion. 

New York: Phillips & Hunt; Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe. 1881. 

The aim of Dr. Dorchester in this work is to comfort such of his evan- 
gelical brethren as may have been discouraged by the many assertions 
recently made, even by Protestants, that Protestantism has failed. He 
wishes to show that the "great working doctrines of Christianity" (that 
is to say, those generally agreed on by the Reformed churches), which 
he gives with soirfe unavoidable vagueness, to suit every one as well as 
possible, are still working well and bringing forth good fruit, and bid fair 
to root out all the errors and corruptions of Rome and overcome all the 
powers of infidelity ; and that the particular selection of conflicting sects 
which he takes for the church of Christ, instead of being on the point of 
still greater dispersion, are now acquiring substantial unity and entering on 
a career of victory. 

To support these cheerful views he searches history, examines the 
present state of the world, and collects all the statistics which will help him 
in his statements. He displays, as is to be expected, the ignorance as to 
the real teachings and tendencies of the Catholic Church that is usually 
met with in those of his class, and upon which it seems hopeless to make 
any impression. It is in vain to try to show to such that what real progress 
their religion makes is owing to the Catholic truth which it still retains, or 
to make them believe that Rome is not occupied in converting the world 
to pomps and mummery instead of to Christ. This is perhaps the principal 
reason why it is not worthwhile to answer such books as this ; for the only 
people who are influenced by them are those thus placed beyond the reach 
of our words. 

We of course acknowledge that the imperfect and mutilated Protestant 
gospel still does bear some fruit, and rejoice in all the good that it can ac- 
complish. But it is amusing to see how the doctor, in his zeal, overrates 
its power. As an example of his statistical crumbs of comfort we may ad- 
duce the astonishing classification of the Christian world according to re- 
ligion, in which he foots up the Protestant states at 486,000,000, while the 

1 8 8 1 .] NE w PUB LIC A TIONS. 287 

Catholics come out only 103,000,000. How is this accomplished ? Very 
simply : principally by counting in the British Empire, with 283,000,000, on 
the Protestant side. Is it possible that he really imagines that the Protes- 
tant religion has a hold, or shows any signs that it ever will have a hold 
on the vast numbers now under English sway, or that the German Empire 
(put, of course, on the same side) is a state actually pervaded by " evangeli- 
cal " views, or is this a little piece of brag, which he hopes some one here 
and there may believe, and which other good Protestants will, for the sake 
of the good cause, excuse ? 

THE TwiT-TwATS. A Christmas allegorical Story of Birds connected 
with the introduction of Sparrows into the New World. By Rev. Aug. 
J. Thebaud, S.J. New York: The Catholic Publication Society Co. 

The want of a children's book in English, Catholic in tone and enter- 
taining in subject and style, is something that has caused many a heartache 
to the seeker after Christmas presents for the young folks. But that such 
a book should come from the pen of Father Thebaud will perhaps surprise 
those who had hitherto known the learned Jesuit's capabilities through his 
valuable contributions to the philosophy of history only. 

The Twit-Twats is a book about sparrows. To the sparrows, which, 
like the poor, we have always with us, we usually give a passing glance and 
thought only, as too many of us are apt to do with the poor. But Father 
Thebaud has closely studied the sparrows, and, while describing their na- 
ture and habits in a most fascinating and instructive way, he has given the 
history of their introduction into this country, and, by means of a well- 
sustained allegory, has shown how the successes and failures, the trials 
and triumphs of these little immigrants may be compared to the vicissi- 
tudes of some of our Catholic settlers from abroad. The moral is there, 
plain for all who care to find it, but not so much in the way as to prevent 
a boy or girl from thoroughly enjoying this charming book. 

The publishers have done their part ungrudgingly. The book is a 
handsome quarto, printed on very fine paper, well illustrated, and taste- 
fully and attractively bound. 

tion of the Sacred Heart. With critical and expository notes by the 
Fathers of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the French by Ed- 
ward Healy Thompson, M.A. Vol. i. London : Burns & Gates. 1881. 

We became long ago familiar with the Life and Writings oi Marie Lataste 
in one of the editions published in French. This remarkable person was a 
totally uneducated peasant-girl. Nevertheless she wrote on the highest top- 
ics of theology in a manner so correct and sublime that, deducting certain 
errors of expression, her writings would do honor to a profound theologian. 
After she became a lay sister of the Sacred Heart she wrote no more, but 
passed her life entirely in humble labor and the ordinary practices of a re- 
ligious house. Mr. Thompson has already issued an edition of her Life. 
The present volume contains all her writings except letters of a personal 
and biographical nature, which the editor will publish in a second volume, 
if there is a demand for it. The Life and Writings of Marie Lataste have 
passed the most searching ordeal, and there can be no reasonable doubt 

288 NE w FUBLICA TIONS. [Nov., 1 88 r . 

that she was the recipient of extraordinary gifts and illuminations from 
which came the infused knowledge by which she was enabled to discourse 
so wonderfully upon heavenly things. There is no solution of the problem 
how an ignorant peasant-girl could produce these writings, except this one, 
which is in the least degree reasonable. The facts of her life are all proved 
by conclusive evidence. The book is one which all pious Catholics will 
find to be eminently instructive and of great practical utility, besides hav- 
ing its own special and enthralling interest. 

NACH ROM UND JERUSALEM. Von Hermann Leygraaff. Mit Bildern. St. 
Louis : B. Herder. 1881. 

The Rev. Mr. Leygraaff, of the diocese of St. Louis, the writer of these 
sketches of a tour which he made in 1879 from the Mississippi to the Jor- 
dan in search of health, departed this life soon after writing the preface to 
his little book, which is dated January, 1881. It is sprightly and readable. 
The most interesting portion is that which relates to the Holy Land, and to 
us what is more pleasing than anything else is the description of the foun- 
dations and works of F. Alphonse Ratisbonne and the Daughters of Sion. 
The wood-cuts are respectable, and two of them, giving a correct idea of 
F. Ratisbonne's church and monastery on Mt. Sion, and of the restored 
church and convent of St. Ann, where the Daughters of Our Lady of Sion 
are established, add much to the interesting description of these unique 
and admirable institutions from which we hope so much for the future of 
Jerusalem and Palestine. 

RANTHORPE. By George Henry Lewes. New York : W. S. Gottsberger. 

This old and forgotten novelette of the year 1847 is republished, we pre- 
sume, as a literary curiosity. It is dedicated by the author to his real wife, 
and not to " Marian Evans, spinster." It reads like a sort of autobiography. 
Mr. Ranthorpe, however, although not very wise or exemplary in his young 
days, behaved himself in a much more moral and creditable manner than 
his creator, who in his own later life fell far short of his earlier ideal of 
fidelity to conscience as presented in this tale. It is just as plain that 
novel-writing was not Mr. Lewes' forte as it is that it was the forte of 
George Eliot, who, in his company, gave the world such a signal example 
of defiance of the laws of God and man from a purely disinterested and sub- 
lime altruism. 

RITUALE ROMANUM PAULI V. Pontificis Maximi jussu editum et a Bene- 
dicto XIV. auctum et castigatum. Cui novissima accedit Benedic- 
tionum et Instructionum Appendix. Editio secunda accuratissima a 
Sacr. Rituum Congregatione approbata. Ratisbona?, Neo-Eboraci et 
Cincinnati : Sumptibus, chartis et typis Fr. Pustet. 1881. 

This handsome work is the complete Ritual in a convenient form. 
While adhering to the matter of the Roman Ritual, the publishers have in- 
troduced certain modifications. The chant melodies and the style of nota- 
tion adopted in the Graduale and the Antiphonarium published by Fr. 
Pustet have replaced those found in the older Rituals. This will be es- 
teemed a great convenience by many. 



VOL. XXXIV. DECEMBER, 1881. No. 201. 


IT has been evident to every unbiassed observer from tne be- 
ginning that none have been more desirous of national unity 
among Germans than Catholic Germans. The idea of a German 
Empire they have held most dear, and have considered its destruc- 
tion by the action of the religious revolution of the sixteenth cen- 
tury as a great calamity. Regardless of minor differences, they 
have persistently labored for its restitution, and with an enthu- 
siasm, self-sacrifice, and heroism unsurpassed. The Catholic King 
of Bavaria, the largest element in the Confederacy, Prussia alone 
excepted, was among the first to accept at Versailles in 1871 the 
Protestant King of Prussia as the hereditary German Kaiser. 
The number of inhabitants of the empire is, in round numbers, 
forty millions, and of these fifteen millions are Catholics. With- 
out the consent and co-operation of those Catholics King Wil- 
liam of Prussia would never have been dignified with the proud 
title of emperor and the national unity would have existed only 
in dreamland. He who would attempt to impeach the patriot- 
ism of German Catholics trades upon the ignorance of his read- 
ers. Their patriotism stands before the whole world, after long 
and severest tests, unimpeached and unimpeachable. Thus much 1 
has been gained by reviving against the Catholics of the Prussian' 
Empire the old pagan cry of disloyalty Vaterlandslieblosigkeit, 

Nobody doubts that Catholic Germans would rather see the 

Copyright. REV. I. T. HECKER. i88t. 


Catholic house of Austria wield the sceptre of the empire than 
the Protestant King of Prussia. But they knew how to subor- 
dinate their wish to the realization of national unity the steady 
object of their earnest desire. Hence as a body they have never 
raised a voice not favorable to the existing confederated impe- 
rial government. Let the empire stand as it is, and let the im- 
perial government be maintained with all the power at its com- 
mand! this is the sincere expression of the aspiration of the 
Catholics of the German Empire. 

If any one says that there is an issue between Catholics and 
Protestants concerning the existence of the German Empire, he 
makes an egregious mistake. The empire commands the entire 
suffrages of both religious parties. There is, however, a serious 
issue between them, but this issue does not involve the political 
existence of the empire. What it does involve is its right to 
proscribe religious freedom. Not to make this distinction is to 
create a contest where none exists, and betrays the sinister de- 
sign of placing fifteen millions of Catholics in a false position. 

The German chancellor appears to have adopted this disin- 
genuous course, hence his misleading cry : " Wir gchen nicht nach 
Canossa " We will not go to Canossa. And German Protes- 
tants, Jews, infidels, rationalists, Freemasons, atheists, socialists, 
communists, et id genus omne, with the entire National Liberal 
party, united together, with the applause of the sectarian and 
secular press everywhere, to infringe the imprescriptible rights of 
conscience of their Catholic fellow-citizens ! The prince-chan- 
cellor appears to have entertained the vain idea that with the in- 
famous Falk laws he could bind hand and foot the Catholic 
Church ; and if Catholics showed signs of resistance, then he 
could seize the occasion, in the words of that despicable American, 
the Rev. Joseph P. Thompson, " to stamp out popery in Ger- 
many." To stamp out the convictions of millions of consciences, 
and these consciences informed with the divine light of the Ca- 
tholic faith, is sooner said than done. Foolish men ! They count 
in vain who think to overcome with human weapons divine con- 
victions. This is the contest in Germany. Here is the tug of 
war. As for Catholics, their faith makes them naturally at home 
in vast connections, and if the German Empire is ever imperilled 
it will never be on account of their conduct, but on account of 
those who, with a bitter and intolerant spirit, refuse to Catholics 
their religious liberty. 

The crowd of followers of " the man of iron and blood " did 
not stop to ask what is the meaning of the defiant phrase, " We 

1 88 1.] THE GERMAN PROBLEM. 291 

will never go to Canossa." Their blind obedience to their 
leader has no parallel, except it be in the poet's fancy of the fa- 
mous charge of the Light Brigade when he says : 

" Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die, 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred," 

So the Prussian National Liberal party and its sympathizers rode 
but to an ignoble defeat and dishonorable grave in voting for the 
Falk laws, disclosing to the whole world the hypocrisy of their 
profession of religious toleration and the hollowness of their love 
for liberty of conscience. Bismarck's cry duped this pseudo- 
liberal party, and after it had served his purpose it lost power, 
and now there is none so poor as to respect its remains. 

What could these deluded followers of Bismarck imagine he 
meant ? Was it that he was engaged in the defence of the state 
as a separate and independent organization from the church ? 
Was it that the state had its own proper sphere of duty and 
action, and in this he was resolved to receive no dictation from 
either priest, prelate, or pope ? Was it because he would have 
the clergy of the Catholic Church in Germany to be Germans ? 
Was it because he would have this clergy enlightened and un- 
mistakably patriotic? Was it that he would have the Catholic 
German people of the empire its sincere friends and stanch up- 
holders? If this was his meaning of the phrase, " We will not go 
to Canossa," may he never break the pledge which it contains ! 
May he never take a single step in the direction of Canossa ! 
None recognize and maintain the divine origin of the state more 
strenuously and sincerely than Catholics. Catholics are not, and 
never were, in favor of theocracy the absorption of the functions 
of the state into the church that is a Puritan idea ; nor are they 
in favor of the abolition of the state that is a communistic dream. 
If this was not his meaning, then what did he mean ? Was it his 
intention to exalt the state above the church ? or to dictate to 
her hierarchy and make her rulers subservient to his political 
policy and ambitious schemes? Was it to this end he attempt- 
ed to decatholicize Catholic Germans and make the church a 
function of the state? If such was his design, then he was 
foolish. He and his followers were day-dreaming, fancying 
that the Catholic Church was a voluntary association to be 
moulded or overcome at the pleasure of the state a fancy not 


to be wondered at with the training which he and they had re- 

But what an infatuation ! Nero, Domitian, Diocletian, and 
other Roman emperors had all the power of- their colossal em- 
pire at their command, and failed in the same enterprise. The 
hordes of Huns and Goths and Visigoths came, and their arms fal- 
tered before her pontiffs. Henry IV. and Barbarossa, both em- 
perors of Germany, repeated the folly and ignominiously failed. 
Henry II. of England tried, and met the same fate. The two Na- 
poleons, the first and the third, the one by force and the other 
by craft, strove to prevail against the church, and both were 
dethroned and died in exile. None but a fool or a madman, 
with so many historical examples before his eyes, would repeat 
so fatal an experiment. 

It is true that a man-made church, like every other volun- 
tary human institution, is conquerable. But a church which has 
God for her builder and has his promise to be her sustainer until 
the end of time, and which rests upon the inherent needs of the 
soul for her fast foundations, is divine and unconquerable. This 
truth, one would suppose, had been made sufficiently plain to all 
tolerably well-informed minds by the repeated persecutions and 
attacks during nineteen centuries against the Catholic Church. 
The testimony of history, however, makes but a slight impres- 
sion on the minds of dreamers, and' is soon effaced. The lesson 
had to be taught over again in our day, and, that it may be re- 
membered, let it be proclaimed from the hous'e-tops that " the 
Prussian kingdom, at the head of the most powerful empire, with 
1 the man of iron and blood ' wielding its weapons, made the seri- 
ous attempt to overcome the Catholics within its limits, and suf- 
fered defeat." Thanks to Prince Bismarck's war against Catho- 
lics, he has reawakened Germany and the whole world to a fresh 
appreciation of the superhuman strength of the Catholic Church ! 

Nobody expects the imperial chancellor to recognize, or to 
acknowledge if he does recognize, the divine character of the Ca- 
tholic Church. But he has enough good sense to recognize that 
his campaign against her has not been successful. He has suffi- 
cient sagacity to see that if he would save the German national 
unity from ruin he must stop his violent persecution of Catho- 
lics. He knows that the empire was formed by the aid of Ca- 
tholics, and he has learned by his recent experience that the em- 
pire cannot stand without their good-will and co-operation. Bis- 
marck's first duty, unless he would be considered as an enemy 
to the empire, is to seek and to find, and that speedily, a modus 

1 88 1.] THE GERMAN PROBLEM. 293 

vivcndi acceptable to the chief pastor of the Catholic Church, 
Leo XIII. 

And, to all appearances, the prince chancellor has at last come 
to the conviction that this is a political necessity. He says as 
much in these words : " I have not given up my arms, but hung 
them on the wall, for we may have future use for them." This 
is an acknowledgment of defeat under the cover of a threat. At 
the outset of this daring conflict with the church the chancellor 
won a certain admiration for his frankness. He threw down, in 
the sight of the whole world, his glove into the arena, and pro- 
claimed his intention of reopening the historical battle against 
the Catholic Church. Catholics had no choice left but to ac- 
cept the challenge and incur the chancellor's hostility. He has 
waged war during these ten years. He is weary "sick," to use 
his own words, " unto death." 

He has got enough, but lacks the manliness to acknowledge 
this openly. This is not handsome on his part, and it is to be 
feared that what some had supposed was due to a certain natural 
nobleness of Bismarck's character sprang from an overweening 
self-conceit. In common parlance, it was brag. This, however, 
is a personal matter and of no great importance. But what is 
important to know is that the terminus of the road on which he 
has started is the for-ever-famous " Canossa." 

" Tendimus in Latium, sedes ubi fata quietas 

Defeat, then, there has been, and it is certain that the Catholic 
Church in Prussia has not been destroyed or subjugated to the 
state ; on the contrary, she has not been so strong and so con- 
scious of her strength for a long while as at this very moment. 
Defeat there has been, and it is certain that the attempt to detach 
Catholic Germans from their allegiance to the supreme authority 
of the Holy See has signally failed. Never have their expres- 
sions of readiness to obey the decisions of the chief pastor of the 
church been more explicit, more sincere, and more worthy of ad- 
miration. Defeat there has been, and it is certain that the foster- 
ing care and aid by the state of the Old-Catholic movement, in 
order to create a national German Catholic Church, has proved 
to be the most abortive attempt made in the religious world in 
this century. Thus far the war waged against the Catholic 
Church in the kingdom of Prussia has resulted as follows : It has 
gained for Prince Bismarck the unenviable distinction of being 
placed on the list of the persecutors of the Roman Catholic 


Church, at the head of which stands Nero ; and it has contri- 
buted powerfully in making the fifteen millions of Catholics exist- 
ing- in the German Empire, more particularly those in Prussia, 
the most intelligent, fervent, unflinching, and heroic in the fold of 
the holy church. The man who made the German Empire has 
ventured to measure himself with Him who built the Catholic 
Church, and the Galilean has conquered. 

How often it has been said by its opponents that the Catholic 
religion is altogether dependent on its hierarchy, its external 
worship, its ceremonies, symbols, and forms ! Destroy these, so 
they fancied, and the Catholic religion would cease to exist. 
This assertion has been put to the practical test before our eyes 
in Prussia. The Catholic Church has been deprived of all of her 
bishops, except one ; a thousand, more or less, of her parishes are 
destitute of priests ; her churches in great numbers have been 
taken and given over to apostates ; all her religious orders have 
been banished, her institutions of beneficence and education have 
been closed, and her children, so far as it was in the power of the 
state, have been handed over for their education to the tender 
mercies of the enemies of her faith. What has been the result 
of this persistent and bitter persecution? Has the faith of Catho- 
lics died out? Has their fervor cooled off? Has their unity 
been broken ? Has their courage for one instant faltered ? Have 
they flinched, or given any signs of flinching? The precise con- 
trary has taken place, and, like the Christians of early days, they 
hold up their heads undaunted, their hearts beat with noble valor, 
and with firm and stout arms they hold aloft their banner ! It 
was theirs to show the falsity of the charges against the divine 
character of their faith, and to render evident that the convictions 
of their consciences of its truths were invincible. Let others 
yield to the dictation of the state; they have so learned Christi- 
anity as to stoop to no authority in religion that is not divine ! 
Noble Catholic Germans of this unbelieving age, your conduct 
will shine forth to all future time as an example to the faithful in 
their trials and as an encouragement in their sacrifices ! 

But suppose that the present dispositions of Prince Bismarck 
do not eventuate in a modus vivcndi ; what then? What then ? 
Why then the conflict will have to go on, and the weaker ves- 
sel will go to the wall and be dashed into pieces. What then ? 
Why, the life-purpose of the German chancellor will not be real- 
ized, and, like his predecessors in this historical battle, his end will 
be ignominious. Like them, he was unwilling to brook in the em- 
pire a body who were resolute in maintaining the rights of con- 

1 88 i.j THE GERMAN PROBLEM. 295 

science and in defending at all costs their religious faith. He 
had mastered and broken up the German Diet; he had duped 
and vanquished Austria ; he had led France craftily into a disas- 
trous war, defeated her armies, and humbled her pride ; he had 
restored the German Empire, and placed its sceptre in the hands 
of his own prince, the King of Prussia he who had done all these 
great things meets, for the first time in his career, with men 
whom he cannot dupe by any artifice, overreach by all his craft, 
or conquer by all the force at his disposal ! For the first time 
this " man of iron and blood " finds himself constrained to hang 
up on the wall his victorious arms ! He is compelled from the 
necessity of the case to face the alternative, either to witness the 
failure of the darling project of his ambition, or give up his perse- 
cution of Catholics and respect their religious convictions. It 
looks likely that he will try the latter. For he can find nowhere 
else that basis of support necessary to uphold the empire, ex- 
cept in the compact body of Catholics. The national Protestant 
Church is a rope of sand. The National Liberal party has lost its 
hold on the masses because of its lack of all principle. The only 
cement which has the virtue to bind the integral elements of the 
empire together is Catholicity. But before this can be utilized 
by the chancellor he has to undo the disgraceful work of these last 
ten years against the Catholic Church. This is a bitter pill for 
him to swallow. Will he take it ? He is evidently making now 
wry faces over the dose. His acceptance of the newly-appointed 
bishops by the Pope, and the rumor of his willingness to re-estab- 
lish diplomatic relations with the Holy See, are signs of his will- 
ingness. But the man of Varzin is not now dealing with Aus- 
trians or Frenchmen ; he has to deal with his own Prussians, 
whom he cannot so easily baffle. Signs will not satisfy them ; 
they will insist upon his swallowing the pill, and not be content 
until they detect its effects by his restoration of their religious 
liberty. Wherever the Falk laws are incompatible with the 
rights of the church they will have to be abrogated, or Prince 
Bismarck will have to see what he once declared was his 
hope. " I hope," he said, " to live to see the foolish bark of the 
state dash itself to pieces against the rock of the Church." 
Was this prophetic of the new German Empire ? We sincerely 
trust not. And was Bismarck himself to be the fated instrument 
of its fulfilment ? God forbid ! The fall of the German Empire 
would fill us with unfeigned regrets. There are good reasons in 
God's providence to hope for great things in the future from the 
empire of Germany. 


There is but slight prospect that the connection between the 
church and state which existed in the Prussian kingdom before 
this contest will be restored. If such a restoration were possible, 
with the prevailing tendencies of men's minds it .cannot be 
lasting. From a religious point of view, no less than from a 
political point of view, its recovery might not be desirable. For 
the men who have control of the state almost everywhere 
in actual Europe either aim at the reduction of the church 
into servitude or are bent on her destruction. Politicians and 
courtiers will forge every connection between the church and 
the state into chains to fetter her free limbs or turn them 
into weapons against her. " The hind that would be mated 
by the lion must die of love." 

The pages of history teach the important lesson that under 
the bloody persecutions of the Roman Empire the church con- 
quered her persecutors. Under the bitter persecutions of Eng- 
land the faithful and heroic children of Ireland are breaking 
her fetters and she is fast regaining her lost freedom. History 
teaches indisputably that the church can exist independently of 
the state much better than the state can exist independently 
of the church. Is it not a sign of a lack of faith, and an in- 
justice to the divine character of the church, to mistrust her 
ability to stand upon her own feet and maintain herself erect? 

The Catholic Church exists, and has existed without patron- 
age from the state one hundred years in this country, and flour- 
ishes. The tree of Catholicity grows strong and bears precious 
fruit when planted in the soil of liberty and intelligence. Would 
to God that the Catholic Church everywhere in Europe enjoyed 
liberty to preach her holy faith and exercise her salutary disci- 
pline, as she does in these United States ! Religion reigns most 
worthily, in an age tempered like ours, when she rules by the 
voluntary force of the intelligent convictions of conscience, and 
finds in these alone her sufficient support. 

It is when both church and state are the expressions of the 
religious faith and political convictions of the entire community, 
and each acts in its own sphere concordantly with the other 
in aiding man to attain his divinely appointed destiny, that the 
kingdom of God upon earth approaches to its nearest fulfilment. 
Every well-informed Catholic knows that the separation of 
church and state is a great calamity. He knows also that the 
destruction of the liberty of the church and her servitude to the 
state is a still greater, perhaps the greatest of calamities. Now 
that the old system between church and state has been broken, 

1 88 1.] THE GERMAN PROBLEM. 297 

and its recovery hopeless, may it not be the interest no less than 
the policy of the church not to neglect but to embrace the op- 
portunity which Heaven yields to secure above all things, in view 
of menacing dangers, her independence and freedom of action ? 

