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Full text of "The genius of Christianity ; or, The spirit and beauty of the Christian religion"

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VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND, 

Author of "Travels in Greece and Palestine," "The Martyrs," 'Atala," «te. «te. 



^ "^ths nub Complete Crauslation from tl^e ^freiuft. 



WITH A 



Preface, Biograpliical Notice of the Antbr, and Critical and Explanatory Noics. 



Br OHARLES I. WHITE, D.D. 



ELKVENTH RBVI8ED EDITION. 




V 



BALTIMORE : 
PUBLISHED BY JOHN MURPHY & CO. 

PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1875. 



Eotcred according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 

JOHN MURPHY & CO. 

in the Clerk's Ofllce of the District Court of the United States for the 

District of Maryland. 




PREFACE. 



In 1798, while tlie author of this work was residing 
in London, exiled from France by the horrors of the 
Revolution, and gaining a subsistence by the produc- 
tions of his pen, which were tinctured with the skep- 
ticism and infidelity of the times, he was informed of 
the death of his venerable mother, whose last days 
had been embittered by the recollection of his errors, 
and who had left him, in her dying moments, a solemn 
admonition to retrace his steps. The thought of having 
saddened the old age of that tender and religious 
parent who had borne him in her womb, overwhelmed 
him with confusion ; the tears gushed from his eyes, 
and the Christian sentiments in which he had been 
educated returned under the impulses of a generous 
and affectionate heart: '^I loept and I believed." But 
the trouble which hai'assed his mind did not entirely 
vanish, until he had formed the plan of redeeming his 
first publications by the consecration of his splendid 
abilities to the honor of religion. Such was the origin 
of the Genius of Christianity, in the composition of which 
he labored with ''all the ardor of a son who was erect- 
ing a mausoleum to his mother."* 

* Memoires d' Outre-Tombe, vol. i. 
1« d 



6 



PREFACE. 



When this work made its appearance, in 1802, in- 
fulclity was the order of the day in France. That 
l.oauiiful country, whose people had once held so pro- 
minent a rank among the Catholic nations of Europe, 
presented but a vast scene of ruins, the fatal conse- 
<iucnccs of that systematic war which impious sophists 
had waged against religion during the latter half of 
the eighteenth century. The Revolution had swept 
away in its desolating course all the landmarks of the 
ancient society. Churches and altars had been over- 
thrown ; the priests of God had been massacred, or 
driven into exile; asylums of virtue and learning had 
been profanod and laid waste ; every thing august and 
sacred had disappeared. In the political and social 
sphere tlie same terrific destruction was witnessed. 
After a succession of convulsions, which had over- 
i brown the Bourbon dynasty, and during which the 
pai^sions of men had rioted amid the wildest anarchy 
and tlie most savage acts of bloodshed, the chief au- 
thority became vested in a consul whose mission was 
to re-establish social order, and whose efforts in that 
direction were gladly welcomed by the nation, grown 
weary and sick, as it were, of the dreadful calamities 
tliat had come upon them. It was an auspicious mo- 
ment for the fearless champion of Christianity, to 
lierald the claims of that religion whose doctrines con- 
rttitute the only safe guide of the governing and the 
i^ovcrned. But, among a people who to a great extent 
)iad conceived a profound antipathy to the theory and 
pnictice of religion, by the artful and persevering 
•fforts of an infidel philosophy to render the Christian 
name an o]»ject of derision and contempt, a new 



PREFACE. 



metliod of argument was necessary to obtain even a 
hearing in the case, much more to bring back the 
popular mind to a due veneration for the Church and 
her teachings. It would have been useless, when the 
great principles of religious belief were disregarded, 
when the authority of ages was set at naught, to un- 
dertake the vindication of Christianity b}^ the exhi- 
bition of those external evidences which demonstrate 
its divine origin. Men had become deluded with the 
idea that the Christian religion had been a serious ob- 
stacle in the way of human progress ; that, having 
been invented in a barbarous age, its dogmas were 
absurd and its ceremonies ridiculous ; that it tended 
to enslave the mind, opposed the arts and sciences, 
and was in general hostile to the liberty of man and 
the advancement of civilization. It was necessary, 
therefore, in order to refute these errors, to exhibit 
the intrinsic excellence and beauty of the Christian 
religion, to show its analogy with the dictates of na- 
tural reason, its admirable correspondence with the in- 
stincts of the human heart, its ennobling influence 
upon literature and the arts, its beneficent effects upon 
society, its wonderful achievements for the civilization 
and happiness of nations, its infinite superiority over 
all other systems, in elevating the character, improving 
the condition, and answering the wants of man, under 
all the circumstances of life ; in a word, to show, ac- 
cording to the design of our author, not that the Chris- 
tian religion is excellent because it comes from G-od^ hit thai 
it comes from God because it is excellent. 

For this purpose, he passes in review the principal 



r R E F A C E. 



mvsteries and tenets of Christiauitv, draws a compa- 
risen between Cliristian and pagan literature, displays 
the advantages wliieli painting, sculpture, and the 
other arts, have derived from religious inspiration, its 
accordance with the scenes of nature and the senti- 
ments of the heart, describes the wonders of mis- 
sionary enterprise, the extensive services of the mo- 
nastic orders, and conchides with a general survey of 
the immense blessings conferred upon mankind by 
the Christian Church. In displaying this magnificent 
j*icture to the contemplation of the reader, the author 
employs all the resources of ancient and modern 
learning, the information derived from extensive 
tnivel and a profound study of human nature, and 
those ornaments of style which the loftiest poetry and 
the most glowing fancy can place at his command. 
In turn the philosopher, the historian, the traveller, 
and the poet, he adopts every means of promoting the 
great end in view, — to enamor the heart of man with 
the charms of religion, and to prove that she is emi- 
nently the source of all that is "lovely and of good re- 
port," of all that is beautiful and sublime. Among all 
the works of Chateaubriand, none, perhaps, is so re- 
iuarkable as this for that combination of impressive 
floquence, descriptive power, and pathetic sentiment, 
which imparts such a fascination to his style, and 
which caused Napoleon I. to observe, that it was "not 
tJie style of Kacine, but of a prophet; that nature had 
jpveii him the sacred flame, and it breathed in all his 
works." 

Tlie publication of such a work at such a time could 
not but enlist against it a i)()werful opposition among 



PREFACE. 9 



the advocates of infidelity ; but its superior excellence 
and brilliant cbaracter obtained an easy triumph over 
the critics who had attempted to crush its influence. 
In two years it had passed through seven editions ; 
and such was the popularity it acquired, that it was 
translated into the Italian, German, and Russian lan- 
guages. In France, the friends of religion hailed it as 
the olive branch of peace and hope — a messenger of 
heaven, sent forth to solace the general affliction, to 
heal the wounds of so many desolate hearts, after the 
frightfal deluge of impiety which had laid waste that 
unfortunate country. On the other hand, the waver- 
ing in faith, and even they who had been perverted by 
the sophistry of the times, were drawn to a profitable 
investigation of religion, by the new and irresistible 
charms that had been thrown around it. It cannot be 
denied that the Genius of Christianity exerted a most 
powerful and beneficial influence in Europe for the 
good of religion and the improvement of literature. 
The eloquent Balmes has well said: "The mysterious 
hand which governs the universe seems to hold in re- 
serve, for every great crisis of society, an extraordinaiy 

man Atheism was bathing France in a sea of 

tears and blood. An unknown man silently traverses 
the ocean, .... returns to his native soil." .... 
He finds there "the ruins and ashes of ancient temples 
devoured by the flames or destroyed by \dolence ; the 
remains of a multitude of innocent victims, buried in 
the graves which formerly afforded an asylum to per- 
secuted Christians. He observes, however, that some- 
thing is in agitation : he sees that religion is about to 
redescend upon France, like consolation upon the un- 



IQ P R E F A C E. 

fortunate, or the breath of life upon a corpse. From 
tliat moment he liears on all sides a concert of celestial 
harmony ; the inspirations of meditation and solitude 
revive and ferment in his great soul ; transported out 
of himself, and ravished into ecstasy, he sings T\^th a 
tongue of fire the glories of religion, he reveals the 
delicacy and beauty of the relations between religion 
and nature, and in surpassing language he points out 
to astonished men the mysterious golden chain which 
connects the heavens and the earth. That man was 
Chateaubriand."* 

The eloquent work here referred to must, we may 
easily conceive, be productive of good in any age and 
in any country. Although the peculiar circumstances 
that prompted its execution and proved so favorable 
to its lirst success have passed away, the vast amount 
of useful information which it embodies will always 
be consulted with pleasure and advantage by the 
scholar and the general reader; while the "vesture of 
beauty and holiness" which it has thrown round the 
Church cannot fail to be extensively instrumental in 
awakening a respectful attention to her indisputable 
claims. One of the saddest evils of our age and 
coantry is the spirit of indifferentism which infects all 
classes of society; and the question, among a vast 
numlier, is not what system of Christianity is true, but 
V T it is worth their while to make any system 

tlie subject of their serious inquiry. Such minds, 
wholly absorbed by the considerations of this world, 
would recoil from a doctrinal or theological essay with 



amd Catholicity Compared, ^c, p. 71. 



PREFACE. 11 



almost the same aversion as would be excited by the 
most nauseous medicine. But deck religious truth in 
the garb of fancy, attended by the muses, and dis- 
pensing blessings on every side, and the most apa- 
thetic soul will be arrested by the beauteous spectacle, 
as the child is attracted and won by the maternal 
smile. Among unbelievers and sectarians of different 
complexions, who discard all mysteries, who consult 
only their reason and feelings as the source and rule 
of religious belief, who look upon Catholicism as 
something effete^ and unsuited to the enlightenment of 
the age, this work will be read with the most bene- 
ficial results. It will warm into something living, 
consistent, and intelligible, the cold and dreamy specu- 
lations of the rationalist; it will indicate the grand 
fountain-head whence flow in all their fervor and effi- 
ciency those noble sentiments which for the modern 
philosopher and philanthropist have but a theoretical 
existence. It will hold up to view the inexhaustible 
resources of Catholicism, in meeting all the exigencies 
of society, all the wants of man, and triumphantly 
vindicate her undoubted claims to superiority over all 
other systems in advancing the work of true civili- 
zation. 

It was to establish this truth that Balmes composed 
his splendid work on the Comparative Influence of Pro- 
testantism and Catholicity/, and Digby described the Ages 
of Faith, and the Compitum, or Meeting of the Ways. 
These productions are of a kindred class with the 
Genius of Christianity, and the former embraces to a 
certain extent the same range of subject, having in 
view to display the internal evidences of Catholicity, 



12 PREFACE. 

as derived from its bcueficial iiiflueuce upon European 
cix-ilization. But Chateaubriand was the first to enter 
the field again.st the enemies of religion, clad in that 
effective armor wliich is peculiarly adapted to the cir- 
cumstances of modern times. Without pretending in 
the least to question the necessity or detract from the 
advantages of theological discussion, we are firmly 
convinced that the mode of argument adopted by our 
author is, in general, and independently of the prac- 
tical character of the age in which we live, the most 
effectual means of obtainins: for the Church that favor- 
able consideration which will result in the recognition 
of her divine institution. " The foolish man hath said 
in his heart, there is no God."* The disorder of the 
heart, arising partly from passion, partly from preju- 
dice, shuts out from the mind the light of truth. 
Hence, whoever wins the heart to an admiration of the 
salutiiry influences which that truth has exerted in 
every age for the happiness of man, will have gained 
an essential point, and will find little difiiculty in con- 
vincing the understanding, or securing a profitable 
:itt»*ntion to the grave expositions of the theologian 
and the controversialist. 

Such were the considerations that led to the present 
translatiun of the Geniics of Christianity. The work 
was presented in an English dress for the first time in 
England; and the same edition, reprinted in this 
n\vy in 1815, would have been republished now, if 
it harl not been discovered that the translator had 
taken unwarrantiible liberties with the original, omit- 



* Psalm xiv. 1. 



P HE I ACE. 13 



ting innumerable passages and sometimes whole chap- 
ters, excluding sentences and paragraphs of the highest 
importance, those particularly which gave to the au- 
thor's argument its peculiar force in favor of Catholi- 
cism. Such, in fact, was the number and nature of 
these omissions, that, ^vith the introduction of occa- 
sional notes, they detracted, in a great measure, from 
the author's purpose, and gave to a latitudinarian 
Christian itv an undue eminence, which he never con- 
templated. With these important exceptions, and 
various inaccuracies in rendering the text, the transla- 
tion of Mr. Shoberl has considerable merit. In pre- 
paring the present edition of the work, we have fur- 
nished the entire matter of the original production, 
with the exception of two or three notes in the Ap- 
pendix, which have been condensed, as being equally 
acceptable to the reader in that form. Nearly one 
hundred pages have been supplied which were never 
before presented to the public in English. In render- 
ing the text, we have examined and compared different 
French editions ; but there is little variation between 
that of 1854 and its predecessors. Where the sense 
of the author appeared obscure or erroneous, we have 
introduced critical and explanatory notes. Those 
marked S and K have been retained from Mr. 
Shoberl's translation ; those marked T were prepared 
for this edition. In offering this translation to the 
public, we take pleasure in stating that we have made 
a free use of that to which we have alluded, especially 
in the latter portion of the work. We have also con- 
sulted the translation by the Rev. E. O'Donnel, which 
was issued in Paris in 1854. In that edition, liowever, 

2 



14 PREFACE. 



rjoarly one-hall" of the original prodUv3tion has been 
omitted, and the order of the contents has been en- 
tirely changed. 

In conclusion, we present this work to the public 
with the hope that it may render the name of its illus- 
trious author more extensively known among ns, and 
may awaken a more general interest in the study of 
that religion which, as Montesquieu observes, "while 
it seems only to have in view the felicity of the other 
life, constitutes the happiness of this.*' 

The Tkanslator. 

FOmmU t , Md. ApnL, 1856. 



CONTENTS. 



Notice OF THE Viscount DE Chateaubriand 23 

PART I. 

DOGMAS AND TENETS. 
BOOK I. 

MYSTERIES AND SACRAMENTS. 

PAGE 

Chap. I. Introduction 43 

"" IL Of the Nature of Mysteries 51 

III. Of the Christian Mysteries— The Trinity 53 

rV. Of the Redemption 59 

V. Of the Incarnation 66 

VI. Of the Sacraments — Baptism and Penance 67 

VII. Of the Holy Communion 71 

VIII. Confirmation, Holy Orders, and Matrimony.. 75 

IX. The same subject continued — Holy Orders 82 

X. Matrimony 85 

XI. Extreme Unction 91 

BOOK II. 

VIRTUES AND MORAL LAWS. 

Chap. 1. Vices and Virtues according to Religion 93 

II. Of Faith 95 

III. Of Hope and Charity 97 

IV. Of the Moral Laws, or the Ten Commandments 99 

BOOK III. 

THE TRUTHS OF THE SCRIPTURES THE FALL OF MAN. 

Chap. I. The Superiority of the History of Moses to all other Cosmogonies 107 

II. The Fall of Man— The Serpent— Remarks on a Hebrew Word... 110 

III Primitive Constitution of Man — New proof of Original Sin 114 

15 



16 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK IV. 



CONTINUATION OF THE TRUTHS OF SCRIPTURE OBJECTIONS 

AGAINST THE SYSTEM OF MOSES. 

PAGE 

Cbap. I. Chronology H^ 

n. Logography and Historical Facts 122 

III. Astronomy 128 

iV. Continuation of the preceding subject — Natural History — The 

Deluge 133 

V. Youth and Old Age of the Earth 136 



BOOK V. 

THE EXISTENCE OF GOD DEMONSTRATED BY THE WONDERS OP 

NATURE. 

Chap. I. Object of this Book 138 

II. A General Survey of the Universe 139 

III. Orjr.inization of Animals and Plants 141 

IV. Instinit.< of Animals 145 

" W Song of Birds — Made for Man — Laws relative to the cries of 

Animals 147 

VI. Xcst* of Birds 150 

VIJ. Migrations of Birds — Aquatic Birds — Their Habits — Goodness 

of Providence 152 

Vin. Swv-Fowl — In what manner .'serviceable to Man — In ancient times 

Migrations of Birds served as a Calendar to the husbandman 1q6 

IX. The fubjcct of Migrations concluded — Quadrupeds 160 

X. Amphibious Animals and Reptiles 163 

XI. Of Plants and their Migrations 168 

XU. Two Views of Nature 170 

XIII. Pbygical Man 174 

XIV. Love of our Native Country 177 



BOOK VI. 

TOE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL PROVED BY THE MORAL 
LAW AND THE FEELINGS. 

CmAf. I. Deaire of IT >•>!>''. nuy ;„ }^(f^„ - jg^ 

11. Rcmonie ii. loe 187 

^^^^ III. Tbera can b« no Morality if there is no Future State— Presump- 
tiof ' T of the Immortality of the Soul deduced from 

**>*^ '♦" Man for Tombs 190 

rV. Of cm ,n» 19^ 

V. D»o)(er atiU Inutility of Atheism 196 



CONTENTS. 17 



PAOB 

VI. The conclusion of the Doctrines of Christianity — State of Pu- 
nishments and Rewards in a Future Life — Elysium of the 

Ancients 202 

Vn. The Last Judgment 205 

Vin. Happiness of the Righteous 207 



PART II. 

THE POETIC OF CHEISTIANITY. 
BOOK I. 

GENERAL SURVEY OF CHRISTIAN EPIC POEMS. 

Chap. L The Poetic of Christianity is divided into Three Branches: — 
Poetry, the Fine Arts, and Literature — The Six Books of 

this Second Part treat in an especial manner of Poetry 210 

XL General Survey of the Poems in which the Marvellous of Chris- 
tianity supplies the place of Mythology — The Inferno of 
Dante — The Jerusalem Delivered of Tasso 212 

III. Paradise Lost 215 

IV. Of some French and Foreign Poems 222 

V. The Henriad 226 



BOOK II. 
OP POETRY CONSIDERED IN ITS RELATIONS TO MAN. 

Characters. 

Chap. I. Natural Characters 232 

IL The Husband and Wife — Ulysses and Penelope 233 

III. The Husband and Wife continued — Adam and Eve 236 

IV, The Father— Priam 242 

V. Continuation of the Father — Lusignan 246 

VI. The Mother— Andromache 247 

VIL The Son— Gusman 250 

VIIL The Daughter — Iphigenia and Zara 253 

IX. Social Characters— The Priest 256 

X. Continuation of the Priest — The Sibyl — Jehoiada — Parallel be- 
tween Virgil and Racine 257 

XL The Warrior— Definition of the Beautiful Ideal 262 

XII. The Warrior wntinued 266 

2* B 



18 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK III. 

or ruETRY CONSIDERED IN ITS RELATIONS TO MAN THE 

SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

The Passions. 

PAGB 

Chap. I. Christianity has chanped the Relations of the Passions by chang- 

inp the Basis of Vice and Virtue 269 

IL Impn.sjioned Love — Dido 272 

ni. Continuation of the preceding subject— The Phaedra of Racine.. 275 
IV. Continuation of the preceding subject — Julia d'Etange — Clemen- 
tina 277 

V. Continuation of the preceding subject — Eloisa 280 

VI. Rural Love— The Cyclop and Galatea of Theocritus 285 

VII. Continuation of the preceding subject— Paul and Virginia 287 

VIII. The Christian Religion itself considered as a Passion 291 

IX. Of the Unsettled State of the Passions 296 



BOOK IV. 

OF THE MARVELLOUS; OR, OF POETRY IN ITS RELATIONS TO 

SUPERNATURAL BEINGS. 

Chap. L Mythology diminished the Grandeur of Nature — The Ancients 

had no Descriptive Poetry properly so called 299 

IL Of Allegory 303 

in. Historical part of Descriptive Poetry among the Moderns 305 

IV. Uavc the Divinities of Paganism, in a poetical point of view, the 

superiority over the Christian Divinities? .« 309 

V. Char»cter of the True God 312 

VL Of ihe Fpiritfi of Darkness 314 

VII. Of the Saint* 316 

VIII. Of .1... \.,,^,el9 319 

IX. .\| li of the Principles established in the preceding chap- 
ters-Character of Satan 32] 

X. I'ueticAl Machinery — Venus in the woods of Carthage — Raphael 

in the bowers of Eden 324 

XL DrsMD or.fineas — Dream of Athalie 326 

XII. Poetical Machinery continued — Journeys of Homer's gods — 

Satan's expedition in quest of the New Creation 330 

X^TT T»- '''-'vn ILll : 333 

•'' ' ' ■ ■ ■ en Hell and Tartarus — Entrance of Avernus — 

Dante's gate of Hell— Dido— Francisca d'Arimino — Tor 

tD«nU of the damned. 334 

-^ XV. P..' -V 338 

- >tVI. P-, 340 



CONTENTS. 19 



BOOK y. 

THE BIBLE AND HOMER. 

PAGB 

Chap. I. Of the Scriptures and their Excellence Sil 

II. Of the three principal styles of Scripture 345 

HI. Parallel between the Bible and Homer — Terms of Comparison... 352 
IV. Continuation of the Parallel between the Bible and Homer — 

Examples 358 



PART III. 

THE FINE ARTS AND LITERATURE. 
BOOK I. 

THE FINE ARTS. 

Chap. I. Music — Of the Influence of Christianity upon Music 370 

• II. The Gregorian Chant 372 

III. Historical Painting among the Moderns 375 

IV. Of the Subjects of Pictures 378 

V. Sculpture 380 

VI. Architecture — Hotel des Invalides 381 

VII. Versailles 383 

Vni. Gothic Churches 384 

BOOK n. 

PHILOSOPHY. 

Chap. I. Astronomy and Mathematics , 388 

II. Chemistry and Natural History , ... 399 

III. Christian Philosophers — Metaphysicians 404 

rV. Christian Philosophers continued — Political Writers 407 

V. Moralists — La Bruyere 408 

VI. Moralists continued — Pascal 411 



•20 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK III. 

HISTORY. 

PAOB 

CH>r. I. Of Chrieiianity asjt relates to the Manner of Writing History.. 417 
ri. Of the General Causes which have prevented Modern Writers 
from succeeding in History— First Cause, the Beauties of the 

Ancient Subjects ^1" 

ni. Continuation of the preceding— Second Cause,the Ancients have 

exhausted all the Historical styles, except the Christian style 422 
IV. Of the reasons why the French have no Historical Works, but 

only Memoirs ^■^^ 

V. Excellence of Modern History 4:28 

VI. Voltaire considered as an Historian 430 

VII. Philip de Commincs and Rollin 432 

VIII. Bossuct considered as an Historian 433 



BOOK IV. 

ELOQUENCE. 

C«AP. I. Of Christianity as it relates to Eloquence 437 

II. Christian Orators — Fathers of the Church 439 

III. Mus3ii!on 445 

rV. Bossuet as an Orator 448 

V. Irfidelity the Principal C.vnse of the decline of Taste and the 

degeneracy of Genius 453 



BOOK V. 

TUE HARMONIES OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION WITH THE SCENES 
OF NATURE AND THE PASSIONS OF THE HUMAN HEART. 

— Chaj>. I. Division of the Harmonies 459 

II. Phvf'irnl Hiirmonicf" 459 

■ III. Of Kuini* in General — Ruins are of two kinds 466 

"■"^ IV. Picturesriuc Effect of Ruins — Ruins of Palmyra, Egypt, &c 469 

""■■ V. Ruins of Christian Monuments 471 

VI. Moral Harmonicr — Popular Devotions 473 



CONTENTS. 21 



PART lY. 

WORSHIP. 
BOOK I. 

CHURCHES, ORNAMENTS, SINGING, PRAYERS, ETC. 

PAGE 

Chap. I. Of Bells .. 479 

11. Costume of the Clergy and Ornaments of the Church 481 

■ III. Of Singing and Prayer 483 

IV. Solemnities of the Church — Sunday 489 

V. Explanation of the Mass , 491 

VI. Ceremonies and Prayers of the Mass 493 

VII. Solemnity of Corpus Christi 496 

VIII. The Rogation-Days 498 

IX. Of certain Christian Festivals — Epiphany — Christmas 500 

' X. Funerals — Funerals of the Great 503 

^ XL Funeral of the Soldier, the Rich, <fcc 505 

XII. Of the Funeral-Servico 507 

BOOK II. 

TOMBS. 

•Chap. I. Ancient Tombs — The Egyptians 511 

II. The Greeks and Romans 512 

III. Modern Tombs — China and Turkey 613 

rV. Caledonia or Ancient Scotland 514 

V. Otaheite 514 

~~*VL Christian Tombs 516 

VII. Country Churchyards 518 

—* VIII. Tombs in Churches 520 

— IX. St. Dennis 522 

BOOK III. 

GENERAL VIEW OF THE CLERGY. 

Chap. I. Of Jesus Christ and his Life 526 

II. Secular Clergy — Hierarchy 531 

III. Regular Clergy — Origin of the Monastic Life 540 

IV. The Monastic Constitutions 544 

V. Manners and Life of the Religious — Coptic Monks, Maronites,<fec. 548 

VI. The subject continued — Trappists — Carthusians — Sisters of St. 
Clare — Fathers of Redemption — Missionaries — Ladies of 

Charity, &c 551 



22 CONTENTS. 

BOOK IV. 

MISSIONS. 

PAOl 

Chap. I. General Survey of the Missions 557 

II. Missions of the Levint '. ^63 

III. Missions of China ^^^ 

rV. Missions of Paraguay— Conversion of the Savages 571 

V. Missions of Paraguay, continued— Christian Republic— Happi- 

ness of the Indians ^••' 

VI. Missions of Guiana • ••••• ^^^ 

VIL Missions of the Antilles ^85 

VIII. Missions of New France 589 

IX. Conclusion of the Missions 598 

BOOK V. 

MILITARY ORDERS OR CHIVALRY. 

Cbap. I. Knights of Malta 600 

II. The Teutonic Order 604 

III. The Knights of Calatrava and St. Jago-of-the- Sword in Spain.. 605 
rV. Life and Mannerg of the Knights c. 608 

BOOK VI. 

SERVICES RENDERED TO MANKIND BY THE CLERGY AND BY 
THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION IN GENERAL. 

Chap. I. Immensity of the Benefits conferred by Christianity 619 

II Hofpitnls 620 

IIL Hotel-Dlcu- Gray Sisters 626 

IV. Foundling Hospitals — Ladies of Charity — Acts of Beneficence.. 630 
V. Education — Schools — Colleges — Universities — Benedictines and 

Jesuits 6.33 

VI. PffpcH and Court of Rome — Modern Discoveries 638 

VII, Agriculture 644 

VIII, Towns and Villages- Bridges— High-Roads 647 

IX. Art»<, .Manufactures, Commerce 65] 

X. Civil and Criminal Laws 653 

XT. P'.litirM and Government 658 

XII, «»tn<.ral Uconpitulation ...., 664 

ZIII. What the Pre«<nt State of Society would be had not Chris- 

iity appeared in the World — Conjectures — Conclusion 668 



VoTBt. 



•!• 



687 



NOTICE 



OF THE 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND.* 



Eene Francis Augustus, Yiscount de Chateau- 
briand, was born at Saint-Malo, in France, on the 
4th of September, 1768. His family, on the paternal 
side, one of the most ancient in Brittany, descended 
in a direct line, by the barons of Chateaubnand, from 
Thierri, grandson of Alain m., who was the sovereign 
of the Armorican peninsula. Having commenced his 
classical studies at the college of Dol, he continued 
them at Rennes, where he had Moreau for a rival, 
and completed them at Dinan in the company of 
Broussais. Of a proud disposition, and sensitive to a 
reprimand, young Chateaubriand distinguished him- 
self by a very precocious intellect and an extraor- 
dinary memory. His father, having destined him for 
the naval profession, sent him to Brest for the purpose 
of passing an examination ; but having remained 
some time without receiving his commission, he re- 
turned to Combourg, and manifested some inclination 
for the ecclesiastical state. Diverted, however, from 
this project by the reading of pernicious books, he 

* Compiled chiefly from an article in Feller's Dictionnaire Historique, 

23 



24 NOTICE OF THE 

exchanged his sentiments of piety for those of infi- 
delity, and in his solitary situation, with the passions 
for his guides, he hecame the sport of the most ex- 
travagant fancies. Weary of life, he had even to 
struLTLClo against the temptation of committing suicide; 
but he was relieved from these sombre thoughts by 
the influence of his eldest brother, the Count of Com- 
bourg, who obtained for him a lieutenancy in the regi- 
ment of Navarre. After the death of his father, in 
1786, he left his military post at Cambrai, to look after 
his inheritance, and settled with his family at Paris. 
Throuirh the means of his brother, who had married 
Mademoiselle de Rosambo, grand-daughter of Males- 
herbes, he was introduced into society and presented 
at court, which obtained for him at once the rank of a 
captiiin of cavalry. It was designed to place him in 
the order of Malta ; but Chateaubriand now began to 
evince his literary predilections. He cultivated the 
society of Ginguene, Lebrun, Champfort, Delisle de 
Salles, and was much gratified in having been per- 
mitted, through them, to publish in the Almanack des 
3fitscs a poem which he had composed in the forest 
of Combourg. In 1789 he attended the session of the 
States of Brittany, and took the sword in order to 
repnlse tlie mob that besieged the hall of assembly. 
On his return to Paris, after the opening of the States- 
general, he witnessed the first scenes of the revolu- 
tion, and in 1790 he quit the service on the occasion 
of a revolt that had taken place in the regiment of 
Navarre. Alarmed by the popular excesses, and hav- 
ing a great desire to travel, he embarked in January, 
1791, fur the United SUites of America. He hoped, 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 25) 



with the advice and support of Malesherbes, to dis- 
cover a north-west passage to the Polar Sea, which 
Hearn had ah-eadj descried in 1772. A few days after 
his arrival at Baltimore, he proceeded to Philadelphia, 
and having a letter of introduction to General Wash- 
ington from Colonel Armand, (Marquis de la Pouerie,) 
who had served in the war of American Independence, 
he lost no time in calling on the President. Washing- 
ton received him with great kindness and with his 
usual simplicity of manners. On the following day, 
Chateaubriand had the honor of dining with the Pre- 
sident, whom he never saw afterward, but whose cha- 
racter left an indelible impression upon his mind. 
*' There is a vh'tue," he says, "in the look of a great 
man,"* On leaving Philadelphia, he visited 'Ne^Y 
York, Boston, and the other principal cities of the 
Union, where he was sui'prised to find in the manners 
of the people the cast of modern times, instead of that 
ancient character which he had pictured to himself. 
From the haunts of civilized life he turned to those 
wild regions which were then chiefly inhabited by the 
untutored savage, and as he travelled from forest to 
forest, from tribe to tribe, his poetical mind feasted 
upon the grandeur and beauty of that virginal nature 
which presented itself to his contemplation. At the 
falls of Niao:ara he was twice in the most imminent 
danger of losing his life, by his enthusiastic desire to 
enjoy the most impressive view of the wonderful 
cataract. 

While thus setting to profit his opportunities of ob- 



* Memoires d' Outre- Tovibe. 



25- NOTICE OF THE 

servation in the new world, Chateaubriand learned 
from the public prints the flight and capture jf Louis 
XVI., and the progress of the French emigration. 
lie at once resolved ii'pon returning to his native 
country. After a narrow escape from shipwreck, he 
arrived at Havre in the beginning of 1792, whence he 
proceeded to St. Malo, where he had the happiness of 
again embracing his mother. Here also he formed a 
matrimonial alliance with Mademoiselle de Lavigne, a 
lady of distinction. A few months after, in company 
with his brother, he set out for Germany with a view 
to Join the army of French nobles w^ho had rallied in 
defence of their countiy. At the siege of Thionville, 
his life was saved by the manuscript o^ Atala^ a literary 
production which he carried about him, and which 
turned a shot from the enemy. He was, however, 
severe) v wounded in the thio-li on the same occasion, 
and, to add to his misfortunes, lie was attacked with 
the small-pox. In this sufferins: condition he under- 
look a journey of six hundred miles on foot, and was 
more than once reduced to the very vero:e of the o-rave* 
by the pressure of disease and the extraordinai-y priva- 
tions he was compelled to undergo. One evening he 
Htretehed himself to rest in a ditch, from which he 
never expected to rise. In this situation he was dis- 
covered by a party attached to the Prince of Ligne, 
who threw him into a wagon and carried him to the 
walls of Xamur. As he made his way through that 
<-ity, crawling on hi^ knees and hands, he excited the 
c(>mj)a.S8ion of some good women of the place, Avho 
attbrdod liiin what assistance they could. Having at 
length reached Brussels, he was -there recognised" by 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 27 



his br( tlier, who liapj)eiied to meet him, and irom 
whom he received every aid and attention. Though 
far from having' recovered his strength, he left this 
place for Ostend, where he embarked in a fisherman's 
boat for the Isle of Jersey. Here he met with a por- 
tion of his family who had emigrated from France, 
and amono^ whom he received the attentions which his 
suffering condition demanded. He soon after repaired 
to London, where he lived for some time in a state of 
poverty. Too haughty to apply for assistance to- the 
British government, he relied altogether upon his own 
efforts for the means of subsistence. He spent the 
day in translating, and the night in composing his 
Essay on Revolutions. But this incessant labor soon 
undermined his health, and there being moreover 
little to do in the way of translating, the unfortunate 
exile experienced for some days the cravings of hun- 
ger. Happily, at this juncture, his services were re- 
quested by a body of learned men who, under the direc- 
tion of the pastor of Beccles, were preparing a history 
of the county of Suffolk. His part of the labor con- 
sisted in explaining some French manuscripts of the 
twelfth century, the knowledge of which was neces- 
sary to the authors of the enterprise. 

On his return to London, Chateaubriand completed 
his Essai sur les Revolutions^ which was published in 
1797. This work produced quite a sensation, won for 
him the commendations and sympathy of the French 
nobility tlien in England, and placed him in relation 
with Montlosier, Delille and Fontanes. He was sorely 
tried, however, by the afi9.ictions of his family. He 
had received the distressing intelligence that his bro- 



28 NOTICE OF THE 

tlier and sister-in-law, with his friend Maleshv^rbes, 
bad been guillotined by the revolutionary harpies, 
and that his wife and sister had been imprgoned at 
Kcnnes, and his aged mother at Paris. This pious 
lady, after having sulFered a long confinement, died in 
171>8, with a prayer on her lips for the conversion of 
her son. Youni>: Chateaubriand was not insensible to 
this prayer of his venerated parent. " She charged 
one of my sisters," he writes, "to recall me to a sense 
of tliat religion in which I had been educated, and my 
sister made known to me her wish. When the letter 
reached me beyond the water, my sister also had de- 
parted this life, having succumbed under the effects of 
her imprisonment. Those two voices coming up from 
the grave, and that death which had now become the 
interpreter of death, struck me with peculiar force. I 
became a Christian. I did not yield to any great su- 
pernatural liglit : my conviction came from the heart. 
I wept, and 1 believed." His ideas having thus under- 
gone a seVious change, he resolved to consecrate to 
religion the pen which had given expression to the 
skepticism of the times, and he planned at once the 
inmiortal \\'ork, Lc Genie du Christianisme. 

As soon as Buonapane had been appointed First 
Consul, Chateaubriand returned to France under an 
assumed name, associated himself with Fontanes in 
the editorship of the llercure, and in 1801 published 
h'la Atala. This romance, attacked by some, but en-" 
thurtiastically received by the greater number, was 
eminently successful, and added to the circle of the 
author's friends many illustrious names. Madame 
Baccioclii and Lucien Buonaparte became his protec- 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND). 29 



tors, while he was brought into intercourse with Jou- 
bert, cle Bonalcl, La Ilarpe, Chenedolle, Mesdames 
Recamier and de Beaumont. His design, in the pub- 
lication of Aiala, was to introduce himself to the 
public, and to prepare the way for the Genie dii C/iris- 
{ianisme, which appeared in 1802. ^o sooner was it 
issued from the press, than the disciples of Yoltaire 
stamped it as the offspring of superstition, and pamph- 
leteers and journalists united in ^dsiting the author 
and his work with proud contempt ; but the friends of 
religion and of poetry applauded the intentions and 
admired the talents of the writer. 

Buonaparte, who was at this time busy with the con- 
cordat, was desirous of seeing the man who so ably 
seconded his views ; and, with the hope of attaching 
him to his fortune, appointed him first secretary of 
Cardinal Fesch, then ambassador to the Court of 
E-ome. When the new diplomatist was presented to 
Pius VII., this venerable pontiff was reading the Genie 
du CJmstianisme. The honors of the French embassy 
had no o-reat attractions for our author. Averse to 
being an instrument of the tortuous policy which it 
began to display, he resigned his post and returned to 
Paris. E^apoleon, sensible of his eminent abilities, 
sought rather to conquer than to crush his independ- 
ent spirit, and appointed him minister plenipotentiary 
to the Valais. He received this commission the day 
before the Duke d'Enghien, who had been seized on 
foreign territory, in contempt of the law of nations, 
was shot in the ditch of Vincennes. That verv even- 
ing, while fear or astonishm-ent still pervaded the 
minds of all, Chateaubriand sent in his resignation. 



30 NOTICE OF THE 

Napoleon could not but feel the censure implied in 
this bold protestation, which was the more meritorious 
as it was the only expression of fearless opposition to 
his prose riptive measure. He did not, however, betray 
his displeasure, nor did he disturb the courageous 
writer in whom he began to detect an enemy ; on the 
contrary, in order to draw him into his service, he 
made him every ofter that could flatter his interest or 
ambition. The refusal of Chateaubriand to accept any 
post under the consular regime made him obnoxious 
to Napoleon, who gratified his resentment by crippling 
the literary resources of his political adversary. 

Under these circumstances, he paid a visit to Ma- 
dame de Stacl, who had become his friend by a com- 
munity of sentiment and misfortune, and who was 
living in exile at Coppet. The following year — 
180G — he executed his design of a pilgrimage to 
the Holy Land. Revisiting Italy, he embarked for 
Greece, spent some time among the ruins of Sparta 
and the monuments of Athens, passed over to Smyrna, 
thence to the island of Cyprus, and at length 
reached Jerusalem. Here, ha\dng venerated the relics 
of |lie noble crusaders, and especially that tomb 
"which alone will have nothing to send forth at the 
end of time," he sailed for Egypt, explored the fields 
of Carthage, passed over to Spain, and amid the ruins 
of tlie Alhambra wrote Le dernier des Abmcerages. On 
his return to France, in May, 1807, he published in the 
Mercure, which partly belonged to him, an article 
which greatly incensed the government against him. 
The emperor spoke of having -him executed on the 
steps of the Tuileries, but, after havincr issued the 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 31 



order to arrest him, lie was satisfied witli depriving 
him of his interest in the Mercury. Chateaubriand 
now retired to his possessions near Aulnay, where he 
wi'ote his Itineraire, Mo'ise, and Les Martyrs. When 
the first-mentioned work was about to appear, in 1811, 
the author was notified by the government that the 
publication would not be permitted, unless he would 
introduce into its pages a eulogy of the emperor. 
Chateaubriand refused to submit to such a condition ; 
but having been informed that his publisher would 
sufier materially by the suppression of the work, he 
was induced by this consideration, to do, in some 
measure, what neither fear nor personal interest could 
extort from him. In complying with the requisition 
of the authorities, he alluded in truthful lans^uao-e to 
the exploits of the French armies, and to the fame of 
their general who had so often led them on to victory ; 
but he carefully abstained from signalizing the acts of 
a government whose policy was so much at variance 
with the principles which he professed. 

Buonaparte had still some hope of gaining over the 
independent and fearless writer. When a vacancy 
had occurred in the French Academy by the death of 
Chenier, the situation was oftered to Chateaubriand, 
who was also selected by the emperor for the general 
superintendence of the imperial libraries, with a salary 
equal to that of a first-class embassy. Custom, how- 
ever, required that the member-elect should pronounce 
the eulogy of his predecessor ; but in this instance tho 
independence of Chateaubriand gave sufficient reason 
to think that, instead of heralding the merit of Che- 
nier, who had participated in the judicial murder of 



32 NOTICE OF THE 

Louis X^^I., lie would denounce in unmeasured terms 
the crimes of the French Revolution. His inaugural 
address having been submitted, according to custom, 
to a committee of inspection, they decided that it 
could not be delivered by the author. The emperor, 
moreovei, having obtained some knowledge of its con- 
tents, which formed an eloquent protest against the 
revolutionary doctrines and the despotic tendencies 
of the existing government, he w^as exasperated against 
tlio writer, and in his excitement he paced his room 
tu and fro, striking his forehead, and exclaiming— 
''Am I, then, nothing more than a usurper? Ah, poor 
France! how much do you still need an instructor !" 
Hie admission of Chateaubriand to the Academy was 
indefinitely postponed. 

But the star of Buonaparte had now begun to w^ane. 
The allied armies having entered France, Chateau- 
briand openly declared himself in favor of the ancient 
dynasty. liis sentiments were unequivocally expressed 
in a pamphlet, which he published in 1814, under the 
title of Buonaparte et les Bourbons, and w^hich Louis 
XVTTL acknowledged to have been w^orth to him an 
army. Upon the restoration of this monarch to the 
throne, Chateaubriand was appointed ambassador to 
Sweden ; but he had not j^et taken his departure, when 
it was announced that Buonaparte had again appeared 
on the soil of France. Our author advised the king to 
await his rival in Paris ; but this suggestion was not 
followed. Louis XVTIL proceeded to Gand, where 
Chat('aul)riand was a member of his council, in the 
capacity of Minister of the Interior, and drew up an 
able report on the condition of France, wiiich waa 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 33 



coDSidered as a political iiiaDifesto. After the second 
restoration of the Bourbons, he declined a portfolio in 
connection with Fouchd and Talleyrand. Called to a 
seat in the House of Peers, he attracted considerable 
attention by some of his speeches. I^s'ot less a friend 
of the Bourbons than of the liberties guaranteed by 
the charter, he endeavored to conciliate the rights of 
the throne with those of the nation ; and he beheld 
with indignation men who had been too prominent 
during the revolutionary period, admitted to the royal 
councils and to various offices of the administration. 
Under the influence of these sentiments he published, 
in 1816, a pamphlet entitled La Monarchie selon la 
Charie, which was an able and popular defence of con- 
stitutional government ; but by the order of de Gazes, 
president of the council, the work was suppressed, and 
its author, although acquitted before the tribunals, 
was no longer numbered among the ministers of state. 
Deprived of his station and of his income, Chateau- 
briand was compelled to dispose of his library as a 
means of subsistence. At the same time, he esta- 
blished the Conservaieur, a periodical opposed to the 
llinerve, the ministerial organ, and, in conjunction 
with the Duo de Montmorency and others, he carried 
on a vigorous war against the favorite of the crown. 
The cabinet of de Cazes could not withstand such an 
antagonist ; the daily assaults of the Conservaieur made 
it waver, and the assassination of the Duke of Berry 
completed its downfall. On the accession of M. de 
Villele to power, Chateaubriand accepted the mission 
to Berlin. While he occupied this post, he won the 

attachment of the royal family, the confidence of the 

c 



34 NOTICE OF THE 

Prussian ministers, and the intimate friendship of the 
Duchess of Cumberland. In 1822, he succeeded M. 
de Gazes as tlie representative of France at the court 
of St. James, and soon afterward crossed the Alps as a 
delegate to the Congress of Verona. Having distin- 
guished himself in this assembly by eloquently plead- 
ing the cause of Greece, and defending the interests 
of his own country in relation to the Spanish war, he 
returned to France and became Minister of Foreign 
Affairs. AMiile he held this station, he succeeded in 
effecting the intervention of his government in behalf 
of Ferdinand VII., not^^athstanding the opposition of 
M. de Villele. He could not, however, maintain his 
position long, with the antipathies of the king and the 
jealousy of his prime minister against him. He ac- 
cordinii:lv retired from the cabinet in 1824, and re- 
entered the ranks of the liberal opposition, of which 
he soon became the leader. The contributions of his 
ppn to the columns of the Journal des Debats allowed 
not a moment's truce to the ministry. He assailed all 
the measures of the cabinet ; the reduction of rents, 
the rights of primogeniture, the law of sacrilege, the 
dissohition of the national guard, all were denounced 
l)y him with a vigor and constanc}^ which accom- 
plished tlie fiiU of M. de Villele. 

Such was the state of things when Louis XVHI. 
wa.s suhimoned from life; and Chateaubriand, care- 
fully distinguishing the cause of the dynasty from that 
of iw niiL-isters, who, according to him, were unworthy 
of their position, published a pamphlet entitled Le roi 
est mort^ Vive Ic roi! which was a new proof of his de- 
votcdness to the Bourbons. After the inauguration 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 35 



of Charles X. and the formation of the Martio:nac cabi- 
net, he accepted a mission to Rome, after having de- 
clined the oiier of a ministerial position. Upon the 
accession, however, of Prince Polignac to the office of 
Foreign Affairs, he immediately sent in his resigna- 
tion, and used his influence against the administration. 
The events which soon followed justified his political 
views. The fatal ordinances of the government, in 
July, 1830, against the liberty of the press and the 
right of suffrage, precipitated a revolution, w^hich re- 
sulted in the exile of the elder branch of the Bourbons. 
In this crisis, Chateaubriand made an eloquent protest, 
in the House of Peers, against the change of dynasty, 
and advocated with all his ability the recognition of 
the Duke of Bordeaux and the appointment of a re- 
gent during his minority; but his efforts we-re fruit- 
less, and the Duke of Orleans rose to powder, under the 
name of Louis Philippe. 

Ui^willing to pledge himself to this new state of 
things, he relinquished his dignity of peer of the realm, 
with his public honors and pensions, and retired poor 
into private life. The following year, however, he was 
roused from his political slumbers, and he published a 
pamphlet on the Noucelle JRestauration, and, in 1832, a 
Memoire sur la Capiivite de Madame la Dachesse de Berry, 
whom he had visited in her prison ; and in 1833 appeared 
another work, entitled Conclusions. This last produc- 
tion was seized by the government, and tlie author 
was arraigned before the tribunals, but was acquitted 
by the j\ ry. After a visit to Italy and the south of 
France, Chateaubriand paid his respects to the family 
of Charles X., at Prasrue. On his return to Paris, ho 



36 NOTICE OF THE 

took no part i i public affairs, and left his domestic 
privacy only to visit the Abbaye-aux-Bois, where Ma- 
dame ]\ecaniier assembled in her mansion the flower 
of the old French society. During the remainder of 
liis lite, he was occupied in the study of English litera- 
ture, in writing the Life of the Abbe de Ranee, and pre- 
{►aring his Maaoires d' Outre -Tomb e. The political revo- 
hition of February, 1848, which hurled Louis Philippe 
from the throne, did not surprise him, because he had 
predicted it in 1830. Drawing near to his end when 
the insurrection of June broke forth at Paris, he spoke 
with admiration of the heroic death of the archbishop, 
and, having received the last rites of religion with 
great sentiments of piety, he expired on the 4th of 
July, 1848. His remains were conveyed to St. Malo, 
his native city, and, in compliance with his own re- 
quest, were deposited in a tomb which the civil autho- 
nty had prepared for him under a rock projecting into 
Liic sea. M. Ampere, in the name of the French 
Academy, delivered an address on the spot, and the 
Duke de Xoailles, who succeeded him in that illus- 
trious society, pronounced his eulogy at a public 
session held on the 6th of December, 1849. 