The solution of the German problem, looked at exclusively on 
its political side, is another thesis, but ail we can do here is to 
make its presentment, which might be stated as follows : Con- 
sidering the German Empire with its conflicting religious ele- 
ments, would not a programme assuring to all denominations 
their liberty and equal protection of their rights satisfy the rea- 
sonable demands of all parties, produce that internal peace neces- 
sary to the stability of the empire, and open a door to Prince 
Bismarck, its chancellor, through which he might escape from 
his present embarrassments without humiliation, and renew his 
title to leadership of the empire with honor? 

The persecution of the Catholic Church in the kingdom of 
Prussia, if public rumors are to be credited, has ceased. May it 
not be a truce only, but may the armor now hanging idly on 
their walls hang there for ever ! The strife has entered upon a 
new phase that of arranging a modus vivendi, as it is called. 
The contest is no longer one of principles and rights, these being 
settled ; the question is one of compromises, concessions, and con- 
ciliations. Catholics, in an emergency like the present, cannot 
'be too thankful to God for placing as chief pastor of his church 
militant one who possesses" in an eminent degree the various 
gifts and virtues which fit him for the functions of his high of- 
fice; one who, like a skilful and experienced captain, knows how 
to steer in stormy and tempestuous times the bark of Peter into 
calm waters and harbors of safety ; one who, while holding 
tenaciously the divine principles and rights of God's church, 
knows how, with admirable sagacity, to adjust their bearings on 
the interests of society and the prosperity of the state, while se- 
curing to religion a reign of peace and a fair prospect of future 
triumph. May the Sovereign Pontiff, Leo XIII., now gloriously 
reigning, have the support of the fervent and earnest prayers 
of the faithful throughout the world to aid him in the execution 
of his great task, and God grant that his reign may be long and 
prosperous ! 




" THE life of a lord-lieutenant of Ireland comes up to my idea of perfect 
misery, but if I can accomplish the great object of consolidating the British 
Empire I shall be sufficiently repaid. LORD CORNWALLIS." 

LORD CORNWALLIS enjoyed some repose after returning to 
England from America, where he had learned that, although he 
was a trained strategist, a general untrained in that part of the 
art of war was more apt in it than he ; and the memory of York- 
town had become softened by five years of more agreeable expe- 
rience when he was sent out as governor-general of Bengal and 
commander- in-chief of the army in India. Neither military nor 
civil critics are agreed concerning the permanent effects of his 
efforts to consolidate the British Empire in that quarter. He re- 
signed his post in 1793 and returned to England, receiving a 
marquisate for his services and the appointment of master-gene- 
ral of the ordnance. The government placed no slight estimate 
on his abilities as a diplomat, whatever they may have thought 
of his brilliancy as a soldier ; and as it was craft, not bravery, 
that was most needed in Ireland in the woful year of '98, Corn- 
wallis accepted the functions of lord-lieutenant and commander- 
in-chief, and entered upon his duties in June of that year. Be- 
fore he was in office a month he wrote to Major-General Ross a 
letter of which the above is the closing paragraph. 

There was not the slightest uncertainty in his mind or in the 
minds of the king or ministers as to the nature of his mission to 
Ireland. He was to suppress a rebellion and abolish a national 
parliament. For this double purpose he was to have as many 
men and as much money as he deemed necessary. Both pur- 
poses were to be accomplished at any cost ; but the men were to 
be drawn from England or her mercenaries, for the Irish soldiers 
could not be depended upon to massacre their own blood ; and 
the money was to be drawn from the Irish, for they were suffi- 
ciently at peace to be taxed to death, if they were not sufficiently 
at war to be slaughtered. Should the resources of that country 
prove inadequate, then the secret-service fund the corruption 
fund of the English ministers was to be invaded. The suppres- 
sion of the rebellion and the abolition of the national Parliament 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 299 

of Ireland would, it was confidently expected, effect the perma- 
nent consolidation of the British Empire. 

The moment is opportune to take the story of this the most 
remarkable chapter in the career of Lord Cornwallis from the 
official and private letters written by him during his Irish ad- 
ministration. We shall walk at his side through that exciting 
and dramatic epoch ; and there shall be no divergence from the 
path, except for the purpose of ascertaining whether he is always 
frank in his assertions, or to break the branches overhead and let 
in a little clearer light on some especially dismal spot. The 
story is by no means a cheerful one ; but there can be no serious 
objection to permitting the chief actor in it to tell it in his own 
way. Where the testimony of others is borrowed to confirm, 
disprove, or elucidate, the reader will find the authorities quite as 
trustworthy as the respectable gentleman who surrendered to 
Washington ; for Lord Cornwallis was really an amiable and by 
no means bigoted man, and had his counsels been followed the 
record he was compelled to make for his country would be one 
in which his countrymen to-day would feel less shame. 

As to the rebellion, the dreadful details need not be repeated, 
except as they enter naturally into the progress of the narrative ; 
but it is well to understand precisely the nature of the enterprise 
Lord Cornwallis had in hand in undertaking to abolish for ever 
the national Parliament of Ireland. In describing the character- 
istics of that Parliament and ascertaining its official composition 
it is necessary to employ the terms Protestant and Catholic free- 
ly ; for those were the sanguinary days when fanatics hated each 
other to gratify their peculiar conception of the love of God, and 
when audacious and ambitious politicians fanned that hatred for 
the consummation of their schemes. It is obviously judicious, 
therefore, in this instance, since every effort should be made to 
avoid wounding the sensibilities of the descendants of either 
party, to employ only Protestant authors in discussing a subject 
from which pain cannot be wholly eliminated. If any inaccuracy 
creep into the recital, at least it will be apparent that it is not 
the wish or the fault of the writer. 

It is a paradox to speak of the Irish Parliament as the national 
Parliament of the Irish people. Strictly speaking, it never was 
a national Parliament in the sense in which we understand that 
word now. Prior to the passage of Poynings* law during the 
reign of Henry VII. political dissensions and wars rendered its 
nationalization impossible ; and as soon as it displayed a spark of 
genuine national spirit a snuffer was sent over from England to 


put out the light the spark might have created. The snuffer was 
Poynings' law. It was, in substance, that the Irish Parliament 
should meet only when the King of England desired it to meet ; 
that it should meet only at his pleasure, and when it had done his 
business in Ireland that the members should go home. That law 
was passed in England in 1495. Of course it had to be accepted 
in Ireland. A Parliament thus fettered was indeed no Parlia- 
ment ; but in course of time astute men in it found ways to do 
slight favors for the country without the previous permission of 
the crown, and when the religious fanaticism of the subsequent 
period introduced new elements of distress into Irish life it was 
deemed prudent to expel the Catholics from seats and to deprive 
them of the right to vote for Protestants who were candidates. 
Yet the Catholics were seven-tenths of the population, according 
to Lord Cornwallis. A Parliament which contained no represen- 
tatives of that proportion of the people of a country can scarcely 
be designated a national Parliament. 

But there were factors in its composition which rendered it 
less than representative of the minority who were eligible. The 
Stuarts had fostered the borough system so industriously that a 
Parliament of three hundred members represented actually only 
about as many individuals or families. Two hundred and sixteen 
members represented only manors. Manor proprietors who sent 
in men to the Commons acceptable to the government were re- 
warded with peerages ; and thus the upper and lower houses 
were simultaneously degraded and corrupted. Still further to 
withdraw the Parliament from public opinion, should any be de- 
veloped by events, the lower house, unless dissolved by the 
crown, continued for an entire reign. The Irish Parliament of 
George III. continued for thirty-three years. 

Nevertheless, in the middle of the eighteenth century the 
Irish Parliament began to feel the faint throbs of a national pulse. 
Supine under their yoke, the Catholics, having no share in the 
government, devoted themselves as best they could to those 
forms of production which were possible in a country in which 
manufactures might easily be promoted with capital. The Pres- 
byterians, suffering like the Catholics on account of their reli- 
gious views, engaged largely in manufacture, especially in the 
North ; and while the land had been confiscated, and Catholics 
could not even buy it at any price, the English who had settled 
on the estates taken from the native owners became interested in 
the material growth of a country which they intended to make 
their home. Enough money was in circulation to keep a healthy 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 301 

feeling between the agricultural and manufacturing classes ; and 
some of the manufactures attained such proportions as to arouse 
the jealousy of the English producers, who immediately appealed 
to the king and Parliament of England to suppress in Ireland 
every manufacture which would rival any in England, and to tol- 
erate in Ireland only such industries as would help the English 
market. In principle the Irish should be permitted to make 
only such articles as the English could not sell to them. Law 
after law was passed in England for the destruction of Irish 
manufactures ; the finishing blow was given in the beginning of 
the eighteenth century by the prohibition of the last that remain- 
ed, the woollen trade. Irish ships, which had been met on every 
ocean highway, were excluded from the sea, and the country sank 
into abject poverty whose depths reached the famine- pits at fre- 
quent intervals. 

The vitality of the Irish must have astonished their foreign 
government. Commerce by water was practically abolished, ex- 
cept with England ; but the domestic trade revived slightly from 
time to time, and as a little capital came to the despondent manu- 
facturers they began to appeal to the Irish Parliament to help 
them by endeavoring to obtain a modification of the laws by 
which Irish industry- had been destroyed. These manufacturers 
were chiefly Protestants, and they received countenance, in some 
degree at least, from the English land-owners in Ireland who had 
money to spare ; while the Presbyterians, who were so busy in 
Ulster, were strengthened by accessions from Scotland, Irish land 
and water-power being so cheap that many availed themselves 
of the chance to better their condition by emigrating from the 
neighboring country, bringing at least some money into Ireland. 
It was the Protestant and Presbyterian manufacturers who first 
imbued the Irish Parliament with national sympathy and aspira- 

It is proper to say Protestant and Presbyterian, because in 
those days Presbyterians were not Protestants ; that designation 
belonged exclusively to members of the church by law estab- 
lished. It is worthy of mention, for justice* sake, that it was the 
Protestants and not the Presbyterians who founded Orangeism in 
Ireland. Neither Catholics nor Presbyterians were eligible for 
admission to the original Orange lodges. The object of Orange- 
ism was one toward which the Presbyterians had shown decided 
animosity the perpetuation of English rule in Ireland ; on the 
contrary, the Presbyterians were accused, and justly, of down- 
right democratic tendencies. 


The temper of the Irish Parliament in the second half of the 
eighteenth century was one to give the English crown some soli- 
citude. Lords were sent over as viceroys, and they selected as 
their representatives in the two houses the ablest men who could 
be induced to accept official posts, with the understanding that 
their duty was to the King of England and not to the people of 
Ireland. Gradually an opposition had grown bold, energetic, 
and sagacious ; while a literature outside Parliament, of which 
Swift and Molyneux were the parents, helped to organize public 
opinion, which reacted upon Parliament. When the American 
war broke out there was undisguised joy among the masses of 
the Irish people ; the courage of the opposition in Parliament re- 
ceived substantial access of resolution, although the prevailing 
hypocrisy in public affairs required that formal sympathy should 
be expressed with the crown in its reverses; but the victories of 
the rebels were sincerely celebrated, with prudent decorum, by 
the patriots in and out of Parliament. 

The king's necessities in America precipitated an altogether 
unprecedented state of affairs in Ireland. All the troops that 
could be sent to the colonies were urgently needed there ; and 
the regulars in Ireland were demanded, although, with invasion 
threatened by France, their withdrawal was a confessed menace 
to the safety of the crown in Ireland. Nevertheless they were 
withdrawn, after a debate which no student of great oratory can 
have missed that in which Flood appeared as the advocate of the 
crown and Grattan as the exponent of the sympathy of the Irish 
people with the American rebels. Flood had enjoyed the confi- 
dence of all classes of the people until he entered the Irish cabi- 
net; from that moment he was looked upon with suspicion, and 
when he described the troops to be sent out from Ireland to 
America as " armed negotiators " Grattan poured out upon him 
a withering invective from whose effects he never recovered, 
characterizing him as standing " with a metaphor in his mouth 
and a bribe in his pocket, a champion against the rights of Ame- 
rica the only hope of Ireland, the refuge of the liberties of man- 
kind." The regulars having been sent, Ireland was actually 
without defence, and the formation of volunteers began with the 
consent of the government. " The cry to arms," writes Lecky,* 
" passed through the land and was speedily responded to by all 
parties and all creeds. Beginning among the Protestants of the 
North, the movement soon spread, though in a less degree, to 

* Author of History of Rationalism in Europe, History of England in the Eighteenth Cen- 
tury, etc. 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 303 

other parts of the island, and the war of religions and castes that 
had so long divided the people vanished as a dream." 

The character of the Volunteers was unique. Furnished with 
arms by the government, they paid their own expenses, refused 
commissions from the crown, elected their own officers, and be- 
came speedily a threat, instead of a defence. Having no battles 
to fight with France, they devoted their moral force to fighting 
the government ; and with their formidable numbers, estimated to 
have been from sixty thousand to a hundred thousand, armed, 
equipped, and drilled, with not a battalion in either island to con- 
front them, they became the masters of Parliament and compelled 
it to assume a virtue which it had not : they compelled it to na- 
tionalize itself, Poynings' law was still in force ; they demanded 
its repeal. All the prohibitory laws which had strangled indus- 
try and trade in Ireland were still in force ; they demanded their 
repeal. The penal laws by which seven-tenths of their country- 
men were excluded from participation in the government of 
their country were still in force; they demanded their repeal. 

It has always been characteristic of English dealings with 
Ireland never to grant her any concession except under com- 
pulsion of force, and then to grant less than is demanded. It 
was only as a preventive of insurrection, the Duke of Wellington 
told the stubborn dullard who wore the crown in 1829, that Ca- 
tholic Emancipation was conceded ; but coupled with it was a 
suffrage law which disfranchised many of those who had become 
voters while the Irish Parliament was independent, as we shall 
soon see it. The movement to effect repeal of the Act of Union 
would probably have succeeded had O'Connell not been too old 
and feeble to maintain the vigor of the people. The present first 
minister of Great Britain is authority for the confession, openly 
made, that the abolition of the Irish church establishment, the 
hoary relic of penal law, was made necessary by Fenianism, 
which set out on an entirely different errand, that it could not 
complete. When the secret records of these disturbed days shall 
be uncovered by another generation the world will read that the 
Land Act of 1881 was wrung from the crown by ministerial as- 
surance that if some relief were not allowed the Irish tenants in- 
surrection would inevitably ensue. To postpone relief Michael 
Davitt, the strong man of the Irish people, was thrust into prison, 
unaccused, untried. 

To resist the demands of the Volunteers in 1782 was impossi- 
ble ; to grant them all the crown would not consent. But Poyn- 
ings' law was repealed ; the Irish Parliament was conceded the 


exclusive right to legislate for Ireland ; the trade restrictions 
were all removed. But the third demand political equality for 
all classes of the people was withheld ; and before the Volunteers 
could coerce it the government disbanded them. 

We have reached the Irish Parliament as Cornwallis found it. 
It had enjoyed independence for sixteen years. His mission 
was to abolish it, because its independence had unfettered the 
manufacturers of Ireland, to the anger and injury of the English 
manufacturers ; because there was every reason to believe that, as 
it had allowed the Catholics the right to vote for members, it 
would soon allow them the right to be members and to enter the 
race of life on the same terms as those possessed by the non-Ca- 
tholic minority ; and because there was danger that, when all the 
people united in the government of their country in a native con- 
gress, they would dispense with the services of a foreign crown. 
It was necessary, therefore, to abolish the independent Irish 
Parliament in order to consolidate the British Empire. 

All representative bodies fluctuate in the relative merit of 
their personnel. No country has always been able to command 
at all times the services of its ablest and most virtuous sons. 
When the Irish Parliament, with eighty thousand Volunteers at 
its back, in 1782 declared itself independent, removed the restric- 
tions which a foreign Parliament had placed upon its manufac- 
tures and commerce, and wisely fostered every form of industry, 
it contained a very large proportion of able and determined men, 
although the vast majority of the people had no voice in its halls. 
In 1798, when Cornwallis proceeded on his mission to abolish it, 
many of the ablest members of the former period were absent from 
it. Neither Grattan nor Curran was there the one the most ef- 
fective wit, the other the most eminent patriot and most power- 
ful orator, of the time. In 1782 the government councillors were 
weak and commonplace men, while the patriots had the genius, 
the eloquence, the courage of the country on their side. In 1798 
the government had Castlereagh for chief secretary, and a host 
of mercenary men whose faculties had been sharpened by neces- 
sity and who were as keen as they were unscrupulous. In 1782 
the Parliament was literally on fire with patriotic ardor, and men 
were ready and anxious to make sacrifices, if necessary, of per- 
sonal interests for the general' good of the whole people. In 
1798 a spasm of selfish office-seeidng was in progress, and place 
and promotion were the chief objects of a large number in Parlia- 
ment and of their friends, who hoped to obtain one or the other 
through their influence. 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 305 

Let it not be forgotten that the Parliament in 1798 contained 
no representatives of the majority of the Irish people, and that 
the minority represented was composed in considerable part of 
manor proprietors and their placemen, of Englishmen, Scotch- 
men, and other aliens who had no permanent interest in Ireland. 
It ought also to be recalled that the upper house in Ireland never 
contained a dozen men of mark. The Protestant lords saw in 
the Protestant crown exclusive privileges for themselves which 
they could not hope for after the Catholics of Ireland obtained 
their political rights ; the few Catholic peers were vacillating 
and nerveless, incapable of serving their country and willing to 
sell out her independence for their own profit. 

The task of Cornwallis was not so difficult, therefore, as it 
would have been a few years earlier. The English agents, who 
had been acquainted with the designs of the crown, had ample 
time to pack the lower house as fully as possible with persons 
expressly selected for the object in view. The borough system 
quite as truly as gold corrupted and extinguished the Irish par- 
liament. It was declared on the floor of the lower house that 
less than ninety individuals returned a majority of that body. 
Yet so tenacious was the little flicker of national spirit which 
still burned there that as soon as the intentions of the lord-lieu- 
tenant became publicly known the people arose and by their de- 
termined resistance kept the imperial corruptionists at bay for 
more than a year. 

Cornwallis' description of the men who were at that time 
foremost under English protection in ruining Ireland is the best 
possible explanation of his final victory in buying them up and 
destroying the legislative body which was cursed by their pre- 
sence. On July 8, 1798, he writes to the Duke of Portland as fol- 
lows, the letter being marked "private and confidential"; his 
allusion to the rebels needs no comment : 

"The principal persons in this country and the members of both houses 
of Parliament are in general averse to all acts of clemency, and, although 
they do not express, and are perhaps too much heated to see, the ultimate 
effect which their violence must produce, would pursue measures that 
could only terminate in the extirpation of the greater number of the in- 
habitants and in the utter destruction of the country. The words papists 
and priests are for ever in their mouths, and by their unaccountable policy 
they would drive four-fifths of the community into irreconcilable rebellion. 
... I should be very ungrateful if I did not acknowledge the obligations I 
owe to Lord Castlereagh, whose abilities, temper, and judgment have been 
of the greatest use to me, and who has on every occasion shown his sincere 
VCL. xxxiv. 20 


and unprejudiced attachment to the general interests of the British Em- 

At other times the noble lord wrote of Castlereagh, " He is so 
cold that nothing can warm him " ; but when he wished to give 
him a persuasive recommendation to the favor of the imperial 
government he pleaded that he knew no favors were for the 
Irish, but that an exception should be made in the case of Castle- 
reagh " he is so very unlike an Irishman." When the news of 
the arch-traitor's suicide was spread it was another English lord 
Byron who wrote : 

" So he has cut his throat at last ! He who ? 
The man who cut his country's long ago." 

In a letter to Pitt, dated July 20, Cornwallis makes the first 
avowal of his chief business in Ireland. He informs the minister 
that he does not see at that moment the most distant encourage- 
ment for the project. A few days later he tells Ross that there 
is no law in the country except martial law, and that number- 
less murders are committed by his people without any process 
or examination. His yeomanry, he adds, " are in the style of the 
Loyalists of America, only more numerous and powerful, and a 
thousand times more ferocious." Many letters are full of the 
loathsome details of betrayals of the rebels, of the sums paid in- 
formers, the artifices resorted to to obtain the secrets of suspects, 
and the rewards held out to the base and the infamous. In Au- 
gust Cornwallis issued general orders appealing to the regimen- 
tal officers to assist in putting a stop to the licentious conduct of 
the troops. In September his thoughts revert to the Parliament. 
The Catholics who have kept out of it by the determination of 
his majesty must be conciliated. Some advantages must be held 
out to them in the proposed union of the two countries " the 
union of the shark with its prey," as Lord Byron termed it. The 
lord-lieutenant has been talking with some of his official friends, 
and is beginning to think that they would not be averse to the 
union, provided it were a Protestant union ; but they would not 
hear of the Catholics sitting in the imperial Parliament. This 
bigotry does not please him, nor does he see in it the promise of 
success. He writes Ross that he is convinced that until the Ca- 
tholics are admitted into a general participation of rights there 
will be no peace or safety in Ireland. A private and somewhat 
alarming letter is despatched to the Duke of Portland by hand. 
The progress of rebellion, the disaffection of the Catholics, and 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 307 

the apparent resolution of the discontented to effect a general 
insurrection convince Corn wallis that if the union be not speedily 
accomplished it will soon be too late to attempt it. In October 
Cornwallis writes Pitt : 

" It has always appeared to me a desperate measure for the British gov- 
ernment to make an irrevocable alliance with a small party in Ireland 
(which party has derived all its consequence from, and is in fact entirely 
dependent upon, the British government) to wage eternal war against the 
Papists and Presbyterians of this kingdom, which two sects, from the fair- 
est calculations, compose about nine-tenths of the community." 

In the same letter he prophesies that if Catholic emancipation 
is not granted then it will be extorted at a later time a pro- 
phecy literally fulfilled and acknowledged by the Duke of Wel- 
lington thirty years afterwards. 

All the transactions in progress at this time are either un- 
known to Cornwallis, or he leaves the mention of some of them 
to others, or his editor, careful of his reputation, omits them. 
In November the lord-lieutenant writes to Ross : " Things have 
gone too far to admit of a change, and the principal persons in 
this country have received assurances from the English ministers 
which cannot be retracted." No information of the nature of 
these assurances appears previously in the correspondence ; but 
the evidence is accessible elsewhere. Pitt writes from Downing 
Street to Cornwallis that the Speaker of the Irish House of Com- 
mons (John Foster) had been in London, and had conversed with 
him on the proposed union. Pitt believed he would not obstruct 
the measure, and if it could be made personally palatable to him 
he might give it fair support. The premier suggests that the 
prospect of an English peerage be held out to him, with some 
ostensible situation. Time proved the minister did the Speaker 
gross injustice ; Foster had been cautious in talking with the min- 
ister, and the latter was so accustomed to thinking that every 
man had his price he misconstrued Foster's wariness into the 
solicitation of a bribe. A week or two later Cornwallis, in a let- 
ter to Ross, expresses his frank opinion of the men in Ireland 
who were acting for the English government in carrying on the 
project of the union. " They are detested by everybody but their 
immediate followers, and have no influence but what is founded 
on the grossest corruption." 

Yet the enterprise moved slowly and painfully. Castlereagh 
admits to a friend that " there is no predisposition in its favor," 
but, while the bar is almost a unit against it, the Orangemen are 



for it, believing that the Catholics will oppose it ; he hopes that the 
arrangement proposed for the Catholic clergy will secure their 
support. No arrangement, in fact, was ever made for them ; but 
some individuals for whom " arrangement " was made were in 
favor of the measure. Among these was Dr. Troy, Catholic 
Archbishop of Dublin. Castlereagh closes this letter with an 
important statement : " The principal provincial newspapers 
have been secured, and every attention will be paid to the 
press generally." November 27 Cornwallis writes a secret let- 
ter to the Duke of Portland, describing minutely the steps he 
had felt it his " duty to make in consequence of your grace's 
despatch enclosing heads of a union between the two kingdoms " ; 
and the steps must have been humiliating enough to a man of 
Corn\vallis' professed disgust for such atrocious business. He 
summarizes the results of his approaching "the most leading 
characters " on the subject. Lord Shannon is favorable, but 
will not declare himself openly until he sees that his doing so 
" can answer some purpose." " Lord Ely (relying on the crown 
in a matter personal to himself) is prepared to give it his utmost 
support." Lord Yelverton had no hesitation about it ; he was 
made Viscount Avonmore. Lord Pery would not pledge him- 
self against it ; he had a government pension of three thousand 
pounds a year. 