Chat43aubriand had rather a haughty bearing, and 
-poke little. He was fond of praise, and bestowed it 
libenilly upon others. With republican tastes, he de- 
fended and served the monarchical system as the esta- 
1' i ordur, and was devoted to the Bourbon dy- 

nasty as a matter of honor. His political sentiments 
never changed, and he never ceased to be the advo- 
wite of enliglitened liberty. His * religious views once 
fonncd, lie vindicated them by his writings, and 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 37 



honored them in the practice of his life. His disin- 
terestedness was equal to his genius, and his beneli- 
cence was continually seconded b}^ that of his wife. 
They were the founders of the asylum Marie Thereie 
at Paris, a home for clergymen who are disabled by 
infirmity. 

The works of Chateaubriand are : ^ssai Wstorique, 
Politique, et Moral, sur les Revolutions Andennes et Modernes, 
coiisiderees dans leur rapi:)ort avec la Revolution Frangaise. 
Londres, 1797, in 8vo, tome i. In this w^ork, the au- 
thor, in his attempts to assimilate the events and pei- 
sonages of the French Revolution to those of antiquity, 
displays more imagination than reflection. The etyle 
as well as the substance of the volume betrays the 
youth and inexperience of the writer. He completed 
this Essai in 1814, observing that his political views 
had suffered no change. This was in fact true, as he 
espoused in his work the principles of constitutional 
monarchy, to which he had alwaj^s adhered. To the 
honor of the author, he did not assert the same irre- 
ligious sentiments that had appeared in the Essai. 
These he nobly retracted in a series of notes which he 
added to the work, without deeming it necessary to 
expunge the objectionable passages from, the context. 

Atcda, oil les Amours de deux Sauvages dans le Desert. 
Paris, 1801, in 18mo. This little romance has been 
translated into several languages, and derives a sin- 
gular charm from the vivid descriptions and impas- 
sioned sentiments which it contains. Religion, how- 
ever, has justly censured the too voluptuous character 
of certain ] assages, which are unfi.t for the youth- 
PqI eye. 



38 NOTICE OF THE 

Le Gink da C hristianisme ; or, Th/^. Genhts of Chris- 
ilanity. Paris, 1802, 3 vols. 8vo. Of all the works of 
Ohateaubriaiid, this had the happiest influence upon 
Jiis ai^e and country. Voltaire and his school had 
loo well succeeded in representing the dogmas of 
('hristianitv as absurd, its ceremonial ridiculous, and 
its intluencc hostile to the progress of knowledge. 
But Chateaubriand, by the magic power of his pen, 
produced a revolution in public sentiment. Address- 
ing himt^elf chiefly to the imagination and the heart, 
Le coni[>ares the poets, philosophers, historians, orators, 
8 -^(1 artists of modern times with those of pagan anti- 
quity » and shows how religion dignifles and improves 
Ell that breathes its hallowed inspiration. The inaccu- 
r:\cics of thought and expression which appeared in the 
first edition, were corrected in the subsequent issues of 
the work. 

/V' //(,', an episode of the Genie da C hristianisme. Paris, 
1807, iu 12nio. In this Action the writer depicts the 
a^lvantages of religious seclusion, by showing the 
wretchedness of solitude where God is not the sustain- 
\i\i^ thought iu the soul of man. 

Lcs Martyrs; oa, Le Triomphe de la Religion Chretienne, 
I'aris, 1810, 3 vols, in 8vo. The subject and characters 
CI tills work are borrowed from antiquity, sacred and 
profane. The author proves what he advances in his 
Genim of C hrisilaniti/ — that religion, far more than 
mythology, ministers to poetic inspiration. The ex- 
piring civilization of paganism, Christianity emerging 
from the catacombs, the manners of the first Chris- 
tians and those of the barbarous tribes of Germany, 
rt:rni^h tl.. nnthor with a varied and interestin<r theme. 



i 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 39 



which he presents with all the attractions of the most 
cultivated style. 

Itineraire de Paris a Jerusalem^ et de Jerusalem a Paris, 
^c. Paris, 1811, 3 .vols, in 8vo. This work — one of 
the most interesting from the pen of the illustrious 
author — is characterized by beauty and fidelity of de- 
scription, grand and poetic allusions, a happy choice 
of anecdote, sound erudition, and a perfect acquaint- 
ance with antiquity. With the publication of his 
travels in the East, Chateaubriand considered his lite- 
rary life brought to a close, as he soon after entered 
the career of politics, which continued until the down- 
fall of Charles X. in 1830. 

During that period he published a large number of 
works, relating chiefly to the political questions of the 
day. The more important are those entitled De Buona- 
parte, des Bourbons, ^c, 1814; Reflexions Politiques, 1814; 
Melanges de Politique, 1816 ; De la MonarcMe selon la 
Charte, 1816. This treatise may be considered as the 
political programme of the author, and is divided into 
two parts. In the first he exposes the principles of re- 
presentative government, the liberty of thought and 
of the press, &c. ; and in the second he urges the ne- 
cessity of guarding against revolutionar}^ license, and 
points out the rights of the clergy and the popular 
system of public instruction. In his Etudes Historiques, 
2 vols. 8vo, 1826, he lays down three kinds of truth as 
forming the basis of all social order : — religious truth, 
which is found only in the Christian faith; philoso- 
phical truth, or the freedom of the human mind in its 
efiTorts to discover and perfect intellectual, moral, and 
physical science ; political truth, or the union of order 



40 



NOTICE OF THE 



with liberty. From the alliance, separation, or colli- 
sion of these three principles, all the facts of liistoiy 
have emanated. The world's inhabitants he divides 
into three classes: pagans, Christians, and barbarians; 
and shows how, in the lirst centuries of our era, they 
existed together in a confused way,, afterward com- 
miii'^lod in the medieval age, and finally constituted 
the societv which now covers a vast portion of the 
globe. During the same year (1826) the author pub- 
lished his Natchez^ 2 vols. 8vo, containing his recollec- 
tions of America, and Aveniures du dernier des Ahen- 
cerages^ in Svo, — a romance not less charming than his 
Atala, and free from the objectionable character of that 
publication. The works that came from the author's 
pen after his retirement into private life, are, besides 
those mentioned above, Essai sur la Literature Anglaise, 
^., 2 vols. Svo ; Le Paradis Perdu de Milton: traduction 
nouvelk, 2 vols. Svo, 1836 ; Le Congres de Verone, 2 vols. 
8vo, 1838; Vie de VAbhe de Bance, in Svo, 1844,— rather 
a i>icture of the manners of the French court in the 
seventeenth centur}^ than a life of the distinguished 
Trappist But the pen of the immortal wa-iter still 
di.splay3 the vigorous and glowing style of his earlier 
productions, though certain passages criticized by the 
religious press show that it is not unexceptionable. 

The Mcmoires d' Outre- Tomb e, a posthumous work of 
the author, was published at Paris in ten, and has 
been n-printcd in this country in five volumes. Cha- 
teaul>riaiid here sketches with.a bold hand the picture 
of his whole life ; a mixture of reverie and action, of 
misfortune and contest, of glory and humiliation. We 
■ec grouping around him all the prominent events of 



VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 41 



contemporaneous history, which, he explains and clears 
up. A remarkable variety exists in the subject-matter 
and in the tone of this work. The gayest and most 
magnificent descriptions of nature often appear side 
by side with the keenest satire upon society, and the 
loftiest considei»ations of philosophy and morals are 
blended with the most simple narrative. The vanity 
of human things appears here with striking eti:ect, and 
the sadness which they inspire becomes still more im- 
pressive under the touches of that impassioned elo- 
quence which describes them. At times we discover 
in the writer the ingenious wit, and the clear, ex- 
pressive, and eminently French prose, of Voltaire. 
These Memoires, however, are not faultless. The first 
part, in which he portrays the dreamy aspirations of 
his youth, may prove dangerous to the incautious 
reader. Critics charge the author with an affectation 
of false simplicity, with the abuse of neology, and with 
a puerile vanity in speaking either in his own praise 
or otherwise. They pretend, also, that the work is 
overwrought, contains contradictions, and betrays 
sometimes in the same page the changing impressions 
of the author. 

But, whatever the defects of Chateaubriand's style, 
he is universally allowed by the French of all parties to 
be their first writer. '' He is also," says Alison, " a pro- 
found scholar and an enlightened thinker. His know- 
ledge of history and classical literature is equalled only 
by his intimate acquaintance with tjie early annals of 
the Church and the fathers of the Catholic faiih ; 
while in his speeches delivered in the Chamber of 
Peers since the Restoration, will be found not only the 



42 NOTICE OF VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND. 

most eloquent, but tlio most complete and satisfactoiy, 
dissertations on the political state of France during 

that period which are anj'where to be met with 

Few are aware that he is, without one single excep- 
tion, tlie most eloquent writer of the present age ; 
that, independent of politics, he has -produced many 
worK;s on morals, religion, and history, destined for 
lastin<r endurance ; that his writins^s combine the 
stroniTOst love of rational freedom wdth the warmest 
inspiration of Christiaii devotion ; that he is, as it 
were, the link between the feudal and the revolu- 
tionary ages, retaining from the former its generous 
and elevated feeling, and inhaling from the latter its 
acute and fearless investigation. The last pilgrim, 
with devout feelings, to the holy sepulchre, he was the 
first supporter of constitutional freedom in France, 
discarding thus from former times their bigoted fury, 
and from modern their iniidel spirit, blending all that 
was noble in the ardor of the Crusades with all that is 
generous in the enthusiasm of freedom. "'^^ 



* Esiays, Art. Chateaubriand. 



THE 



GENIUS OF CHIUSTIANTTY 



liirt tin iirst. 

DOGMAS AXD TENETS. 



BOOK I. 

MYSTERIES AND SACRAMENXa 
CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Ever since Christianity was first published to the world, it 
has been continually assailed by three kinds of enemies — heretics, 
sophists, and those apparently frivolous characters who destroy 
every thing with the shafts of ridicule. Numerous apologists 
have given victorious answers to subtleties and falsehoods, but 
they have not been so successful against derision. St. Ignatius 
of Antioch/ St. Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons,'^ Tertullian, in his 
Prescriptions,^ which Bossuet calls divine, combated the inno- 

^ Ljnat. Ejiiat. ad Smyrn. He was a disciple of St. John, and Bishop of 
Antioch about A. d. 70. 

^In Hoiresea, Lib. vi. He was a disciple of St. Polycarp, who was taught 
Christianity by St. John. 

^ TertHllian gave the name of Prescriptions to the excellent work he wrote 
against heretics, and the great argument of which is founded on the antiquity 

43 



44 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

vators of their time, whose extravagant expositions corrupted 
the simplicity of the faith. 

Cahinmy was first repulsed by Quadratus and Aristides, philo- 
sophers of Athens. We know, however, nothing of their apo- 
logies for Christianity, except a fragment of the former, which 
Eusebius has preserved.* Both he and St. Jerome speak of the 
work of Aristides as a master-piece of eloquence. 

Tha Pagans accused the first Christians of atheism, incest, 
and certain abominable feasts, at which they were said to partake 
of the flesh of a new-born infant. After Quadratus and Aris- 
tides, St. Ju.stin pleaded the cause of the Christians. His style 
is unadorned, and the circumstances attending his martyrdom 
prove that he shed his blood for religion with the same sincerity 
with which he had written in its defence.^ Athenagoras has 
shown more address in his apology, but he has neither the origi- 
nality of Justin nor the impetuosity of the author of the Apo- 
hxjttic.^ Tertullian is the unrefined Bossuet of Africa. St. The- 
ophilus, in his three books addressed to his friend Autoijchus, 
displays imagination and learning ;"* and the Octavius of Minu- 
cius Felix exhibits the pleasing picture of a Christian and two 
idolaters conversing on religion and the nature of Grod, during a 



walk along the sea-shore.^ 



and authority of the Church. It 'will always be an unanswerable refutation of 
all innovntors that they camo too late ; that the Church was already in posses- 
sion ; and, consequently, that her teaching constitutes the last appeal. Tertul- 
lian lived in the third century. T. 

' Thi? curiou? fragment carries us up to the time of our Saviour himself; for 
Quadratus gays, " None can doubt the truth of our Lord's miracles, because the 
pcrcone healed and raised from the dead had been seen long after their cure; 
»o that many were yet living in our own time." Emeh. Eccles. Hist. lib. iv. K. 

« Ju.-tin, Fumamed the Martyr, was a Platonic philosopher before his con- 
r.»r>ion. lie wrote two Defences of the Christians in the Greek language, 
during a violent persecution in the reign of Antoninus, the successor of 
Adrian. He suffered martyrdom a. D. 167. K. 

>Alhonapora8 was a Greek philosopher of eminence, and flourished in the 
.or,.r,d ^.^nfury. He wrote not only an apology, but a treatise on the rcsur- 
rt •. :.. ! th of which di.spl:iy talents and learning. K. 

* 8t Tbcophilus was BiKbop of Antfoch, and one of the most learned fathers 
of !h«' f t that period. T. 

* He :. .., ;.ed nl the end of the fir.«t century, was Bishop of Antioch, and 
wroi« in (Jrci'k. Sec the elegant tran>I:ifion of the ancient apologists, by the 
Abl>/' de Gourey. 



INTRODUCTION. 45 



Arnobius, tlie rhetorician/ Lactantius/ Eusebius/ and St. Cy- 
prian,* also defended Christianity; but their efforts were not so 
much directed to the display of its beauty, as to the exposure of 
the absurdities of idolatry. 

Origen combated the sophists, and seems to have had the 
advantage over Celsus, his antagonist, in learning, argument and 
style. The Greek of Origen is remarkably smooth; it is, how- 
ever, interspersed with Hebrew and other foreign idioms, which 
is frequently the case with writers who are masters of various 
lano;uao;es.^ 

During the reign of the emperor Julian^ commenced a perse- 
cution, perhaps more dangerous than violence itself, which 
consisted in loading the Christians with disgrace and contempt. 
Julian began his hostility by plundering the churches; he then 
forbade the faithful to teach or to study the liberal arts and 
sciences.'' Sensible, however, of the important advantages of the 
institutions of Christianity, the emperor determined to establish 
hospitals and monasteries, and, after the example of the gospel 
system, to combine morality with religion; he ordered a kind of 
sermons to be delivered in the Pagan temples. 

^ He was an Arian, and flourished in the third century. In an elaborate 
work against the Gentiles, he defends the Christians with ability. K. 

2 He was a scholar of Arnobius. He completely exposed the absurdity of 
the Pagan superstitions. So eminent were his talents and learning, that Con- 
stantine the Great, the first Christian emperor, entrusted the education of his 
son Crispus to his care. Such is the elegance of his Latin style, that he is 
called the Christian Cicero. K. 

^ He was Bishop of Csesarea, and flourished in the fourth century. He is 
a Greek writer of profound and various learning. So copious and highly 
valuable are his works, that he is styled the Father of Ecclesiastical History. 
Constantine the Great honored him with his esteem and confidence: but he was 
unfortunately tinctured with Arianism. T. 

•* He was Bishop of Carthage in the third century, a Latin writer of great 
eloquence, and a martyr for the faith. 

^ Origen flourished in the third century. He was a priest of Alexandria. 
His -voluminous works, written in Greek, prove his niety, active zeal, great 
abilities, and extensive learning. K. 

^ Julian flourished at the close of the fourth century. He became an apos- 
tate from Christianity, partly on account of his aversion to the family of Con- 
stantine, who had jiut several of his relatives to death, and partly on account 
of the seductive artifices of the Platonic philosophers, who abused his credu- 
lity and flattered his ambition. K. 

'' Socr. iii. ch. 12. 



40 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

The sophists, by whom Julian was surrounded, assailed the 
Christian religion wi^h the utmost violence. The emperor him- 
self did not disdain to combat those whom he styled contemptible 
On/ Hams. The work which he wrote has not reached us; but 
St. Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria, quotes several passages of it 
in his refutation, which has been preserved. When Julian is 
. perious, St. Cyril proves too strong for him; but when the Em- 
peror has recourse to irony, the Patriarch loses his advantage. 
Julian's style is witty and animated; Cyril is sometimes passion- 
ate, obscure, and confused. From the time of Julian to that of 
Luther, the Church, flourishing in full vigor, had no occasion for 
apologists ; but when the western schism took place, with new 
enemies aro.se new defenders. It cannot be denied that at first 
the Protestants had the superiority, at least in regard to forms, 
as Montesquieu has remarked. Erasmus himself was weak when 
opposed to Luther, and Theodore Beza had a captivating manner 
of writing, in which his opponents were too often deficient. 

When Bossuet at length entered the lists, the victory remained 
not long undecided ; the hydra of heresy was once more over- 
thrown. His Exjjosition de la Doctrine CathoUque and His- 
toire des Variations, are two master-pieces, which will descend to 
posterity. 

It is natural for schism to lead to infidelity, and for heresy to 
engender atheism. Bayle and Spinosa arose after Calvin, and 
they found in Clarke and Leibnitz men of sufficient talents to 
refute their sophistry. Abbadie wrote an apology for religion, 
remarkable for method and sound argument. Unfortunately his 
style is feeble, though his ideas are not destitute of brilliancy. 
"If the ancient philosophers," observes Abbadie, "adored the 
Virtues, their worship was only a beautiful species of idolatry." 

While the Church was yet enjoying her triumph, Voltaire 
renewed the persecution of Julian. He possessed the baneful 
art of making infidelity fashionable among a capricious but 
amiable people. Every species of self-love was pressed into this 
inwnsato league. Keligion was attacked with every kind of 
w*;qH>n, from the pamphlet to the folio, from the epigram to the 
B^jphism. No sooner did a religious book appear than the author 
was overwhelmed with ridicule, while works which Voltaire was 
the first to laugh at among his friends wero extolled to the skies. 



INTRODUCTION. 47 



Such was his superiority over his disciples, that sometimes he 
could not forbear diverting himself with their irreligious enthu- 
siasm. Meanwhile the destructive system continued to spread 
throughout France. It was first adopted in those provincial aca- 
demies, each of which was a focus of bad taste and faction. 
Women of fashion and grave philosophers alike read lectures on 
infidelity. It was at length concluded that Christianity was no 
better than a barbarous system, and that its fall could not happen 
too soon for the liberty of mankind, the promotion of knowledge, 
the improvement of the arts, and the general comfort of Mle. 

To say nothing of the abyss into which we were plunged by 
this aversion to the religion of the gospel, its immediate conse- 
quence was a return, more afiected than sincere, to that mytho- 
logy of Greece and Home to which all the wonders of antiquity 
were ascribed.* People were not ashamed to regret that worship 
which had transformed mankind into a herd of madmen, mon- 
sters of indecency, or ferocious beasts. This could not fail to 
inspire contempt for the writers of the age of Louis XIV., who, 
however, had reached the high perfection which distinguished 
them, only by being religious. If no one ventured to oppose 
them face to face, on account of their firmly-established reputa- 
tion, they were, nevertheless, attacked in a thousand indirect ways. 
It was asserted that they were unbelievers in their hearts; or, at 
least, that they would have been much greater characters had 
they lived in our times. Every author blessed his good fortune 
for having; been born in the olorious age of the Diderots and 
d'Alemberts, in that age when all the attainments of the human 
mind were ranged in alphabetical order in the Encyclo^edie^ 
that Babel of the sciences and of reason.^ 

Men distinguished for their intelligence and learnino; endea- 
vored to check this torrent; but their resistance was vain. Their 
voice was lost in the clamors of the crowd, and their victor}^ was 
unknown to the frivolous people who directed public opinion in 
France, and upon whom, for that reason, it was highly necessary 
to make an impression. =^ 

* The age of Louis XIV., though it knew and admired antiquity more than 
we, was a Christian age. 
2 See note A at the end of the volume. 
^ The Lettrcs de quelgiies Jiti/s Portugais had a momentary success, but it 



4g GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

Thus, the faulity wliich hud given a triumph to the sophists 
Jurinj: the reign of Julian, made them victorious in our times. 
The defenders of the Christians fell into an error wh.ch had 
before undone them : they did not perceive that the question 
•wna no longer to discuss this or that particular tenet since the 
very foundation on which these tenets were built was rejected by 
their opponents. By starting from the mission of Jesus Christ, 
and dtscf nding from one consequence to another, they established 
the truths of faith on a solid ba.sis; but this mode of reasoning, 
^hiclfciiight liave suited the seventeenth century extremely well, 
when the groundwork was not contested, proved of no use in 
our days. It was necessary to pursue a contrary method, and to 
ascend from the effect to the cause; not to prove that the Chris- 
tian rcliyion is cxcfllcnt because it comes from God, hut that it 
conies from God because it U excellent. 

They likewise committed another error in attaching import- 
ance to the serious refutation of the sophists ; a class of men whom 
it is utterly impossible to convince, because they are always in 
the wn>ng. They overlooked the fact that these people are never 
in earnest in their pretended search after truth ; that they esteem 
Done but themselves ; that they are not even attached to their 
own system, except for the sake of the noise which it makes, 
and arc ever ready to forsake it on the first change of public 
opinion. 

For not having made this remark, much time and trouble 
were thrown away by those who undertook the vindication of 
Christianity. Their object should have been to reconcile to 
religion, not the sophists, but those whom they were leading 
astray. They had been seduced by being told that Christianity 
was the offspring of barbarism, an enemy of the arts and sciences, 
of reason and refinement; a religion whose only tendency was 
to encourage bloodshed, to enslave mankind, to diminish their 
happincs'*, and to retard the progress of the human under- 
standing. 

It wrt"^. therefore, necessary to prove that, on the contrary, the 
Ch i religion, of all the religions that ever existed, is the 

nioKt humane, the most favorable to liberty and to the arts and 



lost (ifbt of in the irreligious storm that was gathering ovei 
Fraac*. 



INTRODUCTION 49 



«?cienoes; that the modern \v<)rlcl is ii debted to it for every im- 
provement, from agriculture to the abstract sciences — from the 
hospitals for the reception of the unfortunate to the temples 
reared by the Michael Angelos and embellished b}' the Ra- 
phaels, It was necessary to prove that nothing is more divine 
than its morality — nothing more lovely and more sublime than 
its tenets, its doctrine, and its worship; that it encourages genius, 
corrects the taste, develops the virtuous passions, imparts energy 
to the ide:is, presents noble images to the writer, and perfect 
m.)dels to the artist; that there is no disgrace in being believers 
with Xewton and Bossuet, with Pascal and Racine. In a word, 
it was necessary to summon all the charms of the imagination, 
and all the interests of the heart, to the assistance of that reli- 
gion against which they had been set in array. 

The reader may now have a clear view of the object of our 
work. All other kinds of apologies are exhausted, and perhaps 
they would be useless at the present day. Who would now sit 
down to read a work professedly theological ? Possibly a few 
sincere Christians who are already convinced. But, it may be 
asked, may there not be some danger in considering religion in a 
merely human point of view? Why so? Does our religion 
shrink from the lio'ht ? Surelv one ureat proof of its divine 
origin is, that it will bear the test of the fullest and severest 
scrutiny of reason. Would you have us always open to the re- 
proach of enveloping our tenets in sacred obscurity, lest their 
falsehood should be detected ? Will Christianitv be the loss 
true for appearing the more beautiful ? Let us banish our weak 
apprehensions ; let us not, by an excess of religion, leave religion 
to perish. We no longer live in those times when you might 
say, ^' Believe without inquiring." People will inquire in spite 
of us; and our timid silence, in heightening the triumph of the 
infidel, will diminish the number of believers. 

It is time that the world should know to what all those charges 
of absurdity, vulgarity, and meanness, that are daily alleged 
against Christianity, may be reduced. It is time to demonstrate, 
that, instead of debasino- the ideas, it encourao;es the soul to take 
the most daring flights, and is capable of enchanting the imagi- 
nation as divinely as the deities of Homer and Virgil. Our 
arguments will at least have this advantage, that they will be 



50 



GENIUS OF CHRISTTANiTY. 



intelligible to the world at large, and will require nothing but 
common sense to determine their weight and strength. In 
works of this kind authors neglect, perhaps rather too much, to 
speak the language of their readers. It is necessary to be a 
scholar with a scholar, and a poet with a poet. The Almighty 
does not forbid us to tread the flowery path, if it serves to lead 
the wanderer once more to him ; nor is it always by the steep 
and rugged mountain that the lost sheep finds its way back to 

the fold. 

We think that this mode of considering Christianity displays 
as.sociations of ideas which are but imperfectly known. Sublime 
in the antiquity of its recollections, which go back to the crea- 
tion of the world, ineffable in its mysteries, adorable in its 
sacraments, interesting in its history, celestial in its morality, 
rieh and attractive in its ceremonial, it is fraught with every 
species of beauty. AVould you follow it in poetry? Tasso, iMil- 
ton, Corneille, Racine, Voltaire, will depict to you its miraculous 
effects. In the belles-lettres, in eloquence, history, and philoso- 
phy, what have not Bossuet, Fenelon, Massillon, Bourdaloue, 
Biicon, Pascal, Euler, Newton, Leibnitz, produced by its divine 
inspiration ! In the arts, what master-pieces ! If you examine 
it in its worship, what ideas are suggested by its antique Gothic 
churches, its admirable prayers, its impressive ceremonies ! 
Among its clergy, behold all those scholars who have handed 
down to you the languages and the works of Greece and Rome ; 
all those anchorets of Thebais ; all those asylums for the unfor- 
tunate; all those missionaries to China, to Canada, to Paraguay; 
not forgetting the military orders whence chivalry derived its 
origin. Every thing has been engaged in our cause — the man- 
ners of our ancestors, the pictures of days of yore, poetry, even 
romances themselves. We have called smiles from the cradle, 
and tears from the tomb. Sometimes, with the Maronite monk, 
wo dwell on the summits of Carmel and Jicbanon; at others we 
watch with the Daughter of Charity at the bedside of the sick. 
Here two American lovers summon us into the recesses of their 
'V ts;» there we listen to the sijrhs of the virjrin in the solitude 

' The nulhor HllmU-s to the very beautiful and pathetic tale of Atald, or The 
hutT 'iinl Conthniry nj Tiro Surnijea ill the. I)eni:rt, which was at first ntroducod 
iotu the pri'Hcnl work, hut was afterward detached from it. T. 



NATURE OF MYSTERIES. 51 



of the cloister. Homer takes his place by Milt m, at d Virgil 
beside Tasso ; the ruins of Athens and of Memphis form con- 
trasts with the ruins of Christian monuments, and the tombs of 
Ossian with our rural churchyards. At St. Dennis we visit the 
ashes of kings; and when our subject requires us to treat of the 
existence of God, we seek our proofs in the wonders of Nature 
alone. In short, we endeavor to strike the heart of the infidel 
in every possible way ; but we dare not flatter ourselves that we 
possess the miraculous rod of religion which caused living 
streams to burst from the flinty rock. 

Four parts, each divided into six books, compose the whole of 
our work. The Jirst treats of dogma and doctrine. The second 
and third comprehend the poetic of Christianity, or its con- 
nection with poetry, literature, and the arts. The fourth em- 
braces its worship, — that is to say, whatever relates to the ceremo- 
nies of the Church, and to the clergy, both secular and regular. 

We have frequently compared the precepts, doctrines, and 
worship of other religions with those of Christianity; and, to gra- 
tify all classes of readers, we have also occasionally touched upon 
the historical and mystical part of the subject. Having thus 
stated the general plan of the work, we shall now enter upon 
that portion of it which treats of Dogma and Doctrine, and, as a 
preliminary step to the consideration of the Christian mysteries, 
we shall institute an inquiry into the nature of mysterious things 
in general 



CHAPTER 11. 

OF THE NATURE OF MYSTERIES. 

There is nothing beautiful, pleasing, or grand in life, but 
that which is more or less mysterious. The most wonderful sen- 
timents are those which produce impressions difficult to be 
explained. Modesty, chaste love, virtuous friendship, are full of 
secrets. It would seem that half a word- is sufficient for the 
mutual understanding of hearts that love, and that they are, as 
it were, disclosed to each other's view. Is not innocence, also, 



52 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

wliieh is nothing but a holy ignorance, the most iuefFable of mys- 
teries? If infoncy is so happy, it is owing to the absence of 
knowlcdo-e; and if old age is so wretched, it is because it knows 
every thing; but, fortunately for the latter, when the mysteries 
of life are at an end, those of death commence. 

AVhat we stiy here of the sentiments may be said also of the 
virtues : the most angelic are those which, emanating immedi- 
ately from God, such as charity, studiously conceal themselves, 
like their source, from mortal view. 

If we pass to the qualities of the mind, we shall find that the 
pleasures of the understanding are in like manner secrets. Mys- 
tery- is of a nature so divine, that the early inhabitants of Asia 
conversed only by symbols. What science do we continually 
apply, if not that which always leaves something to be conjec- 
tured, and which sets before our eyes an unbounded prospect? 
If we wander in the desert, a kind of instinct impels us to avoid 
the plains, where we can embrace every object at a single glance; 
we repair to those forests, the cradle of religion, — those forests 
whose shades, whose sounds, and whose silence, are full of won- 
ders, — those solitudes, where the first fathers of the Church were 
fed by the raven and the bee, and where those holy men tasted 
such inexpressible delights, as to exclaim, ''Enough, Lord! I 
will be overpowered if thou dost not moderate thy divine com- 
munications." We do not pause at the foot of a modern monu- 
ment; but if, in a desert island, in the midst of the wide ocean, 
wc come all at once to a statue of bronze', whose extended arm 
points to the regions of the setting sun, and whose base, covered 
with Ijieroglyphics, attests the united ravages of the billows and 
of time, what a fertile source of meditation is here opened to the 
traveller I There is nothing in the universe but what is hidden, 
but what is unknown. Is not man himself an inexplicable mys- 
tcr}'? Whence proceeds that flash of lightning which we call 
existence, and in what niirht is it about to be extinauished? 
The Alniiirhty has stationed Birth and Death, under the form of 
veiled phantoms, at the two extremities of our career; the one 
produces the incomprehensible moment of life, which the other 
Uhes every exertion to destroy. 

Considering, then, the natural propensity of man to the mys- 
terious, it cannot appear surprising that the religions of all na- 



CHRISTIAN MYSTERIES. 53 



tions should have had their impenetrable secrets. The Selli 
studied the miraculous words of the doves of Dodona ;* India, 
Persia, Ethiopia, Scythia, the Gauls, the Scandinavians, had their 
caverns, their holy mountains, their sacred oaks, where the 
Brahmins, the Magi, the Gymnosophists, or the Druids, pro- 
claimed the inexplicable oracle of the gods. 

Heaven forbid that we should have any intention to compare 
tliese mysteries with those of the true religion, or the inscrutable 
decrees of the Soverei";n of the Universe with the chano-ino- 
ambiguities of gods, "the work of human hands. "^ We merely 
wished to remark that there is no religion without mysteries; 
these, with sacrifices, constitute the essential part of worship. 
God himself is the great secret <J Nature. The Divinity was 
represented veiled in Egypt, and the sphinx was seated upon the 
threshold of the temples.^ 



CHAPTER III. 

OF THE CHRISTIAN MYSTERIES. 

The Trinity. 

We perceive at the first glance, that, in regard to mysteries, 
the Christian relio'ion has a s-reat advantao-e over the relio'ions of 

o O c O 

antiquity. The mysteries of the latter bore no relation to man; 
and afforded, at the utmost, but a subject of reflection to the 
philosopher or of song to the poet. Our mysteries, on the con- 



' They were an ancient people of Epirus, and lived near Dodona. At i'nat 
place there was a celebrated temple of Jupiter. The oracles were said tc be 
delivered from it by doves endowed with a human voice. Herodotus relates 
that a priestess was brought hither from Egypt by the Phoenicians; so the 
Btorv of the doves might arise from the ambiguitj' of the Greek term UeXeia, 
«lipch signifies a dove, in the general language, but in the dialect of Epirus it 
means an aged woman. K. 

2 "Wisdom, ch. xiii. v. 10. 

3 The Sphinx, a monstrous creature of Egyptian invention, was the just eni- 
blern of mystery, as, according to the Grecian mythology, she not only infested 
Boeotia with her depredations, but perplexed its inhabitants, not famed for 
their acuteness, with her enigmas. K. 

5* 



^1 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

trao', ^peak directly to the heart; they comprehend the secretf 
of our existence. The question here is not about a futile ar- 
rangement of numbers, but concerning the salvation and felicity 
of tlic human race. Is it possible for man, whom daily expe- 
rience so fully convinces of his ignorance and frailty, to reject 
the mysteries of Jesus Christ ? They are the mysteries of the uu- 

fortunate I 

The Trinity, which is the first mystery presented by the 
Christian faith, opens an immense field for philosophic study, 
whether we consider it in the attributes of God, or examine the 
vestiges of this dogma, which was formerly difi"used throughout 
the East.,^ It is a pitiful mode of reasoning to reject whatever 
ir?;-(iannot comprehend. It would be easy to prove, beginning 
even with the most simple things in life, that we know absolutely 
nothing; shall we, then, pretend to penetrate into the depths 

The Trinfty was probably known to the Egyptians. The 
Greek inscription on the great obeUsk in the Circus Major, at 
Ronie, was to this efi^ect : — 

Miyaq Sto:;, The MUjhtij God; dsoyi'.TjToc, the Begotten of 
God; llane^rnq, the All-Resplendent, (Apollo, the Spirit.) 

Ileraclidcs of Pontus, and Porphyry, record a celebrated oracle 
of Scrapis: — 

Ylpiira Gcdy, fierercira Xdyoj Kai nvevfjia iTVi> avrois. . 
'£v/i0ura 6ii rpia rtaPTa, Koi £«j £•' lovra. 

"In thr idjinniny uas God, then the Word and the Spirit; 
idl thne produced together, and uniting in one." 

The .Magi had a sort of Trinity, in their Metris, Oromasis, and 
Araminis; or Mitra, Oramases, and Arimane. 

Plato seems to allude to this incomprehensible dogma in seve- 
ral of his works. "Not only is it alleged," says Dacier, "that 
he had a knowledge of the Word, the eternal Son of God, but it 
is also a.^i-scrted that he was acquainted with the Holy Ghost, and 
thus had some idea of tho Most Holy Trinity; for he writes as 
follows to the younger Dionysius:— r 

***I must give Archedemus an explanation respecting what is 
infinitely more important and more divine, and what you are ex- 
trcnidv anxious to know, since vou have sent him to me for the 
exprc.>.s purpnsr; for. from wh.it he has told me, you are of opi 



CHRISTIAN MYSTERIES. 55 



nion that I have not sufficiently explained what 1 thii.k of the 
nature of the first principle. I am obliged to write to you in 
enigmas, thatj if my letter should be intercepted either by land 
or sea, those who read may not be able to understand it. All 
things are around their king; they exist for him, and he alone 
is the cause of good things — second for such as are second, and 
third for those that are third. '^ 

^'In the Ejjinomis, and elsewhere, he lays down as principles 
the first good, the word or the understanding, and the soul. 
The first good is God; the word, or the understanding, is the Son 
of this first good, by whom he was begotten like to himself; and 
the soul, which is the middle term between the Father and the 
Son, is the Holy Ghost. "^ 

Plato had borrowed this doctrine of the Trinity from Timoeus, 
the Locrian, who had received it from the Italian school. Mar- 
silius Ficinus, in one of his remarks on Plato, shows, after Jam- 
blichus. Porphyry, Plato, and Maximus of Tyre, that the Pytha- 
goreans were acquainted with the excellence of the number 
Three. Pythagoras intimates it in these words : Tlpmiim zo 
(T'/jipa, y.aX fivip.a y.dX TptwooAov ; "Honor chiefly the habit, the 
judgment-seat, and the triobolus," (three oboli.) 

The doctrine of the Trinity is known in the East Indies and 
in Thibet. "On this subject,'' says Father Calamette, "the most 
remarkable and surprising thing that I have met with is a pas- 
sage in one of their books entitled Lamaastambam. It begins 
thus : ' The Lord, the good, the great God, in his mouth is the 
Word.' The term which they employ personifies the Word. It 
then treats of the Holy Ghost under the appellation of the Wind, 
or Perfect Spirit, and concludes with the Creation, which it 
attributes to one single God."^ 

"What T have learned," observes the same missionary in an- 
other place, "respecting the religion of Thibet, is as follows : They 
call God Konciosa, and seem to have some idea of the adorable 
Trinity, for sometimes they term him Koncikociclc, the one God, 



' This passage of Plato, which the author could not verify, from its having 
been incorrectly quoted by Dacier, may be found in Plato Serrani, tome i. p. 
812. letter the second to Dlonvsius. The letter is supposed to be genuine. K. 

2 (Envres de Platnn, trad. 2}rir D-'cier, tome i. p. 194: 

3 Retires "dif., turae xiv. p. 9. 



56 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

and at others Koncioksiim, which is equivalent to the Triune God. 
They make use of a kind of chaplet, over which tuey pronounce 
the words, om, ha, hum. When you ask what these mean, they 
reply that the first signifies intelligence, or arm, that is to say, 
power; that the second is the word; that the third is the heart, 
or love; and that these three words together signify God."* 

The Enfflish missionaries to Otaheite have found some notion 
of the Trinity among the natives of that island. ^ 

Nature herself seems to furnish a kind of physical proof of the 
Trinity, which is the archetype of the universe, or, if you wish, 
its divine frame-work. May not the external and material world 
bear some impress of that invisible and spiritual arch which sus- 
tains it, according to Plato's idea, who represented corporeal 
thinjrs as the shadows of the thoughts of God ? The number 
Three is the term by excellence in nature. It is not a product 
itself, but it produces all other fractions, which led Pythagoras to 
call it the motherless number.^ 

Some obscure tradition of the Trinity may be discovered even 
in the fables of polytheism. The Graces took it for their num- 
ber ; it existed in Tartarus both for the life and death of man 
and for the infliction of celestial vengeance ; finally, three bro- 
ther gods* possessed among them the complete dominion of the 
universe. • 

The philosophers divided the moral man into three parts; and 
the Fathers imagi led that they discovered the image of the 
spiritual Trinity in the human soul. 



• Lcllrca edif., torn. xii. p. 437. 

2 •'The three deities which they hold supreme are — 

1. Tiine, tc Medooa, the Father. 

2. Oroinuttow, God in the Son. 

3. Taroa, the Bird, the Spirit." 

Appendix to the. Missionary Voyage, p. 333. K. 

3 Hior., Comm. in Pyth. The 3, a simple number itself, is the only one com- 
pogcd of simples, and that gives a simple number when decomposed. We can 
form no complex number, the 2 excepted, without the 3. The formations of 
the 3 arc beautiful, and embrace that powerful unity which is the first link in 
the chain of numbers, and is everywhere exhibited in the universe. The au- 
oientB very frequently applied numbers in a metaphysical sense, acd we should 
not be too hasty in condemning it as folly in Pythagoras, Plato, and the 
K;ry|>tian prie»*(.«. fn-m whom they d.-rivcd this science. 

♦ Tli.ii is, .riij.il. r. \cptunc-, and Piulo. K. 



CHRISTIAN iNIYSTERIES. 57 



'* If we impose silence on our senses/' says the great Bossuei, 
"and retire for a short time into the recesses of onr soul, that is 
to say, into that part where the voice of truth is heard, we shall 
there perceive a sort of image of the Trinity whom we adore. 
Thought, which we feel produced as the offspring of our mind, 
as the son of our understanding, gives us some idea of the Son 
of God, conceived from all eternity in the intelligence of the 
celestial Father. For this reason this Son of God assumes the 
name of the Word, to intimate that he is produced in the bosom 
of the Father, not as bodies are generated, but as the inward 
voice that is heard within our souls there arises when we contem- 
plate truth. 

^' But the fecundity of the mind does not stop at this inward 
voice, this intellectual thought, this image of the truth that is 
formed within us. We love both this inward voice and the 
intellio:ence which skives it birth : and while we love them, we 
feel within us something which is not less precious to us than 
intelligence and thought, which is the fruit of both, which unites 
them and unites with them, and forms with them but one and 
the same existence. 

" Thus, as far as there can be any resemblance between God 
and man, is produced in God the eternal Love which springs from 
the Father who thinks, and from the Son who is his thought, to 
constitute with him and his thought jne and the same nature, 
equally happy and equally perfect."* 

What a beautiful commentary is this on that passage of Gene- 
sis : "Let lis make man!" 

TertuUian, in his Apologi/, thus expresses himself on this 
great mystery of our religion : '^ God created the world by his 
word, his reason, and his power. You philosophers admit that 
the Logos, the word and reason, is the Creator of the universe. 
The Christians merely add that the proper substance of the tcord 
and reason — that substance by which God produced all things — 
is spirit; that this word must have been pronounced by God; 
that having been pronounced, it was generated by him; that con- 
sequently it is the Son of God, and God by reason of the anity 
of substance. If the sun shoots forth a ray, its substance -S not 

' Bossuet, Hist. Univ., sec. i. p. 248. 



58 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

pcparaled, but extended. Thus the Word is spirit of a <\).r\i, 
and God oi God, like a light kindled at another light. Thus, 
wliatever proceeds from God is God, and the two, with their 
spirit, form but one, differing in properties, not in number; ic 
order, not in nature: the Son having sprung from his prin- 
ciple without being separated from it. Now this ray of the 
Divinity descended into the womb of a virgin, invested itself 
with flesh, and became man united with God. This flesh, sup- 
ported by the spirit, was nourished; it grew, spoke, taught, 
acted; it was Christ." 

This proof of the Trinity may be comprehended by persons 
of the simplest capacity. It must be recollected that Tertullian 
was addressing men who persecuted Christ, and whom nothing 
would have more highly gratified than the means of attacking 
the doctrine, and even the persons, of his defenders. We shall 
pursue these proofs no farther, but leave them to those who have 
studied the principles of the Italic sect of philosophers and the 
higher department of Christian theology. 

As to the images that bring under our feeble senses the most 
sublime mystery of religion, it is difficult to conceive how the 
awful triangular fire, resting on a cloud, is unbecoming the dig- 
nity of poetry. Is Christianity less impressive than the heathen 
mythology, when it represents to us the Father under the form 
of an old man, the majestic ancestor of ages, or as a brilliant 
efi'usion of liffht ? Is there not somethins: wonderful in the con- 
tcmplation of the Holy Spirit, the sublime Spirit of Jehovah, 
under the emblem of gentleness, love, and innocence ? Doth 
God decree the propagation of his word? The Spirit, then, 
ceases to be that Dove which overshadowed mankind with the 
wings of peace; he becomes a visible word, a tongue of fire, 
which speaks all the languages of the earth, and whose eloquence 
creates or overthrows empires. 

To delineate the divine Son, we need only borrow the words 
of the apostle who beheld him in his glorified state. He was 
Hoatod on a throne, says St. John in the Apocalypse ; his face 
whone like the .>nn in his strength, and his feet like fine brass 
melted in a furnace. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and out 
of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword. In his right hand 
he held seven stirs, and in his left a book sealed with seven 



REDEMPTIOIN. 59 



seals : his voice was as tlie sound of many waters. The seven 
spirits of God burned before him, like seven lamps ; and he went 
forth from his throne attended by lightnings, and. voices, and 
thunders. 



CHAPTER IV. 

OF THE REDEMPTION. 



As the Trinity comprehends secrets oi the metaphysical kind, 
so the redemption contains the wonders of man, and the inex- 
plicable history of his destination and his heart. Were we to 
pause a little in our meditations, with what profound astonish- 
ment would we contemplate those two great mysteries, which 
conceal in their shades the primary intentions of God and the 
system of the universe I The Trinity, too stupendous for our 
feeble comprehension, confounds our thoughts, and we shrink 
back overpowered by its glory. But the affecting mystery of the 
redemption, in filling our eyes with tears, prevents them from 
being too much dazzled, and allows us to fix them at least for a 
moment upon the cross. 

We behold, in the first place, springing from this mystery, the 
doctrine of original sin, which explains the whole nature of man. 
Unless we admit this truth, known by tradition to all nations, we 
become involved in impenetrable darkness. Without original 
sin, how shall we account for the vicious propensity of our nature 
continually combated by a secret voice which whispers that we 
were formed for virtue ? Without a primitive fall, how shall we 
explain the aptitude of man for affliction — that sweat which 
fertilizes the ruo:2;ed soil : the tears, the sorrows, the misfortunes 
of the righteous ; the triumphs, the unpunished success, of the 
wicked ? It was because they were unacquainted with this de- 
generacy, that the philosophers of antiquity fell into such strange 
errors, and invented the notion of reminiscence. To be con- 
vinced of the fatal truth whence springs the mystery of redemp- 
tion, we need no other proof than the malediction pronounced 
against Eve, — a malediction which is daily accomplished before 



G) GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



(uir eves. TIow significant are the pangs, and at the same time 
the joys, of a mother ! What mysterious intimations of man and 
his twofold destiny, predicted at once by the pains and pleasures 
of child-birth I We cannot mistake the views of the Most High, 
when we behold the two great ends of man in the labor of his 
mother; and we are compelled to recognise a God even in a 
malediction. 

After all, we daily see the son punished for the father, and the 
crime of a villain recoiling upon a virtuous descendant, which 
proves but too clearly the doctrine of original sin. But a God. 
of clemency and indulgence, knowing that we should all have 
peri.shed in consequence of this fall, has interposed to save us. 
Frail and guilty mortals as we all are, let us ask, not our under- 
standings, but our hearts, how a God could die for man. If this 
perfect model of a dutiful son, if this pattern of faithful friends, 
if that agony in Gethsemane, that bitter cup, that bloody sweat, 
that tenderness of soul, that sublimity of mind, that cross, that 
veil rent in twain, that rock cleft asunder, that darkness of na- 
ture — in a word, if that God, expiring at length for sinners, can 
neither enrapture our heart nor inflame our understanding, it is 
greatly to be feared that our works will never exhibit, like those 
of the poet, the '' brilliant wonders" which attract a high and 
just admiration. 

"Images," it may perhaps be urged, "are not reasons; and 
wc live in an enlightened age, which admits nothing without 
proof." 

That we live in an enlightened age has been doubted by some; 
but we would not be surprised if w^e were met with the foregoing 
objection. When Christianity was attacked by serious argu- 
ments, they were answered by an Origen, a Clark, a Bossuet. 
Closely pressed by these formidable champions, their adversaries 
endeavored to extricate themselves by reproaching religion with 
those very metaphysical disputes in which they would involve us. 
They alleged, like Arius, Celsus, and Porphyry, that Christianity 
i.s but a tissue of subtleties, offering: nothing to the imao^ination 
and the heart, and adopted only by madmen and simpletonii. But 
if any one coiues forward, and in reply to these reproaches en- 
deavors to show that the religion of the gospel is the religion of 
the sr.ul, fr'.ML:lit with sensibility, its foes immediately exclaim, 



REDEMPTION. (51 



*' Well, and what does that prove, except that you are more or 
less skilful in drawing a picture ?" Thus, when you attempt to 
work upon the feelings, they require axioms and corollaries. If, 
nn the other hand, you begin to reason, they then want nothing 
but sentiments and imaaes. It is difficult to close with such 
versatile enemies, who are never to be found at the post where 
they challenge you to fight them. We shall hazard a few words 
on the subject of the redemption, to show that the theology of 
the Christian religion is not so absurd as some have aiFected to 
consider it. 

A universal tradition teaches us that man was created in a 
more perfect state than that in which he at present exists, and 
that there has been a fall. This tradition is confirmed by the 
opinion of philosophers in every age and country, who have never 
been able to reconcile their ideas on the subject of moral man, 
without supposing a primitive state of perfection, from which 
human nature afterward fell by its own fault. 

If man was created, he was created for some end : now, having 
been created perfect, the end for which he was destined could not 
be otherwise than perfect. 

But has the final cause of man been changed by his fall ? 
No ; since man has not been created anew, nor the human race 
exterminated to make room for another. 

Man, therefore, though he has become mortal and imperfect 
through his disobedience, is still destined to an immortal and 
perfect end. But how shall he attain this end in his present 
state of imperfection ? This he can no longer accomplish by his 
own energy, for the same reason that a sick man is incapable of 
raising himself to that elevation of ideas which is attainable by 
a person in health. There is, therefore, a disproportion between 
the power, and the weight to be raised by that power; here we 
already perceive the necessity of succor, or of a redemption. 

''This kind of reasoning," it may be said, "will apply to the 
first man ; but as for us, we are capable of attaining the ends of 
our existence. What injustice and absurdity, to imagine that we 
ell :>uld all be punished for the fault of our first parent V With- 
out undertaking to decide in this place whether God is right or 
wrong in making us sureties for one another, all that we know, 
and all that it ^s necessary for us to Jinow at present, is, that such 



PjO GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

a law exists. We know that the innocent son universally suifers 
the punishment due to the guilty father; that this law is so in- 
terwo\ en in the principles of things as to hold good even in the 
physical order of the universe. When an infant comes into the 
world diseased from head to foot from its father's excesses, why 
do you not complain of the injustice of nature? What has this 
little innocent done, that it should endure the punishment of 
another's vices ? Well, the diseases of the soul are perpetuated 
like those of the body, and man is punished in his remotest 
posterity for the fault which introduced into his nature the first 
leaven of sin. 

The fall, then, being attested by general tradition, and by the 
transmission or generation of evil, both moral and physical, and, 
on the other hand, the ends for which man was designed being 
now as perfect as before his disobedience, notwithstanding his 
own degeneracy, it follows that a redemption, or any expedient 
whatever to enable man to fulfil those ends, is a natural conse- 
(juence of the state into which human nature has fallen. 

The neoessity of redemption being once admitted, let us seek 
the order in which it may be found. This order may be con- 
sidered either in man, or above man. 

1. In man. The supposition of a redemption implies that 
the price must be at least equivalent to the thing to be redeemed. 
Now, how is it to be imagined that imperfect and mortal man 
could have offered himself, in order to regain a 'perfect and im- 
mortal end ? How could man, partaking himself of the primeval 
gin, have made satisfaction as well for the portion of guilt which 
belonged to himself, as for that which attached to the rest 
of the human family? Would not such self-devotion have re- 
(^uircd a love and virtue superior to his nature? Heaven seems 
purposely to have suifered four thousand years to elapse from 
the full t(j the redemption, to allow men time to judge, of them- 
selves, how very inadequate their degraded virtues were for such 
a sacrifice. 

We have no alternative, then,, but the second supposition, 
namely, that the redemption could have proceeded only from a 
being fiuperior to man. Let us examine if it could have been 
accoujpli.sjjod by any of the intermediate beings between him 
tod God. 



REDEMPTION. 63 



It was a beautiful idea of Milton^ to represent the Almighty 
announcing the fall to the astonished heavens, and asking if any 
of the celestial powers was willing to devote himself for the sal- 
vation of mankind. All the divine hierarchy was unite; and 
among so many seraphim, thrones, dominations, angelg, and arch- 
angels, none had the courage to make so great a sacrifice. No- 
thing can be more strictly true in theology than this idea of the 
poet's. What, indeed, could have inspired the angels with that 
unbounded love for man which the mystery of the cross supposes? 
Moreover, how could the most exalted of created spirits have 
possessed strength sufficient for the stupendous task ? No angelic 
substance could, from the weakness of its nature, have taken up- 
on itself those sufferings which, in the Innauafre of Massillon, 
accumulated upon the head of Christ all the physical torments 
that might be supposed to attend the punishment of all the sins 
committed since the beo-innino; of time, and all the moral anouish, 
all the remorse, which sinners must have experienced for crimes 
committed. If the Son of Man himself found the cup bitter, 
how could an angel have raised it to his lips? Oh, no; he never 
could have drunk it to the dregs, and the sacrifice could not have 
been consummated. 

We could not, then, have any other redeemer than one of the 
three persons existing from all eternity; and among these three 
persons of the Godhead, it is obvious that the Son alone, from 
his very nature, was to accomplish the great work of salvation. 
Love which binds together all the parts of the universe, the 

1 Say, heavenly powers, where shall we find such love 
Which of you will be mortal to redeem 
Man's mortal crime? and just, th' unjust to save? , 
Dwells in all heaven charity so dear? 

He ask'd, but all the heavenly choir stood mute. 
And silence was in heaven: on man's behalf 
Patron or intercessor none appear'd; 
Much less that durst upon his own head draw 
The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. 
And now without redemption all mankind 
Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell, 
By doom severe, had not the Son of God, 
In whom the fulness dwells of love divine, 
His dearest mediation thus renew'd. 

Paradise Lost, b. iii., 1. 213. K. 



54 GENIUS OF CHRISTLVNITY. 

i^Iean which unites the extremes, Vivifying Principle of nature, 
he alone was capable of reconciling God with man. This second 
Adam came; — man according to the flesh, by his birth of Mary; 
a man of sanctity by his gospel; a man divine by his union with 
the Godhead. He was born of a virgin, that he might be free 
from original sin and a victim without spot and without blemish. 
He received life in a stable, in the lowest of human conditions, 
because we had fallen through pride. Here commences the depth 
of the mystery; man feels an awful emotion, and the scene closes. 

Thus, the end for which we were destined before the disobedi- 
ence of our fii*st parents is still pointed out to us, but the way to 
secure it is no longer the same. Adam, in a state of innocence, 
would have reached it by flowery paths : Adam, in his fallen 
condition, must cross precipices to attain it. Nature has under- 
gone a change since the fall of our first parents, and redemption 
was designed, not to produce a new creation, but to jDurchase final 
salvation for the old. Every thing, therefore, has remained de- 
generate with man ; and this sovereign of the universe, who, 
created immortal, was destined to be exalted, without any change 
of existence, to the felicity of the celestial powers, cannot now 
enjoy the presence of God till, in the language of St. Chrysostom, 
he has passed through the deserts of the tomh. His soul has 
been rescued from final destniction by the redemption; but his 
body, combining with the frailtj^ natural to matter the weakness 
consequent on sin, undergoes the primitive sentence in its utmost 
extent: he falls, he sinks, he passes into dissolution. Thus God, 
after the fall of our first parents, yielding to the entreaties of 
his Son, and unwilling to destroy the whole of his work, invented 
death, a5 a demi-annihilation, to fill the sinner with horror of that 
complete dissolution to which, but for the wonders of celestial 
love, he would have been inevitably doomed. 

We venture to presume, that, if there be any thing clear in 
metaphysics, it is this chain of reasoning. There is here no 
wresting of words; there are no divisions and subdivisions, no 
obscure or barbarous terms. Christianity is not made up of such 
things as the sarcasms of infidelity would fain have us imagine. 
To the poor in spirit the gospel has been preached, and by the 
poor in spirit it has been heard: it is the plainest book that 
exists. Its doctrine has not its scat in the head, but in the 



REDEMPTION. (J5 



heart; it teaches not the art of disputation, but the way to lead a 
virtuous life. Nevertheless, it is not without its secrets. What is 
truly ineffable in the Scripture is the continual mixture of the 
profoundest mysteries and the utmost simplicity — characters 
whence spring the pathetic and the sublime. We should no 
longer be surprised, then, that the work of Jesus Christ 
speaks so eloquently. Such, moreover, are the truths of our re- 
ligion, notwithstanding their freedom from scientific parade, that 
the admission of one single point immediately compels you to 
admit all the rest. Nay, more : if you hope to escape by deny- 
ing the principle,^ — as, for instance, original sin, — you will soon, 
driven from consequence to consequence, be obliged to precipi- 
tate yourself into the abyss of atheism. The moment you acknow- 
ledge a God, the Christian religion presents itself, in spite of you, 
with all its doctrines, as Clarke and Pascal have observed. This, 
in our opinion, is one of the strongest evidences in favor of 
Christianity. 

In short, we must not be astonished if he who causes millions 
of worlds to roll without confusion over our heads, has infused 
such harmony into the principles of a religion instituted by him- 
self; we need not be astonished at his making the charms and 
the glories of its mysteries revolve in the circle of the most con- 
vincing logic, as he commands those planets to revolve in their 
orbits to bring us flowers and storms in their respective seasons. 
We can scarcely conceive the reason of the aversion shown by 
the present age for Christianity. If it be time, as some philoso- 
phers have thought, that some religion or other is necessary for 
mankind, what system would you adopt instead of the faith of 
our forefathers? Long shall we remember the days when men 
of blood pretended to erect altars to the Virtues, on the ruins of 
Christianity.* With one hand they reared scaffolds; with the 
other, on the fronts of our temples they inscribed Eternity to 
God and Death to man; and those temples, where once was 
found that God who is acknowledged by the whole universe, and 
where devotion to Mary consoled so many afflicted hearts, — those 
temples were dedicated to Truth, which no man knows, and to 
Reason, which never dried a tear. 

' The author alludes to the disastrous tyranny exercised by Robespierre over 
the deluded French people. K. 

6* E 



Gt) 



GKNIUS OF CHRISIlANlTiT, 



CHAPTER V. 

OF THE INCARNATION. 

The lucariiatiun exhibits to us the Sovereign of Heaven 
nniong shepherds; him who hurls the thunderbolt, wrapped in 
swaddliuLr-cluthes; him whom the heavens cannot contain, con- 
fined in the womb of a virgin. Oh, how antiquity would have 
expatiated in praise of this wonder I What pictures would a 
Homer or a Virgil have left us of the Son of God in a manger, 
of the songs of the shepherds, of the Magi conducted by a star, 
of the angels descending in the desert, of a virgin mother ador- 
insi her new-born infant, and of all this mixture of innocence, 
enchantment, and grandeur! 

Setting aside what is direct and sacred in our mysteries, we 
would still discover under their veils the most beautiful truths in 
nature. These secrets of heaven, apart from their mystical 
character, are perhaps the prototype of the moral and physical 
laws of the world. The hypothesis is well worthy the glory of 
God, and would enable us to discern why he has been pleased 
t(» manifest himself in these mysteries rather than in any other 
mode: Jesus Christ, for instance, (or the moral world,) in. 
taking our nature upon him, teaches us the prodigy of the phy- 
sical creation, and represents the universe framed in the bosom 
of celestial love. The parables and the figures of this mystery 
then become engraved upon every object around us. Strength, 
in fact, universally proceeds from grace; the river issues from 
the spring; the lion is first nourished with milk like that which is 
sucked by the lamb; and lastly, among mankind, the Almighty has 
promised ineffable glory to those who practise the humblest virtues, 
Tliey who see nothing in the chaste Queen of angels but an 
obscure mystery are much to be pitied. What touching thoughts 
are suggested by that mortal woman, become the immortal 
motbcr of a Saviour-God ! What might not be said of Mary, 
who i.s at once a viririn and a mother, the two most glorious cha 
racior« of woman !--of that youthful daughter of ancient Israel, 



BAniSM. 67 



who presents herself for the relief of huinu n suffering, and sacri- 
fices a son for the salvation of her paternal race ! This tender 
mediatrix between us and the Eternal, with a heart full of com- 
passion for our miseries, forces us to confide in her maternal 
aid, and disarms the vengeance of Heaven. What an enchant- 
ing dogma, that allays the terror of a God by causing beauty to 
intervene between our nothingness and his Infinite Majesty! 

The anthems of the Church represent the Blessed Mary seated 
upon a pure-white throne, more dazzling than the snow. We 
there behold her arrayed in splendor, as a mystical rose, or as the 
morning-star, harbinger of the Sun of grace : the brightest an- 
gels wait upon her, while celestial harps and voices form a 
ravishing concert around her. In that daughter of humanity we 
behold the refuge of sinners, the comforter of the afflicted, who, 
all good, all compassionate, all indulgent, averts from us the anger 
of the Lord. 

Mary is the refuge of innocence, of weakness, and of misfor- 
tune. The faithful clients that crowd our churches to lay their 
homage at her feet are poor mariners who have escaped ship- 
wreck under her protection, aged soldiers whom she has saved 
from death in the fierce hour of battle, young women whose 
bitter griefs she has assuaged. The mother carries her babe be- 
fore her image, and this little one, though it knows not as yet 
the God of Heaven, already knows that divine mother who holds 
an infant in her arms. 



CHAPTER VI. 

OF THE SACRAMENTS. 

Baptism. 



Ir the mysteries overwhelm the mind by their greatness, we 
experience a different kind of astonishment, but perhaps not less 
profound, when we contemplate the sacraments of the Church. 
The whole knowledge of man, in his civil and moral relations, is 
implied in these institutions. 



68 



GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Baptism is the first of the sacraments which religion confers 
jpon man, and, in the language of the apostle, dothes Mm icith 
Jesus Christ. This sacred rite reminds us of the corruption in 
which we were born, of the pang? that gave us birth, of the 
tribulations which await us in this world. It teaches us that our 
8inswill recoil upon our children, and that we are all sureties for 
eacV other — an awful lesson, which alone would suffice, if duly 
pondered, to establish the empire of virtue among men. 

Behold the new convert standing amid the waves of Jordan ! 
the hermit of the rock pours the lustral water upon his head; 
while the patriarchal river, the camels on its banks, the temple 
of Jerusalem, and the cedars of Libanus, seem to be arrested by 
the solemn rite. Or, rather, behold the infant child before the 
sacred font! A joyous family surround him; in his behalf they 
renounce sin, and give him the name of his grandfather, which 
is thus renewed by love from generation to generation. Already 
the father hastens to take the child in his arms, and to carry it 
home to his impatient wife, who is counting under her curtains 
each sound of the baptismal bell. The relatives assemble; tears 
of tenderness and of religion bedew every eye; the new name 
of the pretty infant, the ancient appellative of its ancestor, passes 
from mouth to mouth; and every one, mingling the recollections 
of the past with present joys, discovers the fancied resemblance 
of the good old man in the child that revives his memory. Such 
are the scenes exhibited by the sacrament of baptism; but Re- 
ligion, ever moral and ever serious, even when the most cheerful 
smile irradiates her countenance, shows us also the son of a king, 
in his purple mantle, renouncing the pomps of Satan at the same 
font where the poor man's child appears in tatters, to abjure those 
vanities of the world which it will never know.^ 

We find in St. Ambrose a curious description of the manner 
in which the sacrament of baptism was administered in the first 
ages of the Church.'' Holy Saturday was the day appointed 
for the ceremony. It commenced with touching the nostrils and 

' That is, the outward pomp of this world; but the poor as well as the rich 
most renounce all inordinate aspiration after the vain show of this world. T. 

^ Amhr., (Ic Mjiat. TcrtuUian, Origen, St. Jerome, and St. Augustin, speak 
Iec8 in detail of this ceremony than St. Ambrose. The triple imniersion and 
the touching of the nrpf-tril.-, to which we allude here, are mentioned in the six 
books on the Sacraments which are falsely attributed to this father. 



BAPTISM. 69 



opening tte ears of the catechumen, t e person offi?;iating at the 
same time pronouncing the word ephj^heta, which signifies, be 
opened. He was then conducted into the holy of holies. In 
the presence of the deacon, the priest, and the bishop, he re- 
nounced the works of the devil. He turned toward the west, 
the image of darkness, to abjure the world; and toward the 
east, the emblem of light, to denote his alliance with Jesus 
Christ. The bishop then blessed the water, which, according to 
St. Ambrose, indicated all the m^^steries of the Scripture, — the 
Creation, the Deluge, the Passage of the Red Sea, the Cloud, 
the Waters of Mara, Naaman, and the Pool of Bethsaida. The 
water having been consecrated by the sign of the cross, the cate- 
chumen was immersed in it three times, in honor of the Trinity, 
and to teach him that three things bear witness in baptism — water, 
blood, and the Holy Spirit. On leaving the holy of holies, the 
bishop anointed the head of the regenerated man, to signify that 
he was now consecrated as one of the chosen race and priestly 
nation of the Lord. His feet were then washed, and he was 
dressed in white garments, as a tj-pe of innocence, after which 
he received, by the sacrament of confirmation, the spirit of di- 
vine fear, of wisdom and intelligence, of counsel and strength, 
of knowledge and piety. The bishop then pronounced, with a 
loud voice, the words of the apostle, "God the Father hath 
marked thee with his seal. Jesus Christ our Lord hath confirmed 
thee, and given to thy heart the earnest of the Holy Ghost." 
The new Christian then proceeded to the altar to receive the 
bread of angels, saying, "I will go to the altar of the Lord, of 
God who rejoices my youth." At the sight of the altar, covered 
with vessels of gold and silver, with lights, flowers, and silks, the 
new convert exclaimed, with the prophet, "Thou hast spread a 
table for me ; it is the Lord who feeds me ; I shall know no want, 
for he hath placed me in an abundant pasture." The ceremony 
concluded with the celebration of the mass. How august must 
have been the solemnity, at which an Ambrose gave to the inno- 
cent poor that place at the table of the Lord which he refused to 
a guilty emperor I* 

' Theodosius, by whose command great numbers of the inhabitants of Thes- 
ealonica were put to death for an insurrection. For this sanguinary deed, St. 
Ambrose, then bishop of Milan, refused to admit him into the Church until ha 



70 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

If there be not, in this first act of the life of a Christian, a di- 
vine combiuation of theology and morality, of mystery and sim- 
plicity, never will there be in religion any thing divine. 

But, considered in a higher relation, and as a type of the mys- 
tery of our redemption, baptism is a bath which restores to the 
soul its primeval vigor. We cannot recall to mind without deep 
regret the beauty of those ancient times, when the forests were 
not silent enough, nor the caverns sufficiently solitary, for the be- 
lievers who repaired thither to meditate on the mysteries of reli- 
gion. Those primitive Christians, witnesses of the renovation of 
the world, were occupied with thoughts of a very different kind 
from those which now bend us down to the earth, — us Christians 
who have grown old in years, but not in faith. In those times, wis- 
dom had her seat amid rocks and in the lion's den, and kings 
went forth to consult the anchorite of the mountain. Days too 
soon passed away ! There is no longer a St. John in the desert, nor 
will there be poui-ed out again upon the new convert those waters 
of the Jordan which carried off all his stains to the bosom of 
the ocean. 

Baptism is followed by confession; and the Church, with a 
prudence peculiar to her, has fixed the time for the reception of 
this sacrament at the age when a person becomes capable of sin, 
which is that of seven years. 

All men, not excepting philosophers themselves, whatever may 
have been their opinions on other subjects, have considered the 
sacrament of penance. as one of the strongest barriers against vice, 
and sm a master-piece of wisdom. "How many restitutions and 
reparations," says Rousseau, ''does not confession produce among 
Catholics!"^ According to Voltaire, "confession is a most excel- 
lent expedient, a bridle to guilt, invented in the remotest anti- 
quity : it was practised at the celebration of all the ancient mys- 
teries. We have imitated and sanctified this wise custom, which 
has a great influence in prevailing on hearts burning with resent- 
ment to forgive one another."^ 



bad performed a cauonical penance. The emperor having remonstrated, and 
cited the exaiiijile of King David, who had committed murder and adultery, 
the Saint answered, "As you have imitated him in his crime, imitate him in 
biiJ penance." Upon which Theodosius humbly submitted. T. 

' JCmil., tome ill. p. 201, note. 

< Quetit. Encydop., tome iii. p. 234, under the head Cure dc Campngne, sect. ii. 



THE HOLY COMMUNION. 7] 



Without this salutary institution, the sinner would sink into 
despair. Into what bosom could he unburden his heart? Into 
that of a friend ? Ah ! who can rely upon the friendship of men ? 
Will he make the desert his confidant ? The desert would inces- 
santly reverberate in the guilty ear the sound of those trumpets 
which Nero fancied he heard around the tomb of his mother.* 
When nature and our fellow-creatures show no mercy, how de- 
lightful is it to find the Almighty ready to forgive ! To the 
Christian religion alone belongs the merit of having made two 
sisters of Innocence and Repentance. 



CHAPTER VII. 

OF THE HOLY COMMUNION. 



At the age of twelve years, and in the gay season of spring, 
the youth is admitted for the first time to a union with his God. 
After having wept with the mountains of Sion over the death of 
the world's Redeemer, after having commemorated the darkness 
which covered the earth on that tragic occasion, Christendom 
throws aside her mourning; the bells commence their merry 
peals, the images of the saints are unveiled, and the domes of 
the churches re-echo with the song of joy — with the ancient alle- 
luia of Abraham and of Jacob. Tender virgins clothed in white, 
and boys bedecked with foliage, march along a path strewed with 
the first flowers of the year, and advance toward the temple of 
religion, chanting new canticles, and followed by their overjoyed 
parents. Soon the heavenly victim descends upon the altar for 
the refreshment of those youthful hearts. The bread of angels 
is laid upon the tongue as yet unsullied by falsehood, while the 
priest partakes, under the species of wine, of the blood of the im- 
maculate Lamb. 

In this solemn ceremony, Grod perpetuates the memory of a 
bloody sacrifice by the most peaceful symbols. With the inimea- 
Burable heights of these mysteries are blended the recollections 



• Tacit., Hist. 



72 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



of the most pleasing scenes. Nature seems to revive with her 
Creator, and the angel of spring opens for her the doors of the 
tomb, like the spirit of light who rolled away the stone from the 
glorious sepulchre. The age of the tender communicants and 
that of the infant year mingle their youth, their harmonies, and 
tlieir innocence. The bread and wine announce the approaching 
maturity of the products of the fields, and bring before us a pic- 
ture of agricultural life. In fine, Grod descends into the souls of 
these young believers to bring forth his chosen fruits, as he de- 
scends at this season into the bosom of the earth to make it pro- 
duce its flowers and its riches. 

But, you will ask, what signifies that mystic communion, in 
which reason submits to an ahsiirditi/, without any advantage to 
the moral man? To this objection I will first give a general an- 
swer, which will apply to all Christian rites : that they exert the 
highest moral intiuence, because they were practised by our 
fathers, because our mothers were Christians over our cradle, and 
because the chants of religion were heard around the coffins of 
our ancestors and breathed a prayer of peace over their ashes. 

Supposing, however, that the Holy Communion were but a 
puerile ceremony, those persons must be extremely blind who can- 
not perceive that a solemnity, which must be preceded by a con- 
fession of one's whole life, and can take place only after a long 
series of virtuous actions, is, from its nature, highly favorable to 
morality. It is so to such a degree, that, were a man to j^artake 
worthily but once a month of the sacrament of the Eucharist, that 
man must of necessity be the most virtuous person upon earth 
Transfer this reasoning from the individual to society in general, 
from one person to a whole nation, and you will find that the Holy 
Communion constitutes a complete system of legislation. 

"Here then are people," says Voltaire, an authority which will 
Dot be suspected, ''who partake of the communion amid an 
august ceremony, by the light of a hundred tapers, after solemn 
music which has enchanted their senses, at the foot of an altar 
resplendent with gold. The imagination is subdued and the 
soul powerfully afiected. We scarcely breathe; we forget all 
earthly considerations: we are united with God and he is incor- 
porated with us. Who durst, who could, after this, be guilty of 
a single crime, or only conceive the idea of one? It would 



THE HOLY COMMUNION. 73 



indeed be impossible to devise a mysteiy capable of keeping men 
more eiFectuallv witbin tbe bounds of virtue."* 

The Eucharist was instituted at the last supper of Christ with 
his disciples; and we call to our aid the pencil of the artist, to 
express the beauty of the picture in which he is represented pro- 
nouncing the words, lliis is my hody. Four things here require 
attention. 

First, In the material bread and wine we behold the conse- 
ciation of the food of man, which comes from Grod, and which 
we receive from his bounty. AVere there nothing more in the 
Communion than this offering of the productions of the earth to 
him who dispenses them, that alone would qualify it to be com- 
pared with the most excellent religious customs of Grreece. 

Secondly, The Eucharist reminds us of the Passover of the Is- 
raelites, which carries us back to the time of the Pharaohs; it 
announces the abolition of bloody sacrifices; it represents also the 
calling of Abraham, and the first covenant between God and man. 
Every thing grand in antiquity, in history, in legislation, in the 
sacred types, is therefore comprised in the communion of the 
Christian. 

Thirdly, The Eucharist announces the reunion of mankind 
into one great family. It inculcates the cessation of enmities, 
natural equality, and tlie commencement of a new law, which 
will make no distinction of Jew or G-entile, but invites all the 
children of Adam to sit down at the same table. 

Fourthly, The great wonder of the Holy Eucharist is the real 
presence of Christ under the consecrated species. Here the soul 
must transport itself for a moment to that intellectual world 
which was open to man before the fall 

When the Almighty had created him to his likeness, and ani- 
mated him with the breath of life, he made a covenant with him, 
Adam and his Creator conversed together in the solitude of the 
garden. The covenant was necessarily broken by the disobedi- 
ence of the father of men. The Almighty could no longer com- 
municate with death, or spirituality with matter. Now, be- 
tween two things of different properties there cannot be a point 

' Questions sur VEncyi "opedt'e, tome iv. Were we to express ourselves aa 
Tcibly as Voltaire here does, we would be looked upon as a fanatic. 

7 



74 GEMUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



of contact except by means of s(5metliing intermediate, ilie first 
efi'ort which divine love made to draw us nearer to itself, was in 
the caUing of Abraham and the institution of sacrifices — types 
announcing to the world the coming of the Messiah. The Sa- 
viour, when he restored us to the ends of our creation, as we 
have observed on the subject of the redemption, reinstated us iu 
our privileges, and the highest of those prij-ileges undoubtedly 
was to communicate with our Maker. But this communication 
could no longer take place immediately, as in the terrestrial para- 
dise: in the first place, because our origin remained polluted; 
and in the second, because the body, now an heir of death, is too 
weak to survive a direct communication with God. A medium 
was therefore required, and this medium the Son has furnished. 
lie hath given himself to man in the Eucharist; he hath become 
the sublime way by which we are again united with Him from 
whom our souls have emanated. 

But if the Son had remained in his primitive essence, it is evi- 
dent that the same separation would have continued to exist here 
below between God and man; since there can be no union be- 
tween purity and guilt, between an eternal reality and the dream 
of human life. But the Word condescended to assume our na- 
ture and to become like us. On the one hand he is united to 
his Father by his spirituality, and on the other, to our fiesh by 
his humanity. He is therefore the required medium of approxi- 
mation between the guilty child and the compassionate Father. 
Kepresented by the symbol of bread, he is a sensible object to the 
corporeal eye, while he continues an intellectual object to the eye 
of the soul; and if he has chosen bread for this purpose, it is be- 
cause the material which composes it is a noble and pure emblem 
of the divine nourishment. 

If this sublime and mysterious theology, a few outlines only 
of which we are attempting to trace, should displease any of our 
readers, let them but remark how luminous are our metaphysics 
when compared with the system of Pythagoras, Plato, Timseus, 
Aristotle, and Epicurus. Here they meet with none of those 
abstract ideas for which it is necessary to create a language unin.- 
teljitjible to the mass of mankind. 

To sum up what we have said on this subject, we see, in the 
lirst place, that the Holy Communion displays a beautiful ceismo- 



CELIBACY UNDER ITS MORAL ASPECT. 76 



nial ; that it inculcates morality, because purity of heart is essen- 
tial in those who partake of it ] that it is an offering of the pro- 
duce of the earth to the Creator, and that it commemorates the 
sublime and affecting history of the Son of man. Combined 
with the recollection of the Passover and of the first covenant, it 
is lost in the remoteness of time ) it reproduces the earliest ideas 
of man, in his religious and political character, and denotes the 
original equality of the human race. Finally, it comprises the 
mystical history of the family of Adam, their fall, their restora- 
tion, and their reunion with God. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

CONFIRMATION, HOLY ORDERS, AND MATRIMONY. 

Celibacy considered under its Moral Aspect. 

In considering the period of life which religion has fixed for 
the nuptials of man and his Creator, we find a subject of per- 
petual wonder. At the time when the fire of the passions is 
about to be kindled in the heart, and the mind is sufficiently 
capable of knowing God, he becomes the ruling spirit of the 
youth, pervading all the faculties of his soul in its now restless 
and expanded state. But dangers multiply as he advances; a 
stranger cast without experience upon the perilous ways of the 
world, he has need of additional helps. At this crisis religion does 
not forget her child : she has her reinforcements in reserve. 
Confirmation will support his trembling steps, like the stafi" in the 
hands of the traveller, or like those sceptres which passed from 
race to race among the royal families of antiquity, and on which 
Evander and Nestor, pastors of men, reclined while judging their 
people. Let it be observed that all the morality of life is implied 
in the sacrament of Confirmation; because whoever has the 
courage to confess God will necessarily practise virtue, as the 
commission of crime is nothing but the denial of the Creator. 



-(5 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

The same wise spirit has been displayed in placiiK the sacra^ 
inents of Holy Orders and Matrimony immediately after that of 
Confirmation. The child has now become a man, and religion, 
that watched over him with tender solicitude in the state of na- 
ture, will not abandon him in the social sphere. How profound 
are the views of the Christian legislator ! He has establishtd 
only two social sacraments, if we may be allowed this expression, 
because, in reality, there are but two states in life — celibacy and 
marriage. Thus, without regard to the civil distinctions invented 
by our short-sigiited reason, Jesus Christ divided society into two 
classes, and decreed for them, not political, but moral laws, acting 
in this respect in accordance with all antiquity. The old sages 
of the Kast, who have acquired such a wide-spread fame, did not 
call men together at random to hatch Utopian constitutions. They 
were venerable solitaries, who had travelled much, and who cele- 
liratcd with the lyre the remembrance of the gods. Laden with 
the rich treasure of information derived from their intercourse 
with foreign nations, and still richer by the virtues which they 
practised, those excellent men appeared before the multitude 
with the lute in hand, their hoary locks encircled \Yith a golden 
crown, and, seating themselves under the shade of the plane- 
tree, they delivered their lessons to an enchanted crowd. What 
were the institutions of an Amphion, a Cadmus, an Orpheus ? 
They consisted in delightful music called hno, in the dance, the 
hymn, the consecrated tree; they were exhibited in youth under 
the guidance of old age, in matrimonial faith plighted near a 
grave. Religion and God were everywhere. Such are the scenes 
which Christianity also exhibits, but with much stronger claims 
to our admiration. 

Principles, however, are always a subject of disagreement 
among men, and the wisest institutions have met with opposition. 
Thus, in modern times, the vow of celibacy which accompanies 
the reception of Holy Orders has been denounced in no mea- 
sured terms. Some, availing themselves of e\ery means of as 
sailing religion, have imagined that, they placed her in opposition 
to herself by contrasting her present discipline with the ancient 
practice of the Church, which, according to them, permitted the 
marriage of the clergy. Others have been content with making 
\\\v cha'^tity of the priesthood the object of their raillery. Let 



CELIBACY UNDER ITS MORAL ASPECT. 77 



us examine, first, the views of those who have assailed it with 
Beriousness and on the ground of morality. 

By the seventh canon of the second Council of Lateran,^ held 
in 1139, the celibacy of the clergy was definitely established, in 
accordance with the regulations of previous synods, as those of 
Lateran in 1123, Trosle in 909, Tribur in 895, Toledo in 633, and 
Chalcedon in 451.^ Baronius shows that clerical celibacy was in 
force generally from the sixth century.^ The first Council of 
Tours excommunicated any priest, deacon, or sub-deacon, who 
returned to his wife after the reception of Holy Orders. From 
the time of St. Paul, virginity was considered the more perfect 
state for a Christian. 

But, were we to admit that marriage was allowed among the 
clergy in the early ages of the Church, which cannot be shown 
either from history or from ecclesj^tical legislation, it would not 
follow that it would be expedient at the present day. Such an 
innovation would be at variance with the manners of our times, 
and, moreover, would lead to the total subversion of ecclesiastical 
discipline. 

In the primitive days of religion, a period of combats and 
triumphs, the followers of Christianity, comparatively few in 
number and adorned with every virtue, lived fraternally together, 
and shared the same joys and the same tribulations at the table 
of the Lord. We may conceive, therefore, that a minister of 
religion might, strictly speaking, have been permitted to have a 
family amid this perfect society, which was already the domestic 
circle for him. His own children, forming a part of his flock, 
would not have diverted him from the attentions due to the re- 
mainder of his charge, nor would they have exposed him to betray 
the confidence of the sinner, since in those days there were no 
crimes to be concealed, the confession of them being made pub- 
licly in those hasillcs of the dead where the faithful assembled 
to pray over the ashes of the martyrs. The Christians of that 
age had received from heaven a spirit which we have lost. They 

* This was the tenth general council, at which one thousand bishops were 
present. T. 

2 The fourth general council, numbering between five and six hundred 
bishops. T. 

3 Baron., Au. ?8, No. IS. 

i "* 



y3 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

formed not so much a popular assembly as a community uf Levites 
and religious women. Baptism had made them all priests and 
confessors of Jesus Christ. 

St. Justin the philosopher, in his first 4/^o%y, has given us 
an admirable description of the Christian life in those times. 
" We are accused," he says, ''of disturbing the tranquillity of the 
«tate, while we are taught by one of the principal articles of our 
faith' that nothing is hidden to the ''ye of God, and that he will 
one day take a strict account of our good and evil deeds. But, 
O powerful Kmperor, the very punishments which you have de- 
creed against us only tend to confirm us in our religion, because 
all this persecution was predicted by our Master, the son of the 
sovereign God, Father and Lord of the universe. 

" On Sunday, those who reside in the town and country meet 
together. The Scriptures ara read, after which one of the an- 
cients* exhorts the people to imitate the beautiful examples that 
have been placed before them. The assembly then rises; prayer 
is again offered up, and water, bread, and wine being presented. 
the officiating minister gives thanks, the others answering Amen. 
A portion of the consecrated elements is now distributed, and the 
rest is conveyed by the deacons to those who are absent. A col- 
lection is taken ; the rich giving according to their disposition. 
These alms are placed in the hands of the minister, for the as- 
sistance of widows, orphans, sick persons, prisoners, poor people, 
strangers ; in short, all who are in need, and the care of whom 
devolves especially upon the minister. We assemble on Sunday, 
bccjiu.se on that day God created the world, and the same day his 
Son arose to life again, to confirm his disciples in the doctrine 
which we have exposed to you. 

"If you find this doctrine good, show your respect for it; if 
not, reject it. But do not condemn to punishment those who 
commit no crime; for we declare to you that, if you continue to 
act unjustly, you will not escape the judgment of God. For the 
rest, whatever be our faith, we desire only that the will of God 
be done. We might have claimed your favorable regard in cou- 

' Tbat is, a priest. In the first ages, the word rrf^cffDircfM; or ancient was very 

fr '1' ' — 1 {(} signify a bii-h'jp or priei>t, set apart by ordination for the 

li Cliurch : it was afterwards employed solely to designate the 

priei«lly order, T. 



CELIBACY UNDER ITS MORAL ASPECT. 79 



sequence of the letter of your father, Ca3sar Adrian, of illustrious 
and glorious memory; but we have preferred to rely solely upon 
the justice of our cause."- 

The Apology of Justin was well calculated to take the world 
by surprise; for it proclaimed a golden age in the midst of a cor- 
rupt generation, and pointed out a new people in the catacombs 
of an ancient empire. The Christian life must have appeared 
the more admirable in the public eye, as such perfection had 
never before been known, harmonizing with nature and the laws, 
and on th(! other hand forming a remarkable contrast with the 
rest of societv. It is also invested with an interest which is not 
to be found in the fabulous excellence of antiquity, because the 
latter is always depicted in a state of happiness, while the former 
presents itself through the charms of adversity. It is not amid 
the foliage of the woods or at the side of the fountain that virtue 
exerts her greatest power, but under the shade of the prison-wall 
or amid rivers of blood and tears. How divine does religion 
appear to us when, in the recess of the catacomb or in the silent 
darkness of the tomb, we behold a pastor who is surrounded by 
da-nger, celebrating, by the feeble glare of his lamp and in pre- 
sence of his little flock, the mysteries of a persecuted God ! 

We have deemed it necessary to establish incontestiibly this 
high moral character of the first Christians, in order to show that, 
if the marriage of the clergy was considered unbecoming in that 
age of purity, it would be altogether impossible to introduce it at 
the present day. When the number of Christians increased, and 
morality was weakened with the diffusion of mankiad, how could 
the priest devote himself at the same time to his family and to 
the Church? How could he have continued chaste with a spouse 
who had ceased to be so ? If our opponents object the prac- 
tice of Protestant countries, we will observe that it has been ne- 
cessary in those countries to abolish a great portion of the external 
worship of religion ; that a Protestant minister appears in the 
church scarcely two or three times a week ; that almost all spi- 
ritual relations have ceased between him and his flock, and that 
very often he is a more man of the world.^ As to certain I'uri- 

• Justin, Apoloij., edit. Marc, fol. 1742. See note B. 

^ "It was no ti-ivial misfortune," says Dr. King, "for the cause of Christianity 
in England, that at the pe; iod of our separation from poperj- the clergy wera 



80 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

tinical sects that affect an evangelical simplicity, and wish to have 
a religion without a worship, we hope that they will be passed 
over in silence. Finally, in those countries where the marriage 
of the clergy is allowed, the confession of sin, which is the most 
admirable of moral institutions, has been, and must necessarily 
have been, discontinued. It cannot be supposed that the Chris- 
tian would confide the secrets of his heart to a man who has 
already made a woman the depositary of his own ; and he would, 
with reason, fear to make a confidant of him who has proved 
faithless to God, and has repudiated the Creator to espouse the 
creature. 

Wc will now answer the objection drawn from the general law 
of population. It seems to us that one of the first natural laws 
that required abrogation at the commencement of the Christian 
era, was that which encouraged population beyond a certain limit. 
The age of Jesus Christ was not that of Abraham. The latter 
appeared at a time when innocence prevailed and the earth was 
but sparsely inhabited. Jesus Christ, on the contrary, came into 
the midst of a world that was corrupt and thickly settled. Con- 
tinence, therefore, may be allowed to woman. The second Eve, 
in curing the evils that had fallen upon the first, has brought 
down virginity from heaven, to give us an idea of the purity and 
joy which preceded the primeval pangs of maternity. 

The Legislator of the Christian world was born of a virgin, 
and died a virgin. Did he not wish thereby to teach us, in a 
political and natural point of view, that the earth had received 
its complement of inhabitants, and that the ratio of generation, 

allowed to marry; for, as might have been foreseen, our ecclesiastics since that 
time have occupied themselves solely with their wives and their children. The 
dignitaries of the Church could easily provide for their families with the aid of 
their hirj.'e revenue." ; but the inferior clergy, unable with their slender incomes 
to esUiblish their children in the world, soon spread over the kingdom swarms 

of mcndii-ants As a member of the republic of letters, I have often 

desired the re-enactment of the canons that prohibited marriage among the 
clergy. To episcopal celibacy we are indebted for all the magnificent grants 
that distinguish our two universities: but since the period of the Reformation 
those two scats of learning have had few benefactors among the members of the 
hierarchy. If the rich donations of Laud and Sheldon have an eternal claim 
to our gratitude, it must be remembered that these two prelates were never 
married," Ac. -Political and Literary Anecdotes, &c., Edinburgh Review, July, 
J81'J. T. 



CELIBACY UNDER ITS MORAL ASPECT. 81 



far from being extended, should be restricted ? In support of 
this opinion, we may remark that states never perish from a want, 
but from an excess, of population. The barbarians of the North 
spread devastation over the globe when their forests became 
overcrowded ; and Switzerland has been compelled to transfer a 
portion of her industrious inhabitants to other countries, as she 
pours forth her abundant streams to render them productive. 
Though the number of laborers has been greatly diminished iu 
France, the cultivation of the soil was never more flourishing 
than at the present time. Alas ! we resemble a swarm of insects 
buzzing around a cup of wormwood into which a few drops of 
honey have accidentally fallen ; we devour each other as soon as 
our numbers begin to crowd the spot that we occupy ! By a still 
greater misfortune, the more we increase, the more laud we re- 
quire to satisfy our wants ; and as this space is always diminish- 
ing, while the passions are extending their sway, the most fright- 
ful revolutions must, sooner or later, be the consequence.* 

Theories, however, have little weight in the presence of facts. 
Europe is far from being a desert, though the Catholic clergy 
within her borders have taken the vow of celibacy. Even mo- 
nasteries are favorable to society, by the good management of the 
religious, who distribute their commodities at home, and thus 
afibrd abundant relief to the poor. Where but in the neighbor- 
hood of some rich abbey, did we once behold in France the com- 
fortably dressed husbandman, and laboring people whose joyful 
countenances betokened their happy condition ? Large possessions 
always produce this effect in the hands of wise and resident 
proprietors; and such precisely was the character of our monastic 
domains. But this subject would lead us too far. We shall return 
to it in treatino- of the relig-ious orders. We will remark, how- 
ever, that the clergy have been favorable to the increase of popu- 
lation, by preaching concord and union between man and wife, 
checking the progress of libertinism, and visiting with the de- 
nunciations of the Church the crimes which the people of the 
cities directed to the diminution of children. 

There can be no doubt that every great nation has need of 
men who, separated from the rest of mankind, invested with some 



1 Note C. 



82 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

august character, and free from the encumbrances of wife, children, 
and other worldly affairs, may labor effectually for the advance- 
ment of knowledge, the improvement of morals, and the relief 
of human suffering. What wonders have not our priests and 
religious accomplished in these three respects for the good of 
society? But place them in charge of a family: would not the 
learning and charity which they have consecrated to their country 
be turned to the profit of their relatives ? Happy, indeed, if by 
this change their virtue were not transformed into vice ! 

Having disposed of the objections which moralists urge against 
clerical celibacy, we shall endeavor to answer those of .the poets ; 
but for this purpose it will be necessary to employ other argu- 
ments, to adduce other authorities, and to write in a different 
style. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED HOLY ORDERS. 

Most of the sages of antiquity led a life of celibacy ; and the 
Gymnosophists, the Brahmins, and the Druids, held chastity in 
the highest honor. Even among savage tribes it is invested 
with a heavenly character 3 because in all ages and countries there 
has prevailed but one opinion respecting the excellence of vir- 
ginity. Among the ancients, priests and priestesses, who were 
supposed to commune intimately with heaven, were obliged to 
live as solitaries, and the least violation of their vows was visited 
with a signal punishment. They offered in sacrifice only the 
heifer that had never been a mother. The loftiest and most 
attractive characters in mythology were virgins. Such were 
Venus, Urania, and Minerva, goddesses of genius and wisdom, 
and Friendship, who was represented as a young maiden. Vir- 
ginity herself was personified as the moon, and paraded her mys- 
terious modesty amid the refreshing atmosphere of night. 

Virginity is not less amiable, considered in its various other 
relations. In the three departments of nature, it is the source 
uf grace and the perfection of beauty. The poets whom we are 



HOLY ORDERS. 83 



now seeking to convince will readily admit what we say. Do they 
not themselves introduce everywhere the idea of virginity, as 
lending a charm to their descriptions and representations ? Do 
they not find it in the forest-scene, in the vernal rose, in the 
winter's snow ? and do they not thus station it at the two extre- 
mities of life — on the lips of childhood and the gray locks of 
aged man? Do they not also blend it with the m3'steries of the 
tomb, telling us of antiquity that consecrated to the manes seed- 
less trees, because death is barren, or because in the next life 
there is no distinction of sex, and the soul is an immortal virgin ? 
Finally, do they not tell us that the irrational animals which ap- 
proach the nearest to human intelligence are those devoted to 
chastity? Do we not seem, in fact, to recognise in the bee-hive 
the model of those monasteries, where vestals are busily engaged 
in extracting a celestial honey from the flowers of virtue ? 

In the fine arts, virginity is again the charm, and the Muses 
owe to it their perpetual youth. But it displays its excellence 
chiefly in man. St. Ambrose has composed three treatises on 
virginity, in which he has scattered with a profuse hand the 
ornaments of style, — his object, as he informs us, being to gain 
the attention of virgins by the sweetness of his words.* He 
terms virginity an exemption from every stain, and shows that 
the tranquillity which attends it is far superior to the cares of 
matrimonial life. He addresses the virgin in these ■^ords : "The 
modesty which tinges your cheeks renders you exceedingly beau- 
tiful. Retired far from the sight of men, like the rose in some 
solitary spot, your charms form not the subject of their false 
surmises. Nevertheless, you are still a competitor for the prize 
of beauty; not that indeed which falls under the eye, but the 
beauty of virtue — that beauty which no sickness can disfigure, 
no age can diminish, and not death itself can take away. God 
alone is the umpire in this rivalry of virgins, because he loves 

the beautiful soul, even in a body that is deformed 

A virgin is the gift of heaven and the joy of her family. She 
exercises under the paternal roof the priesthood of chastity; she 
is a victim daily immolated for her mother at the altar of filial 
piety."^ 



De Virgin., lib. ii. ch. 1. 2 ibid., lib. i. ch. 5. 



S4 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



In man, viririnity assumes the character of sublimity. When, 
in the fierce rebellion of the passions, it resists the invitation to 
evil, it becomes a celestial virtue. "A chaste heart," says 8t. 
Bernard, '' is by virtue what an angel is by nature. There is 
more felicity in the purity of the angel, but there is more courage 
in that of the man." In the religious, virginity transforms itself 
into humanity : witness the fathers of the Redemption and the 
orders of Hospitallers, consecrated to the relief of human misery. 
The learned man it inspires with the love of study; the hermit 
with that of contemplation : in all it is a powerful principle, 
whose beneficial influence is always felt in the labors of the mind, 
and hence it is the most excellent quality of life, since it imparts 
fresh vigor to the soul, which is the nobler part of our nature. 