In December Cornwallis writes to the Duke of Portland that 
Speaker Foster and Sir John Parnell, Chancellor of the Exche- 
quer, are still in London, and that he hopes they will not have left 
it before Castlereagh shall arrive there. " Some of the king's 
Irish servants appear to be the most impracticable in their opin- 
ions, and I feel confident that your grace will leave no means 
untried to impress these gentlemen more favorably before their 
return to this kingdom." The plain hint was not lost ; with what 
result the final record will show. Lord Castlereagh bore a letter 
to Pitt, in which Cornwallis declared : " That every man in this 
most corrupt country should consider the important question be- 
fore us in no other point of view than as it may be likely to pro- 
mote his private objects of ambition or avarice will not surprise 
you" an allegation true as to Pitt, who proceeded solely on that 
assumption ; for he was not silly enough to believe that any man 
of sound sense in Ireland would be moved by other motives than 
avarice or ambition in betraying the right of his country to make 
her own laws under a British constitution guaranteeing her that 
right. But it was a careless exaggeration on the part of Corn- 
wallis: he approached men whom he could not corrupt. A 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 309 

great meeting of the bar held that month revealed the fact that 
only thirty-two were in favor of the measure, while five times 
as many opposed it ; and of those thirty-two five only were left 
without government appointment. It is not unlikely that the 
five had been won by what Harrington calls " simple metallic 
corruption." Intimidation was tried with more or less success 
on those who were exceptionally dangerous ; in the beginning of 
the year 1799 it was even proposed to disgown Saurin, one of 
the ablest Protestant lawyers. The threat was not carried out ; 
and after the union had been consummated he accepted the office 
of attorney-general for Ireland, and prosecuted Sheil energetical- 
ly for speeches not half so "treasonable" in behalf of Catholic 
Emancipation as his own had been against the union. Plunkett, 
another of the patriots of the bar of 1799, accepted the office of 
solicitor-general soon after the passage of the act; it was he who 
prosecuted poor Robert Emmet. 

That " simple metallic corruption " was being carried boldly on 
there was no attempt to conceal in government circles. January 
10 Castlereagh acknowledges the receipt of five thousand pounds 
from the English secret- service fund, and adds: "Arrangements 
with a view to further communications of the same nature will be 
highly advantageous, and the Duke of Portland may depend on 
their being carefully applied." Cornwallis was busy trying to 
make converts among those then holding positions under the gov- 
ernment. He writes to the Duke of Portland that, finding Sir 
John Parnell determined not to support the union, " I have noti- 
fied to him his dismission from the office of Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, and I shall pursue the same line of conduct without 
favor or partiality whenever I may think it will tend to promote 
the success of the measure." Cornwallis may have had occasion 
to regret deeply his failure to corrupt Parnell ; for after the first 
test vote in the Commons, which was a great surprise to the gov- 
ernment, the lord-lieutenant writes to the Duke of Portland : 

" I have now only to express my sincere regret to your grace that the 
prejudices prevailing amongst the members of the Commons, countenanced 
and encouraged as they have been by the Speaker and Sir John Parnell, are 
infinitely too strong to afford me any prospect of bringing this measure, 
with any chance of success, into discussion in the course of the present 

The test vote should not have so deeply discouraged Corn- 
wallis. It is thus analyzed by Harrington : The house was com- 



posed of three hundred, of whom eighty-four were absent. Of 
the two hundred and sixteen who voted one hundred and eleven 
were against the government, and of the one hundred and five 
who voted with it sixty-nine were holding government offices, 
nineteen were rewarded with office, one was openly bought dur- 
ing debate, and thirteen were created peers or their wives were 
made peeresses for their votes. Three were supposed to be unin- 
fluenced. The absentees were presumably against the union ; 
were they for it the government could have required their at- 
tendance. Castlereagh addressed himself assiduously to corrupt- 
ing '{hem during the recess, and when the question came up 
again in the following year forty-three of the eighty-four voted 
for the union. 

It is difficult to determine who were the more astonished at 
the result of the test vote, the government or the people ; but 
the joy of the latter exceeded the dismay of the former. The 
weak personnel of the Parliament; the unblushing effrontery with 
which bribery had been carried on in and out of its walls ; the 
pertinacity with which Castlereagh was known to continue his 
efforts in any given direction ; and the vast power of the British 
Empire, which was understood to be at the service of the corrup- 
ters, had naturally driven the masses of the people into the con- 
viction that the scheme must succeed. Its failure inspired the 
drooping country with wild enthusiasm, which vented itself in all 
forms of popular demonstration. Grattan was unquestionably 
accurate when he said " that the whole unbribed intellect of Ire- 
land " was opposed to the union. But the government agents 
returned to their work, resolved to accomplish after the recess 
what they had not won before it. They first secured the absen- 
tees. They then elaborated a gigantic fraud on the Catholics by 
circulating the information that although, for obviously politic 
reasons, no pledge would be publicly made to the clergy, the 
imperial government, after the passage of the act, would provide 
for the payment of the Catholic priesthood on the same terms as 
those enjoyed by the clergy of the Established Church ; and a like 
lure was cast about the dissenters. There is not the least doubt 
that Cornwallis honestly desired that this assurance should be in 
good faith, and there is ample testimony that he was authorized 
to make it by Pitt and his associates. But after the union was an 
accomplished fact the pledge was broken ; the king positively 
affirmed that he never had been spoken to on the subject, and 
would never have consented to it had he been ; and in conse- 
quence of what Pitt affected to consider for a moment dishonor 

1 8 8 1 .] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 3 1 1 

at the king's hands, he resigned, only to accept office again 
soon afterwards. 

It is certain that Cornwallis was adroit enough to secure 
the support of a very large number of Catholics, and the silence 
of the rest, and that the enterprise was thus substantially for- 
warded. But he did not rely on promises from those who had 
no votes : he continued to buy those who had. A bill was 
audaciously introduced by Castlereagh, providing what he 
euphemistically termed "compensation" for those who would 
lose their seats by the Act of Union. His terms were generous 
enough. Every aristocrat who returned members was to receive 
in cash fifteen thousand pounds for each member ; every mem- 
ber who had purchased a seat should have his mone}^ refunded 
from the Irish treasury; and every member who was in any 
manner a loser by the union should be amply repaid. The 
amount drawn from the people of Ireland in taxes for this shame- 
less proceeding was fixed by the secretary at seven million five 
hundred thousand dollars. Thus did the English agent actually 
make the Irish people pay out of their own pockets the bribes by 
which their servants were induced to betray them to their ene- 
mies ! A parallel for this deed will be sought in vain in ancient 
or modern history. The passage of the bill showed that the gov- 
ernment had actually secured a majority, although a small one ; 
and the patriots became disheartened. In their distress they ap- 
pealed to the absent Grattan to return to the house and once 
again lift up the mighty voice which eighteen years before had 
won the independence of the now degenerate body. The reap- 
pearance of the venerable statesman on the floor of the house at 
the most critical juncture which had occurred since his with- 
drawal from politics furnishes an illustration of the manner in 
which " history " is made. 

First we have the intimation from Cornwallis ; the date is 
January 15, 1800: "Grattan, I hear, is to be introduced after 
twelve to-night, until which period the debate is to be prolonged. 
I pity from my soul Lord Castlereagh, but he shall have some- 
thing more than helpless pity from me . . . Grattan has, you 
know, the confidence of forty thousand pikemen." The next day 
Cornwallis wrote to Portland that Grattan took his seat at seven 
in the morning, having been elected for Wicklow at midnight. 
" He appeared weak in health, but had sufficient strength to de- 
liver a very inflammatory speech of an hour and a half sitting." 
The biographer of the lord-lieutenant thus describes the scene : 
" The election had been timed by Mr. Grattan's friends so as to 


prevent his taking his seat until the unusual hour mentioned 
above, when he was supported into the house apparently in a 
fainting state. . . . The scene was well gotten up, but the trick 
was too palpable and produced little effect." The truth was that 
Cornwallis and Castlereagh, profoundly dreading the influence 
of Grattan, had resorted to all possible devices to prevent his 
election, and the writ was withheld until the last moment the law 
allowed ; it was only by waking up the proper officer after mid- 
n ; ght that the return was gotten to parliament at seven in the 
morning. The allegation that Grattan's entrance at that time was 
a bit of theatricalism invented by him or his friends is therefore 
a mere falsehood. Instead of appearing a " palpable trick " his 
arrival is pronounced by Barrington, who was present, " electric." 
Grai:tan, he says, was reduced almost to the appearance of a 
spectre. " As he feebly tottered into the house to his seat every 
member simultaneously rose from his seat." Would they, cor- 
rupt and incorrupt, have so risen in homage to " a palpable 
trick " ? " He moved slowly to the table ; his languid countenance 
seemed to revive as he took those oaths that restored him to his 
pre-eminent station ; the smile of inward satisfaction obviously il- 
luminated his features, and reanimation and energy seemed to 
kindle by the labor of his mind." Almost breathless, amid the 
deep silence, Grattan attempted to rise, but could not keep his 
feet. He was given permission to remain in his chair. 

"Then," says Lecky, "was witnessed that spectacle, among the grand- 
est in the whole range of mental phenomena, of mind asserting its supre- 
macy over matter. . . . As the fire of oratory kindled, as the angel of en- 
thusiasm touched those pallid lips with the living coal, as the old scenes 
crowded on the speaker's mind and the old plaudits broke upon his ear, it 
seemed as though the force of disease was neutralized and the buoyancy of 
youth restored. His voice gained a deeper power, his action a more com- 
manding energy, his eloquence an ever-increasing brilliancy. For more 
than two hours he poured forth a stream of epigram, of argument, of ap- 
peal. He traversed almost the whole of that complex question ; he grap- 
pled with the various arguments of expediency the ministers had urged ; 
but he placed the issue on the highest grounds : ' The thing he proposes 
to buy is what cannot be sold liberty.' " 

"Never," adds Barrington, " did a speech make a more affecting 
impression ; but it came too late." 

It was too late. Bribery had accomplished its undertaking ; 
and, lest the people should rise up on the purchased traitors and 
rend them, Cornwallis had prudently increased the military in 
the country to one hundred and twenty thousand men. So con- 
vinced was he that the people might attempt to save by force 

1 88 1.] THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 313 

what they had lost by fraud that in extremity he resolved to ac- 
cept even Russian and Dutch soldiers, if no others could be had. 
On the test vote, February 6, 1800, the government had a ma- 
jority of forty-three ; and thus the Parliament of Ireland was 
doomed, while the tramp of cavalry resounded through the 
streets of Dublin to warn the indignant that their cause was ]ost 
and to admonish the reckless that their courage would not avail. 
It was thus that Cornwallis consolidated the British Empire. 

" In the case of Ireland," writes the historian of rationalism, " as truly 
as in the case of Poland, a national constitution was destroyed by a foreign 
power, contrary to the wishes of the people. In the one case the deed was 
a crime of violence ; in the other it was a crime of treachery and corrup- 
tion. In both cases a legacy of enduring bitterness was the result." 

The remaining letters of Cornwallis touching on Irish affairs 
are appeals to the British ministers to fulfil his promises made to 
the traitors ; to pay the price for which they had sold the consti- 
tutional liberty of their country ; and scattered at intervals be- 
tween his dignified and often piteous entreaties are coarse de- 
mands from his subalterns for money to reimburse themselves or 
to deliver to the commoner creatures who preferred cash. Re- 
viewing the obstinate refusal of the king to consent to religious 
equality in Ireland, which he had promised, and the unfaithfulness 
of the ministers in dishonoring his pledges, he writes : " Ireland is 
again to become a millstone about the neck of Britain, and to be 
plunged into all its former horrors and miseries." The union, 
he had felt convinced, would consolidate the empire. Through 
after-years of chagrin and mortification his error haunted him. 
He was in heart a better man than those who were his masters ; 
his private standard of morality was superior to that of the time ; 
he gloried, as he had a right to glory, in the grandeur of the 
great empire he had served, in camp, on field, in council, and he 
served her king and his advisers as he conceived it to be his duty 
to do, even in the vile and infamous methods which they pre- 
scribed. It is sad to have to remark that he was less revolted by 
the methods than piqued and humiliated by their practical fail- 
ure. A man who would have scorned a bribe did not hesitate to 
bribe others. A man who would have perished rather than take 
a -penny that did not belong to him was unmoved in conscience 
while causing an entire people to be robbed of their constitu- 
tional rights and compelling them to present the thieves with 
millions of a cash bonus. The morality of politics cannot be said 
to have been lowered since the beginning of the century. 



From the German of the Countess Hakn-Hakn, by Mary H. A . A Hies. 




AUREL had remarked with a certain anxiety that ever since his 
return from England his father seemed to watch him. Did he, 
by chance, suspect his secret ? If he did Aurel hardly knew 
whether to be glad or sorry. Sooner or later it would have to 
come to light, but in the meantime anxiety of mind more than 
balanced his hopefulness. Sometimes he wondered about his 
Dublin letter, which Sylvia had never mentioned. But as it had 
been an outpouring of love from beginning to end, she might not 
have seen the necessity of an answer. 

Part of the winter had gone by quietly enough when one 
morning Herr Prost summoned Aurel to his private study, and, 
seating himself upon the sofa, began, in a solemn tone of parental 
authority : " Sit down, Aurel ; I want to speak a word with you 
about something very particular." 

Aurel did as he was bid in fear and trembling, for he felt that 
the critical hour had struck which was to decide his own and 
Sylvia's future. 

" That time you spent in England, Aurel," said Herr Prost 
paternally, " and your way of doing business there for our firm, 
make me feel that I can give you my fullest confidence. As long 
as you worked under my eye you always showed yourself an 
active, toiling man of business. But mere laboriousness is not by 
itself sufficient for our extensive connection. It requires shrewd- 
ness, forethought, judgment to use and profit by circumstances. 
You developed these qualities in England ; hence I conclude that 
an independent position is what vou want, and, as you will soon 
be four-and-twenty, I look upon it as my duty to give it to you. 
I am going to let you represent our firm in Paris." 

" O father ! how can I thank you ? " exclaimed Aurel in joy- 
ful surprise. 

" Don't be in too great a hurry to thank me before I have had 


my say," continued Herr Frost, laughing. " Of course, my boy, 
I have remarked your fondness for Sylvia, and a certain letter you 
wrote to her to Griinerode fell by chance into my hands and con- 
firmed my observation." 

" Yes, indeed, father, I love Sylvia, and she loves me," ex- 
claimed Aurel, thrown off his guard by his father's apparent 

" I am sorry for it, my boy," he said very gently. Aurel's 
face sank. " Have you ever promised Sylvia that you would 
marry her ? " asked his father. 

" Never ! " exclaimed Aurel. " No such promise was needed." 

" Come, that is good, for Sylvia can never become your wife. 
I will never be induced to- give my consent to your both running 
into an unhappy marriage." 

" But, father, it is no misfortune to be a little less well off, if 
that is what you mean," said Aurel beseechingly. 

" Perhaps not a little less well off. But Sylvia is penniless ; 
she has hardly enough to buy her trousseau pocket-handker- 
chiefs. But this is not the principal difficulty." 

" What is it, then ?" asked Aurel breathlessly. 

" Sylvia is your cousin, as your mothers were sisters, and 
marriages between relatives so nearly connected are most ob- 
jectionable. They are contrary to nature, and this is proved 
not always, I admit, but oftener than not in the children of such 
marriages, who are sure to be weak in mind or sickly, or both 
epileptic, in short." 

"For pity's sake, father, say no more," stammered Aurel, 
turning pale. 

" It is a fact, my boy. You may well shudder at the thought 
of rearing such children ; so when your father, the church, and 
nature's laws are of one mind you should take their counsel. 
You may be certain that I am right." 

" No, you're wrong or, at least, you're by no means infallibly 
right," exclaimed poor Aurel, hardly knowing what he said. " It 
is possible to have a sickly, unhealthy child without marrying 
one's cousin." 

" You are as well instructed in the laws of the church as I, so 
you will know that the church discourages such marriages as 
much as possible on account of their results. I wouldn't say that 
they inevitably turn out badly, for nature is capricious ; but a 
judicious father doesn't trust his children's happiness to such a 
feeble chance. Put Sylvia out of your head. I am giving you 
a chance by settling you in Paris, and things are so arranged that 


you must start to-morrow evening. This will shorten the pangs 
of parting." 

"O father! you can't mean to put an end so lightly to a 
matter which involves all mine and Sylvia's happiness ? " ex- 
claimed Aurel with desperation. 

" Come, Aurel, it's no use making a scene," said Herr Prost 
coldly. " You know me well enough to be sure that I do not act 
Avithout due consideration, but when once a thing is settled in 
my mind nothing can deter me from carrying it out. Now, I 
have shaped your course for you, and in a year or two you will 
thank me for it." 

" Never ! I can't and won't give Sylvia up. Let us wait. I 
will work " 

" Will that prevent Sylvia from being your cousin ? " said Herr 
Prost sternly. " Does every boyish fancy imply marriage ? I 
should think not, indeed. Common sense must be consulted ; and 
who expects lovers to have common sense ? Every ohe knows 
that people in a sound state of mind don't fall in love, and that, 
putting aside all question of relationship, love-marriages are apt 
to be very wretched two excellent reasons against you, you see. 
In the face of such possibilities prudent fathers are indeed very 
necessary to their children to prevent them from making them- 
selves wretched for life and from bringing idiots into the world." 

" Don't anticipate such dreadful things, father," exclaimed 
Aurel, burying his face in his hands. 

"I am sorry for } r ou, you poor fool," replied Herr Prost; 
" but, as I can't alter the laws of nature, it must be as I have set- 
tled. See about anything you have to do, and get ready to start 
to-morrow evening." 

Herr Prost got up and went back to the room where his 
large writing-desk stood, which was his way of signifying that, 
having settled family matters, he intended business to come to 
the fore. Aurel took the hint. He well knew his father's mode 
of acting and that stern determination of purpose which left him 
no way out of his troubles. It seemed to him that he was in the 
position of a man who has only a narrow footpath between two 
mountain passes. Perhaps a man of more energetic character 
would have rebelled, or taken the matter into his own hands, or 
pursued, nothing daunted, his ideal of happiness ; but Aurel had 
not the necessary courage or independence. His father had 
struck his hopes a withering blow, and had laid before him a 
fearful reality in place of his sweet dreams of happiness and 


Apprised by her husband of how matters stood, Frau Prost 
had received strict orders to prevent Aurel from seeing Sylvia 
alone before his departure. Accordingly at nine o'clock in the 
morning of the day before that event she sent for Sylvia and 
said : " I am going to take possession of you for the present, my 
love ; so you must put aside your languages and your music till 
we have finished doing something which interests me immense- 
ly. You see this pretty green leather book ? I mean you to 
copy off into it all the items of Valentine's trousseau in your clear, 
nice hand. It is convenient to have it all together, and it maybe 
useful to me on some other occasion. I will help you to do it in 
alphabetical order, and we will begin at once. But first write a 
note in French to the Belgian ambassadress, and send her most 
persevering beggar that she is the twenty-franc piece which is 
on the malachite tray on my writing-desk. A year ago when I 
bought those pretty monkeys I had to promise her twenty francs 
for her Visitation nuns ! Our climate killed the poor monkeys, 
but not so the nuns. They are here, and they rob me of my sub- 
stance. So, love, sit down and write a pretty note. And before 
I forget it, my love, write and tell Mrs. Johnston not to expect 
me to-morrow, and that I will go on Saturday to take her to the 
flower-show. You can write in English, and this will give you a 
double exercise in foreign languages. I will make all the haste I 
can to-day with the four pillars of my house, so that we may get 
all the sooner to our green book." 

Sylvia was used to her aunt's diffusiveness, and, as she always 
acted as secretary, she accepted these suggestions as part of her 
work ; but she was quite astonished not to see Aurel at luncheon 
and to hear Herr Prost say : " Aurel is very busy, as he is going 
to Paris to-morrow." 

"Is he? Well, I'm very glad to hear it for his sake," said 
Frau Prost, true to her part. 

Sylvia could not make it out, for Aurel had already spent two 
years in Paris. What was he to do there ? 

" Yes, children, I am going to let Aurel live in Paris on his 
own hook," said Herr Prost. " Listen, all of you. See what it is 
to have a good father who is at so much pains about his chil- 
dren's future. There is your brother, at his age already his own 
master, to do or not to do what he likes in all things reasonable. 
See if you can't follow in his footsteps and do honor to your 
father's care." 

Sylvia listened in a fever of anxiety, for Aurel's independence 
might mean something very good. A thousand hopes passed 


through her mind and a thousand misbodings filled her heart. 
She was divided between hope and fear, and could hardly con- 
trol her feelings so as to appear outwardly calm. Isidora, and 
Isidora alone, observed it. 

" You must take your singing-lesson alone to-day, Sylvia, and 
lay more stress upon the solos. For the present we shall have to 
give up the duets." 

" Yes, dear uncle," said Sylvia just audibly. 

"You've got a headache, love, I'm sure, and won't say any- 
thing about it, which is very wrong of you," said Frau Prost. 
" The porter shall send the master away. In any case we have 
got other fish to fry." 

Sylvia had indeed other things to occupy her mind, but she 
let circumstances take their course and answered mechanically : 
" Very well, Aunt Teresa." 

The painful meal came to an end at last, and Sylvia was 
going up to her room. There, at least, she would be alone and 
free to give vent to her feelings as best she might in tears or 
prayers, though she herself hardly knew what to do or to think. 

" Where are you going to, love ? " exclaimed her aunt. " Make 
haste and get on your things, and you too, Isidora. We will 
drive to Mrne. Zephirin, who has just sent to tell me she has 
some delightful things from Paris. We must be quick. I am 
sure Princess Ygrek is already there." 

" And Countess Xaveria and the Russian ambassadress for 
certain," added Isidora. 

" The carriage is at the door," announced the servant. 

Hour after hour went by in looking at the pretty things 
which Mme. Zephirin, the first modiste in the place, brought out 
and enlarged upon with irresistible loquacity, whilst a dozen 
ladies, the cream of the upper ten thousand, admired, fingered, 
considered or did not consider and purchased. 

" What business has that uppish Frau Prost to be here with 
us?" whispered Countess Xaveria to Princess Ygrek. " She is so 
pushing ! " 

"At Mme. Zephirin's it is of no consequence if she is," con- 
jectured the princess. 

" Why is Mme. Zephirin so very anxious to let the woman 
know of her new importations?" said Countess Xaveria. " That's 
what vexes me." 

Princess Ygrek was delighted to seize an opportunity of giv- 
ing her greatest friend, the reigning beauty of the place, a gentle 
home-thrust, and she said, laughing : " It's very easy to under- 


stand why, darling. This Frau Prost is a very good customer. 
She pays down." 

It was said that Countess Xaveria's husband by no means 
always relished paying her ruinous dress-bills. But the princess' 
hint did not in the least disturb her. She threw her pretty head 
back with a pert little movement which was most becoming, and 
said: "That's what it is. These people money people I call 
them spoil everything for us. Thanks to their horrid tin, they 
get into our society and ape our ways." 

The princess laughed and said : " All the same she gives capi- 
tal balls, which are worth the trouble of my speaking to her." 

"/sha'n't," said Countess Xaveria, moving towards the Rus- 
sian ambassadress, who pretended to be intent on Mme. Zephirin's 
costly finery as Princess Ygrek spoke to Frau Prost and inquir- 
ed with interest whether she was going to give any more balls. 

The whole talk and vanity of the thing were lost upon Sylvia. 
She could think of nothing but Aurel and his new position in 
Paris, which she knew not how to interpret. She hoped in spite 
of herself, because she was in love ; but the way and manner in 
which Aurel's father and mother set about his move to Paris 
were not calculated to strengthen her hopes. 

A long drive followed upon the visit to Mme. Zephirin's shop. 
After that cards had to be left at various places, and Frau Prost 
came back only just in time to dress for dinner with all the haste 
she could muster. When she appeared in the drawing-room 
with Isidora and Sylvia the gentlemen invited to dinner were 
already there, and they all went at once to the dining-room. 
Sylvia gave one look at Aurel, and that told her quite enough : 
Paris was to be an exile. His journey was discussed at dinner. 
Some congratulated him, and he was obliged to answer and to 
act as if he liked it very much. After dinner they went to the 
theatre. An interminable opera, lengthened by an endless ballet, 
made the evening one of the most painful in all Sylvia's experi- 
ence. What had happened ? Why was Aurel sent away so very 
suddenly? What a delight it would have been to have five 
minutes' conversation with him ! He was at the back of the box, 
but it was impossible to get at him, for she was next to her uncle 
and behind her aunt. It was eleven o'clock when they got 

" You needn't come to tea, my love," said Frau Prost kindly. 
" You look tired out. Go to bed and sleep off your headache." 

All danger of an understanding between Sylvia and Aurel 
was at an end for that day, and consequently Sylvia was allowed 


to go to her room to seek, not comfort indeed, but physical relief 
from tears. The following day passed in the same way, except 
that Aurel sought out his mother whilst she was engaged in dic- 
tating her interesting accounts to Sylvia. 

" Just go to the piano in the drawing-room for a minute, my 
love. I have some commissions for Aurel," she said as he came 
in. Sylvia left her aunt's room and sat down at the piano which 
had given her so many happy hours, and whose harmonious 
notes had so often served to interpret what was passing in their 
hearts. She struck a few sorrowful chords, and began to play 
" I send thee to Alexis/' the ballad she had first sung with Aurel ; 
but singing then was out of the question. Tears would have 
choked her voice. 

In the meantime Aurel was trying vainly to gain his mother 
over to his side. Though kinder, her tone was much the same 
as his father's, and she ended with the comforting assurance that 
there were nicer girls than Sylvia in the world. 

"Perhaps there are," he said sadly, "but there is only one 
Sylvia." Then he begged his mother to let him speak to Sylvia. 

" Certainly," she replied, " but it must be in my presence. 
" Most likely if you saw her alone you would bind yourself to 
her by a formal engagement ; and this is not to be thought of 
for a moment. As there can be no question of marriage, there 
must be perfect liberty on both sides." Aurel did not care for 
an interview in his mother's presence. The day wore on ; the 
evening came, and with it the parting hour. Aurel wished them 
all good-by. He was too much overcome to trust himself to 
speak. Silently he put out his hand to Sylvia, and silently she 
took it as her sorrowful eyes alone spoke the love which was in 
her heart. Then, making an effort, she said calmly: " When shall 
we meet again?" 

" That is hidden in the counsel of the gods, you inquisitive 
little charmer," exclaimed Herr Prost, laughing noisily ; and Au- 
rel whispered, " When it shall please God." 

Thus they parted. 

" Let us have some music, little fairy," said Herr Prost to 
Sylvia, who got up and walked mechanically to the piano. " In 
this lower world of ours there is nothing more wearisome than 
saying good-by. People ought to say au revoir when they go 
away, and ban jour when they come back quite enough. In 
these railway days there is no sense in a sentimental farewell. 
Thanks to the steam-engine, we can get anywhere in no time. 
What are you doing, Sylvia?" he said, interrupting himself im- 


patiently. " I want something to cheer me up, and you're play- 
ing something which sounds like muffled drums." 

" It is the ' Dead March in Saul/ " she answered faintly. 

" Now, just fancy what a good ear I have ! " said Herr Prost in 
a tone of satisfaction ; " it immediately discovered the muffled 
drums. But now, child, let us have a polka, or a capriccio, or 
something lively." 

Instead of obeying Sylvia covered her face with her handker- 
chief and ran out of the room. 

" Her nose is bleeding," remarked Frau Prost carelessly. 

" No, mamma, she is crying because Aurel has gone. Can't 
you see that ? " exclaimed Isidora. 

" What a senseless question ! " burst out Herr Prost. " Of 
course we can see it, and, as you are so very sharp, I'm surprised 
you have not also remarked that we did not want to see it. The 
best treatment for certain circumstances is to ignore them en- 
tirely. They are thus crushed, as it were, in their birth. If you 
see Sylvia crying or fainting, or doing any other stupid thing, 
you are to put it down to weak nerves, and you 'are never to 
mention Aurel's name. Do you understand ? " 

" Of course," answered Isidora, with her mother's insensibi- 
lity. She was not disturbed by the sufferings of others. 

" Let us hope that Aurel will soon make a good match, and 
then the whole story will come to a peaceful end." And so Herr 
Prost dismissed the subject. 

VOL. xxxiv. -21 




THERE was no doubt that the ball at Baron von Griinerode's 
was the most brilliant of the season. The suite of rooms, the 
splendid furniture, the lighting arrangements, the refreshments, 
the fairy-like conservatory the whole thing was princely ; and 
even if Baron von Griinerode, although by no means a prince, was 
one and the same person as Herr Geheime-Commerzienrath 
Prost, still he had a princely fortune, could live accordingly, and 
* let others, at least, dance at his expense. During the last few 
years he had rendered immortal services to country, state, and 
humanity by undertaking a railway which was certain to prove 
a highly successful speculation. The state, indeed, was bound to 
acknowledge the eminent merits of a millionaire otherwise than 
by conferring upon him the cross of the blue or gray Vulture. 
As he was manifestly amongst the foremost benefactors of his 
country, it was fitting that he should belong to its nobility, the 
more so that his estate, Griinerode, was an important and com- 
plete property with a first-rate house. The railway business had 
delivered him from his anxiety about Edgar's not being his own 
master i.e., a rich man some day, and he trusted to his own 
shrewdness and activity to secure the same kind of blissful liber- 
ty for Harry. Herr Prost therefore declared his willingness to 
be transformed into Baron von Griinerode, and forthwith to adorn 
his plate and carriage with a complicated coat-of-arms, in which, 
besides the baron's coronet, green and red predominated. 

The Baroness von Griinerode submitted to her new title and 
dignity with perfect indifference. She thought very little of it, 
partly because she belonged to an old, noble family, and partly 
because she saw there was nothing to be gained thereby, but 
rather that it would bring her an increase of social duties. 
Fraulein Isidora von Griinerode, on the contrary, was thoroughly 
delighted. She could not explain her elation, for if it was only 
because Isidora Prost did not sound so well as Isidora von 
Griinerode she would have been ashamed to own to the same. 

In high society people took it favorably as soon as Grafin 
Xaveria, the leader of tone, had been heard to say : " We must 
put up with these people, as they are millionaires. Such are the 


times ; and as we can't alter them, it is pleasanter to call him 
Baron von Griinerode than Herr Frost/' 

" I don't think so," said Princess Ygrek. " Jimes may change 
there may be a bankruptcy, for instance, and Herr Prost is 
easily dropped ; but it is more difficult with Baron Griinerode." 

" Oh ! we should know how to manage," replied Countess 
Xaveria, laughing innocently ; " but for the present I would rather 
the baron than the plebeian gave us .balls." 

At the ball that evening, in the intervals of dancing, Countess 
Xaveria took Aurel's arm and said : 

"Show me all the rooms. It is a magnificent suite. But 
Paris spoils you, doesn't it? The haute finance there is accustom- 
ed to tremendous luxury, and, with the footing in it you have, 
it must be difficult to be satisfied with anything out of Paris, 
isn't it ? " 

" You get accustomed to the luxury, and don't even think 
about it," replied Aurel, with an imperturbability which would 
have betrayed his mother's son had not his sad eyes borne wit- 
ness to another meaning. 

" And how does your wife like being here ? " 

" She is an American, and American ladies are very particular, 
countess," replied Aurel in the same tone, 

" Well, she has a right to be particular. Such wonderful 
beauty as hers has its privileges." 

The lady about whom Countess Xaveria expressed herself 
with benevolence so unwonted was the centre of attraction to all 
eyes not undividedly bent upon their particular concerns. In the 
intervals of dancing she kept chiefly to her father-in-law's side. 
He introduced the principal gentlemen to her, and she bowed 
coldly and stiffly. Hers was no ordinary beauty. She was very 
tall and slender, with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and rosy lips 
which stood out in strong contrast to a face of marble white- 
ness. She wore a dress of white crepe embroidered with silver, 
dark-red camellias and butterflies of precious stones in her hair, 
and round her neck a choice necklace of pearls. She was cover- 
ed with jewels, but still she was not imposing or attractive, and 
perhaps this was why Grafin Xaveria had spoken of her in terms 
so flattering. 

A group of young men were criticising the transatlantic 
beauty with all their might. 

" I stick to it," said Captain von Tieffenstein, " she is one of 
those ivory figures, ornamented with enamel and precious stones, 
from the Griinen Gewolbe at Dresden." 


" If I believed in vampires I should say she was one," said an 

" What ! you wouldn't call her a blood-sucker, would you ? " 
exclaimed a good-natured lieutenant. 

" Yes, that's just what she is. According- to the legend, a 
vampire is a corpse struggling to live, and only succeeding by 
sucking the blood of others at night. The deep red lips and 
shining eyes which, however, have no soul strike me as un- 

" American beauties are said to be very stuck-up," remarked 
a fourth ; " perhaps that accounts for her icy expression." 

" Well, I know one thing, and if these were the days of chival- 
ry I would break a thousand lances over it : this Baroness Grii- 
nerode cannot be compared to Fraulein von Neheim," said Cap- 
tain von Tieffenstein with deep conviction. 

" Nor Fraulein von Neheim to Countess Xaveria," exclaimed 
a gentleman. 

" As Xaveria is my sister, I'm no judge about her," replied 
the captain. " But where is she, I wonder? She shall introduce 
me to the fairest of the fair." 

Aurel and Countess Xaveria had been into the end room. 
Sprouting plants and sweet-smelling flowers had transformed it 
into a spring bower. 

" This is lovely !" she cried out. " What masses of azaleas 
and what enormous gum-plants ! How prettily the cactus shoots 
up between the camellias ! And there is nobody to admire this 
beautiful anteroom. It's too much out of the way." 

" This is sometimes the case in life," said Aurel. " The best 
things are not noticed because they are not brought before peo- 
ple. But, Sylvia, what are you doing here all alone ? " he ex- 
claimed suddenly. 

Sylvia, in pale blue tulle, was sitting in the middle of some 
sweet jasmine, looking like the nymph of this enchanted garden. 
As the countess went towards her she got up and pointed to a 
door, saying : " Some ladies wanted to arrange their head-gear, 
and I came with them to the green room and am waiting for 
them." The door opened and the ladies appeared as Captain 
von Tieffenstein came in the other way. 

" Has my brother been introduced to you ?" said the Countess 
to Sylvia. " If not, I will introduce him myself." 

His desire was thereby gratified, and he could approach the 
" fairest of the fair " to exchange the usual commonplaces. They 
were all standing amongst the flowers when suddenly an impe- 


rious voice called out : " Are you there, Aurel ? Oh ! dear, how 
I have been looking for you." 

"What do you want, Phoebe dear?" he asked, going up to 

" I want to go. Be so good as to take me away. It is very 
unfitting of you not to trouble yourself a bit about me." 

Countess Xaveria, intensely amused by the little scene be- 
tween husband and wife, said, laughing : " Don't scold your hus- 
band, baroness. It was I who enticed him away." 

Phoebe appeared not to hear her at all, and drew Aurel off 
with her. In the middle of the second room she uttered a low 
cry and sank to the ground before Aurel could prevent her. 
But he raised her in haste and disappeared with her, as there 
was a sudden rush to the room and many anxious inquiries as 
to what had happened. 

" It is only a fainting-fit," said Baron Griinerode, senior, in a 
very audible tone of voice. " We won't let it disturb us." 

He went into the ball-room and gave the orchestra a signal ; 
dancing began again, and Phoebe was forgotten by all but Syl- 
via, in spite of the lively and brilliant conversation of her part- 
ner, Herr von Tieffenstein. As aide-de-camp to a great military 
personage he had spent three years in travels and missions hav- 
ing military interests for their object. On his return to the capi- 
tal a short time previously he found Sylvia a very attractive bit 
of novelty. Her beauty no longer bore the impress of youth's 
first freshness and joyousness ; a thoughtful earnestness had come 
over her which made her less charming but much more interest- 
ing. Herr von Tieffenstein had a certain amount of cultivation, 
and he could easily see that Sylvia would not care to hear her 
own dress praised and other people's dress passed in stern re- 
view. So he talked of his travels, of beautiful spots, fine works 
of art, and the different characters of different nations. 

"Yes," said Sylvia, "but all nations are alike in one capital 
point which touches every single individual : they are not perfec- 

" Certainly we must not look for ideal people in this common- 
place world of ours," he replied, laughing. 

" I'm not looking for them, though I don't deny that I should 
like to find them ; and because I know that I can't my pleasure in 
ordinary good things is spoilt." 

" That seems to me very unreasonable indeed, Miss von Ne- 
heim. On the same principle, if you were logical you would 
come to give up a nice book because it must end, and you would 


not care for a flower as it must wither. But fortunately Ladies 
are not logical." 

" Oh ! please rather say men are not logical, and I will agree 
with you," exclaimed Sylvia, laughing. " But what you say about 
the book and the flower seems to me not quite true, because 
both are perfect in their way, and their way is to have an end. 
But man stops in his imperfection." 

" It is for you to give the world an example of the contrary," 
he replied, laughing. 

" I deserve your sarcasm," said Sylvia playfully. " It is one 
of my numerous peculiarities never to be so sad as at a ball." 

" Probably because it has an end ? " 

" No, not for that, but because I cannot help thinking that all 
these ball-faces are only masks which hide life's crowd of trou- 

" You talk as if you were a hundred years old, Miss von Ne- 

" Perhaps that is my mask," she exclaimed merrily. 

The captain hardly knew what to make of her, but she cer- 
tainly interested him. Phcebe did not appear again. Aurel was 
from time to time visible in the crowd. But the young couple in 
whose honor the splendid ball was given had small pleasure in 
it, and Sylvia, strangely divided between sadness and a certain 
satisfaction, said to herself: "In spite of Phoebe's beauty and her 
thousands Aurel is not happy." 



How had all this happened ? How was it that Aurel had left 
his father's house devoted to Sylvia, and that he came back to it 
at the end of two years as Phoebe's husband ? 

For years Baron Griinerode had been planning a connection 
between his firm and that of an American house established in 
Paris, Grandison by name, and in any case Aurel's move to Paris 
would have been effected. Under ordinary circumstances the 
baron would have confided his schemes to his son, whereas now 
he preserved a discreet silence. So Aurel went to Paris little 
suspecting that there was any question of a second connection not 
relating to business. His father wrote openly to Mr. Grandison, 
expressing the hope that there was nothing to prevent a mar- 
riage between their children, and calling attention to Aurel's shy- 


ness, which, though a great merit in one of his abilities, required 
encouragement and pushing on in important matters. Mr. Gran- 
dison took the hint. He desired the marriage extremely, hav- 
ing no son, but only daughters. It was just before the Ameri- 
can civil war. Any one acquainted with the state of things 
could easily foresee what a mine of wealth might accrue to ex- 
perienced speculators from the battle-field. If Mr. Grandison 
had been able to leave a trustworthy son-in-law at the head of his 
firm in Paris, he would gladly have chosen this time to go to 
America, to stay there as long as the war lasted. He gave Aurel 
a kind welcome and bade him feel perfectly at home. Phoebe 
was then only fifteen. Aurel hardly noticed her at all, though he 
saw her every day. 

Sylvia heard nothing of Aurel except the commonplace tid- 
iiigs which his parents received and sometimes discussed ; but 
she believed in him, judging of his feelings by her own. She did 
not think to ask herself whether it was all in accordance with 
God's will, or whether his father and mother would consent to 
their marriage ; she took it for granted. 

And whose advice in the matter could she have asked ? She 
had no counsellor. If, indeed, as formerly, she had been able to 
pour forth her doubts and troubles in the tribunal of penance, 
she would have found the main road out of her heart's labyrinth. 
But the way thither was blocked up, and consequently she was 
deprived of the principal means of spiritual progress, confession 
being the best way to come to a knowledge of self. Her spiritual 
life was fettered and grew weaker by the very helplessness which 
made it an easier prey to worldliness. Sylvia never had an op- 
portunity of hearing a sermon, or of spending a quiet hour before 
the Blessed Sacrament, or of going to one of those solemn func- 
tions in which the church is so rich, and which make us realize 
with deep and joyful conviction what it is to be a child of this 
divine church. She was restricted to the Sunday Mass and 
rarely did she get in before the Gospel, on account of her aunt's 
steady unpunctuality and to the sacraments at Easter. Then, 
indeed, God, his grace, and his love came home to her heart ; but 
during the long year nobody spoke to her of him except that 
feeble voice in herself, which, amidst the roar of outward things, 
could scarcely make itself heard at morning and night prayers. 
The attentions paid to her in society were a further bewilder- 
ment. She was so pretty, so full of talent, so interesting, so ele- 
gant that it was impossible not to be quite charmed with her. 
If her uncle, who adored her in his selfish way, had not expressly 


given it out that she had neither money nor expectations she 
would have found numerous suitors. As it was, a sensible man 
naturally concluded that middling circumstances would be like 
a fall into the farmyard to this spoilt bird of paradise. Many 
people blamed Sylvia's uncle for bringing up a girl without for- 
tune or position on the same footing as his rich daughter. He 
said carelessly enough : " If I did not treat Sylvia as my daugh- 
ter people would say that I was afraid of her outshining Isi- 
dora. People always do grumble. But now I treat my niece 
as my daughter, and leave every one to please himself ; one is 
pretty and poor, the other is rich without good looks." Thus 
time went by for Sylvia. She still had pious feelings, and was 
sorry sometimes that she could practise her religion so little ; but 
her soul's inner life dried up like the shallow stream when it runs 
out of the cool wood into the open field in the heat of summer. 

About three months before Aurel and Phoebe came Baroness 
Griinerode said one morning to Sylvia : " Sit down at the writ- 
ing-table, love ; I have got an important letter to Mme. Daragon 
to dictate." Sylvia thought her aunt was going to make another 
appeal to her friend's good-nature to do some commission for her 
in Paris. But both her hand and her heart trembled as, after the 
first few lines, she was told to write: "It is about Aurel that I 
am going to speak, my dear friend. An excellent marriage is 
talked of for him to Mr. Grandison's eldest daughter, Phoebe. 
We know that the young lady is rich and pretty, but you will 
understand that in my anxiety as a mother there are other things 
I should like to be told. What is she like in character, what are 
her tastes? Is she sensible, is she clever? Is she strong and 
healthy ? This is an important point in these days, as young 
ladies are wont to have such wretched health. I beg of you, there- 
fore, my dear friend, to get me an answer to my questions and to 
write it to me. Perhaps you know the Grandisons personally, 
which would be all the better for me. But, supposing you don't, 
it won't be difficult for you, with your large acquaintance, to pro- 
cure the desired information." Thanks to the various details and 
questions which followed, Sylvia gained sufficient self-control to 
say at the end of the letter, in a tone apparently calm : " Do you 
think this marriage will take place, Aunt Teresa? " 

" I don't doubt it, love, as all parties concerned wish it par- 

Here was a withering blight to all Sylvia's quiet hopes, a mer- 
ciless frost which came and snapped off her young love's blos- 
soms. The most conflicting feelings were at work in her heart. 


If Aurel's love were so weak as to allow him to forget her in two 
years, then, indeed, it was not w r orth a tear ! Or had he been 
caught and beguiled by an artful beauty or pressed on by his 
father's stern wishes, and was he miserable in consequence ? In 
this case he was certainly to be pitied, though it was impossible 
to feel any respect for such weakness ; and what a humiliation it 
was to have fallen in love with a man unworthy of the world's 
respect ! After that the further humiliation of being forgotten 
by him scarcely went for anything. But in spite of herself the 
thought, " He has forgotten me," did nevertheless well up like a 
flood of bitterness in Sylvia's heart. Notwithstanding all the 
self-control which she exercised, partly out of pride and partly 
from the consciousness that no one sympathized with her, her 
grief would have betrayed itself had not the baron given particu- 
lar injunctions to his wife and daughter to pay no attention to 
what he called Sylvia's fit of low spirits. He it was who had 
determined upon the letter to Mme. Daragon as the simplest 
way of conveying the intelligence to Sylvia, because it was a 
mark of confidence. 

One morning Baroness Grlinerode appeared with Mme. Da- 
ragon's answer in her husband's office. This was an event in it- 
self, but it was so aggravated by her state of agitation that the 
baron could not repress his annoyance. He took her by the hand 
and they went into his private study. There he said shortly : 
" What has put you out, Teresa ? " 

"Just read this letter," she said, almost gasping, and sank 
down on the sofa. 

He read it first rapidly, then slowly and as if weighing every 
word, after which he tore it up and threw it into the fire, watch- 
ing attentively to see that it was all consumed. Then he said 
coolly : " Silly woman's gossip. Put it out of your head, Te- 

" No, it isn't silly gossip. How could such a thing be said 
without cause ?" 

" Phoebe is very pale ; she has grown very fast " 

" So has Isidora, yet nobody dreams of saying that she is epi- 

" Silence ! " he exclaimed, stamping with his foot. " I won't 
hear the calumny, and you shouldn't even mention it." 

" But Mme. foaragon is not thinking of a calumny." 
4 Then she is thinking of catching Phcebe for a son, nephew, 
cousin, relative, or friend." 

" You are very unjust, love ; she is only warning us." 


" It's too late." 

" Indeed it isn't after this dreadful discovery ! The business 
may be put an end to. Why should poor Aurel marry a wife 
who is afflicted with this shocking complaint? " 

" But Mme. Daragon speaks doubtfully about it," said the 
baron, with ill-repressed anger. " She says ' people say,' ' I be- 
lieve/ and so on." 

" I consider that she leaves no room for doubt." 

" Every one says that Phoebe Grandison is subject to dreadful 
cramps which " 

" I won't hear the name mentioned," broke out the baron. 

" But you can read it in black and white, love." 

" The letter is burnt, Teresa. I am sufficiently convinced 
that it contained nothing very definite. Phoebe is young ; such 
things may be cured " 

" Yes, and in the meantime they are inherited by the children ; 
every one knows that." 


" Now, my love, be so good as to calm yourself, to be quiet, 
and to leave me alone," said the baron icily ; " it's too late in 
the day to change our minds, and, supposing it weren't, I would 
not do it on the authority of a mere hearsay." 

" You are sacrificing Aurel's happiness, love." 

" Sacrificing happiness ! all stuff. Marriage is a highly pro- 
saical and matter-of-fact concern with far other ends in view than 
the satisfaction of mere sentiment. One woman has headaches, 
another cramps ; such things don't affect a man's happiness or un- 
happiness. A sensible man will be satisfied with riches and good 
looks ; all other considerations are his own lookout. And Aurel 
must look at it in this light. I am only thankful that he put Syl- 
via out of his head." 

What could the baroness answer? Her husband was right to 
a certain extent. So, according to her wont, she sought refuge 
in his view of the matter, and thereby solaced herself. As it may 
be supposed, Sylvia never heard a word of Mme. Daragon's an- 
swer, and it was not long before news of Aurel's engagement to 
Miss Phcebe Grandison was noised abroad. 

" I'm sure you didn't expect this" said Isidora to Sylvia with 
ill-concealed exultation. 

" I certainly could not expect it when I knew nothing of this 
Miss Phoebe Grandison," replied Sylvia very stiffly. She would 
rather have died than let Isidora triumph over her humiliation. 

Aurel, then, was engaged. His father had allowed him a year 
and a half's grace in which to realize the impossibility of marry- 


ing- Sylvia. Then he began to talk to him about the duty of 
making a suitable marriage and of having a family, seeing that 
he was already a quarter of a century old, that he had a large 
firm to represent and a father who was getting into years. 
Aurel, indeed, made answer that he was not inclined to marry, 
but the baron did not heed him in the least. On the contrary, at 
that very time he wrote to Mr. Grandison that his son was too 
shy to sue for Miss Grandison's hand because he had already had 
a " tender attachment " ; would Mr. Grandison, therefore, help him 
on a little ? In consequence of this letter Mr. Grandison said to 
Aurel without more ado ; " I have remarked that you like my 
daughter. She likes you, too, and, as the parents on both sides 
agree in the matter, I look upon you as my son-in-law." 

Aurel's surprise knew no bounds. It is true that he had often 
sat by Phcebe at dinners, and talked to her as he would to any 
other lady, but to be called upon to marry her was more than 
he expected, in spite of all that his father had written. Then 
Sylvia's likeness rose up vividly before his mind's eye and made 
him disinclined to take Phcebe to himself as wife. Sorely per- 
plexed, he brought forth some incoherent phrases just to gain 
time. " No," said Mr. Grandison; " now is the time. You are 
both of you young, and youth helps people to learn each other's 
ways, which is important. Besides," he added with a certain 
gravity " besides, your waiting would look rather odd and it 
would compromise my daughter, for everybody knows how much 
at home you are at my house." 