But if chastity is necessary in any state, it is chiefly so in the 
service of the divinity. ''God," as Plato observes, "is the true 
standard of things, and we should make every efibrt to resemble 
him." He who ministers at his altar is more strictly obliged to 
this than others. ''The question here," says St. Chrysostom, "is 
not the government of an empire or the command of an army, 
but the performance of functions that require an angelic virtue 
The soul of the priest should be purer than the rays of the sun." 
*'The Christian minister," adds St. Jerome, "is the interpreter 
between God and man." The priest, therefore, must be a divine 
personage. An air of holiness and mystery should surround him. 
Retired within the sacred gloom of the temple, let him be heard 
without being perceived by those without. Let his voice, solemn, 
grave, and religious, announce the prophetic word or chant the 
hymn of peace in the holy recesses of the tabernacle. Let his 
visits among men be transient; and if he appear amid the bustle 
of the world, let it be only to render a service to the unhappy." 

It is on these conditions that the priest will enjoy the respect 
and confidence of his people. But he will soon forfeit both if he 
be seen in the halls of the rich, if he be encumbered with a wife, 
if he be too familiar in society, if he betray faults which are 
condemned in the world, or if he lead those around him to sus- 
pect for a moment that he is a man like other men. 

Chastity in old age is something superhuman. Priam, ancient 
as mount Ida and hoary as the oak of Gargarus, surrounded in 
his palace by liis fifty 'ic'is, presents a noble type of paternity; 



MATRIMONY. 85 



but Plato without wife and children, seated on the steps of a 
temple at the extremity of a cape lashed b};^ the waves, and there 
lecturing to his disciples on the existence of Grod, exhibits a far 
more elevated character. He belongs not to the earth ; he seems 
to be one of those spirits or higher intelligences of whom he 
speaks in his writings. 

Thus, virginity, ascending from the last link in the chain of 
beings up to man, soon passes from man to the angels, and from 
the angels to Grod, in whom it is absorbed. God reigns in a glory 
unique, inimitable in the eternal firmament, as the sun, his 
image, shines with unequalled splendor in the visible heavens. 

We may conclude, that poets and men even of the most refined 
taste can make no reasonable objection to the celibacy of the 
priesthood, since virginity is among the cherished recollections of 
the past, is one of the charms of friendship, is associated with 
the solemn thought of the tomb, with the innocence of child- 
hood, with the enchantment of 3'outh, with the charity of the 
religious, with the sanctity of the priest and of old age, and with 
the divinity in the angels and in Grod himself. 



CHAPTER X. 

SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED MATRIMONY. 

Europe owes also to Christianity the few good laws which it 
possesses. There is not, perhaps, a single contingency in civil 
affairs for which provision has not been made by the canon law, 
the fruit of the experience of fifteen centuries and of the genius 
of the Innocents and the Gregories. The wisest emperors and 
kings, as Charlemagne and Alfred the Great, were of opinion 
that they could not do better than to introduce into the civil code 
a part of this ecclesiastical code, which contains the essence of 
the Levitical law, the gospel, and the Roman jurisprudence. 
What an edifice is the Church of Christ ! How vast ! how 
wonderful ! 

In elevating marriage to the dignity of a sacrament, Jesus 



g6 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

Christ has shown us, in the first place, the great symbol of hig 
union with the Church. When we consider that matrimony is 
the axis on which the whole social economy revolves, can we 
suppose it to be ever sufficiently sacred, or too highly admire the 
wisdom of him who has stamped it with the seal of religion ? 

The Church has made every provision for so important a step 
in life. She has determined the degrees of relationship within 
which matrimony is allowable. The canon law/ which determines 
the degree of consanguinity by the number of generations from 
the parent stock, has forbidden marriage within the fourth gene- 
ration ; while the civil law, following a double mode of computa- 
tion, formerly prohibited it only within the second degree. Such 
was the Arcadian law, as inserted in the Institutes of Justinian.^ 
But the Church, with her accustomed wisdom, has been governed 
in this by the gradual improvement of popular manners.^ In the 
first ages of Christianity, marriage was forbidden within the 
seventh degree of consanguinity- and- some Councils, as that of 
Toledo in the sixth ^century, prohibited without exception all 
alliances between members of the same familv.^ 

The spirit that dictated these laws is worthy of the pure reli- 
gion which we profess. The pagan world was far from imitating 
this chastity of the Christian people. At Rome, marriage was 
permitted between cousins-german ] and Claudius, in order to 
marry Agrippina, enacted a law which allowed an uncle to form 
an alliance with his niece. ^ By the laws of Solon, a brother could 
marry his sister by the mother's side.^ 

' CoDcil. Lat., an. 1205 2 Dg Xupt., tit. 10 

•* Concil. Duziac, an. 814. The canon law was necessarily modified according 

to the manners of the different nations — Goths. Vandals, English, Franks, Bur- 

gundians — who entered successively into the Church. 

* Can. 5. 

* Suet., in Claud. It should be observed that this law did not become gene- 
ral, as we learn from the Fmfjmcnts of Ulpian, tit. 5 and 6, and that it was re- 
pealed by the code of Theodosius, as well as that relating to cousins-german. 
In the Christian Church the pope has the power to dispense from the canon 
law, according to circumstances : a very wise provision, since no law can be so 
universally applicable as to comprehend every case. As to the regulation under 
the Old Testament regarding marriage between brothers and sisters, it belonged 
to the general law of population, which, as we have observed, was abolished at 
the coming of Christ, when the diflercnt races of men had received their com- 
element. 6 piut., in Sol. 



MATRIMONY. 87 



The Churcli, however, did not confine her precautions to the 
above-mentioned legislation. For some time she followed the 
Levitical law in regard to those who were related by affinity; but 
subsequently she numbered among the nullifying impedimenta 
of marriage, all the degrees of affinity corresponding to the degrees 
of consanguinity within which marriage is prohibited.* She 
also provided for a case which had escaped the notice of all pre- 
vious jurisprudence — that of a man guilty of illicit intercourse 
with a woman. According to the discipline of the Church, this 
man cannot marry any woman who is related within the second 
degree to the object of his unlawful love." This law, which had 
existed to a certain extent in the early ages of Christianity,^ be- 
came a settled point by a decree of the Council of Trent, and was 
considered so wise an enactment that the French code, thouirh it 
rejected the Council as a whole, willingly adopted this particular 
canon. 

The numerous impediments to marriage between relatives which 
the Church has established, besides being founded on moral and 
spiritual considerations, have a beneficial tendency in a political 
point of view, by encouraging the division of property, and pre- 
venting all the wealth of a state from accumulating, in a long 
series of years, in the hands of a few individuals. 

The Church has retained the ceremony of betrothing, which 
may be traced to a remote antiquity. We are informed by Aulus 
Grellius that it was known among the people of Latium :* it was 
adopted by the Romans,^ and was customary among the Greeks. 
It was honored under the old covenant; and in the new, Joseph 
was betrothed to Mary. The intention of this custom is to allow 
the bride and bridegroom time to become acquainted with each 
other previously to their union. ^ 

In our rural hamlets, the ceremony of betrothing was still wit- 
nessed with its ancient graces.'' On a beautiful morning in the 
month of August, a young peasant repaired to the farm-house of 

1 Cone. Lat. ^ Ibid., ch. 4, sess. 24. ^ Cone. Ane., cap. ult., an. 304. 
Noct. Att, lib. iv. eap. 4. ^ Lib. ii. fF. de Spons. 

' St. Augustine, speaking of this usage, says that the bride is not given to 
her lord immediately after the betrothing, " lest he be inclined to think less 
of one who has not been the object of his prolonged aspirations." 

"^ The author uses the past tense, alluding to customs before the French Re- 
volution. T. 



gg GENIUS OF CHRISTIAXITY. 

his future father-in-law, to join his intended bride. Two musi- 
cians, remiudins: you of the minstrels of old, led the way, playing 
tunes of the days of chivalry, or the hymns of 23ilgrims. De- 
parted ages, issuing from their Gothic tombs, seemed to accom- 
pany the village youth with their ancient manners and their 
ancient recollections. The priest pronounced the accustomed 
benediction over the bride, who deposited upon the altar a distaff 
adorned with ribbons. The company then returned to the farm- 
house ; the lord and lady of the manor, the clergyman of the 
parish, and the village justice, placed themselves, with the young 
couple, the husbandmen and the matrons, round a table, upon 
which were served up the Eumoean boar and the fatted calf of 
the patriarchs. The festivities concluded with a dance in the 
nei«;hborino- barn : the daug:hter of the lord of the manor took 
the bridegroom for her partner, while the spectators were seated 
upon the newly-harvested sheaves, forcibly reminded of the 
daughters of Jethro, the reapers of Booz, and the nuptials of 
Jacob and Eachel. 

The betrothing is followed by the publication of the bans. This 
excellent custom, unknown to antiquity, is altogether of ecclesias- 
tical institution. It dates from a period anterior to the fourteenth 
century, as it is mentioned in a decretal of Innocent III., who 
enacted it as a general law at the Council of Lateran. It was re- 
newed by the Tridentine Synod, and has since been established 
in France. The design of this practice is to prevent clandestine 
unions, and to discover the impediments to marriage that may 
exist between the contracting parties. 

But at length the Christian marriage approaches. It comes 
attended by a very different ceremonial from that which accom- 
panied the betrothing. Its pace is grave and solemn ; its rites 
are silent and august. Man is apprised that he now enters upon 
a new career. The words of the nuptial blessing — words which 
God himself pronounced over the first couple in the world — fill 
the husband with profound awe, while they announce to him that 
he is performing the most important act of life ; that, like Adam, 
he is about to become the head of a family, and to take upon him- 
self the whole burden of humanity. The wife receives a caution 
equally impressive. The image of pleasure vanishes before that 
of her duties. A voice seems to issue from the altar, and to ad- 



MATRIMONY. gp 



dress her in these words : "Knowest tliou^ Eve, "what thou art 
doing ? Knowest thou that there is no longer any liberty for thee 
but that of the tomb ? Knowest thou what it is to bear in thy 
mortal womb an immortal being, formed in the image of God?" 

Among the ancients, the hymeneal rites were a ceremony replete 
with licentiousness and clamorous mirth, which suggested none 
of the serious reflections that marriage inspires. Christianity 
alone has restored its dignity. 

Religion also, discovering before philosophy the proportion in 
which the two sexes are born, first decreed that a man should 
have but one wife, and that their union should be indissoluble 
till death. Divorce is unknown in the Catholic Church, except 
among some minor nations of Illyria, who were formerly subject to 
the Venetian government, and who follow the Greek rite.* If the 
passions of men have revolted against this law, — if they have not 
perceived the confusion which divorce introduces into the family, 
by disturbing the order of succession, by alienating the paternal 
affections, by corrupting the heart and converting marriage into 
a civil prostitution, — we cannot hope that the few words which we 
have to offer will produce any effect. Without entering deeply 
into the subject, we shall merely observe, that if by divorce you 
think to promote the happiness of the married couple, (and this 
is now the main argument,) you lie under a strange mistake. 
That man who has not been the comfort of a first wife, — who could 
not attach himself to the virginal heart and first maternity of his 
lawful spouse, — who has not been able to bend his passions to the 
domestic yoke, or to confine his* heart to the nuptial couch, — that 
man will never confer felicity on a second wife. Neither will he 
himself be a gainer by the exchange. What he takes for differ- 
ences of temper between himself and the wife to whom he is 

^ By a departure from the tradition and practice of the Church, and a pre- 
ference for the concessions of the civil code, it had become the custom in these 
countries not only to allow divorce a mensa et thoro in cases of adultery, but 
also to permit the parties to marry again. The Council of Trent was on the 
point of condemning those who hold that marriage is dissolved quoad vin- 
culum by the crime of adultery; but, for reasons of expediency, the canon on 
this subject was so framed as not to stigmatize them with the note of heresy. 
See Tovirne'.y, De Matr., p. 394; Archbp. Kenrick, I'heol. Dogm., vol. iv. p. 120; 
Biblioth. Sucree, tome xvi. art. 3Iariage; Waterworth's Canonn and Decrees of 

Counc. of Trent, p. 228, &c. T. 
8» 



90 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

united, is but the impulse of an inconstant disposition and the 
restlessness of desire. Habit and length of time are more neces- 
sary to happiness, and even to love, than may be imagined. A 
man is not happy in the object of his attachment till he baa 
passed many days, and, above all, many days of adversity, in her 
company. They ought to be acquainted with the most secret 
recesses of each other's soul; the mysterious veil with which 
husband and wife were covered in the primitive Church, must be 
lifted up in all its folds for them, while to the eye of others it 
remains impenetrable. What ! for the slightest pretence or ca- 
price must I be liable to lose my partner and my children, and 
renounce the pleasing hope of passing my old age in the liosom 
of my family? Let me not be told that this apprehension will 
oblice me to be a better husband. No ; we become attached to 
that good only of which we are certain, and set but little value 
on a possession of which we are likely to be deprived. 

Let us not give to matrimony the wings of lawless love; let us 
not transform a sacred reality into a fleeting phantom. There is 
something which will again destroy your happiness in your tran- 
cient connections : you will be pursued by remorse. You will be 
continually comparing one wife with another, her whom you have 
lost with her whom you have found ; and, believe me, the balance 
will always be in "favor of the former. Thus has God formed the 
heart of man. This disturbance of one sentiment by another 
will poison all your pleasures. When you fondly caress your 
new child, you will think of that which you have forsaken. If 
you press your wife to your heart, your heart will tell you 
that it is not the bosom of the first. Every thing tends to 
unity in man. He is not happy if he divides his afiections ; 
and like God, in whose image he was created, his soul inces- 
santly seeks to concentrate in one point the past, the present, and 
the future. 

These are the remarks which we had to offer on the sacraments 
of Holy Orders and Matrimony. As to the images which they 
suggest to the mind, we deem it. unnecessary to present them. 
Where is the imagination that cannot picture to itself the priest 
bidding adieu to the joys of life, that he may devote himself to 
the cause of humanity; or the maiden consecrating herself to the 
eileuce of retirement, that she may find the silent repose of her 



EXTREME UNCTION. 91 



heart ; or tlie betrothed couple appearing at the altar of religion, 
to vow to each other an undying love ? 

The wife of a Christian is not a mere mortal. She is an extra- 
ordinar}^, a mysterious, an angelic being ; she is flesh of her hus- 
band's flesh and bone of his bone. By his union with her he 
only takes back a portion of his substance. His soul, as well as 
his body, is imperfect without his wife. He possesses strength, she 
has beauty. He opposes the enemy in arms, he cultivates the 
soil of his country; but he enters not into domestic details; he 
has need of a wife to prepare his repast and his bed. He encoun- 
ters aflBictions, and the partner of his nights is there to soothe 
them ; his days are clouded by adversity, but on his couch he 
meets with a chaste embrace and forgets all his sorrows. With- 
out woman he would be rude, unpolished, solitary. Woman sus- 
pends around him the flowers of life, like those honeysuckles of 
the forest which adorn the trunk of the oak with their perfumed 
garlands. Finally, the Christian husband and his wife live and 
die together; together they rear the issue of their union; toge- 
ther they return to dust, and together they again meet beyond 
the confines of the tomb, to part no more. 



CHAPTER XL 

EXTREME UNCTION. 



But it is in sight of that tomb, silent vestibule of another 
world, that Christianity displays all its sublimity. If most of 
the ancient religions consecrated the ashes of the dead, none evei 
thought of preparing the soul for that unknown country "frcra 
whose bourn no traveller returns " 

Come and witness the most interesting spectacle that earth can 
exhibit. Come and see the faithful Christian expire. He has 
ceased to be a creature of this world : he no longer belongs to his 
native country : all connection between him and society is at an 
end. For him the calculations of time have closed, and he has 
already begun to date from the great era of eternity. A priest, 



92 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



seated at his pillow, administers consolation. This minister of 
God cheers the dying man with the bright prospect of immortal- 
ity; and that sublime scene which all antiquity exhibited but 
once, in the last moments of its most eminent philosopher, is daily 
renewed on the humble pallet of the meanest Christian that 
expires I 

At length the decisive moment arrives. A sacrament opened 
to this just man the gates of the world ; a sacrament is about to 
close them. Religion rocked him in the cradle of life; and now 
her sweet song and maternal hand will lull him to sleep in the 
cradle of death. She prepares the baptism of this second birth : 
but mark, she employs not water; she anoints him with oil, em- 
blem of celestial incorruptibility. The liberating sacrament gra- 
dually loosens the Christian's bonds. His soul, nearly set free from 
the body, is almost visible in his countenance. Already he hears 
the concerts of the seraphim : already he prepares to speed his 
flight to those heavenly regions where Hope, the daughter of 
Virtue and of Death, invites him. Meanwhile, the angel of peace, 
descending toward this righteous man, touches with a golden 
sceptre his weary eyes, and closes them deliciously to the light. 
He dies ; yet his last idgh was inaudible. He expires ; yet, long 
after he is no more, his friends keep silent watch around his 
couch, under the imjression that he only slumbers : so gently 
did this Christian pass from earth. 



BOOK II. 

VIRTUES AND MORAL LAWa 
CHAPTER I. 

VICES AND VIRTUES ACCORDING TO RELIGION. 

Most of the ancient philosophers have marked the diFtinctioa 
between vices and virtues ; but how far superior in this respect 
also is the wisdom of religion to the wisdom of men ! 

Let us first consider pride alone, which the Church ranks as 
the principal among the vices. Pride was the sin of Satan, the 
first sin that polluted this terrestrial globe. Pride is so com- 
pletely the root of evil, that it is intermingled with all the other 
infirmities of our nature. It beams in the smile of envy, it bursts 
forth in the debaucheries of the libertine, it counts the gold of 
avarice, it sparkles in the eyes of anger, it is the companion of 
graceful effeminacy. 

Pride occasioned the fall of Adam ; pride armed Cain against 
his innocent brother ] it was pride that erected Babel and over- 
threw Babylon. Through pride Athens became involved in the 
common ruin of Greece ; pride destroyed the throne of Cyrus, 
divided the empire of Alexander, and crushed Rome itself under 
the weight of the universe. 

In the particular circumstances of life, pride produces still 
more baneful effects. It has the presumption to attack even the 
Deity himself. 

Upon inquiring into the causes of atheism, we are led to this 
melancholy observation : that most of those who rebel against 
Heaven imagine that they find something wrong in the constitu- 
tion of society or the order of nature; excepting, however, the 
young who are seduced by the world, or writers whose only 
object is to attract notice. But how happens it that they who 
are deprived of the inconsiderable advantages which a capricious 

fortune gives or takes away, have not the sense to seek the re- 

93 



94 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

mcdy of this trifling evil in drawing near to God? He is thie 
great fountainhead of blessing. So truly is he the quintessence 
itself of beauty, that his name alone, pronounced with love, is 
sufficient to impart something divine to the man who is the least 
favored by nature, as has been remarked in the case of Socrates. 
Let atheism be for those who, not having' courage enough to rise 
superior to the trials of their lot, display in their blasphemies 
naught but the first vice of man. 

If the Church has assigned to pride the first place in the scale 
of human depravity, she has shown no less wisdom in the classi- 
fication of the six other capital vices. It must not be supposed 
that the order of their arrangement is arbitrary : we need only 
examine it to perceive that religion, with an admirable discrimi- 
nation, passes from those vices which attack society in general to 
such as recoil upon the head of the guilty individual alone. Thus, 
for instance, envy, luxury, avarice and anger, immediately follow 
pride, because they are vices which suppose a foreign object and 
exist only in the midst of society; whereas gluttony and idle- 
ness, which come last, are solitary and base inclinations, that 
find in themselves their principal gratification. 

In the estimate and classification of the virtues, we behold the 
same profound knowledge of human nature. Before the coming 
of Jesus Christ the human soul was a chaos; the Word spoke, 
and order instantly pervaded the intellectual world, as the same 
Jiat had once produced the beautiful arrangement of the physical 
world : this was the moral creation of the universe. The virtues, 
like pure fires, ascended into the heavens : some, like brilliant 
suns, attracted every eye by their glorious radiance ; others, more 
modest luminaries, appeared only under the veil of night, which, 
however, could not conceal their lustre. From that moment an 
admirable balance between streniith and weakness was esta« 
blished; religion hurled all her thunderbolts at Pride, that vice 
which feeds upon the virtues : she detected it in the inmost re- 
cesses of the heart, she pursued it in all its changes ; the sacra- 
ments, in holy array, were marshalled against it; and Humility, 
clothed in sackcloth, her waist begirt with a cord, her feet bare, 
her head covered with ashes, her downcast eyes swimming in 
tears, became one of the primary virtues of the believer. 



FAITH. 95 



CHAPTER II. 

OF FAITH. 

And wliat were the virtues so higbly recommended oy the 
sages of G-reece ? Fortitude, tf mperance, and prudence. None 
but Jesus Christ could teach the world that faith, hope and 
charity, are virtues alike adapted to the ignorance and the wretch- 
edness of man. 

It was undoubtedly a stupendous wisdom that pointed out faith 
to us as the source of all the virtues. There is no power but in 
conviction. If a train of reasoning is strong, a poem divine, a 
picture beautiful, it is because the understanding or the eye, to 
whose judgment they are submitted, is convinced of a certain 
truth hidden in this reasoning, this poem, this picture. What 
wonders a small band of troops persuaded of the abilities of their 
leader is capable of achieving ! Thirty-five thousand Creeks fol- 
low Alexander to the conquest of the world; Lacedaemon com- 
mits her destiny to the hands of Lycurgus, and Laced^emon 
becomes the wisest of cities; Babylon believes that she is formed 
for greatness, and greatness crowns her confidence ; an oracle 
gives the empire of the universe to the Romans, and the Romans 
obtain the empire of the universe; Columbus alone, among all 
his contemporaries, persists in believing the existence of a new 
world, and a new world rises from the bosom of the deep. 
Friendship, patriotism, love, every noble sentiment, is likewise a 
species of faith. Because they had faith, a Codrus, a Pylades, 
a Regulus, an Arria, performed prodigies. For the same reason, 
they who believe nothing, who treat all the convictions of the 
soul as illusions, who consider every noble action as insanity, and 
look with pity upon the warm imagination and tender sensibility 
of genius — for the same reason such hearts will never achieve 
any thing great or generous : they have faith only in matter and 
in death, and they are already insensible as the one, and cold and 
icy as the other. 



Cj(j GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



In the language of ancient chivalry, to pledge ones faith was 
synonymous with all the prodigies of honor. Roland, Duguesclin, 
Bayard, were faithful knights; and the fields of "Roncevaux, of 
Auray, of Bresse, the descendants of the Moors, of the Euglish, 
and of the Lombards, still tell what men they were who plighted 
their faith and homage to their God, their lady, and their coun- 
try. Shall we mention the martyrs, ''who," to use the words of 
St. Ambrose, "without armies, without legions, Tanquished ty- 
rants, assuaged the fury of lions, took from the fire its vehemence 
and from the sword its edge'' ?^ Considered in this point of view, 
faith is so formidable a power, that if it were applied to evil pur- 
poses it 'would convulse the world. There is nothing that a man 
who is under the influence of a profound conviction, and who 
submits his reason implicitly to the direction of another, is not 
capable of performing. This proves that the most eminent vir- 
tues, when separated from God and taken in their merely moral 
relations, border on the greatest vices. Had philosophers made 
this observation, they would not have taken so much pains to fix 
the limits between good and evil. There was no necessity for the 
Christian lawgiver, like Aristotle, to contrive a scale for the pur- 
pose of ingeniously placing a virtue between two vices ] he has 
completely removed the difficulty, by inculcating that virtues are 
not virtues unless they flow back toward their source — that is to 
say, toward the Deity. 

Of this truth we shall be thoroughly- convinced, if we consider 
faith in reference to human affairs, but a faith which is the ofi"- 
spriug of religion. From faith proceed all the virtues of society, 
since it is true, according to the unanimous acknowledgment of 
wise men, that the doctrine which commands the belief in a God 
who will reward and punish is the main pillar both of morals and 
of civil government. 

Finally, if we employ faith for its higher and specific objects, — 
if we direct it entirely toward the Creator, — if we make it the 
intellectual eye, by which to discover the wonders of the holy 
city and the empire of real existence, — if it serve for wings to 
our soul, to raise us above the calamities of life, — we will admit 
that the Scriptures have not too highly extolled this virtue, when 



Ambros., de Off., c. 36. 



HOPE AND CHARITY. 97 



they speak of the prodigies which may be performed by its 
means. Faith, celestial comforter, thou dost more than remove 
mountains : thou takest away the heavy burdens by which the 
heart of man is gvievously oppressed !* 



CHAPTER III. 

OF HOPE AND CHARITY, 



Hope, the second theological virtue, is almost as powerful as 
faith. Desire is the parent of power; whoever strongly desires 
is sure to obtain. " Seek," says Jesus Christ, ^'and ye shall find ; 
knock, and it shall be opened unto you." In the same sense Py- 
thagoras observed that "Power dwelleth with necessity;" for 
necessity implies privation, and privation is accompanied with 
desire. Desire or hope is genius. It possesses that energy which 
produces, and that thirst which is never appeased. Is a man 
disappointed in his plans ? it is because he did not desire with 
ardor ; because he was not animated with that love which 
sooner or later grasps the object to which it aspires; that love 
which in the Deity embraces all things and enjoys all, by means 
of a boundless hope, ever gratified and ever reviving. 

There is, however, an essential difference between fViith and 
hope considered as a power. Faith has its focus out of ourselves; 
it arises from an external object. Hope, on the contrary, springs 
up within us, and operates externally. The former is instilled 
into us, the latter is produced by our own desire; the former is 
obedience, the latter is love. But as faith more readily produces 
the other virtues, as it flows immediately from God, and is there- 
fore superior to hope, which is only a part of man, the Church 
necessarily assigned to it the highest rank. 

The peculiar characteristic of hope is that which places it in 
relation with our sorrows. That relio-ion which made a virtue of 
hope was most assuredly revealed by heaven. This nurse of the 
unfortunate, taking her station by man like a mother beside her 



' See note D 
G 



98 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 

suffering cliild, rocks him in her arms, presses hii. to her bosom, 
and refreshes him with a beverage which soothes all his woes. 
She watches by his solitary pillow j she lulls him to sleep with 
her u adc strains. Is it not surprising to see hope, which is so 
delightful a companion and seems to be a natural emotion of the 
soul, transformed for the Christian into a virtue which is an es- 
sential part of his duty? Let him do what he will, he is obliged 
to drink copiously from this enchanted cup, at which thousands 
of poor creatures would esteem themselves happy to moisten their 
lips for a single moment. Xay, more, (and this is the most mar- 
vellous circumstance of all,) he will be rewarded for having 
hoped, or, in other words, /or having made himself hapjji/. The 
Christian, whose life is a continual warfare, is treated by religion 
in his defeat like those vanquished generals whom the Roman 
senate received in triumph, for this reason alone, that they had 
not despaired of the final safety of the commonwealth. But if 
the ancients ascribed something marvellous to the man who never 
despaired, what would they have thought of the Christian, who, 
in his astonishing language, talks not of entertaining hope, but 
of practising it ? 

What shall we now say of that charity which is the daughter 
of Jesus Christ ? The proper signification of charity is grace- 
and joy. Religion, aiming at the reformation of the human 
heart, and wishing to make its affections and feelinss subservient 
to virtue, has invented a nev: passion. In order to express it, 
she has not employed the word love, which is too common ; or 
the word friendship, which ceases at the tomb ; or the word pity, 
which is too much akin to pride : but she has found the term 
caritas, charity, which embraces all the three, and which at the 
same time is allied to something celestial. By means of this, she 
purifies our inclinations and directs them toward the Creator; 
by this she inculcates that admirable tmth, that men ought to 
love each other in God, who will thus spiritualize their love, di- 
vesting it of all earthly alloy and leaving it in its immortal 
purity. By this she inculcates the stupendous truth that mortals 
ought to love each othqr, if T may so express myself, through 
God, who spiritualizes their love, and separates from it whatever 
belongs not to its immortal essence. 

But if charity is a Christian virtue, an immediate emanation 



THE MORAL LAWS, OK THE TEX COMMANDMENTS. 99 



from the Almighty and his Word, it is also in close alliance with 
nature. It is in this continual harmony between heaven and 
earth, between God and man, that we discover the character of 
true religion. The moral and political institutions of antiquity 
are often in contradiction to the sentiments of the human soul. 
Christianity, on the contrary, ever in unison with the heart, en- 
joins not solitary and abstract virtues, but such as are derived 
from our wants and are useful to mankind. It has placed charity 
as an abundant fountain in the desert of life. *' Charity," says 
the apostle, " is patient, is kind ; charity envieth not, dealeth not 
perversely, is not puffed up, is not ambitious, seeketh not her 
own, is not provoked to anger, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in 
iniquity, but rejoiceth with the truth ; beareth all things, be- 
lieveth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."^ 



CHAPTER IV. 

OP THE MORAL LAWS, OR THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 

It is a reflection not a little mortifying to our pride, that all 
the maxims of human wisdom may be comprehended in a few 
pages : and even in those pages how many errors may be found ! 
The laws of Minos and Lycurgus have remained standing after 
the fall of the nations for which they were designed, only as the 
pyramids of the desert, the immortal palaces of death. 

Laws of the Second Zoroaster. 

Time, boundless and uncreated, is the creator of all things. 
The word was his daughter, who gave birth to Orsmus, the good 
deity, and Arimhan, the god of evil. 

Invoke the celestial bull, the father of grass and of man. 

The most meritorious work that a man can perform is to cul- 
tivate his land with care. 

Pray with purity of thought, word, and action.'^ 

' I Cor. xiii. - Zend-avesta. 



100 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

Teacli thy child at the age of five years the distinction between 
good and evil.'' Let the ungrateful be punished.^ 

The child who has thrice disobeyed his father shall die. 

The law declares the woman who contracts a second marriage 
to be impure. 

The impostor shall be scourged with rods. 

Despise the liar. 

At the end and the beginning of the year keep a festival of 

ten days. 

Indian Laws. 

The universe is Vishnu. 

Whatever has been, is he; whatever is, is he; whatever will 
be, is he. 

Let men be equal. 

Love virtue for its own sake ; renounce the fruit of thy works. 

Mortal, bo wise, and thou shalt be strong as ten thousand 
elephants. 

The soul is God. 

Confess the faults of thy children to the sun and to men, and 
purify thyself in the waters of the Granges.^ 

Egyptian Laws. 

Cnef, the universal God, is unknown darkness, impenetrable 
obscurity. 

Osiris is the good, and Typhon the evil deity. 

Honor thy parents. 

Follow the profession of thy father. 

Be virtuous; the judges of the lake will, after thy death, pass 
sentence on thy actions. 

Wash thy body twice each day and twice each night. 

Live upon little. 

Reveal no secrets.* 

Laios of Minos 
Swear not by the Gods. 
Young man, examine not the law. 



' Xenopb., Cyrop. ; Plat, dc Leg., lib. ii. 2 Xenoph , Cyrop, 

3 Free, of the lirnm. ; Hint, of fuel. ; Diod. Sic, &c. 
* Ilerod., lib ii. ; Plat., de Ley.; Plut., de h. et Os. 



THE MORAL LAWS, OR THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 101 



The law declares him infamous who has no friend. 

The adultress shall be crowned with wool, and sold. 

Let yo"ir repasts be public, your life frugal, and your dances 
martial,* 

fWe shall not quote here the laws of Lycurgus, because they 
are partly but a repetition of those of Minos.] 

Laws of Solon. 

The son who neglects to bury his father, and he who defends 
him not, shall die. 

The adulterer shall not enter the temples. 

The magistrate who is intoxicated shall drink hemlock. 

The cowardly soldier shall be punished with death. 

It shall be lawful to kill the citizen who remains neutral in 
civil dissensions. 

Let him who wishes to die acquaint the Archon, and die. 

He who is guilty of sacrilege shall suffer death. 

Wife, be the guide of thy blind husband. 

The immoral man shall be disqualified for governing.^ 

Pn'mitive Laws o/ Rome. 

Honor small fortune. 

.Let men be both husbandmen and soldiers. 
Keep wine for the aged. 
The husbandman who eats his ox shall be sentenced to die." 

LaiDS of the Gauls, or Druids 

The universe is eternal, the soul immortal. 

Honor nature. 

Defend thy mother, thy country, the earth 

Admit woman into thy councils. 

Honor the stranger, and set apart his portion oat of thy har- 
vest. 

The man who has lost his honor shall be buried in mud. 

Ere 3t no temples, and commit the history of the past to thy 
msmory alone. 

Man, thou art free; own no property. 

1 Arist., Pol. ; Plat., de leg. 2 piut., in Vit. Sol. ; Tit. Liv. 

3 Plut, in Num. ; Tit. Liv 
9^^ 



102 GE.NIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

Honor the aged, and let not the young bear witness against 

them. 

The brave man shall be rewarded after death, and the coward 

punished.^ 

Laws of Pi/thagoras. 

Honor the immortal Gods as established by the law. 

Honor thy parents. 

Do that which will not wound thy memory. 

Close not thine eyes to sleep, till thou hast thrice examined in 
thy soul the actions of the day. 

Ask thvself : Where have I been ? What have I done ? What 
oujirht I to have done ? 

Then, after a holy life, when thy body shall return to the ele- 
ments, thou shalt become immortal and incorruptible ; thou shalt 
no longer be liable to death." 

Such is nearly all that has been preserved of the so highly 
vaunted wisdom of antiquity ! Here, God is represented as pro- 
found darkness ; doubtless from excess of light, like the dimness 
that obstructs the sight when you endeavor to look at the sun : 
there, the man who has no friend is declared infamous, a denun- 
ciation which includes all the unfortunate : again, suicide is 
authorized by law : and lastly, some of these sages seem totally 
to forget the existence of a Supreme Being. Moreover, how 
many vague, incoherent, commonplace ideas are found in most 
of these sentences ! The sages of the Portico and of the Academy 
alternately proclaim such contradictory maxims, that we may 
prove from the same book that its author believed and did not 
believe in God; that he acknowledged and did not acknowledge 
a positive virtue j that liberty is the greatest of blessings and 
despotism the best of governments. 

' TaciL, de mor. Germ.; Strab. ; Caesar, Com.; Edda, «fec. 

2 To these Tables might be added an extract from Plato's Rejmhlie, or rather 
from the twelve books of his laws, which we consider bis best work, on account 
of the cx(iui.sitc picture of the thrse old men who converse together on their 
way U} the fountain, and the good sense which pervades this dialogue. But 
these precepts were not reduced tj practice ; we shall therefore refrain from 
any notice of them. As to the Koran, all that it contains, either holy or just, 
i» borrowed almost fr-ia< j"»i from our sacred Scriptures ; the rest is a Rabbin- 
ic.il cmpilalii-ii 



THE MORAL LAWS, OR THE TEN COMMANDMENTS 103 



o_ 



If, amid these conflicting sentiments, we were to discover a 
code of moral laws, without contradictions, without errors, which 
would remove all our doubts, and teach us what we ought to think 
of Grod and in what relation we really stand with men, — if this 
code were delivered with a tone of authority and a simplicity of 
language never before known, — should we not conclude that these 
laws have emanated from heaven alone ? These divine precepts 
we possess; and what a subject do they present for the medita- 
tion of the sage and for the fancy of the poet ! Behold Moses 
as he descends from the burning mountain. In his hands he sar- 
ries two tables of stone; brilliant rays encircle his brow; his face 
beams with divine glory; the terrors of Jehovah go before him; 
in the horizon are seen the mountains of Libanus, crowned with 
their eternal snows, and their stately cedars disappearing in the 
clouds. Prostrate at the foot of Sinai, the posterity of Jacob 
cover their faces, lest they behold God and die. At length the 
thunders cease, and a voice proclaims : — 

Hearken, Israel, unto me, Jehovah, tliy Gods,'^ who have 
brouaht thee out of the land of Mizraim, out of the house of 
bondage. 

1. Thou shalt have no other Gods before my face. 

2. Thou shalt not make any idol with thy hands, nor any 
image of that which is in the astonishing icaters above, nor on 
the earth beneath, nor in the waters under the earth. Thou shalt 
not bow before the images, and thou shalt not serve them; for I, 
I am Jehovah, thy Gods, the strong God, the jealous God, visit- 
ing the iniquity of the fathers, the iniquity of those who hate me, 



' We translate the Decalogue verhatim from the Hebrew, on account of the 
expression thy Gods, which is not rendered in any version. {Elohe is the plu- 
ral masculine of Elohiin, God, Judge ; we frequently meet with it thus in the 
plural in the Bible, while the verb, the pronoun, and the adjective remain in 
the singular. In Geii. i. we read Elohe hara, the Gods created, (sing.) and it is 
impossible to understand "^.ny other than three persons; for if two had been 
meant, Elohim would have been in the dual. We shall make another remark, 
not less important, respecting the word Adamah, which likewise occurs in the 
Decalogue. Adam signifies red earth, and ah, the expletive, expresses some- 
thing /ar^Ae?*, beyond. God makes use of it in promising long days on the 
earth and beyoxd to such children as honor their father and mother. Thus 
the Trinity and the immortality of the soul are implied in the Decalogue by 
Elohe, thy Gods, or several divine existenta in unity, Jehovah ; and Adntn-ah. 
earth and beyond.) See note E. 



X04 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

upon the cliildren to the third and fourth generation, ana show- 
ing mercy a thousand times to those who love me and who keep 
my commandments. 

3. Thou shalt not take the name of Jehovah, tliy Gods, in 
vain ; for he will not hold him guiltless who taketh his name in 
Tain. 

4. Remember the sabbath day to keep it holy. Six days shalt 
thou labor and do thy work ; but the seventh day of Jehovah, 
thy Gods, thou shalt not do any work, neither thou, nor thy son, 
nor thy daughter, nor thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor 
thy camel, nor thy guest he/ore thy doors; for in six days Jeho- 
vah made the marvellous waters above,^ the earth and the sea, 
and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day : wherefore 
Jehovah blessed and hallowed it. 

5. Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be 
long on the earth and heyond the earth which Jehovah, thy Gods, 
hath given thee. 

6. Thou shalt not kill. 

7. Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

8. Thou shalt not steal. 

9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. 

10. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, nor thy neigh- 
bor's wife, nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, 
nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's. 

Such are the laws which the great Creator has engraved, not 
only upon the marble of Sinai, but also upon the heart of man. 
What strikes us, in the first place, is that character of univer- 
sality which distinguishes this divine code from all human codes 
that precede it. Here we have the law of all nations, of all cli- 
mates, of all times. Pythagoras and Zoroaster addressed the 
Greeks and the Modes ; Jehovah speaks to all mankind. In him 
we recognise that Almiohtv Father who watches over the uni- 
verse, and who dispenses alike from his bounteous hand the grain 
of corn that feeds the insect and the sun that enlightens it. 

' This translation is far from giving any idea of the magnificence of the ori- 
ginal. Shumnjim is a kind of exclamation of wonder, like the voice of a whole 
nation, which, on viewing the firmament, would cry out with one accord "i?e- 
Vohl those miracidous waters suspended in the expanse above vs! — those orbs of 
cryatfd and of diamond!" How is it possible to render in our language, in the 
translation of a law, this poetical idea conve3'ed in a word of three syllables? 



THE MOKxVL LAWS, OR THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. 105 



lu the next place, nothing can be more admirable than these 
moral laws of the Hebrews, for their simplicity and justice. The 
pagans enjoined upon men to honor the authors of their days : So- 
lon decrees death as the punishment of the wicked son. What 
does the divine law say on this subject? It promises life to filial 
piety. This commandment is founded on the very constitution 
of our nature. God makes a precept of filial love, but he has not 
enjoined paternal aifection. He knew that the son, in whom are 
centred all the thoughts and hopes of the father, would often be 
but too fondly cherished by his parent : but he imposed the duty 
of love upon the son, because he knew the fickleness and the pride 
of youth. 

In the Decalogue, as in the other works of the x\lmighty, we 
behold majesty and grace of expression combined with the in- 
trinsic power of divine wisdom. The Brahmin expresses but 
very imperfectly the three persons of the Deity; the name of 
Jehovah embraces them in a single word, composed of three 
tenses of the verb to he united by a sublime combination : havah, 
he was; hovah, being, or he is; and Je, which, when placed be- 
fore the three radical letters of a verb in Hebrew, indicates the 
future, he icill he. 

Finally, the legislators of antiquity have marked in their codes 
the epochs of the festivals of nations ; but Israel's sabbath or day 
of rest is the sabbath of God himself. The Hebrew, as well as 
the Gentile, his heir, in the hours of his humble occupation, has 
nothing less before his eyes than the successive creation of the 
universe. Did Greece, though, so highly poetical, ever refer the 
labors of the husbandman or the artisan to those splendid moments 
in which God created the light, marked out the course of the sun, 
and animated the heart of man ? 

Laws of God, how little do you resemble those of human insti- 
tution ! Eternal as the principle whence you emanated, in vain 
do ages roll away ; ye are proof against the lapse of time, against 
persecution, and against the corruption of nations. This reli- 
gious legislation, organized in the bosom of political legislations, 
and nevertheless independent of their fate, is an astonishing pro- 
digy. While forms of government pass away or are newly- 
modelled, while power is transferred from hand to hand, a few 
Christians continue, amid the changes of life, to adore the same 



106 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



Orod, to submit to the same laws, without thinking themselves 
released from their ties by revolution, adversity, and example. 
What religion of antiquity did not lose its moral influence with 
the loss of its priests and its sacrifices ? Where are now the 
mysteries of Trophonius's cave and the secrets of the Eleusinian 
Ceres? Did not Apollo fall with Delphi, Baal with Babylon, 
Serapis with Thebes, Jupiter with the Capitol ? It can be said 
of Christianity alone, that it has often witnessed the destruction 
of its temples, without being affected by their fall. There were 
not always edifices erected in honor of Jesus Christ; but every 
place is a temple for the living God : the receptacle of the dead, 
the cavern of the mountain, and above all, the heart of the right- 
eous. Jesus Christ had not always altars of porphyry, pulpits of 
cedar and ivory, and happy ones of this world for his servants : 
a stone in the desert is sufiicient for the celebration of his mys- 
teries, a tree for the proclamation of his laws, and a bed of t: orns 
f)r the practice of his virtues. 



BOOK III. 

THE TRUTHS OF THE SCRIPTURES, THE FALL OF MAN. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE SUPERIORITY OF THE HISTORY OF MOSES OVER ALL 

OTHER COSMOGONIES. 

There are truths which no one calls in question, though it is 
.mpossible to furnish any direct proofs of them. The rebellion 
and fall of Lucifer, the creation of the world, the primeval hap- 
piness and transgression of man, belong to the number of these 
truths. It is not to be supposed that an absurd falsehood could 
have become a universal tradition. Open the books of the 
second Zoroaster, the dialogues of Plato, and those of Lucian, 
the moral treatises of Plutarch, the annals of the Chinese, the 
Bible of the Hebrews, the Edda of the Scandinavians ; go among 
the negroes of Africa, or the learned priests of India ;^ they will 
all recapitulate the crimes of the evil deity; they will all tell you 
of the too short period of man's felicity, and the long calamities 
which followed the loss of his innocence. 

Voltaire somewhere asserts that we possess a most wretched 
copy of the different popular traditions respecting the origin of 
the world, and the physical and moral elements which compose 
it. Did he prefer, then, the cosmogony of the Egyptians, the 
great winged egg of the Theban priests P Hear what is related 
by the most ancient historian after Moses : — 

"The principle of the universe was a gloomy and tempestuous 
atmosphere, — a wind produced by this gloomy atmosphere and 
a turbulent chaos. This principle was unbounded, and for a long 
time had neither limit nor form. But when this wind became 
enamored of its own principles, a mixture was the result, and 
this mixture was called desire or love. 

1 See note F. ^ Herod., lib. ii.; Blod. Sic. 

107 



108 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



''This mixture being complete was the beginning of all things; 
but the wind knew not his owu offspring, the mixture. With the 
wind, her father, this mixture produced mud, and hence sprang 
all the o;enerations of the universe."^ 

If we pass to the Greek philosophers, we find Thales, the foun- 
der of the Ionic sect, asserting water to be the universal prin- 
ciple.^ Plato contended that the Deity had arranged the world, 
but had not had the power to create it.^ God, said he, formed 
the universe, after the model existing from all eternity in him- 
self.-* A^isible objects are but shadows of the ideas of God, which 
are the only real substances.^ God, moreover, infused into all 
beings a breath of his life, and formed of them a third principle, 
which is both spirit and matter, and which we call the soul of 
the icorld.^ 

Aristotle reasoned like Plato respecting the origin of the uni- 
verse ; but he conceived the beautiful system of the chain of 
beings, and, ascending from action to action, he proved that there 
must exist somewhere a primary principle of motion.'' 

Zeno maintained that the world was arranged by its own 
energy ; that nature is the system which embraces all things, and 
consists of two principles, the one active, the other passive, not 
existing separately, but in combination ; that these two principles 
are subject to a third, which is fatal it i/ ; that God, matter, and 
fatality, form but one being; that they compose at once the 
wheels, the springs, the laws, of the machine, and obey as parts 
the laws which they dictate as the ivliole.^ 

According to the philosophy of Epicurus, the universe has ex- 
isted from all eternity. There are but two things in nature, — 
matter and space. ^ Bodies are formed by the aggregation of in- 
finitely minute particles of matter or atoms, which have an inter- 
nal principle of motion, that is, gravity. Their revolution would 



' Sancb., ap. Euaeb., Prcepar. Evany., lib. i. c. 10. 

2 Cic, de Nat. Deor., lib. i. n. 25. 

3 Tim., p. 28; Diog. Laert, lib. iii. : Plut., de Gen. Anim., p. 78. 

4 Plat., Tiui., p. 29. ^ j^., Rep., lib. vii. 6 ja., in Tim., p. 34. 
" Arist., de Gen. An., lib. ii. c. o ; Met., lib. xi. c. 5; De Cctl., lib. xi. c. 3. 

Laert., lib. v.; Stob., Ecd. Phya., c. xiv. ; Senec, ConsoL, c. xxix. ; Cic. de 
Nat. Dear. Anton., lib. vii. 
9 Lucret., ib. ii. : Laert., lib. x. 



SUPERIORITY OF THE HISTORY OF MOSES. 109 



be made in a vertical plane, if they did not, in consequence of a 
particular law, describe an ellipsis in the regions of space. ^ 

Epicurus invented this oblique movement for the purpose of 
avoiding the system of the fatalists, which would be reproduced 
by the perpendicular motion of the atom. But the hypothesis is 
absurd; for if the declination of the atom is a law, it is so from 
necessity ; and how can a necessitated cause produce a free effect? 
But to proceed. 