" That is part of our business." 

" Oh ! is it ? The world thinks differently, and the world is 
quite right. Business transactions are the stepping-stone to ma- 
trimony. But come, don't be bashful, my dear fellow. Your 
father has told me exactly how matters stand with you." 

Not knowing the nature of his father's communications, Aurel 
felt more and more perplexed, 

" You need not trouble yourself about bygones," Mr. Gran- 
dison went on. " Who of us at twenty-two was without his love- 
affair, which took its course in one way or another and led to 
nothing ? You have been in love once well, what if you have ? 
You haven't incurred any responsibility thereby, which was un- 
commonly wise of you. You feel a certain shyness about offer- 
ing your heart to another girl, which I could understand if you 
were offering your hand without your heart. Marriage is no 
romance, so it doesn't require to rest upon such milk-and- watery 
stuff as love, sympathy, and such like. In your position you 


must marry sooner or later. Miss Phoebe Grandison and Ba- 
( ron Aurel Griinerode suit each other in every way, are both 
young, good-looking, rich, well educated. What have you to 
say against their marriage ? " 

" Oh ! nothing," said Aurel, " only that" 

" Don't let us have any ' onlys,' young man," exclaimed Mr. 
Grandison imperiously. " If you refuse to marry my daughter 
all business relations between us must stop. That would put 
you into a very uncomfortable position and be no end of annoy- 
ance to your father. But why need I say all this? You like 
Phoebe well, take her." 

Aurel felt as if he were in a snare from which he could not 
get loose. He saw that for the last two years his father had 
plotted the marriage to Mr. Grandison's daughter. Aurel did 
not possess that firmness of character which sets itself against a 
thing and takes the responsibility of its opposition upon itself 
when it becomes a question of determining a whole life accord- 
ing to the pleasure of another. He stooped to his father's will 
and gave himself up to what he called his destiny. He engaged 
himself, married, and went for his honeymoon to see his father 
and mother. Mme. Daragon's piece of information had not been 
communicated to him, and perhaps Phoebe's parents themselves 
were not quite clear as to the exact nature of what the family 
doctor called "nervous attacks." Phoebe was not attractive. 
Consciousness of her beauty and of her money made her vain 
and haughty, whilst her bodily disorder produced a jealous sus- 
ceptibility which was always ready to feel itself aggrieved. Au- 
rel found a certain satisfaction in not being happy with Phoebe. 
Thanks to his easy-going nature, he discharged his new duties 
kindly, but a fixed sadness took possession of him from a secret 
feeling of displeasure at his own conduct a state of mind which 
is apt to become morose under the action of time. Pie had 
dreaded meeting Sylvia, but his fear vanished before her calm- 
ness and the composure with which she put out her hand to 
welcome him. Even Isidora's sharp eyes were unable to dis- 
cover any emotion in her manner. " No," said Sylvia to herself, 
" the husband of another woman can be nothing to me. As he 
forgot me, I mean to forget him. What grieves me the most is 
my blindness in trusting him. It shall put me on my guard for 
the future." She avoided with the greatest tact any allusion to 
the past. One day her uncle said : " Now, Sylvia, sing the ' Alexis 
and Ida ' songs with Aurel again." 

" Oh ! no, dear uncle," exclaimed Sylvia disdainfully. " I can't 


go back to those old-fashioned songs ; but if you hate music of the 
future as much as I do, and want to hear good old music, I will 
sing you Beethoven's ' Adelaide.' ' 

And she began to sing in a rich and musical soprano voice, 
which her lessons had wonderfully developed, to an accompani- 
ment which she played herself with taste. 

" Well done, little fairy ! You are getting first-rate/' exclaim- 
ed Baron Griinerode as the last "Adelaide" died away in a 
passionate burst of love. " What do you say to it, my pretty 
Phoebe ? Do you still remain cold and insensible ? " 

" Yes," said Phcebe shortly. She did not understand how to 
take a joke. 

Aurel felt that he must say something to Sylvia, who was 
sitting meditatively at the piano and letting her hand run melo- 
diously over the keys. He went up to it and said : " You have 
got on wonderfully, Sylvia, and I have done nothing but go 
back. I should not venture to sing with you now." 

" Without practice it isn't easy to sing together," she replied 

Phoebe seemed annoyed that Aurel should have eyes for any 
one besides herself. She, too, went up to the piano, and, as she 
played very well, Sylvia wanted to make way for her. But 
Phoebe insisted on playing a duet. If Aurel wished to stay at 
the piano she meant to be there too. 



VALENTINE had arrived on a visit to make her sister-in-law's 
acquaintance so it was given out ; but the truth of the case was 
somewhat different. Herr Goldisch had written as follows to 
his father-in-law : 

" I am sending Valentine, much against her will, to you for 
two or three months. I am very much displeased with her, and 
have every reason to be so. Her fondness for display is hardly 
credible, but, whether it is play or earnest, her reputation is suf- 
fering under it. She never did listen to sensible remonstrances, 
and will not do so now. I think sending her away for a time is 
my best course, and Aurel's honeymoon furnishes us with a very 
good opportunity. Let us hope the season in the capital will 
put other thoughts into her head and send her back a sensible 


But there was small appearance of this consummation. Va- 
lentine went to balls and parties with the air of a victim ; wore 
her beautiful Parisian dresses, her laces and jewels, as if their 
weight oppressed her; did not trouble herself much about her 
family, and not at all about Phcebe, and showed a liking- for 
Sylvia only, who sat by her side for long hours as she lay on 
her chaise-longue, and was initiated into the secrets of what 
she called her " miserable marriage." 

" What want of sympathy, Sylvia ! " she moaned on the very 
first day. " I am lying here quite worn down by my wretched 
lot, and there you are painting away at flowers as if you meant 
to make the world out a flower-garden." 

" I really can't quite believe in your wretched lot, Tini," re- 
marked Sylvia, not raising her eyes from her painting. 

" Why ! don't you understand that without true sympathy of 
hearts there is no such thing as happiness ? " 

" Not perfect happiness, perhaps ; but your husband is so kind 
that I think you might be tolerably happy with him." 

" Tolerably happy ! Well, that is a definition of happiness ! 
No, I don't want to be ' tolerably happy.' My heart craves for 
full and entire happiness. I see it glimmering before my eyes, 
but I can't reach it because I am chained down. It is dreadful, 
under such circumstances, not to be able to dissolve one's mar- 

" Under what circumstances, Tini?" asking Sylvia, still paint- 
ing busily. 

" When there is no sympathy between husband and wife, 
and one's heart is irresistibly attracted in another direction," said 
Valentine, dragging her words out in a tragical way. 

Sylvia's paint-brush fell from her hand. She jumped up, sat 
down by Valentine, and said earnestly : " You have no right to 
have such thoughts, or at least to give way to them, and still less 
to talk about them." 

" Command the heart to be still," said Valentine sentimen- 

" You can't, of course ; but you can struggle. It is your 

" Love is more powerful than the most important duties." 

" Yes, when it is lawful, and this sort of love helps you out 
with your duties as wife and mother." 

" How very matter-of-fact, Sylvia ! " 

" So it may be. I clon't care as long as you understand me." 

" That doesn't matter a bit, Sylvia. The thing is for you to 


understand me and my feelings, which are crushed to death in 
my wretched state of bondage, so that I can only wish to shake 
off a tie which makes three persons miserable." 

" Valentine," said Sylvia sorrowfully, with Catholic instinct, 
"it would -do you good to go to confession." 

" Don't talk such nonsense. Why, what have I done ?" 

" Remember the Ninth and Tenth Commandments, Valentine. 
They don't speak of our actions, but of our thoughts and state of 
mind, which by themselves may be grievous sins." 

" May be, but are not in my case." 

" Yet you are thinking of leaving your husband," exclaimed 
Sylvia sharply. 

" It is much better to part from him than to remain with him 
loving another. How old are you, Sylvia ? " 

" I shall be twenty-two on the ist of May. But that is not to 
the point." 

" But it is, for I can't understand how people can be so old 
without knowing anything about love." 

Sylvia blushed. Valentine remarked it and went on : " Per- 
haps you may have had some little sentimental affair or other, 
but you haven't the least notion what an overwhelming pas- 
sion is." 

" I am sure I would do my very utmost to fight against an 
affection which was out of harmony with my circumstances." 

" Circumstances ! " echoed Valentine contemptuously. 

" Our duties and our circumstances are very closely connect- 
ed ; so now, Tini, do think about yours, and then, perhaps, you 
will be quite willing to go to confession." 

Valentine got up and said in a drawling tone : " This is very 
hard. You are the only person to whom I can speak, and you 
shut me up." She stood before the mirror, and, in spite of her 
hard fate, the glance which she cast into it was altogether satis- 
factory. A white cashmere morning-gown lined with red taffeta 
threw a soft light over her pale complexion, whilst her insepa- 
rable tresses of dark hair were allowed to flow loosely over her 
shoulders and justified her brother Edgar's nickname of weeping 
willow. As she stood looking at herself in the glass her thoughts 
took a more definite form, the substance thereof being " quite a 
tragical apparition." Sylvia noticed Valentine's self-complacen- 
cy, and said, laughing : " You know best how to console your- 
self, Tini. You don't require me at all." 

" You ungrateful creature!" sighed Valentine; and, kissing 
Sylvia, she left her, but only for that morning. The next day 


she was back again with her sighs and groans and silliness, and 
passionate outbursts which brought many things she had better 
not have known before Sylvia. By degrees Sylvia became in- 
terested in Valentine's love-affairs. She did not approve, but she 
made excuses for her, and she grew careless about her music and 
other occupations in order to read with Valentine. They chose 
that particular kind of. novel in which love is depicted as something 
quite irresistible, as a fate to which man falls a victim in spite of 
himself, or as a divinity which exercises supernatural power over 
the human will. And whereas fate and divinity are two things 
against which human reason and energy are entirely powerless, 
men fall without resistance, own themselves vanquished, and al- 
lege their very weakness as their excuse. These books made an 
extraordinary impression on Sylvia, although they had not previ- 
ously attracted her. Her wholesome love for Aurel gave her an 
appreciation of genuine feeling, and kept her in a freshness and 
simplicity which were impervious to fiction on the stage or in 
books. But now, in her perturbed state of mind, deeply wounded 
as she was by Aurel's behavior and craving for something to 
distract her thoughts, she hailed books that kept her imagination 
actively employed. How often, coming home at night after a 
ball, did she fancy herself too weary to say her night prayers ; yet 
she would read for hours till her eyelids dropped with sheer ex- 
haustion. Sleep came, and with it a continuation of her day- 
dreams, so that they were still in her mind when she awoke. 
She grew more and more inclined to view the mental sickness of 
a culpable passion as something both happy and satisfying, and 
when spring came she listened to Valentine with far different 
ears to what she had done three months, earlier. But Baron 
Griinerode at least had no romantic notions on the subject. Be- 
fore his daughter had begun to think of her departure he said to 
her one day : 

" You must go back to your husband this day week, and please 
to give him no further cause for displeasure." 

" It is impossible. Have pity on me ! " moaned Valentine. 

" Silence ! " he exclaimed sternly. " I won't hear a word. 
During your visit I have not spoken about your husband's com- 
plaints, for I purposely ignore them. You are married people 
and must get on together as best you can. Bear this in mind 
and behave sensibly, for you may be quite sure that your father 
and mother will not support you in your folly. So now sit down 
and write to tell your husband to expect you on the 24th. " 

Valentine, in a flood of tears, rushed off to Sylvia, saying, as 


she threw herself into her arms : " Oh ! what a cruel father. He 
won't be bothered with his daughter's misfortunes. He ignores 
her sorrows just to keep comfortable himself. He has no conso- 
lation or encouragement or advice to give me. He sends me 
back to my husband and gives me up to my fate. And then look 
at my mother, Sylvia. I don't know whether she even suspects 
what a wretched marriage mine is, but I do know that she is 
either my father's shadow or a mere nonentity which only counts 
for something as long as it keeps with him. O Sylvia ! don't 
you leave me. Come home with me ; then, at least, I shall have a 
friend at hand." 

Sylvia was quite disposed to follow up a suggestion which 
offered her both change and novelty. They went together to 
Baroness Griinerode to tell her their plan and to beg her to get 
the baron's consent to it. 

" I shall miss you very much, love, and I'm sure I don't 
know who will write my letters and notes for me," said the 
baroness ; " but there is nothing we won't do for our children." 
And she was as good as her word, and spoke to her husband. 

" My dear," he answered impatiently, " I am very loath to part 
with Sylvia, as she knows uncommonly well how to enliven me. 
Moreover, I doubt whether it is to her advantage to be thrust 
with Goldisch and Valentine. She may find out many things 
which will do her no good." 

" O love ! just think of poor Tini. She is twenty years 
younger than her husband, and has a craving for sympathy." 

"My dear, between ourselves 'poor Tini' is a goose with 
her craving after sympathy. Let her sympathize with her hus- 
band, after her mother's example. On the other hand, she may 
possibly bestow her sympathy on Sylvia, and, as Sylvia has be- 
haved with great common sense to Aurel and Phcebe, let her go." 

" Poor Aurel ! " said the baroness with a faint sigh. " I ad- 
mired his patience with that capricious, obstinate Phcebe. 
Whether she did or said anything very silly or rude, he quietly 
remarked, to excuse her, ' She is American ' as if Americans,, 
one and all, did not know how to behave." 

" He was obliged to say something, my dear, so he said that. 
After all, I don't think he is to be pitied. Phoebe is a very pretty 
young woman and very fond of him, and they live in first-rate 

" He didn't strike me as very happy." 

"What are all these complaints about, my dear? First it was 
' poor Tini,' and now it is ' poor Aurel.' We can't order them a 

VOL. XXXIV. 22 . 


life as you can a cake at the confectioner's ; they must take it as 
they find it. I am sure we do all we possibly can for them, and 
now we are going to give up Sylvia. They ought to be happy 
enough out of sheer gratitude to us." 

" You are quite right, love ; we are patterns of parents, and set 
our children an example of what marriage should be," said the 
baroness with conviction. 

Sylvia went off with Valentine and became an eye-witness of 
the sad state of things for which Valentine's confidential com- 
munications had prepared her. Their departure just happened 
to fall in Holy Week. The confusion and bustle which it in- 
volved successfully banished all thoughts of Easter duties from 
both their minds. A little later, indeed, Sylvia remembered the 
precept of the church ; but then the Easter-Communion time had 
gone by, and she determined to put off her mea culpa till the fol- 
lowing year. As to Valentine, it never even entered her head. 
She had very little common sense naturally, and her education 
had not developed either strong belief or principles which rest 
upon a lively faith. She conceived no higher rule of conduct 
than that of acting upon her whims and fancies, and she did not 
ground a conduct so conceived upon the will of God, but upon 
her own inclination, depraved and vitiated by passion as it was. 
Thus blindly and heedlessly did she rush on her downward 


i88i.] MONASTIC DUBLIN. 339 


IN the days when England and Ireland, however otherwise 
opposed, owned one faith in common, before the benefactions of 
generations of pious Catholics were torn from those who had 
been chosen as the trustees of their bounty and distributers of 
their alms, there were within Dublin, or in immediate proximity 
to the walls of Dublin, some ten religious houses of much note. 

Admittedly the most ancient of these was that known as the 
Abbey of the Virgin Mary, or St. Mary's Abbey, and certain tra- 
ditions, of an uncorroborated kind indeed, assign its foundation 
to the piety of the Danes of Dublin immediately after their con- 
version to Christianity. That this was the oldest of the religious 
houses existing in Dublin at the period of the so-called Reforma- 
tion is, however, unquestionable, as is also the fact that one Mau- 
rice, its second abbot, died on the iQth January, A.D. 998.* At 
first this abbey is said to have been in possession of the Cassinese 
or black Benedictine monks, but St. Malachy is believed to have, 
when acting as papal legate in Ireland, procured its transference 
to the Cistercians, a branch of the Benedictine Order for which 
he had a great affection. Henry II. of England seems to have 
taken upon himself the handing over of this abbey, with all 
its lands and appurtenances, to Ranulph, abbot of Bildewas, in 
Shropshire, enjoining obedience to such decree upon its monks 
and abbot. It appears, nevertheless, that a large amount of in- 
dependence was preserved by the Irish house, for under date 
A.D. 1 182 we read : 

" Leonard was abbot. On the feast of All Saints this year Harvey de 
Monte Marisco, having granted to Robert, abbot of Bildewas, the monas- 
tery of Dunbrothy, in the diocese of Ferns, with all its lands and appurte- 
nances, the said abbot sent thither Brother Alan, one of their convent, and 
a discreet lay person, to make proper inquiries concerning it. When they 
came to the place they found it to be a waste and desert, whereupon the 
abbot of Bildewas made a transfer of his grant to the abbot of St^Mary's, 
together with the rights of patronage and of visiting and reforming that 
abbey." t 

* Archdall's Monasticon Hibernicum, ed. of 1873, edited by the Right Rev. Dr. Moran, 
Bishop of Ossory, vol. i. p. 304. 
t Archdall, vol. i. p. 306. 


Sufficiently prudent and sagacious, if not too generous, seems to 
have been this abbot of Bildewas. In St. Mary's Abbey died 
Felix O'Ruanadhagh (O'Rooney), whilom Archbishop of Tuam, 
who had succeeded to the archiepiscopal see in 1201. He was, it 
appears, a member of the Cistercian Order. When years began 
to grow upon him he formed the design of returning to the 
peaceful walls wherein he had, perhaps, spent the days of happy 
noviceship. He seems to have resigned his archbishopric in 
1234 and to have lived but three years longer in the olden abbey 
of Our Lady, for the annals record that 

" In 1238 Felix, Lord- Archbishop of Tuam, of pious memory, died, who 
caused the church and steeple of the house of Our Blessed Lady near Dub- 
lin to be covered with lead, and was honorably buried in the chancel of 
the same church, at the steps of the altar, on the left hand." 

Thus much quotes the worthy Sir James Ware in his Antiquities 
and History of Ireland, and Archdall tells us that in the year 1718 
" there was found, in digging in the ruins of this abbey, the 
corpse of a prelate in his pontificals, uncorrupted, and supposed 
to have been this archbishop ; his coffin was again replaced." 

It seems as if the claims of the abbots of Bildewas over St. 
Mary's were denied by some of the order elsewhere, and that an 
effort was made to prevent the church in Ireland from being de- 
graded to a mere portion of the Norman government ; for we 
find, under date of 1301, that 

" The contention which had so long subsisted between the abbots of 
Saviniac in France, and of Bildewas in England, respecting the right of 
filiation of this abbey, was, in a general chapter held this year, determined 
in favor of Bildewas by means of William de Ashburne, the monk and proc- 
tor of Bildewas, and afterwards abbot of St. Mary's." 

What the extension of Norman or English sway over Irish re- 
ligious houses and establishments meant has much light thrown 
upon it by the abominable statute enacted by the Parliament of 
the Pale in their session at Kilkenny in 1367, which runs as 
follows : 

" Also, it is ordained and established that no religious house which is 
situated amongst the English (be it exempt or not) shall henceforth receive 
any Irishman to their profession, but may receive Englishmen without 
taking into consideration whether they be born in England or in Ireland ; 
and that any that shall act otherwise, and thereof shall be attainted, their 
temporalities shall be seized into the hands of our lord the king, so to re- 
main at his pleasure ; and that no prelates of holy church shall receive any 
treoyft (recte tridoyft i.e., serf or villein) to any orders without the assent 
and testimony of his lord, given to him under seal." 

1 88 1.] MONASTIC DUBLIN. 341 

Far different was the olden customary law of Ireland as ex- 
plained and denned in the ancient Brehon law-tract, the Corns 
Brescna, and it may not be inapposite to quote the words of 
the native legal doctors : 

" The enslaved shall be freed, and plebeians shall be exalted, by receiv- 
ing church grades and by performing penitential service to God. For the 
Lord is accessible ; he will not refuse any kind of person after belief, either 
among the noble or plebeian tribes ; so, likewise, is the church open to 
every one who goes under her rule." 

On the 2/th of May, 1304, the abbey of St. Mary's was nearly 
entirely destroyed by fire. In 1311 William de Ashburne be- 
came abbot, and we have recorded in 1314 that 

" On the Saturday next before the feast of the Annunciation the Abbot 
Ashburne was admitted a freeman of the city of Dublin, at their assembly 
held in St. Mary's Chapel in Christ Church ; Richard le Wells, mayor, and 
Richard St. Olave and Robert de Morenes, bailiffs." 

More than one hundred years later viz., in 1434 we read 

"On the 4th May Nicholas Woder, the mayor of Dublin, accompa- 
nied with the citizens, and walking barefooted, visited the churches of the 
Holy Trinity (Christ Church) and St. Patrick, humbling themselves and 
doing acts of penance ; they then proceeded to this abbey, craving pardon 
for their offences for attempting to kill their mayor, for violently seizing 
the Earl of Ormond and committing manslaughter in the action, and for 
breaking the doors of the abbey, forcibly rushing in and laying violent 
hands on the abbot, whom they dragged, like a dead corpse, to the gate of 
the monastery." 

The unfortunate abbot whom these representatives of the Nor- 
man colony treated thus vilely was one Stephen Lawless, who 
had been appointed in 1431, and who died on the 4th of August, 

Throughout the reigns of the Norman kings St. Mary's 
Abbey witnessed many at least equally determined attempts to 
coerce and degrade its rulers, and many a harsh interference 
with its olden rights and liberties ; for Norman and Plantagenet 
monarchs scrupled not to create customs and precedents of their 
own, provided custom or precedent might be quoted against 
the law.* 

* It throws much light upon the almost, if not quite, sacrilegious Statute of Kilkenny to read 
the words of St. Thomas a Becket describing to the Sovereign Pontiff the actions of Henry II. : 
" Be pleased to read over the bill of those reprobate usages which he claims against the church, 
and on account of which I am banished ; and your Holiness will see clearly that before I made 


Another of the great religious establishments of ancient Dub- 
lin was the priory of the Holy Trinity, or Christ Church. The 
real origin or foundation of this great institution is lost in ob- 
scurity. Contradictory statements or traditions ascribe it to the 
piety of a converted Danish prince and to that of " divers Irish- 
men," to whom, indeed, the most accurate historians assent to the 
honor being given. But there is little certainly known except 
that for many a long year before the feet of English invaders de- 
secrated Irish soil the bells of the cathedral dedicated to the 
Holy Trinity called a faithful people to prayer and praise, and 
earnest priests preached and taught within its consecrated walls. 
In 1163 the sainted Archbishop of Dublin, Laurence O'Tuathal 
(O'Toole), according to Archdall, had the clerics in possession of 
this priory " made canons regular of the order of Arras, a branch 
of the Augustinians." It was in this church that Richard, Earl 
Strongbow, was interred, after bequeathing " the lands of Kin- 
sali to find lights " for it, and whose death, in their own quaint 
style, the Four Masters thus record in their Annals : 

"The English earl died in Dublin of an ulcer which had broken out in 
his foot, through the miracles of SS. Bridget and Columcille, and all the 
other saints whose churches had been destroyed by him. He saw, as he 
thought, St. Bridget in the act of killing him " 

this when no doubt St. Bridget's best prayers were being 
prayed for the poor sinner whose doughty arm and proof ar- 
mor alike were weak defences against that shaft whose keen 
point hmd stretched him on his pallet in Dublin Castle. 