From the fortuitous concourse of these atoms originated the 
heavens and the earth, the planets and the stars, vegetables, 
minerals, and animals, including man ; and when the productive 
virtue of the globe was exhausted, the living races were per- 
petuated by means of generation.- The members of the different 
animals, formed by accident, had no j^articular destination. The 
concave ear was not scooped out for the purpose of hearing, nor 
was the convex eye rounded in order to see ; but, as these organs 
chanced to be adapted to those different uses, the animals em- 
ployed them mechanically, and in preference to the other senses.^ 

After this statement of the cosmogonies of the philosophers, 
it would be superfluous to notice those of the poets. Who has 
not heard of Deucalion and Pyrrha, of the golden and of the iron 
ages ? As to the traditions current among other nations of the 
earth, we will simply remark that in the East Indies an elephant 
supports the globe ; in Peru, the sun made all things ^ in Canada, 
the great hare is the father of the world; in Greenland, man 
sprang from a shell-fish;* lastly, Scandinavia records the birth 
of Askus and Emla : Odin gives them a soul, Haener reason, and 
Lgedur blood and beauty.^ 



' Lot cit, 

' I. K- et., lib. V. et x. ; Cic, de yat. Deor., lib. i. c. 8, 9. 

' Lucret., lib. iv., v. 

4 See Hesiod; Ovid; Hist, of Hindostan ; Herrera, Histor. de las Ind. ; 

Charlevoix, Hist, de la Is ouv. Fr. ; P. Lafitau, Moeurs des Ind. ; Travels in 

Greenland, by a Missionary. 

5 Askum et Euilaiu, omni conatu destitutes, 

Animam nee possidebant, rationem nee habebant. 

Nee snnguineiu nee sermonem, nee facieni venustam : 

Animam dedit Odinus, rationem dedit Haenerus; 

Lsedur sanguinemaddiditetlaciem venustam. 

Bartholin, Ant. Dan. 
10 



110 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



In tliese various cosmogonies we find childish tales on the one 
band and philosophical abstractions on the other; and were wg 
obliged to choose between theni^ it would be better to adopt the 
former. * 

In order to distinguish, among a number of paintings, the ori- 
ginal from the copy, we must look for that which, in its ensemble 
or in the perfection of its parts, exhibits the genius of the master. 
Now, this is precisely what we find in the book of Genesis, which 
is the original of the representations met with in popular tradi- 
tions. What can be more natural, and at the same time more 
magnificent, — what more easy of conception, or more consonant 
with human reason, — than the Creator descending into the realms 
of ancient night and producing light by the operation of a word? 
The sun, in an instant, takes his station in the heavens, in the 
centre of an immense dome of azure ; he throws his invisible net- 
work over the planets, and detains them about him as his cap- 
tives ; the seas and forests commence their undulations on the 
olobe, and their voices are heard for the first time proclaiming to 
the universe that marriage in which God himself is the priest, 
the earth is the nuptial couch, and mankind is the progeny.* 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE FALL OF MAN — THE SERPENT A HEBREW WORD. 

We are again struck with astonishment in contemplating that 
other truth anuouoced in the Scriptures: — man dying in conse- 
quence of having poisoned himself from the tree of life I — man 
lost for having tasted the fruit of knowledge, for having learned 

' The Anxatic Keaearches cor firm the truth of the book of Genesis-. Ihey 
divide mythology into three branches, one of which extended throughout In- 
dia, tlje second over Greece, atd the third among the savages of North Ame- 
rica. They also show that this same unihology was derived from a still more 
ancient tradition, which is that of Moses. Modern travellers in India every- 
where find traces of the facts recorded in Scripture. The authenticity of thesa 
traditions, after having been long contested, has now ceased to be a matter of 
doubt 



THE FALL OF MAN. H] 



too mucli of good and evil, for having ceased to resemble the 
child of the gospel ! If we suppose any other prohibition of the 
Deity, relative to any propensity of the soul whatever, where is 
the profound wisdom in the command of the Most High? It 
would seem to be unworthy of the Divinity, and no moral would 
result from the disobedience of Adam. But observe how the 
whole history of the world springs from the law imposed on our 
first parents. God placed knowledge within his reach ; he could 
not refuse it him, since man was created intellio-ent and free; 
but he cautioned him that if he was resolved on knowino- too 
much, this knowledge would result in the death of himself and 
of hirf posterity. The secret of the political and moral existence 
of nations, and the profoundest mysteries of the human heart, are 
comprised in the tradition of this wonderful and fatal tree. 

Now let us contemplate the marvellous consequence of this 
prohibition of infinite wisdom. Man falls, and the demon of 
pride occasions his fall. But pride borrows the voice of love to 
seduce him, and it is for the sake of a woman that Adam aspires 
to an equality with God — a profound illustration of the two prin- 
cipal passions of the heart, vanity and love. Bossuet, in his Ele- 
vations to God, in which we often perceive the author of the 
Funeral Orations, observes, in treating of the mystery of the 
serpent, that ''the angels conversed with man in such forms as 
God permitted, and under the figure of animals. Eve therefore 
was not surprised to hear the serpent speak, any more than she 
was to see God himself appear under a sensible form." "Why," 
adds the same writer, "did God cause the proud spirit to appear 
in that form in preference to any other? Though it is not abso- 
lutely necessary for us to know this, yet Scripture intimates the 
reason, when it observes that the serpent was the most subtle of 
all animals : that is to say, the one which most aptly represented 
Satan in his malice, his artifices, and afterward in his punish- 
ment." 

The present age rejects with disdain whatever savors of the 
marvellous; but the serpent has frequently been the subject 
of our observations, and, if we may venture to say it, we seem 
to recognise in that animal the pernicious spirit and artful malice 
which are ascribed to it in the Scriptures. Every thing is mys- 
terious, secret, astonishing, in this incomprehensible reptile. His 



][2 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



movements differ from those of all other animals. It is impossi- 
ble to say where his locomotive principle lies, for he has neither 
fins, nor feet, nor wings ; and yet he flits like a shadow, he van- 
ishes as by magic, he reappears and is gone again, like a light 
azure vapor, or the gleams of a sabre in the dark. Now he curls 
himself into a circle and projects a tongue of fire; now, standing 
erect upon the extremity of his tail, he moves along in a perpen- 
dicular attitude, as by enchantment. He rolls himself into a ball, 
rises and falls in a spiral line, gives to his rings the undulations 
of a wave, twines round the branches of trees, glides under the 
grass of the meadow, or skims along the surface of water. His 
colors are not more determinate than his movements. They 
change with each new point of view, and like his motions, they 
possess the false splendor and deceitful variety of the seducer. 

Still more astonishing in other respects, he knows, like the 
nmrderer, how to throw aside his garment stained with blood, lest 
it should lead to his detection. By a singular faculty, the female 
can introduce into her body the little monsters to which she has 
given birth. ^ The serpent passes whole months in sleep. He 
frequents tombs, inhabits secret retreats, produces poisons which 
chill, burn, or checquer the body of his victim with the colors 
with which he is himself marked. In one place, he lifts two 
menacing heads; in another, he sounds a rattle. He hisses like 
the mountain eagle, or bellows like a bull. He naturally enters 
into the moral or religious ideas of men, as if in consequence 
of the influence which he exercised over their destiny. x\n 
object of horror or adoration, they either view him with an im- 
placable hatred, or bow down before his genius. Falsehood ap- 
peals to him, prudence calls him to her aid, envy bears him in 
her bosom, and eloquence on her wand. In hell he arms the 
scourges of the furies; in heaven eternity is typified by his image. 



• As this part of the description is so very extraordinary, it miy appear to 
want confirmation. "Mr. de Beauvois, as related in the Americar Philosophi- 
cal Transactions, declared himself an eye-witness of such a fact as is above 
stated. He saw a large rattlesnake, which he had disturbed in his walks, open 
her jaws, and instantly five small ones, which were lying by her, rushed into her 
mouth. He retired and watched her, and in a quarter of an hour saw her again 
dis<;harge them. The common viper docs the same." See Shaii^s General Zo- 
olo'jy, vol. iii, pp. .324, 374. K. 



THE FALL OF MAN. 113 



He possesses, moreover, the art of seducing innocence. His eyes 
fascinate the birds of the air, and beneath the fern of the crib 
the ewe gives up to him her milk. But he may himself be 
charmed by the harmony of sweet sounds, and to subdue him the 
shepherd needs no other weapon than his pipe. 

In the month of July, 1791, we were travelling in Upper 
Canada with several families of savages belonging to the nation 
of the Onondagos. One day, while we were encamped in a spa- 
cious plain on the bank of the Genesee River, we saw a rattlesnake. 
There was a Canadian in our party who could play on the flute, 
and to divert us he advanced toward the serpent with his new 
species of weapon. On the approach of his enemy, the haughty 
reptile curls himself into a spiral line, flattens his head, inflates 
his cheeks, contracts his lips, displays his envenomed fangs and 
his bloody throat. His doubk_tongue_glos:s.. like .tw:cLj_anies of 
fire; his eyes are^ burning coals; his body, swollen with rage, 
rises and falls like the bellows of a forge; his dilated skin as- 
sumes a dull and scaly appearance; and his tail, which sends forth 
an ominous sound, vibrates with such rapidity as to resemble a 
lighjLvapor. 

The Canadian now begins to play on his flute. The serpent 
starts with sui'prise and draws back his head. In proportion as 
he is struck with the magic sound, his eyes lose their fierceness, 
the oscillations of his tail diminish, and the noise which it emits 
grows weaker, and graduall}' dies away. The spiral folds of the 
charmed serpent, diverging from the perpendicular, expand, and 
one after the other sink to the ground in concentric circles. The 
tints of azure, green, white, and gold, recover their brilliancy on 
his quivering skin, and, slightly turning his head, he remains mo- 
tionless in the attitude of attention and pleasure. 

At this moment the Canadian advanced a few steps, producing 
with his flute sweet and simple notes. The reptile immediately 
lowers his variegated neck, opens a passage with his head through 
the slender grass, and begins to creep after the musician, halting 
when he halts, and ag-ain followino- him when he resumes his 
march. In this way he was led beyond the limits of our camp, 
attended by a great number of spectators, both savages and 
Europeans, who could scarcely believe their eyes. After wit- 
nessing this wonderful efiect of melody, the assembly uuani- 
10- H 



114 GENIUS OF CHRISTMMTY 



moiisly decided that the marvellous serpent should be permitted 
to escape.' 

To this kind of inference, drawn from the habits of the serpent 
in favor of the truths of Scripture, we shall add another, deduced 
from a Hebrew word. Is it not very remarkable, and at the 
same time extremely philosophical, that, in Hebrew, the generic 
term for man should signify /ei;er or pain? The root of jEnosh, 
man, is the verb auash, to be dangcrou?,li/ ill. This appellation 
was not given to our first parent by the Almighty: he called him 
simply Adam, red earth or slime. It was not till after the fall 
that Adam's posterity assumed the name of Enosh, or man, which 
was so perfectly adapted to his afflictions, and most eloquently 
reminded him both of his guilt and its punishment. Perhaps 
Adam, when he witnessed the pangs of his wife, and took into his 
arms Cain, his first-born son, lifting him toward heaven, exclaimed, 
in the acuteness of his feelings, Enosh, Oh, anguish I a doleful 
exclamation that may have led afterward to the designation of 
the human race. 



CHAPTER III. 

PRIMITIVE CONSTITUTION OF MAN NEW PROOF OP 

ORIGINAL SIN. 

We indicated certain moral evidences of original sin in treat- 
ing of baptism and the redemption; but a matter of such import- 
ance deserves more than a passing notice. ''The knot of our 
condition," says Pascal, "has its twists and folds in this abyss, 



' In India the Cobra de Capello, or hooded snake, is carried about as a show 
in a basket, and so managed as to exhibit when shown a kind of dancing mo- 
tion, raising itself up on its lower part, and alternately moving its head and 
body from side to side to the sound of some musical instrument which is jilayed 
during the time. Shaio'a Zooloyy, vol. iii. )). 411. 

The serpentcs, the most formidable of reptiles, as they make a most distin - 
guished figure in natural history, so they are frequently the subject of descrip- 
tion with naturalists and poets. But it would be difficult to find, either in 
liuffon or Shaw, in Virgil, or even in Lucan, who is enamored of the subject, 
any thing superio- to thi/ I'jt-trf picture of our author. K. 



PRIMITIVE CONSriTUTION OF MAN. 115 



so tbat man is more inconceivable without this mystery than this 
mystery is inconceivable to maii."^ 

It appears to us that the order of the universe furnishes a new 
proof of our primitive degeneracy. If we survey the world around 
us we shall remark that, by a general, and at the same time a par- 
ticular law, all the integral parts, all the springs of action, whether 
internal or external, all the qualities of beings, have a perfect con- 
formity with one another. Thus the heavenly bodies accomplish 
their revolutions in an admirable unity, and each body, steadily 
pursuing its course, describes the orbit peculiar to itself. One 
single globe imparts light and heat. These two qualities are not 
divided between two spheres; the sun combines them in his orb 
as Grod, whose image he is, unites the fertilizing principle with 
the principle which illumines. 

The same law obtains among animals. Their ideas, if we may 
be allowed the expression, invariably accord with i]iQ\r feelings, 
their reason with their passions. Hence it is that they are not 
susceptible of any increase or diminution of intelligence. The 
reader may easily pursue this law of conformities in the vegeta- 
ble and mineral kingdoms. 

By what incomprehensible destiny does man alone form an ex- 
ception to this law, so necessary for the order, the preservation, 
the peace and the welfore, of beings ? As obvious as this har- 
mony of qualities and movements appears in the rest of nature, 
so striking is their discordance in man. There is a perpetual 
collision between his understanding and his will, between his 
reason and his heart. When he attains the highest de":ree of 
civilization, he is at the lowest point in the scale of morality; 
when free, he is barbarous ; when refined, he is bound with fet- 
ters. Does he excel in the sciences ? his imagination expires. 
Does he become a poet ? he loses the faculty of profound thought. 
His heart gains at the expense of his head, and his head at the 
expense of his heart. He is impoverished in ideas in proportion 
as he abounds in feeling; his feelings become more confined in 
proportion as his ideas are enlarged. Strength renders him cold 
and harsh, while weakness makes him kind and gracious. A 
virtue invariably brings him a vice along with it ; and a vice, 

' Pascal's Thoughts, chaj?. Hi. 



116 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



when it leaves him, as invariably deprives him of a virtue. Na- 
tions, collectively considered, exhibit the like vicissitudes; they 
alteruately lose and recover the light of wisdom. It might bo 
said that the Genius of man, with a torch in his hand, is inces- 
santly flying around the globe, amid the night that envelops us, 
appearing to the four quarters of the world like the nocturnal 
luminary, which, continually on the increase and the wane, at 
each step diminishes for one country the resplendence which she 
augments for another. 

It is, therefore, highly reasonable to suppose that man, in his 
primitive constitution, resembled the rest of the creation, and 
that this constitution consisted in the perfect harmony of the 
feelings and the faculty of thought, of the imagination and the 
understanding. Of this we shall perhaps be convinced, if we 
observe that this union is still necessary in order to enjoy even 
a shadow of that felicity which we have lost. Thus we are 
furnished with a clue to original sin by the mere chain of reason- 
ing and the probabilities of analogy; since man, in the state in 
which we behold him, is not, we may presume, the primitive 
man. He stands in contradiction to nature ; disorderly when all 
things else are regular; with a double character when every thing 
around him is simple. Mysterious, variable, inexplicable, he is 
manifestly in the state of a being which some accident has over- 
thrown : he is a palace that has crumbled to pieces, and been 
rebuilt with its ruins, where you behold some parts of an imposing 
appearance and others extremely offensive to the eye ; magnificent 
colonnades which lead to nothing; lofty porticos and low ceil- 
ings ; strong lights and deep shades ; in a word, confusion and 
disorder pervading eveiy quarter, and especially the sanctuary. 

Now, if the primitive constitution of man consisted in accord- 
ances such as we find established among other beings, nothing 
more was necessary for the destruction of this order, or any such 
harmony in general, than to alter the equilibrium of the forces or 
qualities. In man this precious equilibrium was formed by the 
faculties of love and thought. Adam was at the same time the 
most enlightened and the best of men ; the most powerful in 
thought and the most powerful in love. But whatever has been 
created must necessarily have a progressive course. Instead of 
waiting for new attainments in knoioledge to bo derived from tho 



PRIMITIVE CONSTITUTION OF MAN. 117 



revolution of ages, and to be accompanied by an accession of new 
feelings^ Adam wanted to know every thing at once. Observe, 
too, what is very important : man had it in his power to destroy 
the harmony of his being in two ways, either by wanting to love 
too much, or to know too much. He transgressed in the second 
way; for we are, in fact, far more deeply tinctured with the pride 
of science than with the pride of love; the latter would have 
deserved pity rather than punishment, and if Adam had been 
guilty of desiring to ftel rather than to hnow too much, man 
himself might, perhaps, have been able to expiate his transgres- 
sion, and the Son of Grod would not have been oblised to under- 
take so painful a sacrifice. But the case was different. Adam 
sought to embrace the universe, not with the sentiments of his 
heart, but with the power of thought, and, advancing to the tree 
of knowledge, he admitted into his mind a ra}^ of light that over- 
powered it. The equilibrium was instantaneously destroyed, and 
confusion took possession of man. Instead of that illumination 
which he had promised himself, a thick darkness overcast his 
sight, and his guilt, like a veil, spread out between him and the 
universe. His whole soul was agitated and in commotion ; the 
passions rose up against the judgment, the judgment strove to 
annihilate the passions, and in this terrible storm the rock of 
death witnessed with joy the first of shipwrecks. 

Such was the accident that changed the harmonious and im- 
mortal constitution of man. From that day all the elements of 
his being have been scattered, and unable to come together again. 
The habit — we might almost say the love of the tomb — which 
matter has contracted destroys every plan of restoration in this 
world, because our lives are not long enough to confer success 
upon any efi"orts we could make to reach primeval perfection.* 

' It is in this point that the system of perfectibility is totally defective. Its 
supporters do not perceive that, if the mind were continually making new ac- 
quisitions in knowledge, and the heart in sentiment or the moral virtues, man, 
in a given time, regaining the point whence he set out, would be, of necessity, 
immortal; for, every principle of division being done away in him, every prin- 
ciple of death would likewise cease. The longevity of the patriarchs, and the 
gift of prophecy among the Hebrews,- must be ascribed to a restoration, more 
or less complete, of the equilibrium of human nature. Materialists therefore 



* That is, the natural faculty of predicting. T. 



118 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



But how could the world have contained so many generations 
if they had not been subject to death ? This is a mere affair of 
imao'ination. Are not the means in the hands of God infinite ? 
Who knows if men would have multiplied to that extent which 
we witness at the present day? "Who knows whether the greater 
number of generations would not have remained in a virgin state,* 
or whether those millions of orbs which revolve over our heads 
were not reserved for us as delicious retreats, to which we would 
have been conveyed by attendant angels ? To go still farther : it 
is impossible to calculate the height to which the arts and sciences 
might have been carried by man in a state of perfection and 
living 'forever upon the earth. If at an early period he made 
himself master of the three elements, — if, in spite of the greatest 
difiiculties, he now disputes with the birds the empire of the air, — 
what would he not have attempted in his immortal career ? The 
nature of the atmosphere, which at present forms an invincible 
obstacle to a change of planet, was, perhaps, different before the 
deluge. Be this as it may, it is not unworthy the power of God 
and the greatness of man to suppose, that the race of Adam was 
destiaed to traverse the regions of space, and to people all those 
suns which, deprived of their inhabitants by sin, have since been 
nothing more than resplendent deserts. 

who support the system o? perfectibility are inconsistent with themselves, since, 
in fact, this doctrine, so far from being that of materialism, leads to the most 
mystical spirituality. 

' Such was the opinion of St. John Chrysostom. He supposes that God 
would have furnished a means of generation which is unknown to us. There 
stand, he says, before the throne of God, a multitude of angels who were born 
not by human agency. — De Virgin,, lib ii. 



BOOK lY. 

CONTINUATION OF THE TRUTHS OF SCRIPTURE- OB JEO- 
TIONS AGAINST THE SYSTEM OF MOSES. 

CHAPTER I. 

CHRONOLOGY. 

Some learned men having inferred from the history of man or 
that of the earth that the world is of higher antiquity than that 
ascribed to it in the Mosaic account, we have frequent quotations 
from Sanchoniatho, Porphyry, the Sanscrit books, and other 
sources, in support of this opinion. But have they who lay so 
much stress on these authorities always consulted them in their 
originals ? 

In the first place, it is rather presumptuous to intimate that 
Origen, Eusebius, Bossuet, Pascal, Fenelon, Bacon, Newton, 
Leibnitz, Huet, and many others, were either ignorant or weak 
men, or wrote in opposition to their real sentiments. They be- 
lieved in the truth of the Mosaic history, and it cannot be denied 
that these men possessed learning in comparison with which our 
imperfect erudition makes a very insignificant figure. 

But to begin with chronology : our modern scholars have made 
a mere sport of removing the insurmountable difficulties which 
confounded a Scaliger, a Petau, an Usher, a Grrotius. They 
would laugh at our ignorance were we to inquire when the Olym- 
piads commenced ? how they agree with the modes of compu- 
tation by archons, by ephori, by ediles, by consuls, by reigns, by 
Pythian, Nemaean, and secular games ? how all the calendars of 
nations harmonize together ? in what manner we must proceed tc 
make the ancient year of Romulus, consisting of ten months or 
354 days, accord with Numa's year of 355, or the Julian year of 

365? by what means we shall avoid errors in referring these same 

119 



120 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



years to the common Attic year of 354 days, and to the emholis- 
mic year of 384 ?^ 

These, however, are not the only perplexities in respect to 
years. The ancient Jewish yeai had but 354 days; sometimes 
twelve days were added at the er d of the year, and sometimes a 
month of thirty days was introduced after the month Adar, to 
form a solar year. The modern Jewish year counts twelve 
months, and takes seven years of thirteen months in the space of 
nineteen j-ears. The Syriac year also varies, and consists of 365 
days. The Turkish or Arabic year has 354 days, and admits 
eleven intercalary months in twenty-nine years. The Egyptian 
year is divided into twelve months of thirty days, five days being 
added to the last. The Persian year, called Yezdegerdic, has a 
similar computation.'^ 

Besides these various methods of counting time, all these years 
have neither the same beginning, nor the same hours, nor the 
same days, nor the same divisions. The civil year of the Jews 
(like all those of the Orientals) commences with the new moon 
of September, and their ecclesiastical year with the new moon of 
March. The Grreeks reckon the first month of their year from 
the new moon following the summer solstice. The first month 
of the Persian year corresponds with our June ; and the Chinese 
and Indians begin theirs from the first moon in March. We find, 
moreover, astronomical and civil months, which are subdivided 
into lunar and solar, into synodical and periodical; we have 
months distributed into kalends, ides, decades, weeks; we find 
days of two kinds, artificial and natural, and commencing, the 
latter at sunrise, as among the ancient Babylonians, Syrians, and 
Persians, the former at sunset, as in China, in modern Italy, and 
of old among the Athenians, the Jews, and the barbarians of the 
north. The Arabs begin their days at noon ; the French, the Eng- 
lish, the Germans, the Spaniards, and the Portuguese, at midnight. 

' Embolismic means interralary, or inserted. As the Greeks reckoned time 
by the lunar year of .354 day.s, in order to brinjj it to the solar year they added 
a thirteenth lunar month every two or three years. 

2 The other Persian year, called Oehdenn, which commenced in the year of 
the world 10S9, is the most exact of civil years, as it niake.^ the solstices and 
the equino.\es fall precisely on the same days. It is formed by means of an 
intercalation repeated si.\ or seven times in four, and afterward once in five, 
years. 



CHRONOLOGY. 121 



Lastly, the veiy hours are not without their perplexities in chro- 
nology, being divided into Babylonian, Italian, and astronomical; 
and were we to be still nsore particular, we should no longer 
reckon sixty minutes in a European hour, but one thousand and 
eighty scruples in that of Chald^ea and Arabia. 

Chronology has been termed the torch of history;* would to 
God we had no other to throw a light upon the crimes of men ! 
But "what would be our embarrassment if, in pursuing this sub 
ject, we entered upon the different periods, eras, or epochs ! 
The Victorian period, which embraces 532 years, is formed by 
the multiplication of the solar and lunar cycles. The same cycles, 
multiplied by that of the indiction, produce the 7980 years of 
the Julian period. The period of Constantinople comprehends 
an equal number of years with the Julian period, but does not 
begin at the sam'j epoch. As to eras, they reckon in some places 
by the year of the creation, ^ in others by olympiads,^ by the 
foundation of Rome,* by the birth of Christ, by the epoch of 
Eusebius, by that of the Seleucidae,^ of Nabonassar,^ of the Mar- 
tyrs.^ The Turks have their hegira,^ the Persians their jezde- 
gerdic.* The Julian, Gregorian, Iberian,*" and Actian" eras, are 
also employed in computation. We shall say nothing concerning 
the Arundelian marbles, the medals and monuments of all sorts, 
which create additional confusion in chronology. Is there any 
candid person who will deny, after glancing at these pages, that 
so many arbitrary modes of calculating time are sufficient to make 
of history a frightful chaos ? The annals of the Jews, by the 
confession of scientific men themselves, are the only ones whose 

^ See note G. 

* This epoch is subdivided into the Greek, Jewish, Alexandrian, &c. 

^ The Greek historians. 

■1 The Latin historians. 

5 Followed by Josephus, the historian. 

6 Followed by Ptolemy and some others. 

■'' Followed by the first Christians till 532, and in modern times by the 
Christians of Abyssinia and Egypt. 

^ The Orientals do not place it as we do. 

s Thus named after a king of Persia who fell in a battle with the Saracens, 
in the year 632 of our era. 

10 Followed in the councils and on the ancient monuments of Spain. 

" Received its name from the battle of Actium, and was adopted by Ptolemy, 
Josephus, Eusebius, and Censorius. 
11 



122 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



chronology is simple, regular, aud luminous Why. then, im- 
pelled by an ardent zeal for impiety, should we puzzle ourselves 
with questions of computation as dry as they are inexpHcable, 
when we possess the surest clue to guide us in history? This is 
a new evidence in favor of the holy Scriptures.^ 



CHAPTER 11. 

LOGOGRAPHY AND HISTORICAL FACTS. 

After the chronological objections against the Bible, come those 
which some writers have pretended to deduce from historical 
facts themselves. They inform us of a tradition among the 
priests of Thebes, which supposed the kingdom of Egypt to have 
existed eighteen thousand years ; and they cite the list of its 
dvnasties, which is still extant. 

Plutarch, who cannot be suspected of Christianity, will furnish 
us with part of the reply to this objection. ^' Though their year," 
says he, speaking of the Egyptians, "comprehended four months, 
according to some authors, yet at first it consisted of only one, 
and contained no more than the course of a single moon. In this 
way, making a year of a single month, the period which has 
elapsed from their origin appears extremely long, and they are 
reputed to be the most ancient people, though they settled in 
their country at a late period."^ We learn, moreover, from Hero- 
dotus,- Diodorus Siculus,* Justin,^ Strabo,^ and Jablonsky,^ that 

' Sir Isaac Newton applied the principles of astronomy to rectify the errors 
of chronology. He ascertained that the computations of timf in the Old Tesr 
lament coincided exactly with the revolutions of the heavenly bodies. By the 
aid of astronomy he corrected the whole disordered state of computing time 
in the profane writers, and confirmed the accuracy and truth of the Scripture 
chronology. Neither Cardinal Baronius, in his annals, nor Petavius, nor Sea- 
liger, in his emendations of Eusebius, great as were their lab.r and diligence, 
have found their way so well through the labyrinths of chronology, or settled 
its disputable and intricate points more satisfactorily in their bulky f -ios, than 
our author has done in the compass of this short chapter. K. 

2 Plut., in Num. ^ Herodot.. lib. ii. 4 Diod., lib. i. 

6. lust., lib. i. 6 Stran.. lib. xvii. "^ Jablonsk P'lnth. E'pfpt., lib. »«' 



LOGOGRAPHY AND HISTORICAL FACTS. 123 



the Egyptians find a pretended glory in referring their origin to 
the remotest antiquity, and, as it were, concealing their birth in 
the obscurity of ages. 

The number of their reigns can scarcely be a source of diffi- 
culty. It is well known that the Egyptian dynasties are com- 
posed of contemporary sovereigns ; besides, the same word in the 
Oriental languages may be read in five or six different ways, and 
our ignorance has often made five or six persons out of one indi- 
vidual.^ The same thing has happened in regard to the transla- 
tion Df a single name. The Athoth of the Egyptians is trans- 
lated in Eratosthenes hj £ptj.oy£vrj(;, which signifies, in Grreek, tJie 
learned, as Athoth expresses the same thing in Coptic : but his- 
torians have not failed to make two kings of Athoth and Hermes 
or Hermogenes. But the Athoth of Manetho is again multiplied : 
in Plato, he is transformed into Thoth, and the text of Sancho- 
niatho proves in fact that this is the primitive name, the letter 
A being one of those which are retrenched or added -at pleasure 
in the Oriental lano-uag-es. Thus the name of the man whom 
Africanus calls Bachnas, is rendered by Josephus Apachnas, 
Here, then, we have Thoth, Athoth, Hermes, or Hermogenes, or 
Mercury, five celebrated men, who occupy together nearly two 
centuries ; and yet these _y? ye kings were but one single Egyptian, 
■v^o perhaps did not live sixty years. ^ 

I For instance, the monogi-am of Fo-hi, a Chinese divinity, is precisely the 
same as that of Jlencs, a divinity of Egypt. Moreover, it is well ascertained, 
tha*^, the Oriental characters are only general signs of ideas, which each one 
renders in his peculiar language, as he would the Arabic figures. Thus, the 
Italian calls duodecimo what the Englishman would express by the word twelve, 
and the Frenchman by the word douze. 

^ Some persons, perhaps in other respects enlightened, have accused the Jews 
of having adulterated the names of history ; but they shovild have known that 
it was the Greeks, and not the Jews, who were guilty of this alteration, espe- 
cially in regard to Oriental names. See Boch., Geor/. Sacr., <fec. Even at the 
present day, in the East, Tyre is called Asur, from Tour or Sur. The Athe- 
nians themselves would have pronounced it Tur or Tour ; for the y in modern 
language is epsilon, or small u of the Greeks. In the same way, Darius may 
be derived from Assuerus. Dropping the initial A, according to a preceding 
remark, we have Suerns. But the delta, or capital D in Greek, is much like 
the samech, or capital S in Hebrew, and the latter was thus changed among the 
Greeks into the former. By an error in pronunciation, the change was more 
easily effected: for, as a Frenchman would pronounce the English th like z or 
rf«, or t, so the Greek, having no letter like the Hebrew S, was inclined to pro- 



124 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANirY. 



What necessity is there, after all, to lay so much stress on logo- 
graphica. disputes, when we need but open the volumes of his- 
tory to convince ourselves of the modern origin of men ? In 
vain shall we combine with imaginaiy ages, or conjure up ficti- 
tious shades of death ; all this will not prevent mankind from 
being but a creature of yesterday. The names of those who in- 
vented the arts are as familiar to us as those of a brother or a 
grandfather. It was Hypsuranius who built huts of reeds, the 
habitations of primeval innocence ; Usotis first clothed himself 
with the skins of beasts, and braved the billows on the trunk of 
a tree;* Tubalcain taught men the uses of iron;^ Noah or Bac- 
chus planted the vine ; Cain or Triptolemus fashioned the plough • 
Agrotes^ or Ceres reaped the first harvest. History, medicine, 
geometry, the fine arts, and laws, are not of higher antiquity; and 
we are indebted for them to Herodotus, Hippocrates, Thales, 
Homer, D^dalns, and Minos. As to the oriain of kin^s and 
cities, their history has been transmitted to us by Moses, Plato, 
Justin, and some others, and we know when and why the various 
forms of government were established among difi"erent nations.* 

If we are astonished to find such o-randeur and mafrnificence 
in the early cities of Asia, this difficulty is easily removed by an 
observation founded on the genius of the Eastern nations. In 
all ages, it has been the custom of these nations to build immense 
cities, which, however, afibrd no evidence respecting their civil- 
ization, and consequently their antiquity. The Arabs, who tra- 
vel over burning sands, where they are quite satisfied to enjoy a 
little shade under a tent of sheepskins, have erected almost under 
our eyes gigantic cities, which these citizens of the desert seem 
to have designed as the enclosures of solitude. The Chinese, 
also, who have made so little progress in the arts, have the most 



nounce it as their D, as the Samech in HebreTv has in fact something of thia 
sound, according to the Masoretic points. Hence Diierm for Sueras, and \)y a 
slight change of vowels, which are not important in etymology, wo have Drt' 
*-iu8. They who wish tr) jest at the expense of religion, morals, the peace of 
nations, or the general happiness of nianliind, should first be well assured that 
they will not incur, in the attempt, the charge of pitiful ignorance. 
' Sanch., ap. Eus., Prceparat. Ecanrj., lib. i. c. 10. 

• Gen., iv. 3 Sanch., loc. cit. 

* See PeiUnt. of Moses; Plat, de Leg. et Tim.; Just., lib. ii., ^erorf ; Plutt 
in Thi8., Num., Lycnrg., Sol., <tc. 



LOGOGRAPHY AND HISTORICAL FACTS. 125 



extensive cities on the face of the globe, with walls, gardens, 
palaces, lakes, and artificial canals, like those of ancient Babylon.* 
Finally, are we not ourselves a striking instance of the rapidity 
with which nations become civilized ? Scarcely twelve centuries 
ag-o our ancestors were as barbarous as the Hottentots, and now 
we surpass Greece in all the refinements of taste, luxury, and the 
arts. 

The general logic of languages cannot furnish any valid argu- 
ment in favor of the antiquity of mankind. The idioms of the 
primitive East, far from indicating a very ancient state of society, 
exhibit on the contrary a close proximity to that of nature. Their 
mechanism is simple in the highest degree; hyperbole, meta- 
phor, all the poetic figures, incessantly recur ; but you will find in 
them scarcely any words for the expressioQ of metaphysical ideas. 
It would be impossible to convey with perspicuity in the Hebrew 
lano-uao-e the theolosT of the Christian doctrine. '^ Amono- the 
Greeks and the modern Arabs alone we meet with compound 
terms capable of expressing the abstractions of thought. Every- 
body knows that Aristotle was the first philosopher who invented 
categories, in which ideas are placed together by a forced ar- 
rangement, of whatever class or nature they may be.^ 

Lastly, it is asserted that, before the Egyptians had erected 
those temples of which such beautiful ruins yet remain, the peo- 
ple already tended their flocks amid ruins left by some unknown 
nation : a circumstance which would presuppose a very high 
antiquity. 

To decide this question, it is necessary to ascertain precisely 

! See Fath. du Hald., Hist, de la Ch. ; Lettr. Edif.; Ma,cartney's Emh. to 
China, &c. 

* This may be easily ascertained by reading the Fathers who have written in 
Syriae, as St. Ephrem, deacon of Edessa. 

2 If languages require so much time for their complete formation, whj' have 
the savages of Canada such subtle and such complicated dialects? The verbs 
of the Huron language have all the inflexions of the Greek verbs. Like the 
latter, they distinguish by the characteristic, the augment, &c. They have 
three modes, three genders, three numbers, and, moreover, a certain derange- 
ment of letters peculiar to the verbs of the Oriental languages. But, what is 
slill more unac:ountable, they have a fourth personal pronoun, which is placed 
between the second and third person both in the singular and in the plural. 
There is nothing like this in any of the dead or living languages with which 

we have the slightest acquaintance. 
11* 



126 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

who were the pastoral tribes, and whence they came. Biuce, the 
British traveller, who finds every thing in Ethiopia, derives their 
origin from that country. The Ethiopians, however, so far from 
being able to send colonies abroad, were themselves at that period 
a recently-established people. " The Ethiopians," says Eusebius, 
" rising from the banks of the river Indus, settled near Egypt." 
Manetho. in his sixth dynasty, calls the shepherds Phoenician 
strangers. Eusebius places their arrival in Egypt during the 
reign of Amenophis, whence we must draw these two inferences : — 

1. That Egypt was not then barbarous, since luachus the Egyp- 
tian, about this period, introduced the sciences into Greece; 

2. That Egypt was not covered with ruins, since Thebes was then 
built, and since Amenophis was the father of Sesostris, who raised 
the glory of the Egyptians to its highest pitch. According to 
Josephus the historian, it was Thetmosis who compelled the shep- 
herds to abandon alt02;ether the banks of the Nile.^ 

But what new arouments would have been uroed against the 
Scripture, had its adversaries been acquainted with another his- 
torical prodigy, which also belongs to the class of ruins, — alas I like 
every thing connected with the history of mankind ! Within 
these few years, extraordinary monuments have been discovered 
in North America, on the banks of the Muskingum, the Miami, 
the Wabash, the Ohio, and particularly the Scioto, where they 
occupy a space upward of twenty leagues in length. They con- 
sist of ramparts of earth, with ditches, slopes, moons, half-moons, 
and prodigious cones, which serve for sepulchres. It has been 
asked, what people could have left these remains ? But, so far, 
the question has not been answered.^ Man is suspended in the 
present, between the past and the future, as on a rock between 
two gulfs : behind, before, all around, is darkness ; and scarcely 

' Maneth., ad. Joseph, et Afric; Herod., lib. ii. c. 100; Diod., lib. i. ; Ps. 
xlviii. ; Euseb., Chron., lib. i. The invasion of these people, recorded by profane 
author?, explains a passage in Genesis relative to Jacob and his sons : " That 
ye jnay dwell in the land of Gessen, for the Egyptians have all shepherds in 
abomination." Gen. xlvi. 34. Hence, also, we obtain a clue to the Greek 
name of the Pharaoh under whom Israel entered Egypt, and that of the second 
► Pharaoh, during whose reign his descendants quitted that country. The Scrip- 
ture, so far from contradicting profane histories, serves, on the contrary, to 
prove their authenticity. 
2 See nf>te H. 



LOGOGRAPHY AND HISTORICAL FACTS. 12' 



does he see the few phantoms which, rising up from the bottom 
of either abyss, float for a moment upon the surface, and then 
disappear. 

Whatever conjectures may be formed respecting these Ame- 
rican ruins, though they were accompanied with the visions of a 
primitive world, or the chimeras of an Atlantis, the civilized 
nation, whose plough, perhaps, turned up the plains where the 
Iroquois now pursues the bear, required no longer time for the 
consummation of its destiny, than that which swallowed up the 
empires of a Cyrus, an Alexander, and a Caesar. Fortunate at 
least is that nation which has not left behind a name in history, 
and whose possessions have fallen to no other heirs than the deer 
of the forest and the birds of the air ! No one will come intc 
these savage wilds to deny the Creator, and, with scales in his 
hand, to weigh the dust of departed humanity, with a view to 
prove the eternal duration of mankind. 

For my part, a solitary lover of nature and a simple confessor 
of the Deity, I once sat on those very ruins. A traveller without 
renown, I held converse with those relics, like myself, unknown 
The confused recollections of society, and the vague reveries of 
the desert, were blended in the recesses of my soul. Night had 
reached the middle of her course ; all was solemn and still — the 
moon, the woods, and the sepulchres, — save that at long intervals 
was heard the fall of some tree, which the axe of time laid low, 
in the depths of the forest. Thus every thing falls, every thing- 
goes to ruin ! 

We do not conceive ourselves obliged to speak seriously of the 
four jogues, or Indian ages, the first of which lasted three mil- 
lion two hundred thousand years ] the second, one million ; the 
third, one million six hundred thousand; while the fourth, which 
is the present age, will comprehend four hundred thousand years ! 

i f to all these ditficulties of chronology, logography, and facts, 
we add the errors arising from the passions of the historian, or 
of men who are the partisans of his theories, — if, moreover, we 
take into account the errors of copyists, and a thousand accidents 
of time and place, — we shall be compelled to acknowledge that all 
the reasons drawn from history in favor of the antiquity of the 
globe, are as unsatisfactory in themselves as their research is use- 
less. Most assuredly, too, it is a poor way of establishing the 



128 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

duration of the world, to make human hfe the basis of the calcu- 
lation. Will jou pretend to demonstrate the permanence and the 
reality of things by the rapid succession of momentary shadows ? 
"Will you exhibit a heap of rubbish as the evidence of a society 
without beginning and without end ? Does it require many days 
to produce a pile of ruins ? The world would be old indeed were 
we to number its years by the wrecks which it presents to our 
yiev 



CHAPTER ni. 

ASTRONOMY. 

In the history of the firmament are sought the second proofs 
of the antiquity of the world and the errors of Scripture. Thus, 
the heavens, which declare the gloiy of Grod unto all men, and 
whose language is heard by all nations,* proclaim nothing to the 
infidel. Happily it is not that the' celestial orbs are mute, but 
the athiest is deaf. 

Astronomy owes its origin to shepherds. In the wilds of the 
primitive creation, the first generations of men beheld their in- 
fant families and their numerous flocks sporting around them, 
and, happy to the very inmost of their souls, no useless foresight 
disturbed their repose. In the departure of the birds of autumn 
they remarked not the flight of years, neither did the fall of the 
leaves apprise them of any thing more than the return of winter. 
When the neighboring hill was stripped of all its herbage by their 
flocks, mountinu" their waorons covered with skins, with their 
children and their wives, they traversed the forests in quest of 
some distant river, where the coolness of the shade and the beauty 
of the wilderness invited them to fix their new habitation. 

But they wanted a compass to direct them through those track- 
less forests, and along those rivers which had never been explored; 
and they naturally trusted to the guidance of the stars, by whose 
appearances they steered their course. At once legislators and 
guides, they regulated the shearing of the sheep and the most 

— ■ ■ — - — . — -■1^' 

I Ps. xviii. 



ASTRONOMY. 129 



distant migrations; each family followed the course of a constel- 
lation ; each star shone as the leader of a flock. In proportion 
as these pastoral people applied to this study, they discovered new 
laws. In those days God was pleased to unfold the course of the 
sun to the tenants of the lowly cabin, and fable recorded that 
Apollo had descended among the shepherds. 

Small columns of brick were raised to perpetuate the remem- 
brance of observations. Never had the mightiest empire a more 
simple history. With the same tool with which he pierced his 
pipe, by the same altar on which he had sacrificed his firstling 
kid, the herdsman engraved upon a rock his immortal disco- 
veries. In other places he left similar witnesses of this pastoral 
astronomy ; he exchanged annals with the firmament ; and in the 
same manner as he had inscribed the records of the stars amonsj 
his flocks, he wrote the records of his flocks amono- the constel- 
lations of the zodiac. The sun retired to rest only in the sheep- 
folds ; the bull announced by his bellowing the passage of the 
god of day, and the ram awaited his appearance to salute him *in 
the name of his master. In the skies were discovered ears of 
corn, implements of agricultural, virgins, lambs, nay, even the 
shepherd's dog : the whole sphere was transformed, as it were, 
into a spacious rural mansion, inhabited by the Shepherd of men. 

These happy days passed away, but mankind retained a con- 
fused tradition of them in those accounts of the golden age, in 
which the reign of the stars was invariably blended with that of 
the pastoral life. India has still an astronomical and pastoral cha- 
racter, like Egypt of old. With corruption, however, arose pro- 
perty;^ with property mensuration, the second age of astronomy. 
But, by a destiny not a little remarkable, the simplest nations 
were still best acquainted with the system of the heavens; the 
herdsman of Lhe Ganges fell into errors less gross than the philo- 
sopher of Athens : as if the muse of astronomy had retained a 
secret partiality for the shepherds, the objects of her first attach- 
ment. 



' That is, the rights of property became objects of closer vigilance and more 
jealous care, as men grew more selfish. The right of property, being a neces- 
sary appendage of tde social state, cannot be an evil opposed to the divine law, 
but rather a relation which that law sanctions and commands ; so that the vio- 
lation of the former implies the ti'ansgression of the latter. T. 

I 



130 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Diirinj:^ these protracted caiamities which accompanied and 
succeeded the fall of the Roman empire, the sciences had no 
other asylum than the sanctuary of that Church which they now 
so ungratefully profane. Cherished in the silence of the con 
vents, they owed their preservation to those same recluses whom, 
in our days, they affect to despise. A friar Bacon, a bishop 
Albert, a cardinal Cusa, resuscitated in their laborious vigils the 
genius of an Eudoxus, a Timocharis, an Hipparchus, and a 
Ptolemy. Patronized by the popes, who set an example to kings, 
the sciences at length spread abroad from those sacred retreats in 
which religion had gathered them under her protecting wings. 
Astronomy revived in every quarter. Gregory XIII. corrected 
the calendar ; Copernicus reformed the system of the world ; 
Tycho Brahe, from the top of his tower, renewed the memory of 
the ancient Babylonian observers ; Kepler determined the figure 
of the planetary orbits. But Grod humbled again the pride of 
man by granting to the sports of innocence what he had refused 
tolhe investigations of philosophy; — the telescope was discovered 
by children. Galileo improved the new instrument; when, be- 
hold ! the paths of immensity were at once shortened, the genius 
of man brought down the heavens from their elevation, and the 
stars came to be measured by his hands. 

These numerous discoveries were but the forerunners of others 
still more important; for man had approached too near the sanc- 
tuary of nature not to be soon admitted within its precincts. 
Nothing was now wanted but the proper methods of relieving his 
mind from the vast calculations which overwhelmed it. Descartes 
soon ventured to refer to the great Creator the physical laws of 
our globe ; and, by one of those strokes of genius of which only 
four or five instances are recorded in history, he efibcted a union 
between algebra and geometry' in the same manner as speech is 
combined with thought. Newton had only to apply the materials 
which so many hands had prepared for him, but he did it like a 
perfect artist; and from the various plans upon which he might 
have reared the edifice of the spheres, he selected the noblest, 
the most sublime design — perhaps that of the Deity himself. The 
understanding at length ascertained the order which the eye ad- 
mired ; the golden balance which Homer and the Scriptures give 
to the Supreme Arbiter was again put into his hand ; the comet 



ASTRONOMY. IgJ 



Bubmitted; planet attracted planet across the regions of im- 
mensity; ocean felt the pressure of two vast bodies floating mil- 
lions of leagues from its surface ; from the sun to the minutest 
atom all things continued in their places by an admirable equili- 
brium, and nothing in nature now wanted a counterpoise but the 
« heart of man. 

Who could have thought it? At the very time when so mauy 
new proofs of the greatness and wisdom of Providence were dis- 
covered, there were men who shut their eyes more closely than 
ever against the light. Not that those immortal geniuses, Co- 
pernicus, Tycho Brahe, Kepler, Leibnitz, and Newton, were athe- 
ists ; but their successors, by an unaccountable fatality, imagined 
that they held the Deity within their crucibles and telescopes, 
because they perceived in them some of the elements with which 
the universal mind had founded the system of worlds. When we 
recall the terrors of the French revolution, when we consider 
that to the vanity of science we owe almost all our calamities, is 
it not enough to make us think that man was on the point of 
perishing once more, for having a second time raised his hand to 
the fruit of the tree of knowledge ? Let this afford us matter 
for reflection on the original crime : the ages of science have 
always bordered on the ages of destruction. 

Truly unfortunate, in our opinion, is the astronomer who can 
pass his nights in contemplating the stars without beholding in- 
scribed upon them the name of God. What ! can he not see in 
such a variety of figures and characters the letters which compose 
that divine name ? Is not the problem of a Deity solved by the 
mysterious calculations of so many suns ? Does not the brilliant 
algebra of the heavens suffice to bring to light the great Un- 
known ? 

The first astronomical objection alleged against the system of 
Moses is founded on the celestial sphere. " How can the world 
be so modern?" exclaims the philosopher; ' 'the very composition 
of the sphere implies millions of years." 

It must also be admitted that astronomy was one of the first 
sciences cultivated by men. Bailly proves that the patriarchs, 
before the time of Noah, were acquainted with the period of six 
hundred years, the year of 365 days, 5 hours, 51 minutes, 36 
seconds, and likewise that they named the six days of the crea- 



132 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

tion after the planetary order.* If the primitive generations 
were ah-eady so conversant with the history of the heavens, is it 
not highly probable that the ages which have elapsed since the 
delu"-e have been more than suJB&cient to brins; the science of as- 
tronomy to the state in which we find it at the present day? It 
is impossible to pronounce with certainty respecting the time 
necessary for the development of a science. From Copernicus to 
Newton, astronomy made greater progress in one century than ii 
had previously done in the course of three thousand years. The 
sciences may be compared to regions diversified with plains and 
mountains. We proceed with rapid pace over the plain ; but 
when we reach the foot of the mountain a considerable time is 
lost in exploring its paths and in climbing the summit from 
which we descend into another plain. It must not then be con- 
cluded that astronomy was myriads of centuries in its infancy, 
because its middle age was protracted during four thousand years: 
such an idea would contradict all that we know of history and of 
the progress of the human mind. 

The second objection is deduced from the historical epochs, 
combined with the astronomical observations of nations, and in 
particular those of the Chaldeans and Indians. 

In regard to the former, it is well known that the seven hun- 
dred and twenty thousand years of which they boasted are re- 
ducible to nineteen hundred and"three.^ 

As to the observations of the Indians, those which are founded 
on incontestable facts date no ftirther back than the year 3102 
before the Christian era. This we admit to be a very high de- 
gree of antiquity, but it comes at leaft within known limits. At 
this epoch the fourth jogue or Indiai\ age commences. Bailly, 
combining the first three ages and adding them to the fourth, 
shows that the whole chronology of the Brahmins is comprised in 
the space of about seventy centuries^ which exactly corresponds 
with the chronology of the Septuagint.^ He proves to demon- 
stration that the chronicles of the Elgyptians, the Chaldeans, the 
Chinese, the Persians, and the Indians, coincide in a remarkable 

' Bail., IJiht. <le I' Ant. Aiic. 

2 The tables of these observations, drawn up at Babylon before the arrival 
of Ale.xander, wore sent by CiiUiKlbftnos to Aristotle. 
* See note I. 



NATURAL HISTORY— THE DELUGE. 133 



degree with the epochs of Scripture.* We quote Baillj the more 
willingly, as that philosopher fell a victim to the principles which 
vre have undertaken to refute. When this unfortunate man, in 
speaking of Hypatia, — a young female astronomer, murdered by 
the inhabitants of Alexandria, — observed that the moderns at least 
spare life, though they show no mercy to reputation, little did he 
suspect that he would himself afford a lamentable proof of the 
fallacy of his assertion, and that in his own person the tragic 
story of Hypatia would be repeated. 

In short, all these endless series of generations and centuries, 
which are to be met with among different nations, spring from a 
weakness natural to the human heart. Man feels within himself 
a principle of immortality, and shrinks as it "were with shame 
from the contemplation of his brief existence. He imagines that 
by piling tombs upon tombs he will hide from view this capital 
defect of his nature, and by adding nothing to nothing he will at 
length produce eternity. But he only betrays himself, and re- 
veals what he is so anxious to conceal ; for, the higher the funeral 
pyramid is reared, the more diminutive seems the living statue 
that surmounts it ; and life appears the more insignificant when 
the monstrous phantom of death lifts it up in its arms. 



CHAPTER IV. 

NATURAL HISTORY THE DELUGE. 

Astronomy having been found insufficient to destroy the 
chronology of Scripture, natural history was summoned to its 
aid. 2 Some writers speak of certain epochs in which the whole 

^ Bail., Ast. IncL, disc, prelim., part ii. 

2 Philosophers have laughed at Joshua, who commanded the sun to stand 
still. We would scarcely have thought it necessary to inform the present age 
that the sun, though the centre of our system, is not motionless. Others have 
excused Joshua by observing that he adopted the popular mode of expression. 
They might just as well have said that he spoke like Newton. If you wished 
to stop a watch, you would not break a small wheel, but the main-spring, 
the suspension of which would instantly arrest the movements of the whole 
machine. 

12 



134 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



universe grew young again ; others deny the great catastrophes 
of the globe, such as the universal deluge. " Rain/' say they, 
'' is nothing but the vapor of the ocean. Xow, all the seas of the 
globe would not be sufficient to cover the earth to the height 
mentioned in Scripture." We might reply that this mode of 
reasoning is at variance with that very knowledge of which men 
boast so much nowadays, as modern chemistry teaches us that 
air may be converted into water. Were this the case, what a 
frightful deluge would be witnessed ! But, passing over, as we 
willingly do, those scientific arguments which explain every thing 
to the understanding without satisfying the heart, we shall con- 
fine ourselves to the remark, that, to submerge the terrestrial por- 
tion of the globe, it is sufiicient for Ocean to overleap his bounds, 
carrying with him the waters of the fathomless gulf. Besides, 
ye presumptuous mortals, have ye penetrated into the treasures 
of the hail P^ are 3'e acquainted with all the reservoirs of that 
abyss whence the Lord will call forth death on the dreadful day 
of his veno-eance ? 

Whether God, raising the bed of the sea, poured its turbulent 
waters over the land, or, changing the course of the sun, caused 
it to rise at the pole, portentous of evil, the fact is certain, that 
a destructive deluge has laid waste the eaith. 

On this occasion the human race was nearly annihilated. All 
national quarrels were at an end, all revolutions ceased. Kings, 
people, hostile armies, suspended their sanguinary quarrels, and, 
seized with mortal fear, embraced one another. The temples 
were crowded with suppliants, who had all their lives, perhaps, 
denied the Deity; but the Deity denied them in his turn, and it 
was soon announced that all ocean was rushing; in at the 2;ates. In 
vain mothers fled with their infants to the summits of the moun- 
tains; in vain the lover expected to find a refuge for his mistress 
in the same grot which had witnessed his vows ; in vain friends 
disputed with affrighted beasts the topmost branches of the oak; 
the bird himself, driven from bough to bough by the rising flood^ 
tired his wings to no purpose over the shoreless plain of waters. 
The sun, which through sombre clouds shed a lurid light on 
naught but scenes of death, appeared dull and empurpled ; the 

'Job. 



NATURAL HISTORY— THE DELUGE. 135 



i 



volcanoes, disgorging vast masses of smoke, were extinguished, 
and one of the four elements, fire, perished together with light. 

The world was now covered with horrible shades which sent 
forth the most terrific cries. Amid the humid darkness, the 
remnant of living creatures, the tiger and the lamb, the eagle 
and the dove, the reptile and the insect, man and woman, hastened 
together to the most elevated rock on the surface of the globe; 
but Ocean still pursued them, and, raising around them his stu- 
pendous and menacing waters, buried the last point of land be- 
neath his stormy wastes. 

God, having accomplished his vengeance, commanded the seas 
to retire within the abyss; but he determined to impress on the 
globe everlasting traces of his wrath. The relics of the elephant 
of India were piled up in the regions of Siberia; the shell-fish of 
the Magellanic shores were fixed in the quarries of France; whole 
beds of marine substances settled upon the summits of the Alps, 
of Taurus, and of the Cordilleras; and those mountains them- 
selves were the monuments which God left in the three worlds 
to commemorate his triumph over the wicked, as a monarch 
erects a trophy on the field where he has defeated his enemies. 

He was not satisfied, however, with these general attestations 
of his past indignation. Knowing how soon the remembrance of 
calamity is efiaced from the mind of man, he spread memorials 
of it everywhere around him. The sun had now no other throne 
in the morning, no other couch at night, than the watery element, 
in which it seemed to be daily extinguished as at the time of the 
deluge. Often the clouds of heaven resembled waves heaped 
upon one another, sandy shores or whitened clifi"s. On land, the 
rocks discharii'ed torrents of water. The lioht of the moon and 
the white vapors of evening at times gave to the valleys the ap- 
pearance of being covered with a sheet of water. In the most arid 
situations grew trees, whose bending branches hung heavily toward 
the earth, as if they had just risen from the bosom of the waves. 
Twice a day the sea was commanded to rise again in its bed, and 
to invade its deep resounding shores. The caverns of the moun- 
tains retained a hollow and mournful sound. The summits of the 
solitary woods presented an image of the rolling billows, and the 
ocean seemed to have left the roar of its waters in the recesses of 
the forest. 



136 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



CHAPTER V. 

YOUTH AND OLD AGE OF THE EARTH. 

We now come to the third objection relative to the modern 
origin of the olobe. ''The earth/' it is said, "is an acced nurse, 
who betrays her antiquity in every thing. Examine her fossils, 
her marbles, her granites, her lavas, and you will discover in 
them a series of innumerable years, marked by circles, strata, or 
branches, as the age uf a sei'pent is determined by his rattles, that 
of a horse by his teeth, or that of a stag by his antlers.''^ 

This difficulty has been solved a hundred times by the follow- 
ing answer: God might have created, and doubtless did create^ 
the world with all the marks of antiquity and comj^leteness which 
it noic exhibits. 

What, in fact, can be more probable than that the Author of 
nature originall}* produced both venerable forests and young plan- 
tations, and that the animals were created, some full of days, 
others adorned with the graces of infancy ? The oaks, on spring- 
ing from the fruitful soil, doubtless bore at once the aged crows 
and the new progeny of doves. Worm, chrysalis, and butterfly — 
the insect crawled upon the grass, suspended its golden egg in the 
forest, or fluttered aloft in the air. The bee, though she had 
lived but a morning, already gathered her ambrosia from genera- 
tions of flowers. We may imagine that the ewe was not without 
her lamb, nor the linnet without her young; and that the flower- 
ing; shrubs concealed amono- their buds ni":htinirales, astonished at 
the warbling notes in which they expressed the tenderness of 
their first enjoyments. 

If the world had not been at the same time young and old, 
the grand, the serious, the moral, would have been banished from 
the face of nature ; for these are ideas esseutiallv inherent in an- 
tique objects. Eveiy scene would have lost its wonders. The 
rock in ruins would no lonaer have overhuns: the abyss with its 
pendent herbage. The forests, stripped of their accidents, would 

' See note K 



YOUTH AND OLD AGE OF THE E^RTH. 137 



DO longer have exhibited the pleasing irregularity of trees curved 
in every direction, and of trunks bending over the currents of 
rivers. The inspired thoughts, the venerable sounds, the magic 
voices, the sacred awe of the forests, would have been wanting, 
together with the darksome bowers which serve for their retreats; 
and the solitudes of earth and heaven would have remained bare 
and unattractive without those columns of oaks which join them 
together. We may well suppose, that the very day the ocean 
poured its first waves upon the shores, they dashed against rocks 
already worn, over strands covered with fragments of shell-fish, 
and around barren capes which protected the sinking coasts 
against the ravages of the waters. 

Without this original antiquity, there would have been neither 
beauty nor magnificence in the work of the Almighty; and, what 
could not possibly be the case, nature, in a state of innocence, 
would have been less charming than she is in her present dege- 
nerate condition. A general infancy of plants, of animals, of ele- 
ments, would have spread an air of dulness and languor through- 
out the world, and stripped it of all poetical inspiration. But 
God was not so unskilful a designer of the groves of Eden as 
infidels pretend. Man, the lord of the earth, was ushered into 
life with the maturity of thirty years, that the majesty of his be- 
ing might accord with the antique grandeur of his new empire; 
and in like manner his partner, doubtless, shone in all the bloom- 
ing graces of female beauty when she was formed from Adam, 
that she might be in unison with the flowers and the birds, with 
innocence and love, and with all the youthful part of the universe. 

12* 



BOOK y. 

THE EXISTENCE OF GOD DEMONSTRATED BY THE 

WORKS OF NATURE. 

CHAPTER I. 

OBJECT OF THIS BOOK. 

One of th.0 principal doctrines of Christianity yet remains to 
be examined; that is, the state of rewards and piLiiishments in 
another life. But we cannot enter upon this important subject 
without first speaking of the two pillars which support the edifice 
of all the religious in the world — the existence of God, and the, 
immortality of the soul. 

These topics are, moreover, suggested by the natural develop- 
ment of our subject; since it is only after having followed Faith 
here below that we can accompany her to those heavenl}'^ man- 
sions to which she speeds her flight on leaving the earth. Ad- 
hering scrupulously to our plan, we shall banish all abstract ideas 
from our proofs of the existence of God and the immortality of the 
soul, and shall employ only such arguments as may be derived from 
poetical and sentimental considerations, or, in other words, from 
the wonders of nature and the moral feelinos. Plato and Cicero 
among the ancients, Clarke and Leibnitz among the moderns, 
have metaphysically, and almost mathematically, demonstrated the 
existence of a Supreme Being,* while the brightest geniuses in 
every age have admitted this consoling dogma. If it is rejected 
by certain sophists, God can exist just as well without their 
suifrage. Death alone, to which atheists would reduce all things, 
stands in need of defenders to vindicate its rights, since it has 
but little reality for man. Let us leave it, then, its deplorable 
partisans, who are not even agreed among themselves; for if they 
who believe in Providence concur in the principal points of their 
doctrine, they, on the contrary, who deny the Creator, are involved 

' See note L. 
138 



GENERAL SURVEY OF THE UNIVERSE. 139 



in everlasting disputes concerning the basis of their nothingness. 
They have before them an abyss. To fill it up, they want only 
the foundation-stone, but they are at a loss where to procure it. 
Such, moreover, is the essential character of error, that when this 
error is not our own it instantly shocks and disgusts us; hence 
th "J interminable quarrels among atheists. 



CHAPTER II. 

A GENERAL SURVEY OF THE UNIVERSE. 

There is a God. The plants of the valley and the cedars of 
the mountain bless his name; the insect hums his praise; the 
elephant salutes him with the rising day; the bi*'d glorifies him 
among the foliage ; the lightning bespeaks his power, and the 
ocean declares his immensity. Man alone has said, " There is no 
God.'' 

Has he then in adversity never raised his eyes toward heaven ? 
has he in prosperity never cast them on the earth ? Is Nature so 
far from him that he has not been able to contemplate its won- 
ders; or does he consider them as the mere result of fortuitous 
causes ? But how could chance have compelled crude and stub- 
born materials to arrange themselves in such exquisite order? 

It might be asserted that man is the idea of God dhplm/ed, 
and the universe his imagination made 'manifest. They who 
have admitted the beauty of nature as a proof of a supreme 
intelligence, ought to have pointed out a truth which greatly 
enlarges the sphere of wonders. It is this : motion and rest, 
darkness and light, the seasons, the revolutions of the heavenly 
bodies, which give variety to the decorations of the world, are 
successive only in appearance, and permanent in reality. The 
scene that fades upon our view is painted in brilliant colors 
for another people ; it is not the spectacle that is changed, but 
the spectator. Thus God has combined in his work absolute 
duration and progressive duration. The first is placed in time, 
the second in space ; by means of the former, the beauties of the 
universe are one, infinite, and invariable ; by means of the latter, 



l-iO GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

ihey are multiplied, finite, and perpetually renewed. Without 
the one, there would be no grandeur in the creation; without 
the other, it would exhibit nothing but dull uniformity. 

Here time appears to us in a new point of view ; the smallest 
of its fractions becomes a complete whole, which comprehends 
all things, and in which all things transpire, from the death of 
an insect to the birth of a world -, each minute is in itself a little 
eternity. Combine, then, at the same moment, in imagination, 
the most beautiful incidents of nature; represent to yourself at 
once all the hours of the day and all the seasons of the year, a 
spring morning and an autumnal morning, a night spangled with 
stars and a night overcast with clouds, meadows enamelled with 
flowers, forests stripped by the frosts, and fields glowing with 
their golden harvests; you will then have a just idea of the 
prospect of the universe. While you are gazing with admiration 
upon the sun sinking beneath the western arch, another beholds 
it emerging from the regions of Aurora. By what inconceivable 
magic does it come, that this aged luminary, which retires to rest, 
as if weary and heated, in the dusky arms of night, is at the 
very same moment that youthful orb which awakes bathed in 
dew, and sparkling through the gray curtains of the dawn ? 
Every moment of the day the sun is rising, glowing at his zenith, 
and setting on the world ; or rather our senses deceive us, and 
there is no real sunrise, noon, or sunset. The whole is reduced 
to a fixed point, from which the orb of day emits, at one and the 
same time, three lights from one single substance. This triple 
splendor is perhaps the most beautiful incident in nature; for, 
while it affords an idea of the perpetual magnificence and omni- 
presence of God, it exhibits a most striking image of his glorious 
Trinity. 

We cannot conceive what a scene of confusion nature would 
present if it were abandoned to the sole movements of matter. 
The clouds, obedient to the laws of gravity, would fall perpen- 
dicularly upon the earth, or ascend in pyramids into the air; a 
moment afterward the atmosphere would be too dense or too 
rarefied for the organs of respiration. The moon, either too near 
or too distant, would at one time be invisible, at another would 
appear bloody and covered with enormous spots, or would alone 
fill the whole celestial concave with her disproportionate orb. 



ORGANIZATION OF ANIMALS AND OF PLANTS. 14 J 



Seized, as it were, with a strange kiud of madness, she would 
pass from one eclipse to another, or, rolling from side to side, 
would exhibit that portion of her surface which earth has never 
yet beheld. The stars would appear to be under the influence 
of the same capricious power; and nothing would be seen but a 
succession of tremendous conjunctions. One of the summer 
signs would be speedily overtaken by one of the signs of winter ; 
the Cow-herd would lead the Pleiades, and the Lion would roar 
in Aquarius ; here the stars would dart along with the rapidity 
of lightning, there they would be suspended motionless; some- 
times, crowding together in groups, they would form a new ga- 
laxy; at others, disappearing all at once, and, to use the expression f 
of Tertullian, rending the curtain of the universe, they would ^ 
expose to view the abysses of eternity. 

No such appearances, however, will strike terror into the breast 
of man, until the day when the Almighty will drop the reins of 
the world, employing for its destruction no other means than to 
leave it to itself. 



CHAPTER III. 

ORGANIZATION OP ANIMALS AND OP PLANTS. 

Passing from general to particular considerations, let us exa- 
mine whether the different parts of the universe -exhibit the 
same wisdom that is so plainly expressed in the whole. We shall 
here avail ourselves of the testimony of a class of men, benefac- 
tors alike of science and of humanity : we mean the professors 
of the medical art. 

Doctor Nieuwentyt, in his Treatise on, the Existence of Gody^ 
has undertaken to demonstrate the reality of final causes. With. 
out f jllowino; him through all his observations, we shall content 
ourselves with adducing a few of them. 



1 lu all the passages here quoted from the treatise of Nieuwentyt, we have 
taken the liberty of altering the language and giving a higher coloring to hi3 
subject. The doctor is learned, intelligent, and judicious, but dry. We have 
also added some observations of our own. 



142 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



,1 In treating of the four elements^ whicli he considers in theif 
harmonies with man and the creation in general, he shows, in 
respect to air, how our bodies are marvellously preserved beneath 
an atmospheric column, equal in its pressure to a weight of 

^ twenty thousand pounds. He proves that the change of ona 
single quality, either as to rarefaction or density, in the element 
we breathe, would be sufficient to destroy every living creature. 
It is the air that causes the smoke to ascend; it is the air that 
retains liquids in vessels ; by its agitation it purifies the heavens, 
and wafts to the continents the clouds of the ocean. 

He then demonstrates, by a multitude of experiments, the ne- 

hi) cessity of water. Who can behold, without astonishment, the 
wonderful quality of this element,, by which it ascends, contrary 
to all the laws of gravity, in an element lighter than itself, in 
order to supply us with rain and dew ? He considers the arrange- 
ment of mountains, so as to give a circulation to rivers; the 
topography of these mountains in islands and on the main land ; 
the outlets of gulfs, bays, and mediterranean waters; the innu- 
merable advantages of seas : nothing escapes the attention of this 
good and learned man. In the same manner he unfolds the ex- 
cellence of the earth as an element, and its admirable laws as a 

^ planet. He likewise describes the utility of fire, and the exten- 

" sive aid it has afi'orded in the various departments of human 
industry.'' 

When he passes to animals, he observes that those which we 
call domestic come into the world with precisely that degree of 
instinct which is necessary in order to tame them, while others 
that are unserviceable to man never lose their natural wildness. 
Can it be chance that inspires the gentle and useful animals with 
the disposition to live together in our fields, and prompts ferocious 
beasts to roam by themselves in unfrequented places ? Why 
should not flocks of tigers be led by the sound of the shepherd's 
fife ? Why should not a colony of lions be seen frisking in our 
parks, among the wild thyme and the dew, like the little animals 
celebrated by La Fontaine ? Those ferocious beasts could never 
be employed for any other purpose than to draw the car of some 

' Modern physics may correct some errors in this part of his work; but the 
, progress of that science, so far from conflicting with the doctrine of final causes, 
furnishes new proofs of the bounty of Providence. 



ORGANIZATION OF ANIMALS AND OF PLANTS. 143 



triumphant warrior, as cruel as themselves, or to devour Chris- 
tians in an amphitheatre.* Alas ! tigers are never civilized among 
men, but men oftentimes assume the savage disposition of the 
tiger ! 

The observations of Nieuwentyt on the qualities of birds are 
not less interesting. Their wings, convex above and concave 
underneath, are oars perfectly adapted to the element they are 
designed to cleave. The wren, that delights in hedges of thorB 
and arbutus, which to her are extensive deserts, is provided with 
a double eyelid, to preserve its sight from every kind of injury. 
But how admirable are the contrivances of nature ! this eyelid is 
transparent, and the little songstre.'^s of the cottage can drop this 
wonderful veil without being deprived of sight. Providence 
kindly ordained that she should not lose her way when conveying 
the drop of water or the grain of millet to her nest, and that her 
little family beneath the bush should not pine at her absence. 

And what ingenious springs move the feet of birds ? It is not 
by a play of the muscles which their immediate will determines, 
that they hold themselves firm on a branch : their feet are so 
constructed, that, when they are pressed in the centre or at the 
heel, the toes naturally grasp the object which presses against 
them. 2 From this mechanism it follows that the claws of a bird 
adhere more or less firmly to the object on which it alights, as the 
motion of that object is more or less rapid; for, in the waving of 
the branch, either the branch presses agaipst the foot or the foot 
against the branch, and in either case there results a more forcible 
contraction of the claws. When in the winter season, at the ap- 
proach of night, we see ravens perched on the leafless summit of 
the oak, we imagine that it is only by continual watchfulness and 
attention, and with incredible fatigue, they can maintain their 
position amid the howling tempest and the obscurity of night. 
The truth, however, is, that unconscious of danger, and defying the 
storm, they sleep amid the war of winds. Boreas himself fixes 
them to the branch from which we every moment expect to see 
them hurled ; and, like the veteran mariner whose hammock is 



' The reader is acquainted with the cry of the Roman populace : "Away with 
the Christians to the lions !" See Tertullian's Ajwlogy. 

2 The truth of this observation may be ascertained by an experiment on the 
foot of a dead bird. 



144 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



slung to the masts of a vessel, the more thej are rocked by the 
hurricane the more profound are their slumbers. 

"With respect to the organization of fishes, their very existence 
in the watery- element, and the relative change in their weight, 
which enables them to float in water of greater or less gravity, 
and to descend from the surface to the lowest depths of the abyss, 
are perpetual wonders. The fish is a real hydrostatic machine, 
displajdng a thousand phenomena by means of a small bladder 
which it empties or replenishes with air at pleasure. 

The flowering of plants, and the use of the leaves and roots, 
are also prodigies which afibrd Nieuwentj't a curious subject of 
investigation. He makes this strikino- observation : that the seeds 
of plants are so disposed by their figure and weight as to fall in- 
variably upon the ground in the position which is favoi-able to 
germination. 

Now if all things were the production of chance, would not 
some change be occasionally witnessed in the final causes ? Why 
should there not be fishes without the air-bladder, which eives 
them the faculty of floating? And why would not the eaglet, 
that as yet has no need of weapons, have its shell broken by the 
bill of a dove ? But, strange to relate, there is never any mis- 
take or accident of this "Sort in blind nature! In whatever way 
you throw the dice, they always turn up the same numbers. This 
is a strange yb;-^?< we, and we strongly suspect that before it drew 
the world from the urn of eternity it had already secretly arranged 
the lot of every thing. 

But, are there not monsters in nature, and do they not afibrd 
instances of a departure from the final cause? True; but take 
notice that these beings inspire us with horror, so powerful is the 
instinct of the Deity in man — so easily is he shocked when he 
does not perceive in an object the impress of his Supreme Intel- 
ligence ! Some have pretended to derive from these irregulari- 
ties an objection against Providence; but we consider them, on 
the contrary, as a manifest confirmation of that very Providence 
In our opinion, God has permitted this distortion of matter ex- 
pressly for the purpose of teaching us what the creation would 
be icithout Him. It is the shadow that gives greater effect to 
the light — a specimen of those laws of chance which, according 
to atheists, broutiht forth the universe. 



INSTINCTS OF ANIMALS. ]-r) 



CHAPTER IV. 

INSTINCTS OF ANIMALS. 

Having discovered in the oro;aiiization of beings a roirula: 
plan, which cannot possibly be ascribed to chance, and which pre- 
supposes a directing mind, we will pass to the examination cf 
other final causes, which are neither less prolific nor less wonder- 
ful than the preceding. Here we shall present the result of our 
0"^n investigations, of a study which we would never have inter- 
rupted had not Providence called us to other occupations. Wo 
were desirous, if possible, of producing a Relu/ious Natural Hlii- 
torij, in opposition to all those modern scientific works in which 
mere matt<^r is considered. That we might not be contemptu- 
ously reproached with ignorance, we resolved to travel, and to see 
every object with our own eyes. We shall, therefore, introduce 
some of our observations on the different instincts of animals and 
of plants, — on their habits, migrations, and loves. The field of 
nature cannot be exhausted. We always find there a new har- 
vest. It is not in a menasjerie, where the secrets of God are 
kept encaged, that we acquire a knowledge of the divine wisdom. 
To become deeply impressed with its existence, we must contem- 
plate it in the deserts. How can a man return an infidel from 
the regions of solitude ? Wo to the traveller who, after making 
the circuit of the globe, would come back an atheist to the pater- 
nal roof! Was it possible for us, when we penetrated at midnight 
into the solitary vale inhabited by beavers and overshadowed by 
the fir-tree, and where reigned a profound silence under the mild 
glare of the moon, as peaceful as the people whose labors it illu- 
mined — was it possible for us not to discover in this valley some 
trace of a divine Intelligence 1 Who, then, placed the square 
and the level in the eye of that animal which has the sagacity to 
construct a dam, shelving toward the water and perpendicular 
on the opposite side? What philosopher taught this singular 
engineer the laws of hydraulics, and made him .so expert with his 
incisive teeth and his- flattened tail? Reaumur never foretold the 
V6 K. 



146 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



vicissitudes of tlie seasons with the accuracy of th/s same beaver, 
whose stores, more or less copious, indicate in the month of June 
the longer or shorter duration of the ices of January. Alas I by 
questioning the divine Omnipotence, men have struck with ste- 
rility nil the works of the Almighty. Atheism has extinguished 
with its icy breath the fire of nature which it undertook to kin- 
dle. In breathing upon creation, it has enveloped it in its own 
characteristic darkness. 

There are other facts connected with animal instinct, which, 
though more common, and fallino- daily under our observation, are 
not the less wonderful. The hen, for instance, which is so timid, 
assumes the courage of a lion when it is question of defending 
her youne. How interestino- to behold her solicitude and excite- 
ment when, deceived by the treasures of another nest, little 
strangers escape from her, and hasten to sport in the neighboring 
lake I The terrified mother runs round the brink, claps her 
wings, calls back her imprudent brood, sometimes entreating with 
tenderness, sometimes clucking with authority. She walks hastily 
on, then pauses, turns her head with anxiety, and is not pacified 
till she has collected beneath her wings her weakly and dripping 
family, which will soon give her fresh cause of alarm. 

Amono: the various instincts which the Master of life has dis- 
pensed throughout the animal world, one of the most extraordi- 
nary is that which leads the fishes from the icy regions of the 
pole to a milder latitude, which they find without losing their 
way over the vast desert of the ocean, and appear punctually in 
the river where their union is to be celebrated. Spring, directed 
by the Sovereign of the seas, prepares on our shores the nuptial 
pomp. She crowns the willows with verdure; she covers the 
grottos with moss, and expands on the surface of the waves the 
foliage of the water-lily, to serve as curtains to these beds of 
crystal. Scarcely are these preparations completed, when the 
scaly tribes make their appearance. These foreign navigators 
animate all our shores. Some, like light bubbles of air, ascend 
perpendicularly from the bosom of the deep; others gently ba- 
lance themselves on the waves, or diverge from one common cen- 
tre, like innumerable stripes of gold. These dart their gliding 
forms obliquely through the azure fluid; those sleep in a sunbeam 
which penetrates the silver)- gauze of the billows. Perpetually 



SONG OF BIRDS. 147 

wandering to and fro, they swim, they dive, they turh round, they 
form into squadrons, they sej^arate and rgain unite; and the in- 
habitant of the seas, endued with the breath of life, follows with 
a bound the fiery track left for him by his beloved in the waves. 



CHAPTER Y. 



(SONG OF BIRDS — IT IS MADE FOR MAN — LAWS RELATIVE TO 

THE CRY OF ANIMALS. 

Nature has her seasons of festivity, for which she assembles 
musicians from all the regions of the globe. Skilful performers 
with their wondrous sonatas, itinerant minstrels who can only sing 
short ballads, pilgrims who repeat a thousand and a thousand 
times the couplets of their long solemn songs, are beheld flocking 
together from all quarters. The thrush whistles, the swallow 
twitters, the ringdove coos : the first, perched on the topmost 
branch of an elm, defies our solitary blackbird, who is in no 
respect inferior to the stranger; the second, lodged under some 
hospitable roof, utters his confused cries, as in the days of Evan- 
der; the third, concealed amid the foliage of an oak, prolongs her 
soft moaniugs like the undulating sound of a horn in the forests. 
The redbreast, meanwhile, repeats her simple strain on the barn- 
door, where she has built her compact and mossy nest; but the 
nightingale disdains to waste her lays amid this symphony. She 
waits till night has imposed silence, and takes upon herself that 
portion of the festival which is celebrated in its shades. 

When the first silence of night and the last murmurs of day 
struggle for the mastery on the hills, on the banks of the rivers, 
in the woods and in the valleys; when the forests have hushed 
their thousand voices; when not a whisper is heard among the 
leaves ; when the moon is high in the heavens, and the ear of 
man is all attention, — then Philomela, the first sonsstress of crea- 
tion, begins her hymn to the Eternal. She first strikes the echoes 
with lively bursts of pleasure. Disorder pervades her strains. 
She passes abruptly from flat to sharp, from soft to loud. She 



148 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



pauses; now she is slow and now quick. It is the expression of 
a heart intoxicated with joj — a heart palpitating under the pres- 
sure of love. But her voice suddenly fails. The bird is silent. 
She begins again; but how changed are her accents I What ten- 
der melody! Sometimes you hear a languid modulation, though 
varied in its form; sometimes a tune more monotonous, like the 
chorus of our ancient ballads — those master-pieces of simplicity 
and melancholy. Singing is as often an expression of sadness as 
of joy. The bird that has lost her young still sings. She still 
repeats the notes of her happy days, for she knows no other ; but, 
by a stroke of her art, the musician has merely changed her key, 
and the song of pleasure is converted into the lamentation of grief. 
It would be very gratifying to those who seek to disinherit man 
and to snatch from him the empire of nature, if they could prove 
that nothing has been made for him. But the song of birds, for 
^^ example, is ordained so expressly for our ears, that in vain we 
persecute these tenants of the woods, in vain we rob them of their 
nests, pursue, wound, and entangle them in snares. We ma}' give 
them the acutest pain, but we cannot compel them to be silent. 
In spite of our cruelty, they cannot forbear to charm us, as they 
are obliged to fulfil the decree of Providence. When held cap- 
tives in our houses, they multiply their notes. There must be 
some secret harmony in adversity; for all the victims of misfoi- 
tune are inclined to sing. Even when the bird-catcher, with a 
refinement of barbarity, scoops out the eyes of a nightingale, it 
has the extraordinary effect of rendering his voice still more me- 
lodious. This Homer of the feathered tribes earns a subsistence 
by singing, and composes his most enchanting airs after he has 
lost his sight. '' Demodocus," says the poet of Chios, descriVing 
himself in the person of the Phaeacian bard, " was beloved by the 
Muse ; but she bestowed upon him the good and the bad. She 
deprived him of the blessing of sight, but she gave him the 
sweetness of song.'' 

Toj/ TTcpi {lOVi C(piXri(Te, StSov o' aya'coi' re, KOKOvrt, 
Opia\iiu>v fitv, ajicpaz, iila.v i'Tt^eiav aoiSriv. 

The bird seems to be the true emblem of the Christian here 
below. Like him, it prefers solitude to the world, heaven to earthy 
and its Vfice is ever occupied in celebrating the wonders of the 
Creator There are certain laws relative to the cries of animals 



SONG OF BIRDS. I49 



which we believe have not yet been observed, though they are 
highly deserving of notice. The varied language of the inhabit- 
ants of the desert appears to be adapted to the grandeur or the 
charms of the places in which they live, and to the hours of the 
day at which they make their appearance. The roaring of the 
aon. loud, rough, and harsh, is in accordance with the burning 
regions where it is heard at sunset; while the lowing of our 
cattle charms the rural echoes of our valleys. The bleating of 
the goat has in it something tremulous and wild, like the rocks 
and ruins among which he loves to climb j the warlike horse 
imitates the shrill sound of the clarion, and, as if sensible that he 
was not made for rustic occupations, he is silent under the lash 
of the husbandman, and neighs beneath the bridle of the warrior. 
Night, according as it is pleasant or gloomy, brings forth the 
nightingale or the owl ] the one seems to sing for the zephyrs, 
the groves, the moon, and for lovers ; the other hoots for the 
winds, aged forests, darkness, and death. In short, almost all 
carnivorous animals have a particular cry, which resembles that 
of their prey : the sparrow-hawk squeaks like the rabbit and 
mews like a kitten ; the cat herself has a kind of whiuino- tone 
like that of the little birds of our gardens ; the wolf bleats, lows, 
or barks; the fox clucks or cries; the tiger imitates the bellow- 
ing of the bull ; and the sea-bear has a kind of friohtful roar, like 
the noise of the breakers among which he seeks his prey. The 
law of which we speak is very astonishing, and perhaps conceals 
some tremendous secret. We may observe that monsters among 
men follow the same law as carnivorous animals. There have 
been many instances of tyrants who exhibited some mark of sen- 
sibility in their countenance and voice, and who aiFected the lan- 
guage of the unhappy creatures whose destruction they were me- 
ditating. Providence, however, has ordained that we should not 
be absolutely deceived by men of this savage character : we have 
only to examine them closely, to discover, under the garb of mild- 
ness, an air of falsehood and rapacity a thousand times more 
hideous than their fury itself 

13* 



150 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



CHAPTER VI. 

nest;s of birds. 

How admirably is the providence of the great Creator displayed 
in the nests of birds ! Who can contemplate without emotion 
this divine beneficence, which imparts industry to the weak and 
foresio-ht to the thouo-htless ? 

No sooner have the trees expanded their first blossoms, than a 
thousand diminutive artisans begin their labors on every side. 
Some convey long straws into the hole of an ancient wall; others 
construct buildings in the windows of a church; others, again, 
rob the horse of his hair, or carry off the wool torn by the jagged 
thorn from the back of the sheep. There wood-cutters arrange 
small twigs in the waving summit of a tree; here spinsters col- 
lect silk from a thistle. A thousand palaces are reared, and 
every palace is a nest; while each nest witnesses the most pleas- 
ing changes; first a brilliant ego;^ then a young one covered with 
down. This tender nestlino- becomes fledoed; his mother in- 
structs him by degrees to rise up on his bed. He soon acquires 
strength to perch on the edge of his cradle, from which he takes 
the first survey of nature. With mingled terror and transport, 
he drops down among his brothers and sisters, who have not yet 
beheld this magnificent sight; but, summoned by the voice of his 
parents, he rises a second time from his couch, and this youthful 
monarch of the air, whose head is still encircled by the crown of 
infancy, already ventures to contemplate the waving summits of 
the pines and the abysses of verdure beneath the paternal oak. 
But, while the forests welcome with pleasure their new guest, 
Bome aged bird, who feels his strength forsake him, alights beside 
the current; there, solitary and resigned, he patiently awaits 
death, on the brink of the same stream where he sang his first 
loves, and beneath the trees which still bear his nest and his har- 
monious posterity. 

We vf'iW notice here another law of nature. Among the 
smaller species of birds, the eggs are coraw only tinged with one 



NESTS OF BIRDS. 151 



of the prevailing colors of the male. The bullfinch builds in the 
hawthorn, the gooseberry, and other bushes of our gardens; her 
eggs are slate-colored, like the plumage of her back. We recol- 
lect having once found one of these nests in a rose-bush : it re- 
sembled a shell of mother-of-pearl containing four blue gems; a 
rose, bathed in the dews of morning, was suspended above it: 
the male bullfinch sat motionless on a neiuhborino; shrub, like a 
flower of purple and azure. These objects were reflected in the 
water of a stream, toi»:ether with the shade of an ajj-ed walnut- 
tree, which served as a back-ground to the scene, and behind 
which appeared the ruddy tints of the morning. In this little 
picture the Almighty presented us an idea of the graces with 
which he has decked all nature. 

Among the larger birds the law respecting the color of the egg 
v^aries. We are of opinion that, in general, the e^^g is white 
among those birds the male of which has several females, or 
among those whose plumage has no fixed color for the species. 
Among those which frequent the waters and forests, and build 
their nests on the sea or on the summits of lofty trees, the egg is 
generally of a bluish green, and, as it were, of the same tint as 
the elements by which it is surrounded. Certain birds, which 
reside on the tops of ancient and deserted towers, have green eggs 
like ivy,* or reddish like the old buildings they inhabit. ^ It is, 
therefore, a law, which may be considered as invariable, that the 
bird exhibits in her egg an emblem of her loves, her habits, and 
her destinies. The mere inspection of this brittle monument will 
almost enable us to determine to what tribe it belonged, what were 
its dress, habits, and tastes; whether it passed its days amid the 
dangers of the sea, or, more fortunate, among the charms of a pas- 
toral life; whether it was tame or wild, and inhabited the moun- 
tain or the valley. The antiquary of the forest is conducted by 
a science much less equivocal than the antiquaryof the city: a 
scathed oak, with all its mosses, proclaims much more plainly the 
hand that gave it existence than a ruined column declares by 
what architect it was reared. Among men, tombs are so many 
leaves of their history; Nature, on the contrary, records her facts 
on living tablets. She has no need of granite or marble to per- 

' The jack-daw aud others. ^ The white owl, <fec. 



152 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



petuate her writings. Time has destroyed the annals of the 
Bovereigns of Memphis, once inscribed on their funereal pyra- 
mids, but has it been able to elFace a single letter of the history 
marked on the egg-shell of the Egyptian ibis ? 



CHAPTER VIT 



MIGRATIONS OF BIRDS AQUATIC BIRDS— THEIR HABITS 

GOODNESS OF PROVIDENCE. 

The reader is acquainted with the following charming lines of 
the younger Racine on the migration of birds : — 

Ceux qui, de nos hirers redoutant le courroux, 
Yont se refugier dans des climats plus doux, 
Ne laisseront jamais la saison rigoureuse 
Surprendre parmi nous leur troupe paresseuse. 
Dans on sage conseil par les chefs assemble, 
Du depart general le grand jour est reglej 
II arrive; tout part; le plus jeune peut-etre 
Demande, en regardant les lieux qui Tont vu naitre, 
Quand A-iendra le prin temps par qui tant d'exiles . 
Dans les champs paternels se verront rappeles!' 

We have known unfortunate persons whose eyes would be suf- 
fused with tears in reading the concluding lines. The exile pre- 
scribed by nature is not like that which is ordered by man. If 
the bird is sent away for a moment, it is only for its own advan- 
tage. It sets out with its neighbors, its parents, its sisters and 
brothers; it leaves nothing behind; it carries with it all the ob- 
jects of its affection. In the desert it finds a subsistence and a 
habitation; the forests are not armed against it; and it returns, 
at last, to die on the spot which gave it birth. There it finds again 
the river, the tree, the nest, and the sun, of its forefathers. But 

' Those which, dreading the rigors of our winters, repair to a more genial 
climate, will never suffer their lardy troop to be overtaken by the inclement 
season. Assembled in prudent council by their chiefs, the great day of their 
general departure is fixed. It arrives; the whole tribe departs : the youngest 
Dorhaps! inquires, while he casts his eyes over his native field.«, when spring 
will arrive, to recall so many exiles to their paternal plains. 



MIGRATIONS OF BIRDS. 153 



is the mortal, driven from his native home, sure of revisiti ig it 
again ? Alas ! man, in coming into the world, knows not what 
corner of the earth will collect his ashes, nor in what direction 
the breath of misfortune will scatter them. Happy still, indeed, 
if he only could expire in peace. But no sooner does fortune 
frown upon him than he becomes an object of persecution; and 
the particular injustice which he suffers becomes general. He 
finds not, like the bird, hospitality in his way; he knocks, but no 
one opens; he has no place to rest his weary limbs, except, per- 
haps, the post on the highway, or the stone that marks the limit 
of some plantation. But sometimes he is denied even this place 
of repose, which would seem to belong to no one; he is forced 
onward, and the proscription which has banished him from his 
country seems to have expelled him from the world. He dies, 
and has none to bury him. His corpse lies forsaken on its hard 
couch, whence the commissioner is obliged to have it removed, 
not as the body of a man, but as a nuisance dangerous tc the 
living. Ah ! how much happier, did he expire in a ditch nea\ the 
way-side, that the good Samaritan might throw, as he passes, a 
little foreign earth upon his remains ! Let us place all our hope in 
heaven, and we shall no longer be afraid of exile: in religion we 
invariably find a country ! 

While one part of the creation daily publishes in the same 
place the praises of the Creator, another travels from one country 
to another to relate his wonders. Couriers traverse the air, glide 
through the waters, and speed their course over mountains and 
valleys. Some, borne on the wings of spring, show themselves 
among us; then, disappearing with the zephyrs, follow their mova- 
ble country from climate to climate. Others repair to the habi- 
tation of man, as travellers from distant climes, and claim the 
rights of ancient hospitality. Each follows his inclination in the 
choice of a spot. The redbreast applies at the cottage; the swal- 
low knocks at the palace of royal descent. She still seems to 
court an appearance of grandeur, but of grandeur melancholy 
like her fate. She passes the summer amid the ruins of Ver- 
sailles and the winter amons; those of Thf bes. 

Scarcely has she disappeared when we behold a colony advanc- 
ing upon the winds of the north, to supply the place of the tra- 
vellers to the south, that no vacancy may be left in our fields. On 



154 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



some hoary day of autumu, when the northeast wind is sweeping 
over the plains and the woods are losing the last remains of their 
foliage, you will see a flock of wild ducks, all ranged in a line, 
traversing in silence the sombre sky. If they perceive, while 
aloft in the air, some Gothic castle surrounded by marshes and 
forests, it is there they prepare to descend. They wait till 
night, making long evolutions over the woods. Soon as the 
vapors of eve enshroud the valley, with outstretched neck and 
whizzing wing they suddenly alight on the waters, which resound 
with their noise. A general cry, succeeded by profound silence, 
rises from the marshes. Guided by a faint light, which perhaps 
gleams through the narrow window of a tower, the travellers ap- 
proach its walls under the protection of the reeds and the dark- 
ness. There, clapping their wings and screaming at intervals, 
amid the murmur of the winds and the rain, they salute the habi- 
tation of man. 

One of the handsomest among the inhabitants of these soli- 
tudes is the water-hen. Her peregrinations, however, are not so 
distant. She aj^pears on the border of the sedges, buries herself 
in their labyrinths, appears and vanishes again, uttering a low, 
wild cry. She is seen walking along the ditches of the castle, 
and is fond of perching on the coats of arms sculptured on the 
walls. When she remains motionless upon them, you would take 
her, with her sable plumage and the white patch on her head, for 
a heraldic bird, fallen from the escutcheon of an ancient knioht. 
At the approach of spring, she retires to unfrequented stre'ams. 
The root of some willow that has been undermined by the waters 
affords an asylum to the wanderer. She there conceals herself 
from every eye, to accomplish the grand law of nature. The con • 
volvulus, the mosses, the water maidenhair, suspend a verdant 
drapery before her nest. The cress and the lentil supply her 
with a delicate food. The soft murmurins: of the water soothes 
her ear; beautiful insects amuse her eye, and the Naiads of the 
stream, the more completely to conceal this youthful mother, 
plant around her their distaffs of reeds, covered with empurpled 
wool. 

Among these travellers from the north, there are some that 
become accustomed to our manners, and refuse to return tc their 
native land Some, like the companions of Ulysses, are ^apti- 



MIGRATIONS OF BIRDS. 155 



vated by delicious fruits; others, like the deserters from the ves- 
sels of the British circumnavigator, are seduced by enchantresses 
that detain them in their islands. Most of them, however, leave 
us after a residence of a few months. They are attached to the 
winds and the storms which disturb the pellucid stream, and 
afford them that prey which would escape from them in transpa- 
rent waters. They love wild and unexplored retreats, and make 
the circuit of the globe by a series of solitudes. 

Fitness for the scenes of nature, or adaptation to the wants of 
man, determines the different migrations of animals. The birds 
that appear in the months of storms have dismal voices and wild 
manners, like the season which brino-g them. They come not to 
be heard, but to listen. There is something in the dull roaring 
of the woods that charms their ear. The trees which mournfully 
wave their leafless summits are covered only with the sable le- 
gions which have associated for the winter. They have their 
sentinels and their advanced guards. Frequently a crow that has 
seen a hundred winters, the ancient Sybil of the deserts, remains 
perched on an oak which has grown old with herself. There, 
while all her sisters maintain a profound silence, motionless, and, 
as it were, full of thought, she delivers prophetic sounds to 
the winds. 