In this church, with other great relics, was preserved the 
miraculous crosier of St. Patrick, the staff of Jesus that staff 
possession of which, according to St. Bernard, in popular estima- 
tion at least, almost carried right to the archiepiscopal see of Ar- 
magh. Dr. Lanigan supposes this staff to have been carried to 
Dublin in 1184, when Philip de Worcester with his Normans 
passed the gates of Armagh, and, as was the wont of the con- 
querors, "robbed Peter to pay Paul " by carrying off much trea- 
sure of various kinds to Dublin. Archdall tells us that 

"The history of this celebrated staff, as delivered by Joceline, is briefly 

any stand he had by these same usages stopped the mouths of all who would appeal to your 
court ; prohibited all ecclesiastical persons from crossing the sea till an oath had been exacted 
from them ; suffocated the rights of elections ; drawn all causes, ecclesiastical as well as civil, be- 
fore his own courts, and run his dagger into every liberty of the church." In Ireland, however, 
many things could be done even worse than those Henry worked in England, and assuredly no 
Becket was bidden to the Parliament of Kilkenny ; while Henry's successors were but seldom 
better than himself. 

i88i.] MONASTIC DUBLIN. 343 

this : St. Patrick, moved by divine instinct or angelic revelation, visited 
one Justus, an ascetic who inhabited an island in the Tyrrhene Sea, a man 
of exemplary virtue and most holy life. After mutual salutations and dis- 
course he presented the Irish apostle with a staff which he averred he had 
received from the hands of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ himself. In 
this island were some men in the bloom of youth and others who appeared 
aged and decrepit. St. Patrick, conversing with them, found that those 
aged persons were sons of those seemingly young. Astonished at this mira- 
culous appearance, he was told 'that from their infancy they had served 
God ; that they were constantly employed in works of charity, and their 
doors ever open to the traveller and distressed ; that one night a stranger, 
with a staff in his hand, came to them, whom they accommodated to the 
best of their power ; that in the morning he blessed them, and said, " I am 
Jesus Christ, whom you have always faithfully served, but last night you 
received me in my proper person " ; he then gave his staff to their spiritual 
father, with directions to deliver it to a stranger named Patrick who would 
shortly visit them ; on saying this he ascended into heaven, and left us in 
that state of juvenility in which you behold us, and our sons, then young, 
are the old, decrepit persons you now see.' Joceline goes on to relate that 
with this staff our apostle collected every venomous creature in the island 
to the top of the mountain of Cruagh Phadruigh, in the county of Mayo, 
and from thence precipitated them into the sea." 

Be this account of the crosier of St. Patrick correct or not, there 
is at all events an overwhelming- Aveight of tradition to prove 
that it was the identical one borne by the apostle, that it was 
that wherewith he worked some of his most wondrous miracles ; 
and even if, like us, one is almost content to believe that the 
Sovereign Pontiff blessed and gave it to him, and that it con- 
tained some portion of the true and holy cross, we are not less 
inclined to style it, as the olden chronicles do, " the staff of 

When Henry VIII. developed his designs upon the property 
of the church, and embraced those convenient and schismatical 
doctrines which commended themselves so well to him, his chief 
object was to place in possession of church property and tem- 
poralities creatures and followers of his own, men of debased and 
lax morals, who, like Cromwell and Cranmer, were well content 
to act the part of Judas, if so be a bribe were offered them. 
Therefore it was that within less than twelve months after the 
murder of Archbishop Allen by the followers of "Silken 
Thomas " Fitzgerald there was despatched to Dublin as arch- 
bishop, consecrated with such consecration as the hands of 
Cranmer could bestow, one George Browne. Browne had 
that apparently indispensable adjunct of a reformed bishop, a 
wife, and until the reign of Queen Mary, when he was removed 


from the place he desecrated, he enjoyed possession of so much 
of the revenues of the see as the king left him. This Browne 
seems to have taken a special pleasure in plundering Christ 
Church, and to have rioted in the destruction of the sacred 
relics preserved therein. The Four Masters tell us : 

A.D. 1558 "And the staff of Jesus, which was in Dublin, and which 
wrought many wonders and miracles in Ireland since the time of Patrick 
down to that time, and which was in the hand of Christ himself, was burned 
by the Saxons in like manner. And not only that, but' there was not a 
holy cross, nor an image of Mary, nor other celebrated image in Ireland, 
over which their power had reached, that they did not burn." 

"Over which their power had reached!" Just so. The foul 
heresy was none of Ireland's. Saxon invasion alone made the 
polluting footsteps of heresy possible on Irish soil. 

It was in this cathedral church of the Holy Trinity, this 
very Christ Church, at the meeting of the packed Parliament of 
the Pale, that Browne dared to broach the doctrine of the king's 
supremacy in these words : 

" My Lords and Gentry of this His Majesties Realm of Ireland : Behold 
your obedience to your King is the observing of your God and Saviour 
Christ, for He, that High Priest of our Souls, paid Tribute to Cesar (though 
no Christian) ; greater Honour then surely is due to your Prince His High- 
ness the King, and a Christian one. Rome and her Bishops in the Father's 
days acknowledged Emperors, Kings and Princes to be Supream over their 
Dominions, nay, Christs own Vicars. And it is much to the Bishops of 
Romes shame to deny what their precedent Bishops owned ; therefore His 
Highness claims but what he can justifie : The Bishop Elutherius gave to 
St. Lucius the first Christian King of the Britains ; so that I shall without 
scrupling vote His Highness King Henry my Supream over Ecclesiastick 
matters as well as Temporal, and Head thereof, even of both Isles, England 
and Ireland, and that without Guilt of Conscience or Sin to God ; and he 
who will not pass this Act, as I do, is no true Subject to His Highness." 

Thus does Ware report Browne, and thus, no doubt, he spoke. 
At any rate, packed and terrorized, this Anglo-Irish Parlia- 
ment voted " His Majestic " Head of the Church and King 
of Ireland ; for up to this time never had monarch of England 
claimed this title. Therefore, passing strange as it may appear 
to some readers, the statutable right of the rulers of England to 
the title of temporal governors of Ireland is just as much, and no 
more, as theirs to be the same in things spiritual. Ireland has 
never quite owned to one any more than to the other, and we 
must be allowed to doubt that it ever will. 

Some time afterwards Browne wrote Cromwell that 

1 88 1.] MONASTIC DUBLIN. 345 

"The Romish Reliques and Images of both my Cathedrals in Dublin, 
of the Holy Trinity and St. Patricks, took off the common people from the 
true Worship. . . . The Prior and Dean have written to Rome to be en- 
couraged ; and if it be not hindered before they have a Mandate from the 
Bishop of Rome, the people will be bold, and then tugg long before His 
Highness can submit them to His Graces Orders." 

Amongst the other religious houses mentioned by Ware and 
Archdall was the nunnery of St. Mary de Hoggis, or Hogges, 
a name derived by the antiquarian Lhuyd from the Irish word 
oigk, signifying virgin, and by Bishop Moran from the Teutonic 
designation for a small hill, the convent having stood in the 
vicinity of the present College Green, which at one time, having 
been a place of pagan interment, was probably the situation of 
numerous tumuli, or burial mounds. This nunnery belonged to 
an order following the rule of St. Augustine, and, existing long 
anterior to the coming of the English, was only finally suppress- 
ed in the reign of Edward VI. The Knights Templars, according 
to Archdall, had a house, styled St. Sepulchre's, at a place called 
Casgot, on the southern side of the city. The great priory of 
All-Hallowes, or All-Saints, stood in Hoggen, or Hoges, Green, 
as well as the convent of St Mary, and is said to have been 
founded by Diarmid, son of Murchadh (Dermot MacMurrough), 
King of Leinster, the munificent and pious prince who endowed 
the latter. The property of this priory was, on its suppression, 
granted to the city of Dublin, the corporation of which surren- 
dered it, through the influence of Henry Usher, for the founda- 
tion of Trinity College in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The 
abbey of St. Thomas, in Thomas Court, was another ecclesias- 
tical institution of great importance, and was founded in Nor- 
man days by the lord-deputy, William FitzAdelm de Burgo, a 
kinsman of King Henry II. The priory of St. John the Baptist 
stood in St. Thomas Street, nearly on the very spot where now, 
at the corner of St. John Street, stands the magnificent new 
church and handsome convent of the Augustinian friars. To this 
religious house, which also was founded in Norman days, was at- 
tached an extensive hospital, where were maintained, in the reign 
of Edward III., "one hundred and fifty-five sick and poor per- 
sons, besides chaplains and converts." Archdall says : 

" In this hospital were both friars and nuns ; the vestments for the 
friars of Thomas Court, for the Franciscans in Francis Street, and for the 
University of St. Patrick were wrought here ; for their labor they had the 
tenth of the wool or flax which they spun assigned them when the work 


was finished. The different orders for whom they wrought did visit this 
house on St. John's day, when they presented their offerings before the 
image of the saint which stood in the great hall ; and on the saint's eve 
the mayor and Commons were also wont to visit them, on which a great 
bonfire was made before the hospital, and many others throughout the 

When the time of " Reformation " came, as a matter of course 
the image, the hospital, the priory and all its possessions were 
" reformed " out of existence ; though as to what became of the 
sick, the poor, and the old tended within its holy walls no 
thought was given. 

The Dominican friary, St. Saviour's, stood on the north side 
of the city, as does in these days the beautiful Gothic church 
of the same order. In olden as in modern times the eloquent 
Preaching Friars were dearly beloved by the people of Dublin, 
and we read that in 1308 

" John le Decer was this year mayor of Dublin ; he was remarkably 
liberal to this monastery : he erected a large stone pillar in the church, and 
laid the great stone upon the high altar, with all its ornaments. On the 
sixth day in every week he entertained the brethren of this house at his 
own table, and in a time of general Scarcity imported from France three 
ships laden with corn, one of which he presented to the lord-justice and 
militia, another to the Dominican and Augustinian seminaries, and the 
third he reserved for the more liberal exercise of his own hospitality and 
bounty. These beneficent actions moved the Dominicans to insert a par- 
ticular prayer in their litany for the prosperity of the city of Dublin." 

This John le Decer was buried during the course of the year 
1332 in the church attached to the convent of St. Francis. St. 
Francis', which also was established after the invasion, existed 
until the time of Henry VIII., when, like the other Dublin reli- 
gious houses, the iconoclasm of the period, in its destroying zeal 
for "reformation," came to its doors with such warrant as it 
could show. In the library of Benet College, Cambridge, is pre- 
served the manuscript journal of a pilgrimage made by two 
friars of this order and house to the Holy Places in 1322. They 
are styled Simon Fitzsimon and Hugh the Illuminator. Hugh 
died at Cairo. 

1 88 1.] MONTE VERGINE. 347 


MONTE VERGINE is one of the highest peaks of the Apen- 
nine range, that forms the eastern boundary of ancient Campania 
Felix, and stands about half-way between Nola and Benevento. 
On the top is a large Benedictine abbey famous for its chapel of 
the Madonna, one of the most popular places of pilgrimage in 
the kingdom of Naples. This monastery is out of the highway 
of travel, and therefore seldom visited by the mere tourist, 
though the country around is remarkable for the grandeur and 
romantic character of its scenery, and the mountain itself has its 
classical as well as religious associations. It was known even 
in the time of the Romans as Mount Parthenius, or the Virgin 
Mount, and was likewise called Mons Sacra on account of its 
consecration to Cybele, mother of the gods, who had a vast tem- 
ple on the summit, where she was honored with mysterious rites 
amid the dense shade of its oaks, and the fir specially sacred to 
her, and the pine which recalled her beloved Atys, and where all 
the surrounding country sent tributary and votive offerings as to 
a protecting divinity. Virgil himself, struck by the prophecies of 
the Sibyls concerning the advent of our Saviour, is said to have 
come here to consult the oracle of Cybele as to their truth. An 
old mediseval chronicle preserved in the archives of the monas- 
tery, written on parchment in Lombard characters, by John of 
Monte Vergine, says that Virgil lived on the mountain a long v 
time. At all events his memory became so associated with it that 
in time it took his glorious name, and for centuries was known 
as Mons Virgilianus. The priests of Cybele refusing to enlighten 
him as to his researches, or being unable to do so, the legend goes 
on to say that he had direct recourse to the goddess herself, in- 
voking her by means of plants of magic power he had brought 
from the East and planted in a garden contiguous to his dwelling 
plants doubtless culled full-bloom by night with a brazen sickle 
while still wet with dew distilled from the moon, as Virgil himself 
tells us was the custom. Here, doubtless, grew the box of which 
to make the pipes used in the service of Cybele, Lethaean poppies 
that could appease the very Manes of the dead, herb-marjoram 
which Virgil tells us was baneful to serpents, and the magic ver- 

" The sovereig-nest thing on earth 
To heal an inward bruise." 

348 MONTE VERGINE. [Dec., 

The knowledge of magic plants and medicinal herbs some say 
Virgil derived from Chiron, the teacher of JEneas, whose Book of 
Might he found under the centaur's head where he lay entombed 
in a grotto on Monte Barbaro in Sicily. An old German poem, 
however, says that, hearing of a Babylonian prince famous for 
his knowledge of astrology and the hidden arts, who foresaw the 
coming of Christ long before it took place, Virgil set sail for the 
magnetic mountain where he lived and got possession of his 
magic scrolls. By some such means the garden he cultivated 
on Monte Partenio, to propitiate the Bona Dea, he placed under 
enchantment by way of protecting it, and its magic character 
seems to have continued almost to modern times. Alexander 
Neckham, foster-brother of Richard the Lion-Hearted, says it 
was surrounded by an impenetrable wall of air. After the Bene- 
dictines took possession of the mountain the monks are said to 
have sometimes come upon it by chance in their rambles, 
though they could never discover by what path they entered 
or how they got out, nor did they succeed in carrying away any 
of the plants still growing therein. One monk is spoken of who 
got within the enclosure and found himself, as it were, in a laby- 
rinth from which there was no issue. Such stones were current 
as early as the twelfth century. Perhaps they were a way of ex- 
pressing the metaphysical mazes in which some of the monks 
became involved by excessive study of the ancient authors. 
More than one in those times, we know, sought truth under the 
fabulous creations of classical writers, like Abbot Theodolphus, 
who says : 

" Plurima sub falso tegmine vera latent." 

Bartolommeo Caracciolo, in his Cronica di Partenope (1382), 
says Virgil's enchanted garden could be easily found by those 
who sought it for medicinal purposes, but concealed itself from 
those who wished to pillage or destroy. At all events the herbs 
once cultivated for mysterious rites in the temple of Cybele were 
still potent, it appears, through the medical learning and skill of 
the monks, and were regarded by the peasants they healed as still 
of magic virtue. All that savored of superior knowledge was in 
those davs ascribed by the unlettered to some occult art. This 
caused Horace to be spoken of as a wizard around Palestrina, 
and Boccaccio to be called a magician by the peasantry of Cer- 
baldo. So the ideal Virgil of the middle ages was a necroman- 
cer, for he was regarded as the embodiment of all knowledge, 

1 88 i.J MONTE VERGINE. 349 

even by Dante himself, who, addressing his guide and master, 

" O tu ch'onori ogni scienza ed arti," * 

though had he looked upon him as a magician he would have 
consigned him to the fourth Bolgia of the Inferno with the sor- 
ceress Manto, the mythic foundress of Virgil's own city. 

In an old life of San Guglielmo, written by Giovanni Nusco 
in 1168, this mountain is still called by the name of Virgil, and 
Pope Celestin III., in a bull of 1197, calls the abbey already es- 
tablished here the Monasterium Sacro-Sanctcs Virginis de Monte 
Virgilii, but the mountain had long before begun to acquire the 
more Christian appellation by which it is now known. It was 
St. Vitalianus, Bishop of Capua, who first dedicated the temple 
of Cybele to the holy Mother of God, from which time a higher 
worship entirely superseded the dark rites of the heathen god- 

" Et antiquum documentum 
Novo cedat ritui." 

Here took refuge from persecution several of the early apos- 
tles of the surrounding country St. Modestinus and his two 
companions, Florentinus and Flavianus ; likewise St. Felix, 
Bishop of Nola, and another Felix, as well as Maximus, of the 
same place, who were afterwards martyred for the faith. And 
here died in the Lord St. Vitalianus himself, who had conse- 
crated the mount to Mary Most Pure. 

But Monte Vergine received a new consecration, as it were, 
when San Guglielmo da Vercelli came here in 1119 and estab- 
lished himself in a hermitage. St. William was a nobleman, who 
at an early age left home to enter upon a penitential life. , He 
visited the tomb of the Holy Apostles at Rome, went on a pil- 
grimage to St. James of Compostella, and was on the point of 
going to the Holy Sepulchre when he was stripped, among the 
mountains of Calabria, of all he possessed, and, taking refuge 
with St, John of Matera, he conceived such a love for the solitary 
life that he resolved, in obedience to an apparizione del Redentore, 
to take up his abode on Monte Vergine. He ascended the 
mountain with bare feet, pale with fasting and clad in coarse rai- 
ment. White doves flew before him, leading the way, as it were, 
but, when they came to a spring of pure water that gushed out 
beneath the snow, disappeared. Here St. William built a small 

* O thou who every art and science valuest. 

350 MONTE VERGINE. [Dec., 

eremo, or hermitage, for himself and a few disciples who joined 
him, and the fountain became known as the aqua columbarum. 
They also constructed a chiesetta, or small church, out of the 
ruins of the temple of Cybele, which was consecrated by John, 
Bishop of Avellino. St. William, by divine ordinance, forbade 
the use of meat, eggs, and milk on the sacred mount, at least 
within a certain radius around the hermitage. Only fish and 
vegetables were allowed, and these in limited quantities a 
severe regimen kept up to this day. And his followers were 
obliged to fast on bread and water from All-Saints to Christmas, 
and from Septuagesima till Easter. 

St. William became famous for his miracles, but still more so 
for his liberality to the poor, which seemed excessive to some of 
his brethren, who counselled him to take thought of the morrow 
and reserve a part of the offerings they received for future con- 
tingencies. St. William, not wishing to be a rock of offence, ap- 
pointed the Beato Alberto, one of his first companions, to rule 
over them, and betook himself to a new solitude. Alberto, how- 
ever, carried out the wishes of the holy founder, and so increased 
the fame of the sacrecl mount that the piccolo cremo grew into a 
spacious monastery, and the chicsetta into a large church, which 
was solemnly consecrated November n, 1182, by the archbishops 
of Benevento and Salerno, attended by thirteen bishops and six 
abbots. The abbey was, almost from the first, exempted from 
the jurisdiction of the local ordinary. John, Bishop of Avellino, 
with the consent of his clergy, renounced all rights over it. This 
was approved by the Holy See, particularly by Pope Lucius III., 
who, struck by the sanctity of the monks when he visited the 
holy mount, exclaimed : " ludico hos homines angelorum potius quam 
hominum vitam agerc" Gravina in similar terms says : " These 
men emulate the angels in their lives, living in the flesh without 
flesh, frequent in fasts, sedulous in prayer, and obedient to their 
chief." Their sanctity, in fact, was proverbial. Urban IV., by a 
bull of 1264, declared the abbey immediately subject to the Holy 
See, and conferred on the abbot the rights and privileges of a 
bishop. The immortal Sixtus V., who received hospitality here 
when a mere friar, showed special interest in the house and 
maintained its rights. 

St. William seems to have acquired the special confidence of 
Roger, King of Sicily, over whom he exercised great influence, 
and more than once mediated between him and the powerful 
Count of Avellino. King Roger called the saint to his court aU 
Palermo and endowed several houses of his institute one for 

1 88 1.] , MONTE VERGINE. 351 

women at Guleto called San Salvadore, where his daughter, the 
Princess Catherine, took the veil. Through St. William's influ- 
ence the king also extended his protection to the abbey of Monte 
Vergine and its vassals. In those days the power of the barons 
often weighed heavily on the people, and many sought refuge 
under the paternal rule of the monks. The abbot of Monte Ver- 
gine assigned two houses and a garden to such fugitives under 
the very shadow of the mountain. This place of shelter grew 
into a village and still bears the name of Ospedaletto, or Little 
Hospice, the people of which continue to regard with reverence 
the monastery that showed so much humanity to their fore- 
fathers. The abbey itself became an inviolate asylum. 

Documents from King Roger conferring benefits on the 
abbey of Monte Vergine are still preserved, bearing his seal with 
the legend : Benedictvs Devs et Pater Domini Nostri lesv Christi 
Blessed be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

St. William revisited the holy mount before his death and 
spent some time here ; then went to die at Guleto (i 142). He 
left no written rule, but Roberto, the third abbot, by the wish of 
Pope Alexander III., who canonized St. William, placed the 
monastery under the rule of St. Benedict. The monks, however, 
retained the white habit given them by their founder in honor of 
the Vergine Immacolata, and the rule of abstinence from all ani- 
mal food. 

Pontiffs and kings seemed to vie with each other in benefac- 
tions to the abbey. The Emperor Henry VI. gave it the castle 
and territory of Mercogliano. Frederick II., though he declared 
. void in general all donations not made with the imperial sanc- 
tion, formally excepted those to Monte Vergine, and ordered 
that the vassals of the abbey should be free from imposts. Al- 
fonso I. of Aragon made the abbot sole judge over his vassals in 
civil and criminal cases. King Roger II. gave the abbey the fief 
of Mezzioiuso in Sicily, and of Cillano in Barletta. William II., 
surnamed the Good, gave those of Sambuco and Querci in Na- 
ples. King Robert the Wise, the friend of Petrarch, gave three 
fiefs. Queen Joanna and Louis of Anjou gave nine. Charles of 
Anjou assured to the abbey the possession of the whole moun- 
tain, as well as the villages at the foot that had grown up, or in- 
creased in size under the protection of the monks. And infinite 
was the number of gifts from other princes and nobles. A curi- 
ous privilege, called il dritto di prelazione, was conferred on the 
abbot by Charles Martel, King of Hungary, with the consent of 
his father, Charles II. of Naples, to the effect that no kind of salt 

352 MONTE VERGINE. [Dec., 

fish should be exposed for sale at the great fair of Salerno with- 
out tithes thereof being sent to the abbey of Monte Vergine. 
This dritto, or right, lasted till the abolition of monastic institu- 
tions in the kingdom. 

Besides castles, lands, and villages, the abbot of Monte Ver- 
gine had more than two hundred religious houses under his con- 
trol, including those of the two Sicilies, besides convents of nuns 
filled with ladies of illustrious birth. 

The abbey was likewise richly endowed with the more pre- 
cious treasures of countless relics, including several bodies of 
saints and other holy objects that rendered Monte Vergine one 
of the most sacred spots in the Christian w r orld. Many of these 
were first brought here for safety in calamitous times, chief 
among which was the venerated body of the glorious St. Janua- 
rius, patron of Naples, which was brought here from Benevento 
in 1156, and remained till 1497, when, at the petition of King 
Ferdinand I. as well as the people of Naples, the pope authoriz- 
ed the transportation of these sacred remains to that city, then 
suffering from the plague. This translation was made with 
solemn pomp, January 13, 1497, by Archbishop Alessandro Ca- 
rafa amid demonstrations of great joy on the part of the popu- 
lace. Only a portion of the skull was preserved at the abbey. 

But the great glory of Monte Vergine is the miraculous Ma- 
donna brought from the East by Baldwin II., the last Latin Em- 
peror of Constantinople, when obliged to flee from his capital in 
1261. His grandniece Catherine de Valois, titular Empress of 
Constantinople, was his heiress. She came to the sacred mount 
in 1310, bringing with her the sacred inheritance of the Madonna, 
which she placed in the church, where for nearly six hundred 
years it has been held in great veneration. 

The first blow to the prosperity of the abbey of Monte Ver- 
gine was the appointment of abbots in commendam in the fifteenth 
century a practice strongly censured by the fifth Council of the 
Lateran. The consequences were so disastrous that in 1601 only 
eighteen houses remained subject to the abbey, which was soon 
left with the bare titles to ancient fiefs and hardly any means. 
But one pope after another asserted its rights till its yoke was 
thrown off, and the house had begun to prosper again when in 
1807 came the suppression of the monastic orders. Twenty-five 
monks, however, were allowed to remain as custodians of the 
abbey and of the archives of the abbot's palace of Loreto, but 
they were obliged to lay aside their white habit. 

After the restoration of Ferdinand I. to the throne of Naples 

1 88 1.] MONTE VERGINE. 353 

an appropriation was made for the maintenance of the abbey, 
and the monks were allowed to put on again their white gar- 
ments. Pope Pius VII. restored its spiritual rights and privi- 
leges, appointed Cardinal Pacca its protector,, and in reorganiz- 
ing the dioceses of the kingdom in 1818 left that of Monte Ver- 
gine intact, saying it ought to remain for ever unchanged with its 
little see of seven villages spiritually subject to the abbot. 

Within the last few years the congregation of Monte Vergine 
has been affiliated to the Cassinese Benedictines, but the monks 
retain certain customs peculiar to themselves. 