It is worthy of remark that the teal, the goose, the duck, the 
woodcock, the plover, the lapwing, which serve us for food, all 
arrive when the earth is bare; while, on the contrary, the foreign 
birds, which visit us in the season of fruits, administer only to 
our pleasures. They are musicians sent to enhance the joy of 
our banquets. We must, however, except a few, such as the 
quail and the wood-pigeon, (though the season for taking them 
does not commence till after the harvest.) which fatten on our 
corn, that they may afterward supply our table. Thus the birds 
of winter are the manna of the rude northern blasts, as the night- 
ingales are the gift of the zephyrs. From whatever point of the 
compass the wind may blow, it fails not to bring us a present 
from Providence. 



156 GENIUS OF CHRISTIAXIir. 



CHAPTER Tin. 

SEA-fOWL — IN "WHAT MANNER SERVICEABLE TO MAN IN 

ANCIENT TIMES THE MIGRATIONS OF BIRDS SERVED AS A 
CALENDAR TO THE HUSBANDMAN. 

The goose and the duck, being domestic animals, are capable 
of livinor wherever man can exist. ^Tavicrators have found innu- 
merable battalions of these birds under the antarctic pole itself, 
and on the coasts of New Zealand. We have ourselves met 
with thousands, from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the extremity 
of Florida, We beheld one day, in the xlzores, a company of 
little bluebirds, of the species of teal, that were compelled by 
fiitinue to alight on a wild fisr-tree. The tree had no leaves, but 
its red fruit hung chained together in pairs like crystals. When 
it was covered by this flock of birds, that dropped their weary 
wings, it exhibited a very pleasing appearance. The fruit, sus- 
pended from the shadowed branches, seemed to have the color of 
a brilliant purple, while the tree appeared all at once clothed with 
the richest foliaire of azure. 

Sea-fowl have places of rendezvous where you would imagine 
they were deliberating in common on the affairs of their republic. 
These places arc commonly the rocks in the midst of the waves. 
In the island of St. Pierre,* we used often to station ourselves on 
the coast opposite to an islet called by the natives Colomhier^ 
(Pi'fjeon-house,) on account of its form, and because they repair 
thither in spring for the purpose of gathering eggs. 

The multitude of birds that assemble on that rock was so great 
that we could frequently distinguish their cries amid the bowl- 
ings of the tempests. The.se birds had an extraordinary voice, 
resembling the sounds that issued from the sea. If the ocean 
has its Flora, it has likewise its I^hilomela, When the curlew 
whistles at sunset on the point of some rock, accompanied by the 
hollow murmur of the billows, which forms the bass to the con- 
cert, it produces one of the most melancholy harmonies that cat 



At the cDtrancc of the Gul )f St. Lawrence, on the coast of Newfoundland. 



SEA-FOWL. 157 



possibly be conceived Never did the wife of Ceix breatbe forth 
such lamentations on the shores that witnessed her misfortunes. 

The best understanding prevailed in the republic of Colombier, 
Immediately after the birth of a citizen, his mother precipitated 
him into the waves, like those barbarous nations who plunged 
their children into the river to inure them to the fatigues of life. 
Couriers were incessantly despatched from this Tyre with nu- 
merous attendants, who, under the direction of Providence, 
sought different points in the ocean, for the guidance of the mari- 
ner. Some, stationed at the distance of forty or fifty leagues 
from an unknown land, serve as a certain indication to the pilot, 
who discovers them like corks floating on the waves. Others 
settle on a reef, and in the night these vigilant sentinels raise their 
doleful voices to warn the navigator to stand off; while others, 
again, by the whiteness of their plumage, form real beacons upon 
the black surface of the rocks. For the same reason, we pre- 
sume, has the goodness of the Almighty given to the foam of the 
waves a phosphoric property, rendering it more luminous among 
breakers in proportion to the violence of the tempest. How 
many vessels would perish amid the darkness were it not for 
these wonderful beacons kindled by Providence on the rocks ! 

All the accidents of the seas, the flux and reflux of the tide, 
and the alternations of calm and storm, are predicted by birds. 
The thrush alights on a desolate shore, draws her neck under her 
plumage, conceals one foot in her down, and, standing motionless 
on the other, apprises the fisherman of the moment when the bil- 
lows are rising. The sea-lark, skimming the surface of the wave, 
and uttering a soft and melancholy cry, announces, on the con- 
trary, the moment of their refiux. Lastly, the little storm-bird 
stations herself in the midst of the ocean.* This faithful com- 
paiiioe-ef-4he mariner follows the course of ships and predicts 
the storm. The sailor ascribes to her something sacred, and reli- 



' The procellaria, or stormy-petrel, is about the size and form of the house- 
swallow. Except in breeding time, these birds are always at sea, and are seen 
on the wing all over the vast Atlantic Ocean, at the greatest distance from any 
land. They presage bad weather, whence they take their name, and they cau- 
tion sailors of the apprc^ch of a storm by collecting under the stern of the ship. 
This bird braves the utmost fury of the tempest, sometimes skimming with in- 
credible velocity along the hollow and sometimes on the summit of the waves. 
14 



158 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



giouslj fulfils the duties of hospitality when the violence of the 
wind tosses her on board his vessel. In like manner, the hus- 
bandman pays respect to the red-breast, whicL-predic.ts fine wea^ 
tier. In like manner, he receives him beneath his thatch during 
the intense cold of winter. These men, placed in the two most 
laborious conditions of life, have friends whom Providence has 
prepared for them. From a feeble animal they receive counsel 
and hope, which they would often seek in vain among their fellow- 
creatures. This reciprocity of benefits between little birds !ind 
men struggling through the world, is one of those pleasing inci- 
dents which abound in the works of God. Between the red- 
breast and the husbandman, between the storm-bird and the sailor, 
there is a resemblance of manners and of fortunes exceedingly 
afibcting. Oh, how dry and unmeaning is nature when explained 
by the sophist I but how significant and interesting to the simple 
heart that investigates her wonders with no other view than to 
glorify the Creator ! 

If time and place permitted, we would have many other migra- 
tions to describe, many other secrets of Providence to reveal. We 
would treat of the cranes of Florida, whose wings produce such 
harmonious sounds, and which steer their flight so beautifully 
over lakes, savannas, and groves of orange and palm-trees; we 
would exhibit the pelican of the woods, visiting the solitary dead, 
and -stopping only at Indian cemeteries and hillocks of graves; 
we would state the reasons of these miarations, which have al- 
ways some reference to man; we would mention the winds, the 
seasons chosen by the birds for changing their climate, the ad- 
ventures they meet with, the obstacles they encounter, the disas- 
ters they undergo; how they sometimes land on unknown coasts, 
far from the country to which they were bound; how they perish 
on their passage over forests consumed by the lightnings of hea- 
ven or plains fired by the hands of savages. 

In the early ages of the world, it was by the flowering of plants, 
the fall of the leaves, the departure and arrival of birds, that the 
husbandman and shepherd regulated their labors. Hence arose 
among certain people the art of divination ; for it was supposed 
that animals which predicted the seasons and tempests could be 
no other than th ^ interpreters of the Deity. The ancient natural- 
ists and poct«, tc whom we are indebted for the little simplicity 



SEA FOWL. 159 



that is left among us, show how wonderful was this mode of 
reckoning by the incidents of nature^ and what a charm it dif- 
fused over life. God is a profound secret; man, created in hig 
image, is likewise incomprehensible; it was therefore porfectlj 
consonant to the nature of things to see the periods of his days 
regulated by timekeepers as mysterious as himself. 

Beneath the tents of Jacob or of Booz, the arrival of a bird 
set every thing in motion : the patriarch made the tour of his 
encampment, at the head of his servants, provided with sickles; 
and if it was rumored that the young larks had been seen mak- 
ing their first efforts to fly, the whole people, trusting in God, 
entered joyfully upon the harvest. These charming signs, while 
they directed the labors of the present season, had the advantage 
of predicting the changes of the succeeding ones. If the geese 
aind the ducks appeared in great numbers, it was known with 
certainty that the winter would be long. If the crow began to 
build her nest in January, the shej)herds expected in April the 
flowers of May. The marriage of a young female, on the margin 
of a fountain, had its relation with the blooming flowers; and the 
aged, who often die in autumn, fell with the acorns and the ripe 
fruits. While the philosopher, curtailing or lengthening the 
year, made the winter encroach upon the domain of spring, the 
husbandman had no reason to apprehend that the bird or the 
flower, the astronomer sent him by Heaven, would lead him 
astray. He knew that the nightingale would not confound the 
month of frosts with that of roses, or warble the strains of sum- 
mer at the winter solstice. Thus all the labors, all the diversions, 
all the pleasures of the countryman were regulated, not by the 
uncertain calendar of a philosopher, but by the infallible laws of 
Him who has traced the course of the sun. That supreme Di- 
rector himself decreed that the festivals of his worship should be 
determined by the simple epochs borrowed from his own works; 
and hence, in those days of innocence, according to the season 
and occupations of men, it was the voice of the zephyr or the 
storm, of the eagle or the dove, that summoned them to the 
temple of the God of nature. 

Our peasants still make use occasionally of these charming 
tables, on which are engraven the seasons of rustic labor. The 
natives of India also have recourse to them, and the negroes and 



160 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



American savages retain the same method of computation. A 
Seminole of Florida will tell you that his daughter was married 
at the arrival of the humming-bird ; — his child died in the moult- 
ing season of the nonpareil; — his mother had as many young 
warriors as there are eggs in the nest of the pelican. 

The savages of Canada mark the sixth hour after noon by the 
moment when the wood-pigeon repairs to the stream to drink, 
and the savages of Louisiana by that in which the day-fly issues 
from the waters. The passage of various birds regulates the sea- 
son of the chase; and the time for reaping the crops of corn, 
maple-sugar, and wild oats, is announced by certain animals, 
which never fail to appear at the hour of the banquet. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE SUBJECT OF MIGRATIONS CONCLUDED — QUADRUPEDS. 

Migration is more frequent among fishes and birds than 
among quadrupeds, on account of the multiplicity of the former, 
and the facility of their journeys through the two elements by 
which the earth is surrounded. There is nothino- astonishing- in 
all this but the certainty with which they reach the shores to 
which they are bound. It appears natural that an animal, driven 
by hunger, should leave the country he inhabits in search of food 
and shelter; but is it possible to conceive that matter causes him 
to arrive at one place rather than another, and conducts him, 
with wonderful precision, to the very spot where this food and 
shelter are to be found ? How should he know the winds and 
the tides, the equinoxes and the solstices? We have no doubt 
that if the migratory tribes were abandoned for a single moment 
to their own instinct, they would almost all perish. Some, wish- 
ing to pass to a colder climate, would reach the tropics; others, 
intending to proceed under the line, would wander to the poles. 
Our redbreasts, instead of passing over Alsace and Germany in 
search of little insects, would themselves become the prey of some 
enormous beetle in Africa; the Greenlander, attracted by a plain- 



MIGRATIONS OF QUADRUPEDS. 161 



tive cry issuing from the rocks, would draw near, and find poor 
philomela in the agony of death. 

Such mistakes are not permitted by the Almighty. Every 
thing in nature has its harmonies and its relations : zephyrs ac- 
cord with flowers, winter is suited to storms, and grief has its 
seat in the heart of man. The most skilful pilots will long miss 
the desired port before the fish mistakes the longitude of the 
smallest rock in the ocean. Providence is his polar star, and, 
whatever way he steers, he has constantly in view that luminary 
which never sets. 

The universe is like an immense inn, where all is in motion. 
You behold a multitude of travellers continually entering and 
departing. In the migrations of quadrupeds, nothing perhaps 
can be compared to the journeys of the bisons across the immense 
prairies of Louisiana and New Mexico.^ When the time has 
arrived for them to change their residence, and to dispense abun- 
dance to savage nations, some aged buffalo, the patriarch of the 
herds of the desert, calls around him his sons and daughters. 
The rendezvous is on the banks of the Meschacebe ; the close of 
day is fixed for the time of their departure. This moment hav- 
ing arrived, the leader, shaking his vast mane, which hangs down 
over his eyes and his curved horns, salutes the setting sun with 
an inclination of the head, at the same time raising his huge back 
like a mountain. With a deep, rumbling sound, he gives the 
signal for departure. Then, suddenly plunging into the foaming 
waters, he is followed by the whole multitude of bulls and heifers, 
bellowing after him in the expression of their love. 

While this powerful family of quadrupeds is crossing with tre- 
mendous uproar the rivers and forests, a peaceful squadron is 
seen moving silently over the solitary lake, with the aid of the 
starlight and a favorable breeze. It is a troop of small, black 
squirrels, that having stripped all the walnut trees of the vicinity, 
resolve to seek their fortune, and to embark for another forest. 
Raising their tails, and expanding them as silken sails to the 

1 The bison is the wild bull or ox, from which several races of common cattle 
are descended. It is found wild in many parts of the old and new continents, 
and is distinguished by its large size and the shagginess of its hair about the 
head, neck, and shoulders. In the western territories of the United State* 
they are seen in herds innumerable, intermixed with deer. 
14- ' L 



162 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



wind, this intrepid race boldly tempt the inconstant waves. 
imprudent pirates, transported by the desire of riches 1 The 
tempest arises, the waves roar, and the squadron is on the point 
of perishing. It strives to gain the nearest haven, but some- 
times an army of beavers oppose the landing, fearful lest these 
strangers are come to pillage their stores. In vain the nimble 
battalions, springing upon the shores, think to escape by climb- 
ing the trees, and from their lofty tops to defy the enemy. Ge- 
nius is superior to artifice; — a band of sappers advance, under- 
mine the oak, and bring it to the ground, with all its squirrels, 
like a tower, filled with soldiers, demolished by the ancient bat- 
tering-ram. 

Our adventurers experience many other mishaps, which, how- 
ever, are in some degree compensated by the fruit they have dis- 
covered and the sports in which they indulge. Athens, reduced 
to captivity by the Lacedemonians, was not, on that account, of 
a less amiable or less frivolous character. 

In ascending the Xorth River in the packet-boat from New 
York to Albany, we ourselves beheld one of these unfortunate 
squirrels, which had attempted to cross the stream. He was un- 
able to reach the shore, and was taken half-drowned out of the 
water ; he was a beautiful creature, black as ebony, and his tail 
was twice the length of his bodv. He was restored to life, 
but lost his liberty by becoming the slave of a young female 
passenger. 

The reindeer of the north of Europe, and the elks of North 
America, have their seasons of migration, invariably calculated, 
like those of birds, to supply the necessities of man. Even the 
white bear of Newfoundland is sent by a wonderful Providence 
to the Esquimaux Indians, that they may clothe themselves with 
its skin. These marine monsters are seen approaching the coasts 
of Labrador on islands of floatinGr ice. or on fragments of vessels, 
to which they cling like sturdy mariners escaped from shipwreck. 
The elephants of Asia also travel, and the earth shakes beneath 
their feet, yet man has nothing to fear ; chaste, tender, intelli- 
gent. Behemoth is gentle because he is strong; peaceful, because 
he is powerful. The first servant of man, but not his slave, he 
ranks next to him in the scale of the creation "^^Tien the ani- 
mals, after the original fall, removed from the habitation of man. 



AMPHIBIOUS ANIMALS AND REPTILES. 163 



the elephant, from the generosity of his nature, appears to have 
retired with the greatest reluctance; for he has always remained 
near the cradle of the world. He now goes forth occasionally 
from his desert, and advances toward an inhabited district, to 
supply the place of some companion that has died without pro- 
geny in the service of the children of Adam.* 



I 



CHAPTER X. 

AMPHIBIOUS ANIMALS AND REPTILES. 

In the Floridas, at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains, 
there are springs which are called natural wells. Each well is 
scooped out of the centre of a hill planted with orange-trees, 
evergreen oaks, and catalpas. This hill opens in the form of a 

' The eloquent writers who have described the manners of this animal render 
it unnecessary for us to enlarge on the subject. We shall merely observe that 
the conformation of the elephant appears so extraordinary to us, only because 
we see it separated from the plants, the situations, the waters, the mountains, 
the colors, the light, the shade, and the skies, which are peculiar to it. The 
productions of our latitudes, planned on a smaller scale, the frequent roundness 
of objects, the firmness of the grasses, the slight denticulation of the leaves, 
the elegant bearing of the trees, our languid days and chilly nights, the fugitive 
tints of our verdure, in short, even tlie color, clothing and architecture of 
Europeans, have no conformity with the elephant. Were travellers more accu- 
rate observers, we shoiild know in what manner this quadruped is connected 
with that nature which produces him. For our own part, we think we have a 
glimpse of some of these relations. The elephant's trunk, for example, has a 
striking coincidence with the wax-tree, the aloe, the lianne, the rattan, and in 
the animal kingdom with the long serpents of India; his ears are shaped like 
the leaves of the eastern fig-tree; his skin is scaly, soft, and yet rigid, like the 
substance which covers part of the trunk of the palm, or rather like the ligneous 
coat of the cocoanut; many of the large plants of the tropics support them- 
selves on the earth in the manner of his feet, and have the same square and 
heavy form; his voice is at once shrill and strong, like that of the CaflFre in his 
deserts, or like the war-cry of the Sepoy. When, covered with a rich carpet, 
laden with a tower resembling the minarets of a pagoda, he carries some pious 
monarch to the ruins of those temples which are found in the peninsula of 
India, his massive form, the columns which support him, his irregular figure, 
and his barbarous pomp, coincide with the colossal structure formed of hewn 
rocks piled one upon another. The vast animal and the ruined monument both 
seem to be relics of the giant age. 



164 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



3rescent toward the savanna, and at tlie aperture is a channel 
throuo'h which the water flows from the well. The foliage of the 
trees bendins; over the fountain causes the water beneath to 
appear perfectly black; but at the spot where the aqueduct joius 
the base of the cone, a ray of light, entering by the bed of the 
channel, falls upon a single point of the liquid mirror, which 
produces an effect resembling that of the glass in the camera 
oh&cura of the painter. This delightful retreat is commonly in- 
habited by an enormous crocodile, which stands motionless in the 
centre of the basin ;^ and from the appearance of his greenish 
hide, and his large nostrils spouting the water in two colored 
ellipses, you would take him for a 'dolphin of bronze in some 
grotto amono; the grroves of Versailles. 

The crocodiles or caymans of Florida live not always in soli- 
tude. At certain seasons of the year thej' assemble in troops, 
and lie in ambush to attack the scaly travellers who are expected 
to arrive from the ocean. When these have ascended the rivers, 
and, wanting water for their vast shoals, perish stranded on the 
shores, and threaten to infect the air, Providence suddenly lets 
loose upon them an army of four or five thousand crocodiles. The 
monsters, raising a tremendous outcry and gnashing their horrid 
jaws, rush upon the strangers. Bounding from all sides, the 
combatants close, seize, and entwine each other. Plunging to 
the bottom of the abyss, they roll themselves ia the mud, and 
then to the surface of the waves. The waters, stained with 
blood, are covered with manoled carcasses and reeking with en- 
trails. It is impossible to convey an idea of these extraordinary 
scenes described by travellers, and which the reader is always 
tempted to consider as mere exaggerations. Routed, dispersed, 
and panic-struck, the foreign legions, pursued as far as the At- 
lantic, are obliged to return to^ its abyss, that by supplying our 
wants at some future period, they may serve without injuring us.' 

This species of monsters has sometimes proved a stumbling- 
block to atheistic minds ; they are, however, extremely necessary 
in the general plan. They inhabit only the deserts where the 
absence -of man requires their presence : they are placed there 

' Sec Bartram. Voyage dans lea Carolines el dans leu Floriden. 
■^ The immense a(lvanto;re? derived by man from the migrations of fishes are 
50 T^ftll known that we shall not enlarge on that subject. 



AMPHIBIOUS ANIMALS AND REPTJ .ES. 165 

for the express purpose of destroying, till the arrival of the great 
destroyer. The moment we appear on the coast, they resign the 
empire to us ; certain that a single individual of our species will 
make greater havoc than ten thousand of theirs.* 

^^And why," it will be asked, ^'has God made superfluous 
creatures, which render destruction a necessary consequence?'^ 
For this great reason, that God acts not, like us, in a limited 
way. He contents himself with saying, " increase and multi- 
ply," and in the'se two words exists infinit}^ Henceforth, we 
shall perhaps measure the wisdom of the Deity by the rule of 
mediocrity; we shall deny him the attribute of infinitude, and 
reject altogether the idea of immensity. Wherever we behold it 
in nature, we shall pronounce it an ''excess," because it is above 
our comprehension. What ! If God thinks fit to place more 
than a certain number of suns in the expanse of heaven, shall we 
consider the excess as superfluous, and, in consequence of this 
profusion, declare the Creator convicted of folly and imbecility? 

Whatever may be the deformity of the beings which we call 
monsters, if we consider them individually, we may discover in 
their horrible figures some marks of divine goodness. Has a 
crocodile or a serpent less afi"ection for her young than a night- 
ingale or a dove ? And is it not a contrast equally wonderful and 
pleasing to behold this crocodile building a nest and laying an 
eo;o; like a hen, and a little monster issuino- from that es^o- like a 
chicken ? After the birth of the young one, the female croco- 
dile evinces for it the most tender solicitude. She walks her 
rounds amono; the nests of her sisters, which are cones of ea-o-s 

O / Co 

and of clay, and are ranged like the tents of a camp on the bank 
of a river. The amazon keeps a vigilant guard, and leaves the fires 
of day to operate ; for, if the delicate tenderness of the mother is, 
as it were, represented in the egg of the crocodile, the strength 
and the manners of that powerful animal are denoted by the sun 
which hatches that egg and by the mud which aids it to ferment. 

' It has been observed that, in the Carolinas, where the caymans have been 
destroyed, the rivers are often infectea by the multitude of fishes which ascend 
from the ocean, and which perish for want of water during the dog-days. 

The cayman is commonly known by the name of Antilles Crocodile, because 
It abounds in those islands. It is the mobt hideous, terrible, and destructive 
af the LaceHa genus of animals. 



166 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



As s )on as one of the broods is hatclied, the female takes the 
youns monsters under her protection ; they are not always her own 
children, but she thus serves an apprenticeship to maternal care, 
and acquires an ability equal to her future tenderness. When 
her family, at length, burst from their confinement, she conducts 
them to the river, she washes them in pure water, she teaches 
them to swim, she catches small fishes for them, and protects 
them from the males, by whom otherwise they would frequently 
bo devoured. 

A Spaniard of Florida related to us that, having taken the 
brood of a crocodile, which he ordered some negroes to carry away 
in a basket, the female followed him with pitiful cries. Two of 
the young having been placed upon the ground, the mother im- 
mediately began to push them with her paws and her snout ; 
sometimes posting herself behind to defend them, sometimes 
walking before to show them the way. The young animals, 
groaning, crawled in the footsteps of their mother; and this 
enormous reptile, which used to shake the shore with her bellow- 
ing, then made a kind of bleating noise, as gentle as that of a 
goat suckling her kids. 

The rattlesnake vies with the crocodile in maternal affection. 
This superb reptile, which gives a lesson of generosity to man,* 
also presents to him a pattern of tenderness. When her offspring 
are pursued, she receives them into her mouth :^ dissatisfied with 
every other place of concealment, she hides them within herself, 
concludino; that children can have no better refuse than the 
bosom of their mother. A perfect example of sublime love, she 
never survives the loss of her young ; for it is impcissible to de- 
prive her of them without tearing out her entrails. 

Shall we mention the poison of this serpent, always the most 
violent at the time she has a family? Shall we describe the 
tenderness of the bear, which, like the female savage, carries 
maternal affection to such a pitch as to suckle her offspring after 
their death ?^ If we follow these monsters, as they are called, in 
&11 their instincts; if we study their forms and their weapons of 



' It is never the first to attack. 

2 Sec Carver's Travels in Canada for a confirmation of this statement. 

' See Cook's Voyages. 



AMPHIBIOUS ANIMALS AND REPTILES. 107 



defence; if we consider the link which they make in the chain 
of creation ; if we examine the relations they have among them- 
selves, and those which they have to man; we shall be convinced 
that final causes are, perhaps, more discernible in this class of 
beings than in the most favored species of nature. In a rude 
and unpolished work, the traits of genius shine forth the more 
prominently amid the shadows that surround them. 

The objections alleged against the situations which these mon- 
sters inhabit appear to us equally unfounded. Morasses, how- 
ever noxious they may seem, have, nevertheless, very important 
uses. They are the urns of rivers in champagne countries, and 
reservoirs for rain in those remote from the sea. Their mud and 

m 

the ashes of their plants serve the husbandman for manure. 
Their reeds supply the poor with fuel and with shelter — a frail 
covering, indeed, though it harmonizes with the life of man, last- 
ing no longer than himself. These places even possess a certaip 
beauty peculiar to themselves. Bordering on land and water, 
they have plants, scenery, and inhabitants, of a specific character. 
Every object there partakes of the mixture of the two elements 
The corn-flao; forms the medium between the herb and the shrub, 
between the leek of the seas and the terrestrial plant. Some of 
the aquatic insects resemble small birds. When the dragon-fly, 
with his blue corslet and transparent wings, hovers round the 
flower of the white water-lily, you would take him for a hum- 
ming-bird of the Floridas on a rose of magnolia. In autumn 
these morasses are covered with dried reeds, which give to ste- 
rility itself the appearance of the richest harvests. In the spring 
they exhibit forests of verdant lances. A solitary birch or willow, 
on which the gale has suspended tufts of feathers, towers above 
these moving plains, and when the wind passes over their bend- 
ing summits, one bows its head while another rises; but suddenly, 
the whole forest inclining at once, you discover ei :her the gilded 
bittern or ihe white heron, standing motionless on one of its long 
paws, as if fixed upon a spear. 



168 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



CHAPTER XI. 

OF PLANTS AND THEIR MIGRATIONS. 

We now enter that kingdom of nature in which the wonders 
of Providence assume a milder and more charming character. 
Rising aloft in the air, and on the summits of the inountains, 
plants would seem to borrow something of that heaven to which 
they^ make approaches. We often see, at the first dawn of day, 
in a time of profound stillness, the flowers of the valley motion- 
less on their stems, and inclining in various directions toward 
every point of the horizon. At this very moment, when all ap- 
pears so tranquil, a great mystery is accomplishing. Nature con- 
ceives, and all these plants become so many youthful mothers, 
looking toward the mysterious region from which they derive 
their fecundity. The sylphs have sympathies less aerial, commu- 
nications less imperceptible. The narcissus consigns her virgin 
progeny to the stream. The violet trusts her modest posterity to 
the zephyrs. A bee, collecting honey from flower to flower, un- 
consciously fecundates a whole meadow. A butterfly bears a 
whole species on his wings. All the loves of the plants, however, 
are not equally peaceful. Some are stormy, like the passions of 
men. Nothing less than a tempest is required to marry, on their 
inaccessible heights, the cedar of Lebanon to the cedar of Sinai; 
while, at the foot of the mountain, the gentlest breeze is sufficient 
to produce a voluptuous commerce among the flowers. Is it not 
thus that the rude blast of the passions agitates the kings of the 
earth upon their thrones, while the shepherds enjoy uninterrupted 
happiness at their feet? 

The flower yields honey. It is the daughter of the morning, 
the charm of spring, the source of perfumes, the graceful orna- 
ment of the virgin, the delight of the poet. Like man, it passes 
rapidly away, but drops its leaves gently to the earth. Among 
the ancients it crowned the convivial cup and the silvery hair of 
the sage. With flowers the first Christians bedecked the remains 
of martyrs and the altars of the catacombs; and, in commemora- 



PLANTS AND THEIR MIGRATIONS. 169 



tion of those ancient days, we still use them, for the decoration of 
our temples. In the world, we compare our afiections to the 
colors of the flower. Hope has its verdure, innocence its whiteness, 
modesty its roseate hue. Some nations make it the interpreter 
of the feelings, — a charming book, containing no dangerous error, 
hilt recording merely the fugitive history of man's changing heart. 

By a wise distribution of the sexes in several families of plants, 
J'rovidence has multiplied the mysteries and the beauties of na- 
ture. By this means the law of migrations is reproduced in a 
k'agdom destitute, apparently, of every locomotive faculty. 
Sometimes it is the seed or the fruit, sometimes it is a portion 
of the plant, or even the whole plant, that travels. The cocoa- 
tree frequently grows upon rocks in the midst of the ocean. The 
storm rages, the fruits fall and are carried by the billows to in- 
habited coasts, where they are transformed into stately trees — an 
admirable symbol of Virtue, who fixes herself upon the rock, ex- 
posed to the tempest. The more she is assailed by the winds, 
the more she lavishes treasures upon mankind. 

On the banks of the Yare, a small river in the county of Suf- 
folk, England, we were shown a very curious species of the cress 
It changes its place, and advances, as it were, by leaps and bounds. 
From its summit descend several fibres, and when those which 
happen to be at one extremity are of sufficient length to reach 
the bottom of the water, they take root. Drawn away by the 
action of the plant, which settles upon its new foot, that on the 
opposite looses its hold, and the tuft of cresses, turning on its 
pivot, removes the whole length of its bed. In vain you seek 
the plant on the morrow in the place where you left it the pre- 
cediug night. You perceive it higher up or lower down the 
current of the river, producing, with the other aquatic families, 
new effects and new beauties. We have not seen this singular 
species of cress, either in its flowering or bearing state; but wc 
have given it the name of migrator, or the traveller.^ 

Marine plants are liable to change their climate. They seen?, 
to partake of the adventurous spirit of those nations whose geo- 
graphical position has rendered them commercial. The /ucus 
ffiganteiis issues with the tempests from the caverns of the north. 

' None of the naturalists cous^ulted upon this subject have verified the de- 
scription of this curious i^pecies of cress. 
IS 



170 L5ENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



Borne iipou the sea, it moves along encircling an immense mass 
of water. Like a net stretched across the ocean from shore to 
shore, it carries along with it the shells, seals, thornbacks, and 
turtles which it meets in its way. Sometimes, as if fatigued with 
swimming on the waves, it extends one leg to the bottom of the 
abyss, and remains stationary; then, pursuing its voyage with a 
favorable breeze, after having floated beneath a thousand different 
latitudes, it proceeds to cover the Canadian shores with garlands 
torn from the rocks of Norway. 

The migrations of marine plants, which, at the first view, 
would seem to be the mere sport of chance, have, nevertheless, 
very interesting relations with man. 

Walking one evening along the seashore at Brest, we perceived 
a poor woman wandering, in a stooping posture, among the rocks. 
She surveyed with attention the fragments of a wreck, and exa- 
mined particularly the plants which adhered to it, as if she sought 
to ascertain, from their age, the exact period of her njisfortune. 
She discovered, beneath some stones, one of those chests in which 
mariners are used to keep their bottles. Perhaps she had once 
filled it herself, for her husband, with cordials purchased with the 
fruit of her economy; at least so we judged, for we saw her lift 
the corner of her apron to wipe the tears from her eyes. Sea- 
mushrooms now replaced the offerings of her affection. Thus, 
while the report of cannon announces to the great ones of this 
earth the destruction of human grandeur, Providence brings the 
tale of sorrow, on the same shore, to the weak and lowly, by se- 
cretly disclosing to them a blade of grass or a ruin. 



CHAPTER XII. 

TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 



What we have said respecting animals and plants leads us to 
a more general view of the scenes of nature. Those wonders 
which, separately considered, so loudly proclaimed the providence 
of God, will now speak to us of the same truth in their collective 
capacity. 



TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. I7I 



i 



We shall place before the reader two views of nature; one an 
ocean scene, the other a land picture ; one sketched in the middle 
of the Atlantic, the other in the forests of the New World. 
Thus, no one can say that the imposing grandeur of this scenery 
has been derived from the works of man. 

The vessel in which we embarked for America having passed 
the bearing of any land, space was soon enclosed only by the two- 
fold azure of the sea and of the sky. The color of the waters 
resembled that of liquid glass. A great swell was visible from 
the west, though the wind blew from the east, while immense un- 
dulations extended from the north to the south, opening in their 
valleys long vistas through the deserts of the deep. The fleeting 
scenes changed with every minute. Sometimes a multitude of 
verdant hillocks appeared to us like a series of graves in some 
vast cemetery. Sometimes the curling summits of the waves 
resembled white flocks scattered over a heath. Now space seemed 
circumscribed for want of an object of comparison; but if a billow 
reared its mountain crest, if a wave curved like a distant shore, 
or a squadron of sea-dogs moved along the horizon, the vastness 
of space again suddenly opened before us. We were most power- 
fully impressed with an idea of magnitude, when a light fog, 
creeping along the surface of the deep, seemed to increase im- 
mensity itself. Oh ! how sublime, how awful, at such times, is 
the aspect of the ocean I Into what reveries does it plunge you, 
whether imagination transports you to the seas of the north, into 
the midst of frosts and tempests, or wafts you to southern islands, 
blessed with happiness and peace ! 

We often rose at midnight and sat down upon deck, where we 
found only the officer of the watch and a few sailors silently 
smoking their pipes. No noise was heard, save the dashing of 
the prow through the billows, while sparks of fire ran with a white 
foam along the sides of the vessel. God of Christians ! it is on 
the waters of the abyss and on the vast expanse of the heavens 
that thou hast particularly engraven the characters of thy omni- 
potence ! Millions of stars sparkling in the azure of the celestial 
dome — the moon in the midst of the firmament — a sea unbounded 
by any shore — infinitude in the skies and on the waves — proclaim 
with most impressive eff'ect the power of thy arm ! Never did 
thy greatness strike me with profouuder awe than in those nights, 



172 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



when, suspended between the stars and the ocea i, I '>cheld im- 
mensity over my head and immensity beneath my feet! 

I am nothing; I am only a simple, solitary wanderer, and 
often have I heard men of science disputing on the subject of a 
Supreme Being, without understanding them; but I have inva- 
riably remarked, that it is in the prospect of the sublime scenes 
of nature that this unknown Being manifests himself to the 
human heart. One evening:, after we had reached the beautiful 
waters that bathe the shores of Virginia, there was a profound 
calm, and every sail was furled. I was engaged below, when I 
heard the bell that summoned the crew to prayers. I hastened 
to mingle my supplications with those of my travelling com- 
panions. The officers of the ship were on the quarter-deck 
with the passengers, while the chaplain, with a book in his 
hand, was stationed at. a little distance before them; the seamen 
were scattered at random over the poop ; we were all standing, 
our faces toward the prow of the vessel, which was turned to 
the west. 

The solar orb, about to sink beneath the waves, was seen 
through the rigging, in the midst of boundless space ; and, from 
the motion of the stern, it appeared as if it changed its horizon 
every moment. A few clouds wandered confusedly in the east, 
where the moon was slowly rising. The rest of the sky was serene; 
and toward the north, a water-spout, forming a glorious triangle 
with the luminaries of day and night, and glistening with all 
the colors of the prism, rose from the sea, like a column of 
crystal supporting the vault of heaven. 

He had been well deserving of pity who would not have re- 
cognised in this prospect the beauty of God. When my com- 
panions, doffing their tarpaulin hats, entoned with hoarse voice 
their simple hymn to Our Lady of Good Help, the patroness of 
the seas, the tears flowed from my eyes in spite of myself. How 
affecting was the prater of those men, who, from a frail plank in 
the midst of the ocean, contemplated the sun setting behind the 
waves! How the appeal of the poor sailor to the Mother cf 
Sorrows went to the heart I The consciousness of our insignifi- 
cance in the presence of the Infinite, — our hymns, resounding to 
a distance over the silent waves, — the night approaching with its 
dangers. — our vessel, itself a wonder among so many wonders, — a 



TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 173 

religious crew, penetrated with admiration and with awe, — a ve- 
nerable priest in pra^-er, — the Almighty bending over the abyss, 
with one hand staying the sun in the west, with the other raising 
the moon in the east, and lending, through all immensity, an 
attentive ear to the feeble voice of his creatures, — ail this consti- 
tuted a scene which no power of art can represent, and which it 
h scarcely possible for the heart of man to feel. 

Let us now pass to the terrestrial scene. 

I had wandered one evening in the woods, at some distance 
from the cataract of Niagara, when soon the last glimmering of 
da3dight disappeared, and I enjoyed, in all its loneliness, the 
beauteous prospect of night amid the deserts of the New World. 

An hour after sunset, the moon appeared above the trees in 
tlie opposite part of the heavens. A balmy breeze, which the 
queen of night had brought with her from the east, seemed to 
precede her in the forests, like her perfumed breath. The lonely 
luminary slowly ascended in the firmament, now peacefully pur- 
suing her azure course, and now reposing on groups of clouds 
which resembled the summits of lofty, snow-covered mountains. 
These clouds, by the contraction and expansion of their vapory 
forms, rolled themselves into transparent zones of white satin, 
scattering in airy masses of foam, or forming in the heavens 
brilliant beds of down so lovely to the eye that you would have 
imagined you felt their softness and elasticity. 

The scenery on the earth was not less enchanting : the soft and 
bluish beams of the moon darted through the intervals between 
the trees, and threw streams of light into the midst of the most 
profound darkness. The river that glided at my feet was now 
lost in the wood, and now reappeared, glistening with the constel- 
lations of night, which were reflected on its bosom. In a vast 
plain beyond this stream, the radiance of the moon reposed 
quietly on the verdure. Birch-trees, scattered here and there in 
the savanna, and agitated by the breeze, formed shadowy islands 
which floated on a motionless sea of light. Near me, all was 
silence and repose, save the fall of some leaf, the transient 
rustling of a sudden breath of wind, or the hooting of the owl; 
but at a distance was heard, at intervals, the solemn roar of the 
Falls of Niagara, which, in the stillness of the night, was prolonged 
from desert to desert, and died away among the solitary forests. 
15* 



174 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



The grandeur, the astonishing solemnity of this scene, cannot 
be expressed in language; nor can the most delightful nights of 
Europe afford any idea of it. In vain does imagination attempt 
to soar in our cultivated fields ; it everywhere meets with the 
habitations of men : but in those wild regions the mind loves to 
l)enetrate into an ocean of forests, to hover round the abysses of 
cataracts, to meditate on the banks of lakes and rivers, and, as it 
were, to find itself alone with God. 



CHAPTER Xni. 

PHYSICAL MAN. 



To complete the view of final causes, or the proofs of the 
existence of God, deducible from the wonders of nature, we have 
only to consider man in his physical or material aspect ; and here 
we shall quote the observations of those who were thoroughly 
acquainted with the subject. 

Cicero describes the human body in the following terms :* 
"With respect to the senses, by which exterior objects are con- 
veyed to the knowledge of the soul, their structure corresponds 
wonderfully with their destination, and they have their seat in 
the head as in a fortified town. The eyes, like sentinels, occupy 
the most elevated place, whence, on discovering objects, they 
may give the alarm. An eminent position was suited to the ears, 
because they are destined to receive sounds, which naturally 
ascend. The nostrils required a similar situation, because odors 
likewise ascend, and it was necessary that they should be near 
the mouth, because they greatly assist us in judging of our meat 
and drink. Taste, by which we are apprised of the quality of 
the food we take, resides in that part of the mouth through which 
nature gives a passage to solids and liquids. As for the touch, 
it is generally diffused over the whole body, that we might neither 
receive any impression, nor be attacked by cold or heat, without 
feeling it. xVnd as an architect will not place the sewer of a 

' De Nutiira Deontvi, lib. ii. 



PHYSICAL MAN. I75 



house before tlie eyes or under the nose of Lis employer, -jo Na- 
ture has removed from our senses every thing of a simila. kind 
in the human body, 

'' But what other artist than Nature, vs^hose dexterity is incom- 
parable, could have formed our senses with such exquisite skill ? 
She has covered the eyes with very delicate tunics, transparent 
before, that we might see through them, and close in theii tex- 
ture, to keep the eyes in their proper situation. She has made 
them smooth and moveable, to enable them to avoid every thing 
by which they might be injured and to look with facility to 
whatever side they please. The pupil, in which is united all 
that constitutes the faculty of sight, is so small that it escapes 
without difficulty from every object capable of doing it mischief. 
The eyelids have a soft and polished surface, that they may not 
hurt the eyes Whether the fear of some accident obliges us to 
shut them, or we choose to open them, the eyelids are formed in 
such a manner as to adapt themselves to either of these motions, 
which are performed in an instant ; they are, if we may so ex- 
press it, fortified with palisades of hair, which serve to repel 
whatever may attack the eyes when they are open, and to 
envelop them that they may repose in peace when sleep closes 
and renders them useless to us. Our eyes possess the additional 
advantage of being concealed and defended by eminences; for, 
on the one hand, to stop the sweat that trickles down from the 
head and forehead, they have projecting eyebrows; and on the 
other, to preserve them from below, they have cheeks which like- 
wise advance a little. The nose is placed between both like a 
wall of partition. 

"With respect to the ear, it remains continually open, because 
we have occasion for its services, even when asleep. If any 
sound then -strikes it, we are awaked. It has winding channels, 
lest, if they were straight and level, some object might find its 
way into them 

"And then our hands, — how convenient are they, and -how use- 
ful in the arts ! The fingers are extended or contracted without 
the least difficulty, so extremely flexible are their joints. With 
their assistance the hands use the pencil and the chisel, and play 
on the lyre and the lute : so much for the agreeable. As to what 
is necessary, they cultivate the earth, build houses, make clothes, 



176 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



and work in copper and iron. The imagination invents, tlio 
senses examine, the hand executes; so that, if we are lodged, 
clothed, and sheltered, — if w^e have cities, walls, habitations, tem- 
ples, — it is to our hands that we are indebted for all these." 

It must be allowed that matter alone could no more have 
fashioned the human body for so many admirable purposes, than 
this beautiful discourse of the Roman orator could have been 
composed by a writer destitute of eloquence and of skill. ^ 

Various authors, and Nieuwent3't in particular, have proved 
that the bounds within which our senses are confined, are the 
very limits that are best adapted to them, and that we should be 
exposed to a great number of inconveniences and dangers were 
the senses in any degree enlarged. ^ Galen, struck with admira- 
tion in the midst of an anatomical analysis of a human body, 
suddenly drops the scalpel, and exclaims : 

'' Thou who hast made us ! in composing a discourse so 
sacred, I think that I am chanting a hymn to thy glory ! I honor 
thee more by unfolding the beauty of thy works, than by sacri- 
ficing to thee whole hecatombs of bulls or by burning in thy 
temples the most precious incense. True piety consists in first 
learning to know myself, and then in teaching others the great- 
ness of thy bounty, thy power, and thy wisdom. Thy bount}^ is 
conspicuous in the equal distribution of thy presents, having 
allotted to each man the organs which are necessary for him; thy 
wisdom is seen in the excellence of thy gifts, and thy power is 
displayed in the execution of thy designs."^ 

■ Cicero borrowed what he says concerning the service of the hand from 
Aristotle. In combating the philosophy of Anaxagoras, the Stagyrite observes, 
with his accustomed sagacity, that man is not superior to the animals because 
he has hands, but that he has hands because he is superior to the animals. 
Plato likewise adduces the structure of the human body as a proof of a divine 
mtelligence; and there are some sublime sentences in Job on the same subject 

2 See note M. 
3halen, de Uau Part., lib iii. c. 10. 



LOVE OF OUR NATIVE COUNTRY. X77 



CHAPTER XIV. 

LOVE OF OUR NATIVE COUNTRY. 

As we have considered the instincts of animals, it is proper 
that we should allude to those of physical man; but as he com- 
bines in himself the feelings of different classes of the creation, 
such as parental tenderness, and many others, we shall select one 
quality that is peculiar to him. 

The instinct with which man is pre-eminently endued — that 
which is of all the most beautiful and the most moral — is the love 
of his native country. If this law were not maintained by a 
never-ceasing miracle, to which, however, as to many others, we 
pay not the smallest attention, all mankind would crowd together 
into the temperate zones, leaving the rest of the earth a desert. 
We may easily conceive what great evils would result from this 
collection of the human family on one point of the globe. To 
prevent these calamities. Providence has, as it were, iSxed the feet 
of each individual to his native soil by an invincible magnet, so 
that neither the ices of Grreenland nor the burning sands of 
Africa are destitute of inhabitants. 

We may remark still further, that the more sterile the soil, the 
more rude the climate, of a country, or, what amounts to the sam'> 
thing, the greater the injustice and the more severe the persecu- 
tion we have suffered there, the more strongly we are attached to 
it. Strange and sublime truth ! — that misery should become a 
bond of attachment, and that those who have lost but a cottage 
should most feelingly regret the paternal habitation! The reason 
of this phenomenon is, that the profusion of a too fertile soil de- 
stroys, by enriching us, the simplicity of the natural ties arising 
from our wants ; when we cease to love our parents and our rela- 
tions because they are no longer necessary to us, we actually 
cease also to love our country. 

Every thing tends to confirm the truth of this remark. A 

savage is more powerfully attached to his hut than a prince to his 

palace, and the mountaineer is more delighted with his native 

M 



178 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



rocks than the inhabitant of the plain with his golden corn-fields. 
Ask a Scotch Hio-hlander if he would exchano-e his lot with the 
first potentate of the earth. When far removed from his beloved 
mountains, he carries with him the recollection of them whither- 
Boever he goes; he sighs for his flocks, his torrents, and his 
clouds. He longs to eat again his barley-bread, to drink goat's 
milk, and to sing in the valley the ballads which were sung by 
his forefathers. He pines if he is prevented from returning to 
his native clime. It is a mountain plant which must be rooted 
among rocks; it cannot thrive unless assailed by the winds and 
the rain; in the soil, the shelter, and the sunshine of the plain, 
it quickly droops and dies. 

With what joy will he again fly to his roof of furze ! with what 
delight will he visit all the sacred relics of his indigence ! 

"Sweet treasures!" he exclaims, "0 pledges dear! 
That lying and envy have attracted ne'er, 
Come back : from all this royal pomp I flee, 
For all is but an idle dream to me." 

Who can be more happy than the Esquimaux, in his frightful 
country? What to him ai-e all the flowers of our climates com- 
pared to the snows of Labrador, and .all our palaces to his smoky 
cabin ? He embarks in spring, with his wife, on a fragment of 
floating ice.'' Hurried along by the currents, he advances into 
the open sea on this frozen mass. The mountain waves over the 
deep its trees of snow, the sea-wolves revel in its valleys, and the 
whales accompany it on the dark bosom of the ocean. The dar- 
ing Indian, under the shelter afibrded by his frozen mountain, 
presses to his heart the wife whom God has given him, and finds 
with her unknown joys in this mixture of perils and of pleasures. 
It should be observed, however, that this savage has very good 
leasons for preferring his countr^^ and his condition to ours. De- 
graded as his nature may appear to us, still, we may discover in 
him, or in the arts he practises, something that displays the dig- 
nity of man. The European is lost every day, in some vessel 

' "Doux tresors!" se dit-il: "chers gages, qui jamais 
N'attirates sur vous I'envie et Ic mensonge, 
Je vous reprends: sortons de ces riches palais, 
Comme Ton sortiroit d'un songc. 