When the monastery founded by St. William at Guleto was 
suppressed the monks of Monte Vergine, by dint of persistent 
efforts, were at length permitted to take possession of his sacred 
remains, which were brought here to the great joy of the whole 

In spite of the vicissitudes of the abbey the concourse of pil- 
grims to the sanctuary of the Madonna has always been extraor- 
dinary, especially at Whitsuntide and Our Lady's Nativity, com- 
ing from Naples in immense numbers and from all parts of 
southern Italy. Sometimes they arrive at Mercogliano at night 
and ascend the sacred mount in the purple darkness or by the 
light of torches, which, as they ascend, may be seen like a galaxy 
of stars gleaming along the edge of precipices, amid the oaks and 
chestnuts, forming a grand and imposing spectacle. And all day 
long they are ascending and descending in continuous streams 
with picturesque effect, affording admirable studies of costumes, 
physiognomy, and manners. They generally go up on foot, some- 
times even barefoot, carrying tapers and offerings to the sanc- 
tuary, and bringing back colored pictures of the Virgin, boughs 
of " the Madonna's tree," rosaries ofhazel-nuts, etc. At the ab- 
bey they are welcomed with the ringing of bells, and they enter 
the massive portone with child-like joy. It is then the season of 
flowers, and the whole country is clothed with inconceivable 
beauty quite in harmony with the cheerful piety of the pilgrims. 
The mountain is resonant with their songs and loud greetings, 
and gay with the brilliant colors they love to wear. 

Our pilgrimage to Monte Vergine was in mid-winter, when 
the sanctuary is almost deserted. The country, too, has lost part 
of its beauty, but the wildness of the mountain is increased, the 
awfulness of its precipices, and the tender gloom of the deep, 
luxuriant valleys. We started from Naples and left the railway 
at Avellino, noted for its hazel-nuts, called in ancient times nuces. 
Avellana, and then took a private carriage to Mercogliano (Mer- 


354 MONTE VERGINE. [Dec., 

curii ara), a rude, straggling village with red-tiled houses, at the 
very foot of the mountain, and under the spiritual jurisdiction of 
the abbey. A mile or so from this village is the abbot's palace 
of Loreto, in a sunny plain, built on the site of an ancient tem- 
ple of Apollo. It is a large octagonal building, with an interior 
cloister bright with flowers and the southern sun. Here the 
greater part of the monks of Monte Vergine now reside in win- 
ter at least the aged and infirm, the temperature being milder 
and the regimen less severe. At the gates several hundred poor 
people are daily fed, and medical advice and remedies freely 
given to all who apply for them. We were received with the 
politeness and hospitality that characterize the Benedictines 
everywhere. They gave us refreshments and showed us the 
house and garden. In the archives are preserved twenty-four 
thousand documents relating to the history of the abbey cartu- 
laries, deeds, diplomas, and privileges both spiritual and tempo- 
ral among them three hundred papal bulls and two hundred 
historical manuscripts of mediaeval times. These have been 
bound in volumes to prevent their loss. 

The monks gave us directions as to ascending the mountain, 
advising us, however, not to attempt it that day, as it -was already 
late in the afternoon and ominous clouds hung about the summit. 
But our time was limited, and, returning to Mercogliano, we took 
horses and a guide, and set off up the steep, zigzag path hewn 
out of the rock. The whole village seemed to take an interest in 
our departure, and a fine cavalcade we formed, following our 
guide, one by one, up the rough, arduous way like that which 
Dante describes : 

" Che sarebbe alle capre duro varco"* 

Ferdinand II. allowed alms to be collected throughout the 
kingdom of Naples to construct this road from Mercogliano to 
the abbey, and contributed to it himself. The task was com- 
pleted in 1856, after five years' labor. In ancient times the path 
must have been only fit indeed for goats to climb. 

The view grew more and more admirable in proportion to 
our ascent. After a certain height we could look down into 
the beautiful valley, the rich winter browns and ambers of which 
were lit up by the declining sun. There lay the realm that so 
long has owned Mary's golden reign, with its wide stretches of 

* Rugged and steep, a path 
Not easy for the clambering goat to mount. 

1 88 1.] MONTE VERGINE. 355 

purple and gold, surrounded by hills crowned with castles and 
churches amid which peeped numerous villages from vines, and 
olives, and orange groves. Around circled the lofty Apennines. 
In the course of an hour the wind began to rise and long, trailing 
clouds swiftly descended, through the rifts of which we could still- 
see the sun-lit valley ; but we were soon enveloped in mists that 
before long deepened into rain, completely hiding the landscape. 
The cold began to increase and the darkness to gather. Our 
way lay along a frightful precipice that seemed more dangerous 
as the rocks grew slipper} 7 , and the horses could no longer make 
sure their footing. They began to stumble, and we to sway un- 
der the force of the increasing blasts. It was a relief when the 
horses at last refused to go on and we were obliged to dismount. 
We then set off courageously on foot through the blinding snow 
that recalled the winter storms of New Hampshire. It was pitch- 
dark when, chilled to the very marrow and exhausted from wad- 
ing upward through the drifts, we arrived at the portal of the 
monastery. The two French abbes in our party joyfully struck 
up the Magnificat, the effect of which, on this wild mountain 
summit, amid the darkness, and pelting storm, and howling wind, 
as we stood waiting at the Virgin's gate for the monks to an- 
swer our summons, was very grand indeed. 

A lay brother at length appeared, who led us across a court 
filled with snow, through dark, chilly corridors, into a large room 
where a huge brasier of live coals was at once brought, which 
we were glad to gather closely around. Several monks hastened 
to welcome us, and in due time came smoking dishes of their 
Lenten fare magro stretto indeed. That night stands out in my 
memory as the coldest I ever experienced. An immense cham- 
ber was assigned me which for chilliness never had a parallel, un- 
less in the famous ice-palace of Russia. The bed was a frozen 
lake, and the coverings were certainly taken from a glacier. I 
heard some of our party in the next room executing a kind of 
war-dance (the Madonna and St. William forgive them ! for it 
was with no irreverent spirit, I am sure) to get up some warmth 
before venturing on the awful plunge. I pitied the poor monks 
who had to encounter a whole winter like this in such a profound 
solitude, but afterwards learned that they go down to the palazzo 
from time to time to be replaced. 

The next morning was bright and clear, and we were in the 
church at an early hour. It is a large edifice in proportion to 
the immense number of pilgrims in the season. It is only in the 
Catholic Church we find such vast temples on wild, solitary 

356 MONTE VERGINE. [Dec., 

mountains where peak indeed calls to peak, and ice, snow, and 
hail, and hoar-frost, and all the elements join in the Benedicite of 
the Three Holy Children, as well as all green things that grow 
in the valleys beneath. 

At the right side as you enter the church is the chapel of Our 
Lady of Monte Vergine, paved and lined with marbles, built by 
Philip of Anjou. Over the altar hangs the celebrated Madonna 
given by his wife, the Empress Catherine. Only the head of this 
Madonna was brought to Italy by Baldwin II., it being of course 
impossible to transport a large painting on wood when fleeing 
from his capital. Catherine de Valois had the rest of the Ma- 
donna's figure and the Infant Jesus painted by Montano of 
Arezzo, a celebrated painter of the time, whom King Robert 
knighted. The head is painted on cedar, and the remainder on 
another kind of wood, so, while the Madonna's face remains 
fresh, the colors of the rest are greatly sunken. 

The Virgin, slender and graceful, is seated on an inlaid throne, 
with her right hand calling attention to the Child on her knee, 
who is too small in proportion to her large figure. He is clothed 
in a red tunic mixed with gold. Two angels swing censers around 
the Madonna's head, and six support her throne. Three golden 
crowns are fastened to her head after the Italian fashion, one of 
which was given by the chapter of the Vatican in 1712, and she 
wears a profusion of necklaces, the gifts of her votaries. 

In this chapel are the tombs of Catherine de Valois and her 
children, Mary and Louis, with their effigies lying on them. 
Prayers are still said for them in this chapel by the monks, after 
more than five hundred years. There is a votive picture on the 
wall of Marguerite, wife of Louis III. of Anjou, who, on the 
point of being shipwrecked, invokes the Madonna and is saved. 

In another part of the church is the chapel built by King 
Manfred, son of Frederick II., for his burial-place; he, as well 
as his father, holding Monte Vergine in special favor. And here 
is an ancient sarcophagus, popularly called Manfred's- tomb, of 
veined white marble with great lions' heads carved on one side, 
and two winged heads of Medusa on the other. When Manfred 
was slain in battle with Charles of Anjou he was first buried 
near the bridge at Benevento, and every soldier of the victorious 
army threw a stone upon his grave, forming a great mound. 
Dante makes Manfred relate this in the Purgatorio : 

l( Yet at the bridge's headway my bones had lain 
Near Benevento, by the heavy mole 

i88i.] MONTE VERGINE. 357 

But as he died excommunicated, he was afterwards removed 
from the lands of the church and borne with unlighted torches 
to the banks of the river Verde, on the borders of Campania, 
where " the rain beat on his grave, and the winds swept pitiless- 
ly over it." It is pleasant to think that the monks of Monte Ver- 
gine, according to their traditions, secretly carried off the body 
of their benefactor by night and buried him in his own chapel, 
charitably hoping with Dante that 

" By the curse he was not so destroyed 
But that eternal love might turn," 

and his punishment be 

" By prayers of good men shorter made." 

In this chapel is an immense crucifix carved out of wood, 
with a colossal Christ nailed to it, pale, bleeding, and terrible 
a work of the thirteenth century, if no older and against the 
wall are the marble effigies of two knights in their coats of mail. 

In another chapel is the rich marble tomb of Caterina della 
Lionessa, of the old Provencal family of Lagonesse, which follow- 
ed the Anjou princes into Italy. She lies curiously coifed, her 
hands joined, on her cold bed, which is supported b}^ six colon- 
nettes. There are other interesting tombs of dames and knights, 
among them those of Count Bertrade de Lautrec and his son. 
And every one devoutly visits that of Fra Giulio di Nardo, a 
holy monk well skilled in music, who, though of noble birth, re- 
fused the priestly office and served as a lay brother in this house. 
He wished, out of humility, to be buried under the pavement of 
the Madonna's chapel, 

" That every foot might fall with heavier tread 
Trampling upon his vileness." 

His body was found incorrupt two centuries after his death, and 
placed in an urn. 

The beautiful ciborio of Parian marble, inlaid with mosaic 
and supported by columns resting on lions, was given by Charles 
Martel the Charles whom Dante finds circling in the third hea- 
vens, his saintly light turned to the sun that feeds it, 

" As to the good, whose plenitude of bliss 
Sufficeth all.'' 

The chapel of 'relics is curious, reminding one of a columba- 
rium with its niches for different saints. 

358 MONTE VERGINE. [Dec., 

We looked with interest at a column of porta-santa marble 
from the old temple of Cybele. And in one gallery of the clois- 
ter are curious simulacra and votive offerings, and fragments 
of sculpture, from the same source, forming quite a museum. 
Among them is part of a rich sarcophagus on which is carved 
the battle of the Amazons. 

At the entrance of \heforesteria, or guest-house, is an inscrip- 
tion stating that only Lenten fare is permitted in the monastery, 
according to the injunction of St. William. The prohibition as to 
meat extends half a mile around ; but without the bounds, lower 
down the mount, is a small building where it is permitted. The 
violation of this rule is said to have often been followed by con- 
dign punishment. It was once popularly believed that forbid- 
den food brought within the sacred enclosure became at once 
corrupt and unfit to eat. And when the hospice was burned 
down in 1611, causing the death of four hundred pilgrims, it was 
attributed to the impiety of some who brought meat with them, 
as no fire had been lighted on the premises. 

The abbey stands on a shelf of the mountain near the summit, 
and is somewhat imposing from its very size. From the terrace 
is a magnificent view extending on one side over fertile Campania, 
and on the other to the plain of Benevento, where Manfred fell, 
and the famous defile of Caudi, or Caudium, at the foot of Mount 
Taburno, where the Roman army was obliged to surrender to 
the Samnites and pass under the yoke at a place still called 
Giogo (or Yoke) di Santa Maria. From the highest point of the 
mountain you can see five provinces, and the view extends from 
the towers of Gaeta to the Bay of Salerno, embracing Naples and 
its enchanting waters, Vesuvius, Pompeii, Capri, Procida, and 
Ischia perhaps the fairest lands on earth. 

We could not look without some emotion at the spot nearer 
at hand where stood the ancient temple before whose altar Virgil 
once expectant waited, thirsting for the true Divinity. Afar off 
could be seen the cliffs that conceal his tomb and the Sibyl's 
cave ; but here, on the mount overlooking them, is enthroned 
Mary uplifting the divine Child whom they foretold, and before 
whom the oracle of Cybele is for ever dumb. 



THERE is still preserved at the Vatican a letter from Henry 
VIII. seeking the long-desired honor of the cardinalate for his 
favorite minister. In this missive to the Roman Pontiff the Eng- 
lish sovereign begs His Holiness to pay the same attention to 
whatever Wolsey says as if it proceeded from his own Lips ; he 
expresses his " extreme anxiety and fervent desire for the day 
when he shall see Thomas Wolsey advanced to the rank of Cardi- 
nal of York a dignity he fully deserves for his genius, learning, 
and many admirable qualities." The courtly Leo hesitated to of- 
fend either the Emperor Maximilian or the French monarch, who 
required similar honors for their own favorites. At length the 
pope wrote to Henry, saying that he could no longer refuse the 
request of so faithful a son of the church as the King of Eng- 
land was then universally acknowledged to be. When King 
Henry received intelligence of Wolsey 's promotion to be a prince 
of the church he was delighted, and, writing to the pope, he de- 
clared : " Nothing in all my life has given me greater pleasure 
than the brief announcing Thomas Wolsey 's elevation to the Col- 
lege of Cardinals. I shall ever regard the distinction your Holi- 
ness has conferred upon my most worthy subject as a favor con- 
ferred upon myself." 

The installation of Wolsey as a cardinal took place at West- 
minster Abbey with all the magnificence of the Roman ritual. 
Dean Collet preached an eloquent sermon on the occasion. Wil- 
liam Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, and John Fisher, Bishop 
of Rochester, were the chief officiating prelates. The ceremony 
lasted several hours. Peers and Commoners flocked thither to do 
him honor ; abbots, bishops, monks, friars, and seculars were pre- 
sent on the occasion ; and the proceedings of the day concluded 
with a sumptuous banquet at the newly-created cardinal's palace, 
at which King Henry and Queen Katharine were present, sur- 
rounded by the flower of the English nobility. Nor were the 
crowd without forgotten ; they were also regaled with a profuse- 
ness most pleasing to the multitude. Modern reflection despises 
lord-mayors' gilt coaches, splendidly-dressed footmen, or cardinals' 
hats, but the philosophy of the early part of the sixteenth century 
was very different. Men delighted in such shows without stop- 
ping to reason as to their utility. Even men who cannot eschew 


honors, yet do not care for them, may in time not only accept but 
esteem them. Monarchs sometimes acquire honor from the re- 
pute of their trusted servants ; and at this period of Henry's life 
the king and his illustrious subject might feel gratified with a 
concession in whose attainment mutual esteem seemed so largely 
to participate. It is not much in the heart of a man of a lofty na- 
ture to be insensible of honors on occasions like this. Wolsey 
soon loved the dignity, at first for his own and the king's sake, 
and then for its authority perhaps for its splendor. The new 
Cardinal of York, recognizing the loftiness of his dignity, was re- 
solved to invest his office with a magnificence rarely witnessed, 
even on the Continent. The king seconded the cardinal's plans 
for a large retinue and superb liveries liveries which dazzled 
and astonished the multitude. Both monarch and minister were 
men of refined and elegant taste ; and the people of London and 
the metropolitan counties unmistakably felt well pleased, in their 
insular pride, at gazing on the pageants issuing in stately splen- 
dor from Greenwich and old Whitehall. Even in that age of gor- 
geous ceremonial, when records were filled Avith elaborate reci- 
tals of cloth of gold, silks, and beautiful tapestries even then, 
amidst jewelled mitres and copes, a cardinal in his scarlet robes 
formed a conspicuous object. But Wolsey was in no manner 
swayed by the vulgar vanity of appearing grand, in that light in 
which the ignorant or the superficial behold the surroundings of 
a great man. Magnificent in all his notions and in all his doings 
in the selection of plate, dress, tapestry, pictures, buildings ; the 
furniture of a chapel, a church, or a palace ; the arranging of gar- 
dens, of flowers, of fountains ; the setting of a ring or the ar- 
rangement of some exquisite jewel ; the forms and etiquette of a 
congress ; a procession in heraldic order ; or at a sumptuous ban- 
quet there was the same regal and classic taste prevailing, the 
same powerful grasp of little things and of great affairs ; a mind, 
a soul as capacious as the sea, and as minute as the sand upon 
the shore when minuteness was required. 

Such was the social and, in part, political bearing of the Cardi- 
nal of York. He went far to civilize the British nobles, to elevate 
the taste of the commercial classes, and to accustom the people 
to distinguish between the barbaric profusion of the past and 
the treasures of beauty which Science and Art, working with the 
same materials, now opened to their awakening discernment. 
On no occasion did the universality of Wolsey 's genius for orga- 
nization display itself more signally than at the meeting of the 
French and English monarchs on the " Field of the Cloth of 


Gold." There Wolsey was studied by all, and to all seemed in- 
exhaustible in the graces of his bearing and the aptitude of his 
arrangements. King Henry's retinue at the " Cloth of Gold" 
amounted to 3.997 persons and 2,248 horses; the queen's servants 
and guards reckoned 1,200, and 840 horses. Wolsey 's attendants 
were very numerous and the appointments classic and gorgeous. 
Budasus, an eminent Greek scholar and traveller, who was a spec- 
tator of the royal meetings, describes the astonishment he felt 
on viewing such scenes of unparalleled magnificence. 

Of the personal appearance and disposition of Wolsey about 
this time (1519), perhaps the despatches of Sebastian Giustiniani 
are the most correct. 

" The cardinal is now about forty-six years of age, very handsome, 
learned, extremely eloquent, of vast ability, and indefatigable in carrying 
out his projects ; he alone transacts the same business as that which oc- 
cupies all the magisteries and councils of Venice, both civil and criminal ; 
and all state affairs are managed by him likewise, let their nature be what 
it may. The cardinal is pensive and has the reputation of being extreme- 
ly just ; he is the councillor who rules both the king and the entire realm ; 
his enemies accounted him haughty and imperious, yet much more humil- 
ity and moderation than Wolsey possessed could scarcely have escaped the 
imputation. Such a sight as this English cardinal presented was not com- 
mon to the eyes of Christendom. The great nobles could obtain no 
audience of him until after four or five applications foreign ambassadors 
not even then." 

" The Cardinal of York is omnipotent," says Erasmus, writ- 
ing to Cardinal Grunoni. u All the power of the state is cen- 
tred in him," is the observation of Giustiniani ; u he is, in fact, 
ipse rex." The people declared he was " moved by witchcraft or 
something that no man could discover." Yet, undisputed as 
was the supremacy of this great minister, it was surely no more 
than might have been expected. In genius, in penetration, in 
aptitude for business and indefatigable labor, he had no equal. 
All despatches addressed to ambassadors abroad or at home 
passed through his hands; the entire political correspondence of 
the times was submitted to his perusal and waited for his deci- 
sion. Before a single measure was submitted to the Privy Coun- 
cil it was first shaped by Wolsey's hands; he managed it, un- 
aided and alone, when it had passed their approval.* Foxe (Bi- 
shop of Winchester), the only minister of any experience, sel- 
dom attended the royal council ; the Duke of Suffolk dared not 

* Brewer's State Papers. 


offer him opposition, writes the Spanish ambassador; the Duke 
of Norfolk, who had endeavored to thwart the cardinal's author- 
ity, and once had partly succeeded, had been defeated, and 
yielded : Norfolk was too haughty to conceal a temper not less 
imperious than Wolsey's, and wanted the flexibility and cour- 
tesy of manner required in a successful courtier. Wolsey was 
unpopular with the landed interest, many of the representatives 
of which hated him cordially. He also incurred the enmity of 
the lawyers for sustaining the part of the poor client, and of the 
monopolists and commercial people for checking their dishonest 
deeds. It is, however, a pleasing fact to record that the cardinal 
was loved and respected by his clergy for the equity and kind- 
ness with which he governed the diocese of York. His enemies 
were numerous at home and abroad, but Polydore Vergil was 
the most malignant and persistent in falsehood. He was deputy- 
collector of the pope's annats for Cardinal Hadrian in England, 
and Wolsey, having discovered his misappropriation of papal 
moneys, and, further, his intriguing with foreign factions, impri- 
soned him in the Tower. Hence his virulent enmity.* Polydore 
Vergil's imprisonment and subsequent conduct throw fresh light 
on the general character of the man. He remained some nine 
months at the Tower, where he was well treated and made an 
exception to other prisoners. In his captivity he addressed the 
most abject letters to Wolsey for mercy. He told the cardinal, 
with blasphemous servility, that " he had heard with rapture of 
his elevation to the cardinal's high estate, and whenever his emi- 
nence would allow him an opportunity to present himself he 
would gaze and bow in adoration, and his spirit should rejoice in 
him as in God his Saviour "/ In another letter Polydore prayeth 
that his "punishment might be wholly remitted, and Wolsey's 
gifts be perfected in him, even as he himself was perfect." A 
few months subsequent (1516) Polydore Vergil was liberated by 
the cardinal ; he then retired to Hereford and characteristically 
began inditing a series of attacks on the character of Wolsey. 
He affected to sneer at his birth ; charged him with ingratitude 
to his friends ; described his buildings as those of a person pos- 
sessed of no refined taste ; imputed base or sordid motives to him 
as a judge ; ridiculed his cardinal's hat and his gorgeous live- 
ries ; represented him as an ambitious priest, successful only be- 
cause he was unscrupulous; distinguished merely for his under- 
hand intrigues in banishing Dr. Foxe and Archbishop Warham 
from the council chamber; he was neither a scholar nor a gen- 

* Brewer's State Papers of Henry's Reign. 


tleman, but a respectable sort of hedge-priest ; a blusterer in Chan- 
cery, whose administration of justice was a shadow ; a vulgar 
upstart, intoxicated with dignities undeserved; aparvemi, whose 
brain was turned by his gilded chair, the gold fringes of his 
cushion and table-cloth ; his cardinal's hat, which was carried be- 
fore him by some tall man in his livery, and placed conspicuous- 
ly on the high altar in the Chapel Royal when Mass was sung, 
was another proof of his vanity and hypocrisy.* In this strain 
Vergil writes of the man whom but a few months before he de- 
clared to be endowed with every virtue that could adorn the 
state or the church. 

Many statements have been chronicled of the " low birth and 
presumption of the butcher's dog." Lampoons and caricatures 
were circulated by Wolsey's contemporaries, describing him as 
the son of a " petty butcher." But these stories had no founda- 
tion in fact ; his father, Robert Wolci, was what would be 
styled nowadays "a grazier " ; he fed on his own land some two 
hundred head of cattle, which were purchased by the butchers 
of the neighboring towns. In one year a number of his cows 
died of distemper, which for a time embarrassed the family. 
The Wolcis were never rich, but the family was always respec- 
table and loyal to the Plantagenets and their successors. There 
is an entry of an " offering " extant which was made at St. Law- 
rence's Church, Ipswich, " to pray for the sowls of Robert Wolci 
and his wife Joan, the father and mother of the Dean of Lincoln," 
which shows that the family were far above the rank of a 
butcher a class who were, in those days, considered " lowly 
and mean." Besides, the father of the future churchman made a 
will, in which there is no mention of the occupation of a butcher. 
Polydore Vergil reiterates the assertion of Skelton and others as 
to the " saucy son of the greasy butcher " ; yet in a letter to 
Cardinal Hadrian Polydore declares that he " heard from an old 
inhabitant of Ipswich that the cardinal's father was a poor gen- 
tleman who sold cattle to butchers." Anthony Wood, an excel- 
lent authority on this disputed question, indignantly denies that 
Wolsey was a butcher's son. He says that the " family, however 
reduced in circumstances, made a shift to maintain at Oxford 
young Wolsey, where he became a Batchelor of Arts at fifteen 
years of age (1485), having made a wonderful progress in logic 
and phylosophy." Skelton, a friar, was one of the most persis- 
tent in traducing Wolsey's character. Skelton was the friend of 
the noted Simon Fish, which is sufficient to enable us to form an 

* Brewer's State Papers on Wolsey's Times.. 


estimate of his merits. Giustiniani says that two brothers of 
Wolsey " were presented to lucrative livings in the English 
Church under discreditable circumstances." Mr. Brewer does 
not believe this allegation. " I have found/' says he, " no notice 
of either brother or any other member of Wolsey's family, with 
one exception, receiving livings. There is a petition to the car- 
dinal from one John Fayrechilde, son of Elizabeth Wolsey, the 
cardinal's sister, desiring some small place as comptroller of the 
works at Tournai ; but the applicant's name does not occur 
again in connection with any office." 

There seem to be mystery and inconsistency in the conduct 
of Wolsey regarding the divorce of Queen Katharine. It is 
quite impossible to defend his conduct in this case. If Wolsey 
held no political office under the crown the pontiff might have 
placed more confidence in him as a churchman ; but both pope 
and cardinal were politicians of a high and intellectual school, 
and one cannot help reflecting Jiow much the spiritual interests 
of the church were neglected, and the virtue, truth, and honor of 
her ecclesiastics injured, by intermingling in the turmoil and 
deceit of politics. 

I cannot omit noticing, however briefly, a few of Wolsey's 
contemporaries. Another clerical diplomatist enters upon the 
scene in the person of Richard Pace. Dr. Pace was one of the 
remarkable men connected with the early government of Henry 
VIII. , and was long employed in foreign diplomacy. Historians 
make little mention of the name of Pace, and he is seldom no- 
ticed, except to be described as " a knave or a fool." He was 
far from being either. He was faithful, honorable, and patriotic 
as an English diplomatic agent ; yet several historians question 
his integrity and show little real knowledge of the man. Ber- 
genroth, a very reputable authority, says that Pace was friendly 
to the Emperor Maximilian, and subsequently became the secret 
agent of the intriguing and restless Charles V. These declara- 
tions rest upon a memorandum, found at Corunna, of the empe- 
ror's council, in which it was proposed to offer Wolsey " a sop in 
the mouth," and, " if he accepts it, a pension to Dr. Richard 
Pace." * There is no evidence produced by Bergenroth to show 
that these offers were ever made, still less that they were accept- 
ed. A distinguished commentator upon the correspondence and 
secret foreign papers of those times presents an ably written 
memoir of the diplomacy, tact, and rare ability with which Pace 
and Wolsey maintained the interests and the honor of England 

* Bergenroth's State Papers of England and Spain, vol. ii. 


on the Continent. Notwithstanding the friendship which existed 
between the Cardinal of York and Dr. Pace, a failure in some 
diplomatic affair brought upon the latter from the strong hand of 
Wolsey a consignment to the Tower for two years a proof that 
no skill, no previous accord, condoned mistakes made in certain 

During the meeting of Henry, Francis, and their queens at 
the " Cloth of Gold " Dr. Pace, as the Dean of St. Paul's, preached 
before the allies the Latin sermon in the royal chapel. In his 
discourse he congratulated France and England on the meeting 
of their sovereigns, and made an eloquent oration on the bless- 
ings of peace. The religious ceremony on this occasion was 
grand and imposing. Two cardinals, two legates, four archbi- 
shops, and ten bishops were in attendance on Wolsey, who sang 
the High Mass. The air was perfumed with incense and flowers; 
the altars of the church were hung with cloth of gold tissue em- 
broidered with pearls ; cloth of gold covered the walls and desks ; 
basins and censers, cruets, and other vessels of the same mate- 
rials lent a lustre to its service. On the grand altar, shaded by a 
magnificent canopy of large proportions, stood twenty-four enor- 
mous candlesticks and other ornaments of solid gold. Twelve 
golden images of the apostles, as large as children of four years 
old, astonished the sight of the English visitors. The copes and 
vestments of the officiating prelates were cloth of tissue pow- 
dered with red roses, wrought in the looms of Florence and 
woven in one piece, thickly studded with gold, precious stones, 
and pearl-work. The seats and other appointments were of cor- 
responding taste and splendor. A proud contemplation to the 
English onlooker to behold Thomas Wolsey, as the Cardinal of 
York, standing at the great altar of this regal chapel, pronounc- 
ing the benediction, surrounded by four archbishops, two legates, 
ten inferior prelates, two kings and their queens, with the nobles, 
grandees, and fair dames of England and France kneeling in the 
royal presence ; then, as they rose, the sudden burst of enchant- 
ing music, the roar of artillery, and the acclamations of the mul- 
titude without. 

On this memorable occasion there knelt behind the French 
queen a sweet-featured maiden, then in the early spring of life, 
whose mind seemed engrossed with pious influences ; wrapped in 
devotion, she appeared all unconscious of her beautiful presence, 
her speaking hazel eyes turned heavenwards, and her rich black 
hair reaching in silken ringlets to her girdle. This, the fairest 
amongst the galaxy of beauty present, was Nan de Boulein, the 


beloved maid of honor to Queen Claude of France, little dreaming 
then of her wayward fate. 

A few words more as to that worthy priest and faithful diplo- 
matic agent of England, Richard Pace. He was born in Hamp- 
shire in 1482 ; received his early education at Padua, and subse- 
quently was graduated at Oxford ; next he held the office of 
Latin secretary to Cardinal Bainbridge, and resided in Rome for 
some time ; when recalled by his sovereign he entered on the 
diplomatic service. In this department of government he was 
eminently successful. At a later period he was appointed Dean 
of St. Paul's. Both in matters of church and state his adminis- 
trative powers were considerable. He was a man of stern prin- 
ciples, courtly and elegant in his address, unostentatious, bene- 
volent, affable, and condescending. He was an uncompromising 
enemy of the " Reformation " movement, and wrote a book on the 
Laivfulness of Queen Katharine ' s Marriage. Knowing what would 
be the consequences of such a publication, he resigned his livings 
in church and state and retired to Stepney, where he passed the 
remainder of his days " amidst books and flowers." He stood in 
the front rank of Queen Katharine's early friends. After a few 
days' illness he died in 1532, enjoying to the last the friendship 
and esteem of such men as Archbishop Warham, Fisher, Collet, 
and More. 

Next in importance to Pace stood Sir Robert Wingfield, who 
had been a long time ambassador at the court of the Emperor 
Maximilian. He was more remarkable for fidelity to his coun- 
try and for his own personal integrity than for diplomatic sub- 
tlety. He was no match for the wily and eccentric German 
monarch in the person of Maximilian, who was able to read the 
mind of the envoy and improve the knowledge to his own ad- 
vantage. Sir Robert Wingfield belonged to a class of statesmen 
then rapidly disappearing before a younger, more versatile and 
expert generation, of whom Wolsey might be considered the lead- 
ing spirit. Wingfield speaks of himself as living in' the days of 
Henry VI., and of his long experience as a negotiator in Ger- 
many, and the many strange people he met with on the Continent, 
amongst whom was De Rossol, the celebrated Flemish chess- 
player, and story-teller to Louis XII. King Louis assured Carlo 
Logario " that the society of De Rossol drove away his pains 
and made him feel young again." De Rossol's anecdotes of 
Louis, Maximilian, and Wingfield would be a rich melange, if 
preserved. If there were any creature in the world that Wing- 
field abhorred and detested it was a Frenchman. He devoutly 


believed that the French had been at the bottom of all the evils 
that had happened in Christendom during the four hundred 
years preceding-. Maximilian, though no genius himself, found 
little difficulty in managing such an envoy as Wingfield. Both 
were eccentric and attached friends. When Wingfield was re- 
called by Wolsey after his long services, he was appointed to the 
office of chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster, which position he 
held up to his death in 1525, and was succeeded by Sir Thomas 
More. Like his friend Pace, Wingfield was devotedly attached 
to the olden creed, and wrote a little Latin book against Luther 
which is only traditionally known. 

The personal friends and political agents of Wolsey were now 
disappearing from the scene. The divorce question in the case 
of Queen Katharine became a dreadful scandal to the state ; and 
unfortunately the leading churchmen of the time were enlisted 
on the side of the king. A distinguished Protestant jurist is of 
opinion that, " according to the then existing canon law of Chris- 
tendom a law which was undisputed the pope could not legiti- 
mately pronounce a divorce in the case of Katharine of Aragon." * 
Many of the most learned lawyers and theologians at home and 
abroad held similar views on the subject. I must here remark 
that no man could possibly be placed in a more embarrassing 
position than Wolsey was by the ventilation of the divorce ques- 
tion. He was at once the servant of the crown and of the 
church. He essayed to do justice to both, and he failed. He 
was certainly the enemy of the queen, and in her secret corre- 
spondence to Spain she speaks of Wolsey with great bitterness 
and describes him as a hypocrite in religion. 

There has been immense misrepresentation as to the exact 
facts bearing upon the divorce litigation. Burnet, a very notable 
writer upon the Reformation epoch, presents a mass of well-ar- 
ranged falsehoods, which have been " re-dressed by subsequent 
* historians,' " so that it requires more than ordinary research to 
discover the real facts, which are only to be found in the State 
Papers and records of the times. Burnet, to whom I have just 
referred, contends that the king used " no menaces with the 
Oxford professors to send forward a favorable opinion upon the 
divorce question." It happens, however, that at the very time 
Gilbert Burnet made this deliberate assertion there were to be 
seen in the archives of the University of Oxford three letters, in 
the handwriting of Henry Tudor himself, to certain Oxford divines, 
demanding in very menacing language a decision in his favor. 

* Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i. 


Burnet boasted frequently that he was well acquainted with 
King Henry's writing, yet he did not, in his many searches 
amongst the MSS. at Oxford, discover those three letters. 
Honest Henry Wharton, Burnet's contemporary, saw the letters 
in question and read them through. He says: " Considering the no- 
tions of the writer, a tenth part of what he said would be enough 
to terrify his readers [the professors]." * Although the bishops 
visited the university to advocate the king's cause, nevertheless 
men of high principle still remained firm ; but the timid wavered 
and gave an assent, and those who could be purchased were 
quickly tempted. Gold from the royal treasury was liberally 
supplied to the relatives of some ; and in many cases the pro- 
fessors received the " golden angels " themselves. Yet there were 
a few honest men remaining, and their lot was a hard one ; for 
they were marked out for persecution, and when the supremacy 
agitation began they were the first to feel the royal vengeance. 
A reign of terrorism prevailed in Oxford and Cambridge, and it 
became impossible to know what were the opinions of those 
seats of learning. The government spies were to be found in 
every nook of the universities. 

The divorce litigation was protracted for several years and 
was the subject for discussion in all the courts of Europe. 
Queens and noble ladies denounced King Henry as " a licentious 
and abominable person," who was setting the worst of examples 
to his subjects. At last it was agreed that the question should be 
tried in London before the papal legate, Cardinal Campeggio, 
and Wolsey Wolsey, of course, representing the king. Dr. 
Gardyner was the leading counsel for the king, and Bishop 
Fisher for the queen. 

The advent of Campeggio was the occasion of the last na- 
tional reception given to a papal legate in England ; for, al- 
though Cardinal Pole was royally received by Queen Mary and 
Philip, he found a divided nation, and the glories of his outward 
reception were confined to the demonstrations at Southampton, 
Winchester, and London. The progress of Campeggio was a 
continued ovation from his first step on English ground. He 
landed at Deal on the 23d of July, 1528, and was received by 
Richard Foxe, Bishop of Winchester, Lord Cobham, and several 
other notable men, who escorted him to Sandwich. On the fol- 
lowing day he made his public entry into Canterbury, where the 
corporation, clergy, Archbishop Warham, Fisher, Bishop of 

* Lord Herbert's Life of Henry VIII. ; Collier's Ecclesiastical History, vol. iv. ; Hallam's 
Constitutional History ', vol. i. p. 61 ; Anthony Wood ; Dodd, vol. i. 


Rochester, and three lord-abbots in full pontificals received 
him at the gates of the cathedral. The people expressed great 
reverence for the legate, especially the women, who brought 
forth their children along the route from Deal to London to re- 
ceive the apostolic benediction. Stopping two days in Canter- 
bury, he proceeded on his road to Rochester, accompanied by a 
guard of honor numbering five hundred and fifty horsemen. In 
Rochester the legate was entertained at a banquet given by 
Bishop Fisher. From Rochester he was escorted by the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury at the head of one thousand horsemen in 
armor, all wearing gold chains. This body of English gentle- 
men, all devoted sons of the church, excited the admiration of 
the multitude. On the fourth day of the procession Cardinal 
Campeggio reached Blackheath, where he was received by the 
Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, Lord Darcy, and the 
Bishops of Durham and Ely. Twenty-four trumpeters on horse- 
back, dressed in buff jackets and crimson velvet caps, rode before 
the Bishop of Rochester and his clergy. At this point of the 
procession a lively scene took place. Some six thousand matrons 
and their daughters entered an appearance, and were most vehe- 
ment in their acclamations for Queen Katharine. " No Nan Bo- 
leine for us ! " was the indignant shout of the virtuous matrons and 
their fair daughters. " No for a queen " was on every Eng- 
lishwoman's lip. The " divorce agents " of the king, who were 
present, felt disconcerted at the conduct of the women, and Lord 
Surrey waved his hand in disapproval of these manifestations, 
which were met with renewed cries of " No Nan for us ! " About 
this time the women of the middle and lower classes took a lively 
interest in Queen Katharine's cause. They spoke with contempt 
and scorn of the granddaughter of " a London alderman aspiring 
to the position of a queen by such unworthy means. She was 
no better than themselves, and they would not respect her as a 
queen." Anna Boleyn was, however, the victim of her ambitious 
father and of those clerics and nobles who sustained the wicked 
king in all his proceedings. I refer the reader to vol. i. of the 
Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty for a detailed account 
of the " rise and fall " of Anna Boleyn, who has been exceedingly 
misrepresented both by Catholics and Protestants. She was the 
victim of the ambition of a base father, who, under the mask of 
piety, brought ruin upon his family and his friends. Anna Bo- 
leyn's early youth was highly interesting, and her last days were 
truly grand. The whole case has been falsely represented to pos- 
terity. Anna Boleyn was no Lutheran. She detested and ab- 
VOL. xxxiv. 24 


horred Protestantism. In fact, there was no Protestantism in 
England for many years after her death. It has been insinuated 
that Wolsey secretly promoted the Reformation, but the records 
of the times prove that he was an uncompromising enemy of the 
" German heresy," as he described Protestantism. The king and 
all his subjects professed to be Catholic at this period ; but they 
were very indifferent in practice, and many of them who were 
loud in denouncing the "new heresy" would have had little 
scruple in plundering the church and the monastic houses which 
fostered and sheltered the poor and the unfortunate. 

Despite all the evidence on record of popular hostility to the 
divorce of Queen Katharine, Mr. Froude contends that " the na- 
tion was thoroughly united on the divorce question." The con- 
scientious and truthful Dean Hook judges of this case, not from 
the pages of Burnet or such notorious false .witnesses, but from 
contemporary evidence. The dean eulogizes the conduct of the 
women of England on the occasion of the divorce of Queen Ka- 
tharine. " The matrons of England," he observes, " rose up in 
chaste indignation at King Henry's treatment of his wife an 
indignation imparted to their children, and handed on from gen- 
eration to generation, until it has covered with everlasting in- 
famy the name of a once popular king." 

To return to the public procession of the legate. In a mea- 
dow some three miles from London a tent of cloth of gold had 
been erected for a kingly reception and the presentation of nota- 
ble persons to the legate. After an hour's delay the procession 
was re-formed for London, where " excitement, religious enthu- 
siasm, and perhaps curiosity had now become as boundless as 
they might have been in the days of Edward IV., when the peo- 
ple rejoiced in public processions and gloried in the honors 
offered to the Catholic Church and its illustrious dignitaries." 
The nobility rode in advance; then came Cardinal Campeggio 
in magnificent clerical costume, glittering with jewels and pre- 
cious stones; his retinue numbered nearly three hundred; his 
liveries were superb. The procession is described as two miles 
long an extraordinary number of people in those days. The 
number of women was immense. Logario says that five thou- 
sand young virgins walked six deep, all dressed in white ; and 
there were at least twenty thousand matrons from the surround- 
ing counties. 

From St. George's Church to London Bridge the road was 
lined on both sides by monks and clerics, dressed in their vari- 
ous habits, with copes of cloth of gold, wearing gold and silver 


crosses, etc. As the legate passed they threw up clouds of in- 
cense and sang hymns in a most effective chorus. At the foot of 
Old London Bridge four bishops received the cardinal, the peo- 
ple shouted with joy, whilst the roar of artillery from the Tower 
and the river forts rent the air, to use Wolsey's own words, " as 
if the very heavens would fall." " Hundreds of church and ab- 
bey bells," writes Thorndale, " poured forth their clangor with 
the deeper bass of Old St. Paul's." In Grace Church Street the 
London city companies joined the procession ; at Cheapside the 
lord-mayor and corporation of London offered their congratula- 
tions to the illustrious representative of the Roman Pontiff. On 
this occasion Sir Thomas More the greatest lay Catholic of the 
age delivered a Latin oration of much eloquence. When the 
procession reached St. Paul's another grand spectacle was pre- 
sented. The bishops of London and Lincoln, surrounded by 
some hundreds of priests, conducted the Roman legate to the 
high altar, which was magnificently decorated, the month of July 
having largely supplied the gifts of Nature. 

Incense, delicious music, the ringing of silver bells inside the 
grand old cathedral, outside the thunder of artillery and the 
prolonged shouts of the multitude, closed the proceedings of 
the day.* This was one of the last great Catholic demonstra- 
tions which took place in England in connection with the occu- 
pant of St. Peter's Chair. The reception was magnificent be- 
yond precedent. There had been nothing like it seen in Eng- 
land within the reach even of tradition. It must be gratifying 
to the many admirers of Wolsey to learn that the whole affair 
had been suggested, prepared, and finally carried out at the sole 
expense of the great master-mind of the Cardinal of York. But 
there was one presence wanting to complete the splendor of the 
ceremony that was his own. Old state forms or political con- 
siderations might have accounted for the absence of the mon- 
arch and his minister. In the case of the coronation procession 
of Katharine of Aragon, and nearly twenty years later in that 
of Anna Boleyn, the king took no part in the public demonstra- 
tion, but left it in the hands of the people, who always delighted 
in such pageants. 

Five days later another imposing ceremony took place on the 
presentation of the legate to the king. All parties seemed pleas- 
ed, the king and his advisers expressing their willingness to 
abide by the decision of the court of Rome. Wolsey was then 
at the pinnacle of his power, and the king esteemed him as a 

* Brewer's State Papers. 


great and equitable minister. All promised fair ; but there were 
some who could, aware of the mutability of the king's temper, 
pierce the dark cloud which was gathering in the distance. In 
fact, the Cardinal of York was standing on a mine whose explo- 
sive elements were the fierce desires and the prodigality of the 
monarch, on whose honor it was perilous to rely. 

Lingard says that the profound knowledge of canon and civil 
law evinced by Cardinal Campeggio proved him to be a match 
for all the acquirements of Wolsey, Gardyner, and the king. " In 
the legate's private interview with Queen Katharine he urged 
a compromise and advised her to retire to a convent. The 
queen was justly indignant at such a proposition. She contend- 
ed that she had been a lawful and a faithful wife for twenty 
years, and there was no power on earth that could dissolve her 
marriage." * 

Every day the web became more entangled ; evidence, docu- 
ments, and theological opinions were multiplied ; but little faith 
could be placed in any of them. The long-expected trial at last 
took place (June, 1529) in the Parliament Chamber, Blackfriars. 
The character of the witnesses appealed to, the mode of proceed- 
ing, and the evidence mysterious and unconnected as it was 
would have been rejected at once by a common-sense jury of the 
present day. The king and queen appeared in court, the latter 
protesting against the form of the trial and those who were to 
be her judges. King Henry sat in state at the right hand of 
Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio, the queen on the left. Dr. 
Gardyner was the leading counsel for the king. That honest 
and unbending prelate, Dr. Fisher, was the q.ueen's principal ad- 
vocate. At the conclusion of Dr. Gardyner's long and labored 
address in favor of the king's " serious conscientious scruples " 
the queen rose. All eyes were fixed upon the injured wife, the 
noble and dignified queen. A thrilling murmur ran through the 
Justice Hall, filled with the sobs and cries of the honest wives of^ 
London. The queen advanced towards her husband's chair, and, 
throwing herself upon her knees, addressed him in a most elo- 
quent and pathetic speech, and concluded her address by an ap- 
peal to the good feeling and equity of the court. " If there be any 
offence which can be alleged against me" she concluded, " / consent 
to depart in infamy ; if not, then I pray you, in the name of the Holy 
Trinity and the high court of heaven, to do me justice / " In Dodd's 

* Carlo Logario's Notes on the Divorce Litigation. Logario was the Spanish physician to 
Wolsey, and resided many years in London. He was an admirable story-teller and chess-player, 
and had access to the best society in England. 


Church History the reader will find the addresses of both Katha- 
rine and Henry at full length, and somewhat modernized in lan- 
guage. The Latin speech of Dr. Gardyner has not been pre- 
served in a correct form. Logario says that all the speeches were 
in Latin, whilst Polydore Vergil's account is different. Campeg- 
gio could not speak English, and I question if he knew French. 
Fisher and Gardyner must have addressed the court in Latin, or 
else the legate could not discover the arguments put forward at 
both sides. Gardyner was, perhaps, the greatest linguist of all 
concerned in this odious mockery of a judicial inquiry. 

The queen retired amid the applause of the spectators ; 
whilst the populace, who crowded the streets, were vehement in 
cheering the queen, and the words, " Down with old Hal ! " were 
upon the lips of thousands. The crowds of women were espe- 
cially indignant against the king. 

King Henry could at once perceive that the queen had made 
a powerful impression both " within and without " the Justice 
Hall, so he at once attempted a plausible explanation. " The 
queen," he said, " has always been a dutiful and a good wife, and 
that his present suit did not proceed from any dislike of her but 
from the tenderness of his own conscience ; that his scruples had not 
been suggested, but on the contrary discouraged, by the Cardi- 
nal of York ; and that they were confirmed by the Bishop of 
Tarbes ; that he had consulted his confessors and several other 
bishops, who advised him to apply to the pontiff, and that in 
consequence the present court had been appointed, in the deci- 
sion of which, be it what it might, he would cheerfully ac- 
quiesce." * When Henry made this apparently honest declara- 
tion he had the most assured confidence in the secret tactics of 
his unscrupulous agents. Whatever he might at that time be 
deficient in devising, those about him were marvellous in sugges- 
tion ; for, with them, conscience never hesitated. 

The queen, protesting against further proceedings, would not 
appear in court, and was pronounced " contumacious." The 
" trial " was still protracted amid the general indignation of the 
country. Yet we are informed by Puritan writers that the nation 
were desirous of setting the queen aside because she was a 
papist. It is lamentable to see the amount of falsehood printed 
as " historical facts " with regard to the reigns of Henry VIII. 
and his children. 

* Cavendish, Hall, Herbert, and Burnet. Cavendish was present at the trial, and in attend- 
ance on Wolsey ; it is possible that Edward Hall was there as a judge. He was one of a court 
clique in whom Henry had immense confidence. 


On the 23d of July (1529) the king's counsel demanded the 
judgment of the court in this long-litigated scandal. 

Cardinal Campeggio would not be dictated to by the court 
party. He informed the crown lawyers, almost in the king's pre- 
sence, that the judgment must be deferred until the whole of the 
proceedings had been laid before the pontiff ; that he had come 
there to do justice, and no consideration should divert him from 
his duty. He was too old, weak, and infirm to seek the favor or 
fear the resentment of any man living. The royal defendant had 
challenged him and his learned brother, the Cardinal of York, 
as judges, because they were the subjects of her opponent.* 
To avoid any error they had therefore determined to consult the 
Apostolic See, and for that purpose did then adjourn the court 
until October.f 

The Duke of Suffolk, evidently at the suggestion of his royal 
brother-in-law (Henry), striking the table, exclaimed in a ve- 
hement tone that the old saw was now verified : " Never did 
cardinal bring good to England." Campeggio looked with 
withering scorn at Suffolk. In a few minutes Wolsey rose ; a 
breathless silence ensued ; all eyes were now turned on the Car- 
dinal of York, when in that well-known deep and solemn voice 
he addressed the Duke of Suffolk. 

"My Lord of Suffolk," said he, "of all men living you have the least 
reason to dispraise cardinals ; for if I, an humble cardinal, had not been, at 
a certain critical period of your life, you would not at this present moment 
have had a head upon your shoulders wherewith to make such a brag in 
disrepute of us who have meant you no harm and have given you no cause 
of offence. If you, my lord, were the king's ambassador in foreign parts, 
would you venture to decide on important matters without the knowledge 
of him from whom our authority proceeds ? Therefore do we neither more 
nor less than our commission alloweth ; and if any man will be offended 
with us he is an unwise man. Pacify yourself, then, my lord of Suffolk 
and speak not reproachfully of your best friend. You know what friend- 
ship I have shown you ; but this is the first time I ever revealed it, either 
to my own praise or your dishonor." \