2 See Hiitci'-e de la Nonvelle France, by Charlevoix. 



LOVE OF OUR NATIVE COUNTRY. I79 

wliicli is a master-piece of human industry, on the same shores 
where the Esquimaux, floating in a seal's skin, smiles at every 
kind of danger. Sometimes he hears the ocean which covers 
him roaring far above his head; sometimes mountain-billows bear 
him aloft to the skies: he sports among the surges, as a child 
balances himself on tufted branches in the peaceful recesses of 
the forest. When God placed man in this region of tempests, he 
stamped upon him a mark of royalty. " Geo," said he to him from 
amidst the whirlwind, ^'go, wretched mortal; I cast thee naked 
upon the earth; but, that thy destiny may not be misconceived, 
thou shalt subdue the monsters of the deep with a reed, and thou 
shalt trample the tempests under thy feet." 

Thus, in attaching us to our native land. Providence justifies 
its dealings toward us, and we find numberless reasons for loving 
our country. The Arab never forgets the well of the camel, the 
antelope, and, above all, the horse, the faithful companion of his 
journeys through his paternal deserts; the negro never ceases to 
remember his cottage, his javelin, his banana, and the track of 
the zebra and the elephant in his native sands. 

It is related that an English cabin-boy had conceived such an 
attachment for the ship in which he was born that he could 
neter be induced to leave it for a single moment. The greatest 
punishment the captain could inflict was to threaten him with 
being sent ashore; on these occasions he would run with loud 
shrieks and conceal himself in the hold. What inspired the little 
mariner with such an extraordinary affection for a plank beaten 
by the winds? Assuredly not associations purely local and phy- 
sical. Was it a certain moral conformity between the destinies 
of man and those of a ship ? or did he perhaps find a pleasure in 
concentrating his joys and his sorrows in what we may justly call 
his cradle ? The heart is naturally fond of contracting itself; the 
more it is compressed, the smaller is the surface which is liable 
to be wounded. This is the reason why persons of delicate sensi- 
bility — such the unfortunate generally are — prefer to live in retire- 
ment. What sentiment gains in energy it loses in extent. When 
the Roman republic was bounded by the Aventine Mount, her 
citizens joyfully sacrificed their lives in her defence : they ceased 
to love her when the Alps and Mount Taurus were the limits of 
her territory. It was undoubtedly some reason of this kind that 



180 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



cherished iu the heart of the Euglish youth a predilection for his 
paternal vessel. An unknown passeng-er on the ocean of life, he 
beheld the sea rising as a barrier between him and our afflictioDs; 
happy in viewing only at a distance the melancholy shores of the 
world I 

Among civilized nations the love of country has performed 
prodigies. The designs of God have always a connection; he 
has grounded upon nature this affection for the place of our 
nativity, and hence, the animal partakes, in a certain degree, of 
this instinct with man; but the latter carries it farther, and trans- 
forms into a virtue what was only a sentiment of universal con- 
cordance. Thus the physical and moral laws of the universe are 
linked together in an admirable chain. We even doubt whether 
it be possible to possess one genuine virtue, one real talent, with- 
out the love of our native country. In war this passion has ac- 
complished wonders; in literature it produced a Homer and a 
Yirgil. The former delineates in preference to all others the 
manners of Ionia, where he drew his first breath, and the latter 
feasted on the remembrance of his native place. Born in a cot- 
tage, and expelled from the inheritance of his ancestors, these 
two circumstances seem to have had an extraordinary influence 
on the genius of Virgil, giving to it that melancholy tint which 
is one of its principal charms. He recalls these events continu- 
ally, and shows that the countr where he passed his youth was 
always before his eyes: 

Et dulcis moriens reminiseitur Argos.^ 

But it is the Christian religion that has invested patriotism 
with its true character. This sentiment led to the commission 
of crime among the ancients, because it was carried to excess; 
Christianity has made it one of the principal affections in man, 
but not an exclusive one. It commands us above all things to 
be just; it requires us to cherish the whole family of Adam, 
since we ourselves belong to it, though our countrymen have the 
first claim to our attachment. This morality was unknown before 
the coming of the Christian lawgiver, who has been unjustly ac- 
cused of attempting to extirpate the passions : God destroys not 



' ^fCneid. lib. x. 



LOVE OF OUR NATIVE COUNTRY. 181 

his own work. The gospel is not the destro^-er of the heart, but 
its regulator. It is tc^ our feelings what taste is to the fine arts; 
it retrenches all that is exaggerated, false, common, and trivial; 
it leaves all that is fair, and good, and true. The Christian reli- 
gion, rightly understood, is only primitive nature washed from 
original pollution. 

It is when at a distance from our country that we feel the full 
force of the instinct by which we are attached to it. For want 
of the reality, we try to feed upon dreams; for the heart is expeit 
in deception, and there is no one who has been suckled at the 
breast of woman but has drunk of the cup of illusion. Some- 
times it is a cottage which is situated like the paterual habitation; 
sometimes it is a wood, a valley, a hill, on which we bestow some 
of the sweet appellations of our native land. Andromache gives 
the name of Simois to a brook. And what an affecting object is 
this little rill, which recalls the idea of a mighty river in her 
native country I Remote from the soil which gave us birth, na- 
ture appears to us diminished, and but the shadow of that which 
we have lost. 

Another artifice of the love of country is to attach a great 
value to an object of little intrinsic worth, but which comes from 
our native land, and which we have brought with us into exile. 
The soul seems to dwell even uj)on the inanimate things which 
have shared our destiny : we remain attached to the down on 
which our prosperity has slumbered, and still more to the straw 
on which we counted the days of our adversity. The vulgar have 
an energetic expression, to describe that languor which oppresses 
the soul when away from our country. "That man," they say, 
"is home-sick." A sickness it really is, and the only cure 
for it is to return. If, however, we have been absent a few 
7ears, what do we find in the place of our nativity? How few 
of those whom we left behind in the vi2;or of health are still 
alive! Here are tombs where once stood palaces; there rise 
palaces where we left tombs. The paternal field is overgrown 
wi*:h briers or cultivated by the plough of a stranger; and the 
tree beneath which we frolicked in our boyish days has dis- 
appeared. 

In Louisiana there were two females, one a negro, the other an 
16 



182 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Indian, who were the slaves of two neighboring planters. Each 
of the women had a child ; the black a little girl two years old, 
and the Indian a boy of the same age. The latter died. The two 
unfortunate women having agreed upon a solitary spot, repaired 
thither three successive nights. The one brought her dead child, 
the other her living infant; the one her Alanitou, the other her 
Fttiche. They were not surprised thus to find themselves of the 
same religion, both being wretched. The Indian performed the 
honors of the solitude : " This is the tree of my native land,"' 
said she; "sit down there and weep.'' Then, in accordance 
with the funeral custom of savage nations, they suspended their 
children from the branch of a catalpa or sassafras-tree, and rocked 
them while singing some patriotic air. Alas ! these maternal 
amusements, which had oft lulled innocence to sleep, were inca- 
pable of awaking death I Thus these women consoled themselves; 
the one had lost her child and her liberty, the other her liberty 
and her country. We find a solace even in tears. 

It is said that a Frenchman, who was obliged to fly during the 
reign of terror, purchased with the little he had left a boat upon 
the Rhine. Here he lived with his wife and two children. As 
he had no money, no one showed him any hospitality. When he 
was driven from one shore, he passed without complaining to the 
other; and, frequently persecuted on both sides, he was obliged to 
cast anchor in the middle of the river. He fished for the sup- 
port of his family; but even this relief sent by divine Providence 
he was not allowed to enjoy in peace. At night he went to col- 
lect some drv grass to make a fire, and his wife remained in cruel 
anxiety till his return. . Obliged to lead the life of outcasts, 
among four great civilized nations, this family had not a single 
spot on earth where thej durst set their feet ; their only consola- 
tion was, that while they wandered in the vicinity of France they 
could sometimes inhale the breeze which had passed over their 
native land. 

Were we asked, what are those powerful ties which bind us to 
the place of our nativity, we would find some difficulty in answer- 
ing the question. It is, perhaps, the smile of a mother, of a 
father, of a sister ; it is, perhaps, the recollection of the old pre- 
ceptor who instructed us and of the young companions of our 



LOVE OF OUR NATIVE COUNTRY. 183 



I 



ctiildhood j it is, perhaps, the care bestowed upon us by a tender 
Qurse, by some aged dojnestic, so essential a part of the house- 
hold ; finally, it is something most simple, and, if you please, most 
trivial, — a dog that barked at night in the fields, a nightingale 
that returned every year to the orchard, the nest of the swallow 
over the window, the village clock that appeared above the trees, 
the churchyard yew, or the Gothic tomb. Yet these simple 
things demonstrate the more clearly the reality of a Providence, 
as they could not possibly be the source of patriotism, or of the 
great virtues which it begets, unless by the appointment of the 
Almighty himself. 



BOOK Yl. 

THE IMMOKTALITY OF THE SOUL PROVED BY THE 
MOKAL LAW AND THE FEELINGS. 

CHAPTER L 

DESIRE OF HAPPINESS IN MAN. 

Were tnere no other proofs of the existence of God than the 
wonders of nature, these evidences are so strong that they would 
convince any sincere inquirer after truth. But if they who deny 
a Providence are, for that very reason, unable to explain the 
wonders of the creation, they are still more puzzled when they 
undertake to answer the objections of their own hearts. By 
renouncing the Supreme Being, they are obliged to renounce a 
future state. The soul nevertheless disturbs them; she appears, 
as it were, every moment before them, and compels them, in 
spite of their sophistry, to acknowledge her existence and her 
immortality. 

Let them inform us, in the first place, if the soul is extin- 
guished at the moment of death, whence proceeds the desire of 
happiness which continually haunts us ? All our passions here 
below may easily be gratified ; love, ambition, anger, have their 
full measure of enjoyment : the desire of happiness is the only 
one that cannot be satisfied, and that fails even of an object, as 
we know not what that felicity is which we long for. It must be 
admitted, that if every thing is inatter, nature has here made a 
strange mistake, in creating a desire without any object. 

Certain it is that the soul is eternally craving. No sooner has 
it attained the object for which it yearned, than a new wish is 
formed; and the whole universe cannot satisfy it. Infinity is the 
only field adapted to its nature ; it delights to lose itself in num- 
bers, to conceive the greatest as well as the smallest dimensions, 
and to multiply without end. Filled at length, but not satisfied 

with all that it Vas devoured, it seeks the bosom of the Deity, in 
181 



DESIRE OF HAPPINESS IN MAN. 1S5 



whom centre all ideas of infinity, whetlier in perfection, duration, 
or space. But it seeks the bosom of Deity only because he is a 
being full of mystery, "a hidden God."^ If it had a clear ap- 
prehension of the divine nature, it would undervalue it, as it doea 
all other objects that its intellect is capable of measuring; for, 
if it could fully comprehend the eternal principle, it would be 
either superior or equal to this principle. It is not in divine as 
it is in human things. A man may understand the power of a 
kinjr without beino; a kino- himself; but he cannot understand 
the divinity without being God. 

The inferior animals are not agitated by this hope which mani- 
fests itself in the heart of man ; they immediately attain their 
highest degree of happiness ; a handful of grass satisfies the 
lamb, a little blood is sufl&cient for the tiger. If we were to 
a.ssert, with some philosophers, that the difi"erent conformation of 
the organs constitutes all the difi"erence between us and the brute, 
this mode of reasoning could, at the farthest, be admitted only in 
relation to purely material acts. But of what service is my hand 
to my mind, when amid the silence of night I soar through the 
regions of boundless space, to discover the Architect of so many 
worlds ? Why does not the ox act in this respect as I do ? His 
eyes are sufficient; and if he had my legs or my arms, they 
would for this purpose be totally useless to him. He may repose 
upon the turf, he may raise his head toward the sky, and by his 
bellowing call upon the unknown Being who fills the immense 
expanse. But no : he prefers the grass on which he treads; and 
while those millions of suns that adorn the firmament furnish the 
strongest evidences of a Deity, the animal consults them not ; he 
is insensible to the prospect of nature, and unconscious that he 
is himself thrown beneath the tree at the foot of which he lies, 
as a slight proof of a divine Intelligence. 

Man, theiefore, is the only creature that wanders abroad, and 
looks for happiness out of himself. The vulgar, we are told, feel 
not this mysterious restlessness. They are undoubtedly less un- 
happy than we, for they are diverted by laborious occupations 
from attending to their desires, and drown the thirst of felicity 
in the sweat of their brow. But when you see them toil six 



' Is. xlv. 15. 
16* 



186 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



days in the week that they may enjoy a little pleasure on the 
seventh, — when, incessantly hoping for repose and never finding 
it, they sink into the grave without ceasing to desire, — will you say 
that they share not the secret aspiration of all men after an un- 
known happiness ? You may reply, that in the class of which we 
arc speaking this wish is at least limited to terrestrial things; 
but your assertion remains to be proved. Give the poorest wretch 
all the treasures in the world, put an end to his toils, satisfy all 
his wants, and you will observe that, before a few months have 
elapsed, his heart will conceive new desires and new hopes. 

Besides, is it true that the lower classes, even in their state of 
Indigence, are strangers to that thirst of happiness which extends 
beyond this life ? Whence proceeds that air of seriousness often 
observed in the rustic? We have often seen him on Sundays 
and other festive days, while the people of the village were gone 
to offer up their prayers to that Reaper who will separate the 
wheat from the tares, — we have often seen him standing alone at 
the door of his cottage ; he listened with attention to the sound 
of the bell; his air was pensive, and the sparrows that played 
around him and the insects that buzzed in every direction 
seemed not to distract him. Behold that noble figure, placed like 
the statue of a god upon the threshold of a cabin ; that brow, 
sublime though wrinkled with care ; and then say if this being, 
so majestic, though indigent, could be thinking of nothing, or 
reflectino- only on things of this world. Ah, no I such was not 
the expression of those half-open lips, of that motionless body, 
of those eyes fixed on the ground : recollections of God surely 
accompanied the sound of the religious bell. 

If it is impossible to deny that man cherishes hopes to the 
very tomb, — if it is certain that all earthly possessions, so far 
from crowning our wishes, only serve to increase the void in the 
soul, — we cannot but conclude that there must be a something 
beyond the limits of time. '-The ties of this world," says St. 
Augustin, "are attended with real hardship and false pleasure; 
certain pains and uncertain joys; hard labor and unquiet rest; a 
situation fraught with wo and a hope void of felicity."^ Instead 

' Vincula hujus mundi asperitatem habent veram, jucunditatem faUatu; 
certum dolorem, incertam voluptatem ; durum laborem, timidam quietem ; rei» 
plenain inieerise, spem bcHtitudinis inaneui. — Epist. 30. 



REMORSE AND CONSCIENCE. 187 

of complaining that the desire of happiness has leen placed in 
this world, and its object in the other, let us admire in this? 
arrangement the beneficence of God. Since we must sooner or 
later quit this mortal life, Providence has placed beyond the fatal 
boundary a charm which attracts us, in order to diminish our 
horror of the grave : thus, the affectionate mother who wishes 
her child to cross a certain limit, holds some pleasing object on 
the other side to encourage him to pass it. 



CHAPTER IT. 

REMORSE AND CONSCIENCE. 



Conscience furnishes a second proof of the immortality of the 
soul. Each individual has within his own heart a tribunal, where 
he sits in judgment on himself till the Supreme Arbiter shall con- 
firm the sentence. If vice is but a physical consequence of our 
organization, whence arises this dread which embitters the days 
of prosperous guilt ? Why is remorse so terrible that many would 
choose rather to submit to poverty and all the rigors of virtue 
than enrich themselves with ill-gotten goods? What is it that 
gives a voice to blood and speech to stones ? The tiger devours 
his prey, and slumbers quietly; man takes the life of his fellow- 
creature, and keeps a fearful vigil ! He seeks some desert place, 
and yet this solitude affrights hi in; he skulks about the tombs, 
and yet the tombs fill him with horrors. His eyes are wild and 
restless; he dares not fix them on the wall of the banqueting- 
room, for fear he should discover there some dreadful signs. All 
his senses seem ^o become more acute in order to torment him : 
he perceives at night threatening corruscations; he is always sur- 
rounded by the smell of carnage; he suspects the taste of poison 
in the food which he has himself prepared; his ear, now wonder- 
ruUy sensitive, hears a noise where for others there is profound 
silence ; and when embracing his friend, he fancies that he feels 
under his garments a hidden dagger. 

Conscience ! is it possible that thou canst be but a phantom of 



188 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



the imagination, or the fear of the punishment of men? I ask 
my own heart, I put to myself this question: ''If thou couldst 
by a mere wish kill a fellow-creature in China, and inherit his 
fortune in Europe, with the supernatural conviction that the fact 
would never be known, wouldst thou consent to form such a 
wish?'' In vain do I exaggerate my indigence; in vain do I 
attempt to extenuate the murder, by supposing that through the 
effect of my wish the Chinese expires instantaneously and with- 
out pain that, had he even died a natural death, his property, 
from the situation of his affairs, would have been lost to the 
state ; in vain do I figure to myself this stranger overwhelmed 
with disease and affliction; in vain do I urge that to him death 
is a blessing, that he, himself desires it, that he has but a moment 
longer to live : in spite of all my useless subterfuges, I hear a 
voice in the recesses of my soul, protesting so loudly against the 
mere idea of such a supposition, that I cannot for one moment 
doubt the reality of conscience. 

It is a deplorable necessity, then, that compels a man to deny 
remorse, that he may deny the immortality of the soul and the 
existence of an avenging Deity. Full well we know, that athe- 
ism, when driven to extremities, has recourse to this disgraceful 
denial. The sophist, in a paroxysm of the gout, exclaimed, ''0 
pain ! never will I acknowledge that thou art an evil !" Were it 
even true that there exist men so unfortunate as to be capable of 
stifling the voice of conscience, what then? We must not judge 
of him who possesses the perfect use of his limbs by the paralytic 
who is deprived of his physical strength. Guilt, in its highest 
degree, is a malady which sears the soul. By overthrowing reli- 
gion we destroy the only remedy capable of restoring sensibility 
in the morbid regions of the heart. This astonishino- religion of 
Christ is a sort of supplement to the deficiency of the human 
mind. Do we sin hy excess, by too great prosp,erity, by. violence 
of temper? she is at hand to warn us of the fickleness of fortune 
and the danger of angry excitement. Are we exposed, on the 
contrary, to sin by defect, by indigence, by indifference of soul? 
she teaches us to despise riches, at the same time warms our 
frigid hearts, and, as it were, kindles in us the fire of the passions. 
Toward the criminal, in particular, her charity is inexhaustible ; 
DO man is so depraved but she admits him to repentance, no 



REMORSE AND CONSCIENCE. IgO 



ieper so disgusting but she cures him with her pure hands. For 
the past she requires only remorse, for the future only virtue : 
"where sin abounded," she says, "grace did much more abound."* 
Ever ready to warn the sinner, Jesus Christ established his reli- 
gion as a second conscience for the hardened culprit who should 
be so unfortunate as to have lost the natural one, — an evanejelical 
conscience, full of pity and indulgence, to which the Son of God 
has given the power to pardon, which is not possessed by the 
conscience of man. 

Having spoken of the remorse which follows guilt, it would be 
unnecessary to say any thing of the satisfaction attendant on vir- 
tue. The inward delight which we feel in doing a good action 
is no more a combination of matter than the accusation of con- 
science, when we commit a bad one, is fear of the laws. 

If sophists maintain that virtue and pity are but self-love in 
disguise, ask them not if they ever felt any secret satisfaction 
after relieving a distressed object, or if it is the fear of returning 
to the state of childhood that affects them when contemplating 
the innocence of the new-born infant. Virtue and tears are for 
men the source of hope and the groundwork of faith; how then 
should he believe in God who believes neither in the reality of 
virtue nor in the truth of tears ? 

It would be an insult to the understanding of our readers, did 
we attempt to show how the immortality of the soul and the ex- 
istence of God are proved by that inward voice called conscience. 
"There is in man," says Cicero, "a power which inclines him 
to that which is good and deters him from evil; which was not 
only prior to the origin of nations and cities, but as ancient as 
that God by whom heaven and earth subsist and are governed : 
for reason is an essential attribute of the divine intelligence ; and 
that reason which exists in God necessarily determines what is 
vice and what is virtue."^ 



^ Rom. T. 20. ^Ad. Attic, xii. J8. 



190 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



CHAPTER III. 

THERE CAN BE NO MORALITY IF THERE BE NO FUTURE STATE — 
PRESUMPTION IN FAVOR OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 
DEDUCED FROM THE RESPECT OF MAN FOR TOMBS. 

Morality is the basis of society; but if man is a mere mass 
of matter, there is in reality neither vice nor virtue, and of course 
morality is a mere sham. Our laws, which are ever relative and 
variable, cannot serve as the support of morals, which are always 
absolute and unalterable ; they must, therefore, rest on something 
more permanent than the present life, and have better guarantees 
than uncertain rewards or transient punishments. Some philo- 
sophers have supposed that religion was invented in order to up- 
hold morality : they were not aware that they were taking the 
effect for the cause. It is not religion that springs from morals, 
but morals that spring from religion; since it is certain, as we 
have just observed, that morals cannot have their principle in 
physical man or mere matter; and that men no sooner divest 
themselves of the idea of a God than they rush into every spe- 
cies of crime, in spite of laws and of executioners. 

It is well known that a religion which recently aspired to erect 
itself on the ruins of Christianity, and fancied that it could sur- 
pass the gospel, enforced in our churches that precept of the De- 
calogue : Children, honor your j^o^i'ants. But why did the Theo- 
phiknthropists retrench the latter part of this precept, — that ye 
may live long?'^ Because a secret sense of poverty taught them 
that the man who has nothing can give nothing away. How 
could he have promised length of years who is not sure himself 
of living two minutes? We might with justice have said to him, 
*'Thou makest me a present of life, and perceivest not that thou 
art thyself sinking into dust? Like Jehovah, thou assurest me 

' The Theophilanthropists, hardly deserving the naine of a religious sect, 
arose out of the infatuation of the French revolution. Their system was partly 
positive and partly negative; they were advocates of some scraps of morality, 
and they denied the doctrine of the resurrection. K. 



CERTAIN OBJECTIONS ANSWERED. 191 

a protracted existence, but where is thy eternity like his from 
which to dispense it? Thoughtless mortal! even the present 
rapid hour is not thine own; thine only inheritance is death: 
what then but nothingness canst thou draw forth from the bot- 
tom of thy sepulchre to recompense my virtue ?" 

There is another moral proof of the immortality of the soul on 
which it is necessary to insist, — that is, the veneration of mankind 
for tombs. By an invisible charm, life and death are here linked 
together, and human nature proves itself superior to the rest of 
the creation, and appears in all its high destinies. Does the brute 
know any thing about a coffin, or does he concern himself about 
his remains ? What to him are the bones of his parent, or, rather, 
can he distinguish his parent after the cares of infancy are past? 
Whence comes, then, the powerful impression that is made upon 
us by the tomb ? Are a few grains of dust deserving of our vene- 
ration? Certainly not; we respect the ashes of our ancestors for 
this reason only — because a secret voice whispers to us that all is 
not extinguished in them. It is this that confers a sacred cha- 
racter on the funeral ceremony among all the nations of the 
globe; all are alike persuaded that the sleep even of the tomb is 
not everlasting, and that death is but a glorious transfiguration. 



CHAPTER IV. 

OF CERTAIN OBJECTIONS. 

Without entering too deeply into metaphysical proofs, which 
we have studiously avoided, we shall nevertheless endeavor to 
answer certain objections which are incessantly brought forward. 
Cicero has asserted, after Plato, that there is no people among 
whom there exists not some notion of the Deity. But this uni- 
versal consent of nations, which the ancient philosophers con- 
sidered as a law of nature, has been denied by modern infidels, 
who maintain that certain tribes of savages have no idea of God 

In vain do atheists strive to conceal the weakness of their cause. 
The result of all their arg-uments is that their svstem is grounded 



192 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



on exceptions alone, "whereas the belief of a God forms the general 
rule. If you assert that all mankind believe in a Supreme Being, 
the infidel first objects to you some particular tribe of savages, 
then some particular individual, or himself, who are of a difi"erent 
opinion. If you assert that chance could not have formed the 
world, because there could have been but one single favorable 
chance against innumerable impossibilities, the infidel admits the 
position, but replies that this chance actually did exist; and the 
same mode of reasoning he pursues on every subject. Thus, 
accordino- to the atheist, nature is a book in which truth is to be 
found only in the notes aud never in the text; a language the 
genius and essence of which consist in its barbarisms. 

When we come to examine these pretended exceptions, we 
discover either that they arise from local causes, or that they even 
fall under the established law. In the case alleged, for example, 
it is false that there are any savages who have no notion of a 
I)eity. The early travellers who advanced this assertion have 
been contradicted by others who were better informed. Among 
the infidels of the forest were numbered the Canadian hordes; 
but we have seen these sophists of the cabin, who were supposed 
to have read in the book of nature, as our sophists have in theirs, 
that there is no God, nor any future state for man; and we must 
say that these Indians are absurd barbarians, who perceive the 
soul of an infant- in a dove, and that of a little girl in the sensi- 
■"ive plant. Mothers among them are so silly as to sprinkle their 
milk upon a grave; and they give to man in the sepulchre the 
same attitude which he had in the materual womb. May not 
this be done to intimate that death is but a second mother, by 
whom we are brought forth into another life? Atheism will 
never make any thing of those nations which are indebted to 
Providence for lodging, food, and raiment; and we would advise 
the infidel to beware of these bribed allies, who secretly receive 
presents from the enemy. 

Another objection is this : '' Since the mind acquires and loses 
its energies with age, — since it follows all the alterations of mat- 
ter, — it must be of a material nature, consequently divisible and 
liable to perish." 

Either the mind and the body are two distinct beings, or they 
are but one and the same substance. If there are ^^t■o, you mu«t 



CERTAIN OBJECTIONS ANSWERED. 193 



admit that tlie mind is comprehended in the body; Jtiencc it 
follows that, as long as this union lasts, the mind cannot but be 
affected in a certain degree by the bonds in which it is held. It 
will appear to be elevated or depressed in the same proportion as 
its mortal tabernacle. The objection, therefore, is done away in 
the hypothesis by which the mind and the body are considered as 
two distinct substances. 

If you suppose that they form but one and the same substance, 
partaking alike of life and death, ^om are hound to prove the as- 
sertiov. But it has long been demonstrated that the mind is 
essentially different from motion and the other properties of mat- 
ter, being susceptible neither of extension nor division. 

Thus the objection falls entirely to the ground, since the only 
point to be ascertained is, whether matter and thought be one and 
the same thing : a position which cannot be maintained without 
absurdity. 

Let it not be imagined that, in having recourse to prescription 
for the solution of this difficulty, we are, therefore, unable to sap 
its very foundation. It may be proved that even when the mind 
seems to follow the contingencies of the body, it retains the dis- 
tino;uishin2; characters of its essence. For instance, atheists tri- 
umphantly adduce, in support of their views, insanity, injuries of 
the brain, and delirious fevers. To prop their wretched system, 
these unfortunate men are oblio-ed to enrol all the ills of human- 
ity as allies in their cause. Well, then, what, after all, is proved 
by these fevers, this insanity, which atheism — that is to say, the 
genius of evil — so properly summons in its defence? I see a dis- 
ordered imagination connected with a sound understanding . The 
lunatic and the delirious perceive objects which have no existence ; 
but do they reason falsely respecting those objects? They only 
draw logical conclusions from unsound premises. 

The same thing happens to the patient in a paroxysm of fever 
llis mind is beclouded in that part in which images are reflected, 
because the senses, from their imbecility, transmit only fallacious 
notions; but the region of ideas remains uninjured and unalter- 
able. x\s a flame kindled with a substance ever so vile is never- 
theless pure fire, though fed with impure aliments, so the mind, 
a celestial flame, rises incorruptible and immortal from the midst 
of corruption and of death. 

17 N 



104 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



TV th respect to the influence of climate upon the mii d, wiiich 
has been alleged as a proof of the material nature of the soul, we 
request the particular attention of the reader to our reply; for, 
instead of answering a mere objection, we shall deduce from the 
very point that is urged against us a remarkable evidence of the 
immortality of the soul. 

It has been observed that nature displays superior energies in 
the north and in the south; that between the tropics we meet 
with the largest quadrupeds, the largest reptiles, the largest birds, 
the largest rivers, the highest mountains; that in the northern 
regions we find the miohtv cetaceous tribes, the enormous fucus, 
and the gigantic pine. If all things are the efi"ects of matter, 
cyi'ibinations of the elements, products of the solar rays, the 
result of cold and heat, moisture and drought, why is man alone 
excepted from this general law? Why is not his physical and 
moral capacity expanded with that of the elephant under the 
line and of the whale at the poles ? While all nature is changed 
by the latitude under which it is placed, why does man alone re- 
main everywhere the same? Will you reply that man, like the 
ox, is a native of every region ? The ox, we answer, retains his 
Instinct in every climate; and we find that, in respect to man, the 
case is very different. 

Instead of conforming to the general law of nature, — instrad 
of acquiring higher energy in those climates where matter is 
supposed to be most active, — man, on the contrary, dwindles in the 
same ratio as the animal creation around him is enlarired. In 
proof of this, we may mention the Indian, the Peruvian, the 
Negro, in the south; the Esquimaux and the Laplander in the 
north. Nay, more : America, where the mixture of mud and 
water imparts to vegetation all the vigor of a primitive soil — 
America is pernicious to the race of man, though it is daily be- 
coming less so in proportion as the activity of the material prin- 
ciple is reduced. Man possesses not all his energies except in 
those regions where the elements, being more temperate, allow a 
freer scope to the mind ; where that mind, being in a manner 
released from its terrestrial clothiu"-, is not restrained in anv of 
its motions or in any of its faculties. 

Here, then, we cannot but discover something in direct oppo- 
sition to passive nature. Now this something is our immortal 



CERTAIN OBJECTIONS ANSWEREI . I95 



soul. It accords not with, the operations of matter. It s.ckens 
and languishes when in too close contact with it. This languor 
of the soul produces, in its turn, debility of body. The body 
which, had it been alone, would have thriven under the powerful 
influence of the sun, is kept back by the dejection of the mind. 
If it be said that, on the contrary, the body, being incapable of 
enduring the extremities of cold and heat, causes the soul to de- 
generate together with itself, this would be mistaking a second 
time the eflect for the cause. It is not the mud that acts upon 
the current, but the curi'ent that disturbs the mud; and, in like 
manner, all these pretended effects of the body upon the soul are 
the very reverse — the eftects of the soul upon the body. 

The twofold debility, mental and physical, of people at the 
north and south, the gravity of temper which seems to oppress 
them, cannot, then, in our opinion, be ascribed to too great relaxa- 
tion or tension of the fibre, since the same accidents do not pro- 
duce the same effects in the temperate zones. This disposition 
of the natives of the polar and tropical regions is a real intel- 
lectual dejection, produced by the state of the soul and by its 
struggles against the influence of matter. Thus God has not only 
displa3'ed his wisdom in the advantages which the globe derives 
from the diversity of latitudes, but, by placing man upon this 
species of ladder, he has demonstrated, with almost mathematical 
precision, the immortality of our essence; since the soul possesses 
the greatest energy where matter operates with the least force, 
and the intellectual powers of man diminish where the corporeal 
mass of the brute is augmented. 

Let us consider one more objection: " If the idea of God is 
naturally impressed upon our souls, it ought to precede education 
and reason, and to manifest itself in earliest infancy. Now 
children have no idea of God, consequently,'' &c. 

God being a spirit, which cannot be comprehended but by a 
spirit, a child, in whom the intellectual faculties are not yet de- 
veloped, is incapable of forming a conception of the Supreme 
Being. How unreasonable to require the heart to exercise its 
noblest function when it is not yet fully formed — when the won- 
derful work is yet in the hands of the Maker I 

It may be asserted, however, that the child has at least the in- 
nfi'nrt of his Creator. Witness his little reveries, his inquietudes. 



196 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



his terrors in tlie night, and his propensity to nvise his eyes tt» 
heaven. Behold that infant folding his innocent hands and re- 
peating after his mother a prayer to the God of mercy. Why 
does this young angel of the earth stammer forth with such love 
and purity the name of that Supreme Being concerning whom 
he knows nothing? 

Who, at the mere siuht of a new-born infant, could doubt the 
presence of God within it? Look at the little creature which a 
nurse is cariTino; in her arms. What has it said that excites 
such joy in that venerable veteran, in the man who has just 
reached- his prime, and in that youthful female? Two or three 
half-articulate syllables, which nobody could understand; and this 
alone is sufficient to fill rational beings with transport, from the 
grandfather, who knows all the incidents of life, to the inexperi- 
enced mother, who has yet to learn them. Who, then, has con- 
ferred such power on the accents of man? Why is the sound of 
the human voice so irresistibly moving? What so deeply affects 
you in this instance is a mystery attached to higher causes than 
the interest which you may take in the age of this infant. Some- 
thing whispers you that these inarticulate words are the first 
expressions of an immortal soul. 



CHAPTER V. 

DANGER AND INUTILITY OF ATHEISM. 

There are two classes of atheists totally distinct from each 
other : the one composed of those who are consistent in their 
principles, declaring without hesitation that there is no God, con- 
sequently no essential diflerence between good and evil, and that 
the world belongs to those who possess the greatest strength or 
the most address; the other eujb races those good peop'i; of the 
system — the hypocrites of infidelity; absurd characters, a thou- 
sand times more dangerous than the first, and who, with a feigned 
benevolence, would indulge in every excess to support their pre- 
tensions; they would call you hrothn- while cutting your throat* 



DANGER AND INUTILITY OF ATHEISM. I97 



the words morality and humanity are continually on tl.eir lips: 
they are trebly culpable, for to the vices of the atheist they add 
the intolerance of the sectary and the self-love of the author. 

These men pretend that atheism is not destructive either of 
happiness or virtue, and that there is no condition in which it is 
not as profitable to be an infidel as a pious Christian ; a position 
which it may not be amiss to examine. 

If a thing ought to be esteemed in proportion to its greater or 
less utility, atheiso". must be very contemptible, for it is of use to 
nobody. 

Let us survey human life; let us begin with the poor and the 
unfortunate, as they constitute the majority of mankind. Say, 
countless families of indigence, is it to you that atheism is ser- 
viceable ? I wait for a reply; but not a single voice is raised in 
its behalf. But what do I hear? a hymn of hope mingled with 
sighs ascending to the throne of the Lord I These are believers. 
Let us pass on to the wealthy. 

It would seem that the man who is comfortably situated in this 
world can have no interest in bein"; an atheist. How soothimi; 
to him must be the reflection that his days will be prolonged be- 
yond the present life ! With what despair would he quit this 
world if he conceived that he was parting from happiness for- 
ever I In vain would fortune heap her favors upon him ; they 
would only serve to inspire him with the greater horror of anni- 
hilation. The rich man may likewise rest assured that religion 
will enhance his pleasures, by mingling with them an inefiable 
satisfaction ; his heart will not be hardened, nor will he be cloyed 
with enjoyment, which is the natural result of a long series of 
prosperity. Religion prevents aridity of heart, as is intimated 
in her ceremonial. The holy oil which she uses in the consecra- 
tion of authority, of youth and of death, teaches us that they are 
not destined to a moral or eternal sterility. 

Will the soldier who marches forth to battle — that child of 

glory — be an atheist? Will he who seeks an endless life consent 

to perish forever? Appear upon your thundering clouds, ye 

countless Christian warriors, now hosts of heaven I appear ! From 

your exalted abode, from the holy city, proclaim to the heroes of 

our day that the brave man is not wholly consigned to the tomb, 

and that something mor« of him survives than an empty name. 
17- 



108 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



All the great generals of antiquity were remarkable for tlieir 
piety. Epaminondas, the deliverer of his country, had the cha- 
racter of tlie most religious of men ; Xenophon, that philosophic 
warrior, was a pattern of piety; Alexander, the everlasting model 
of conquerors, gave himself out to be the son of Jupiter. Among 
the Romans, the ancient consuls of the republic, a Cincinnatus, 
a Fabius, a Papirius Cursor, a Paulus aEmilius, a Scipio, placed 
all their reliance on the deity of the Capitol; Pompey marched 
to battle imploring the divine assistance; Csesar pretended to 
be of celestial descent; Cato, his rival, was convinced of the im- 
mortality of the soul; Brutus, his assassin, believed in the exist- 
enct of supernatural powers; and Augustus, his successor, reigned 
only in the name of the gods. 

In modern times was that valiant Sicambriqn, the conqueror 
of Home and of the Gauls, an unbeliever, who, falling at the feet 
of a priest, laid the foundation of the empire of France? Was 
St. Louis, the arbiter of kings, — revered by infidels themselves, — 
an unbeliever? Was the valorous Du Guesclin, whose coffin was 
sufficient for the capture of cities, — the Chevalier Bayard, without 
fear and without reproach, — the old Constable de Montmorenci, 
who recited his beads in the camp, — were these men without re- 
ligion ? But, more wonderful still, was the great Turenne. whom 
Bossuet brought back to the bosom of the Church, an imbeliever? 

No character is more admirable than that of the Christian hero 
The people whom he defends look up to him as a father; he pro- 
tects the husbandman and the produce of his fields; he is an 
angel of war sent by God to mitigate the horrors of that scourge. 
Cities open their gates at the mere report of his justice; ram- 
parts fall before his virtue; he is beloved by the soldier, he is 
idolized by nations; with the courage of the warrior he combines 
the charity of the gospel; his conversation is impressive and in- 
structing; his words are full of simplicity; you are astonished to 
find such gentleness in a man accustomed to live in the midst of 
dangers. Thus the honey is hidden under the rugged bark of an 
oak which has braved the tempests of ages. We may safely con- 
clude that in no respect whatever is atheism profitable for the 
soldier. 

Neither can we perceive that it would be more useful in the 
diifeient states of nature than in the conditions of society. If 



DANGER AND INUTILITY OF ATHEISM. I99 

the moral S3'stem is wholly founded on the doctrine of the exist- 
ence of Grod and the immortality of the soul, a father, a son, the 
husband, the wife, can have no interest in being unbelievers. 
Ah! how is it possible, for instance, to conceive that a woman 
can be an atheist ? What will support this frail reed if religion 
do not sustain her? The feeblest being in nature, ever on the 
eve of death or exposed to the loss of her charms, who will save 
her if her hopes be not extended beyond an ephemeral existence? 
For the sake of her beauty alone, woman ought to be pious. 
Gentleness, submission, suavity, tenderness, constitute part of 
the charms which the Creator bestowed on our first mother, and 
to charms of this kind philosophy is a mortal foe. 

Shall woman, who is naturally prone to mystery, who takes 
delight in concealment, who never discloses more than half of 
her graces and of her thoughts, whose mind can be conjectured 
but not known, who as a mother and a maiden is full of secrets, 
who seduces chiefly by her ignorance, whom Heaven formed for 
virtue and the most mysterious of sentiments, modesty and love, — ■ 
shall woman, renouncing the engaging instinct of her sex, pre- 
sume, with rash and feeble hand, to withdraw the thick vei 
which conceals the Divinity? Whom doth she think to please 
by this effort, alike absurd and sacrilegious? Does she hope, by 
mingling her foolish impiety and frivolous metaphysics with the 
imprecations of a Spinosa and the sophistry of a Bayle, to give 
us a high opinion of her genius ? Assuredly she has no thoughts 
of marriage ; for what sensible man would unite himself for life to 
an impious partner? 

The infidel wife seldom has any idea of her duties : she spends 
her days either in reasoning on virtue without practising its pre- 
cepts, or in the enjoyment of the tumultuous pleasures of the 
world. Her mind vacant and her heart unsatisfied, life becomes 
a burden to her; neither the thought -of God, nor any domestic 
cares, afford her happiness. 

But the day of vengeance approaches. Time arrives, leading 
Age by the hand. The spectre with silver hair and icy hands 
plants himself on the threshold of the female atheist; she per- 
ceives him and shrieks aloud. Who now will hear her voice? 
Her husband? She has none; long, very long, has he withdrawn 
from tht theatrf of his dishonor. Her children? Euined by 



200 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY 



an impious education and bj maternal example, they concern 
themselves not about their mother. If she surveys the past, she 
beholds a pathless waste; her virtues have left no traces behind 
them. For the first time her saddened thoughts turn toward 
heaven, and she bejrins to think how much more consolatorv it 
Would have been to have a religion. Unavailing regret! The 
crowning punishment of atheism in this world is to desire faith 
without being able to acquire it. When, at the term of her 
career, she discovers the delusions of a false philosophy, — when 
annihilation, like an appalling meteor, begins to appear above the 
horizon of death, — she would fain return to Grod; but it is too late : 
the mind, hardened by incredulity, rejects all conviction. Oh! 
what a frightful solitude appears before her, when God and man 
letire at once from her view ! She dies, this unfortunate woman, — 
expiring in the arms of a hireling nurse, or of some man, perhaps, 
who turns with disgust from her protracted suiferings. A com- 
mon cofiin now encloses all that remains of her. At her funeral 
we see no daughter overpowered with grief, no sons-in-law or 
grandchildren in tears, forming, with the blessing of the people 
and the hymns of religion, so worthy an escort for the mother of 
a family. Perhaps only a son, who is unknown, and who knows 
not himself the dishonorable secret of his birth, will happen to 
meet the mournful convoy, and will inquire the name of the de- 
ceased, whose body is about to be cast to the worms, to which it 
had been promised by the atheist herself! 

How different is the lot of the religious woman ! Her days 
are replete with joy; she is respected, beloved by her husband, 
her children, her household; all place unbounded confidence in 
her, because they are firmly convinced of the fidelity of one who 
is faithful to her God. The faith of this Christian is strenirth- 
ened by her happiness, and her happiness by her faith; she be- 
lieves in God because she is happy, and she is happy because she 
believes in God. 

It is enough for a mother to look upon her smiling infant to 
be convinced of the reality of supreme felicity. The bounty of 
Providence is most signally displayed in the cradle of man. What 
affecting harmonies ! Could they be only the effects of inani- 
mate matter? The child is born, the breast fills; the little guest 
has no tcerh that can wound the maternal bosom : he grows, tho 



DANGER AND INUTILITY OF ATHEISM. 201 



milk becomes more nourishing; he is weaned, and the wonderful 
fountain ceases to flow. This woman, before so weak, has all at 
once acquired such strength as enables her to bear fatigues which 
a robust man could not possibly endure. What is it that awakens 
her at midnight, at the very moment when her infant is ready to 
demand the accustomed repast? Whence comes that address 
which she never before possessed? How she handles the tender 
flower without hurtins; it ! Her attentions seem to be the. fruit 
of the experience of her whole life, and yet this is her first- born ! 
The slightest noise terrified the vir2:in : where are the embattled 
armies, the thunders, the perils, capable of appalling the mother? 
Formerly this woman required delicate food, elegant apparel, and 
a soft couch; the least breath of air incommoded her: now, a 
crust of bread, a common dress, a handful of straw, are sufficient; 
nor wind, nor rain, scarcely makes any impression, while she has 
in her breast a drop of milk to nourish her son and in her tat- 
tered garments a corner to cover him. 

Such being the state of things, he must be extremely obstinate 
who would not espouse the cause in behalf of which not only 
reason finds the most numerous evidences, but to which morals, 
happiness, and hope, nay, even instinct itself, and all the desires 
of the soul, naturally impel us; for if it were as true as it is false, 
that the understanding keeps the balance even between God and 
atheism, still it is certain that it would preponderate much in 
favor of the former; for, besides half of his reason, man puts the 
whole weight of his heart into the scale of the Deity. 

Of this truth you will be thoroughly convinced if you examine 
the very difierent manner in which atheism and religion proceed 
in their reasonino-. 

Religion adduces none but general proofs; she founds her judg- 
ment only on the harmony of the heavens and the immutable laws 
of the universe; she views only the graces of nature, the charm- 
ing instincts of animals, and their exquisite conformities with 



man 



Atheism sets before you nothing but hideous exceptions; it 
sees, naught but calamities, unhealthy marshes, destructive v;l- 
cauoes, noxious animals; and, as if it were anxious to conceal it- 
self in the mire, it interrogates the reptiles and insects that they 
may furnish it with proofs against God. 



202 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Religion speaks only of the grandeur and beauty of man. 
Atheism is continually setting the leprosy and plague before our 
eyes. 

Religion derives her reasons from the sensibility of the soul, 
from the tenderest attachments of life, from filial piety, conjugal 
love, and maternal affection. 

Atheism reduces every thing to the instinct of the brute, and, 
as the first argument of its system, displays to you a heart that 
naught is capable of moving. 

Religion assures us that our afflictions .ihall have an end; she 
comforts us, she dries our tears, she promises us another life. 

On the contrary, in the abominable worship of atheism, human 
woes are the incense, death is the priest, a coffin the altar, and 
annihilation the Deity. 



CHAPTER yi. 

CONCLUSION OF THE DOCTRINES OF CHRISTIANITY STATE OF 

PUNISHMENTS AND REWARDS IN A FUTURE LIFE ELYSIUM 

OF THE ANCIENTS. 

The existence of a Supreme Being once acknowledged, and 
the immortality of the soul granted, there can be no farther dif- 
ficulty to admit a state of rewards and punishments after this 
life; this last tenet is a necessary consequence of the other two. 
All that remains for us, therefore, is to show how full of morality 
and poetry this doctrine is, and how far superior the religion of 
the gospel is in this respect to all other religions. 

In the Elysium of the ancients we find none but heroes and 
persons who had either been fortunate or distinguished on earth. 
Children, and, apparently, slaves and the lower class of men, — that 
is to say, misfortune and innocence, — were banished to the infernal 
regions. And what rewards for virtue were those feasts and 
dances, the everlasting duration of which would be sufficient to 
constitute one of the torments of Tartarus ! 

Mahomet promises other enjoyments. His paradise is a land 



DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE. 203 

of musk and of the purest wheaten flour, watered by the river 
of life and the Acawtar, another stream which rises under the 
roots of Tuba, or the tree of happiness. Streams springing up in 
grottos of ambergris, and bordered with aloes, 'murmur beneath 
golden palm-trees. On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand 
a thousand goblets made of stars, out of which the souls predes- 
tined to felicity imbibe the crj^stal wave. All the elect, seated on 
silken carpets, at the entrance of their tents, eat of the terrestrial 
globe, reduced by Allah into a wonderful cake. A number of 
eunuchs and seventy-two black-eyed damsels place before them, 
in three hundred dishes of gold, the fish Nun and the ribs of the 
buffalo Balam. The angel Israfil sings, without ceasing, the most 
enchanting songs; the immortal virgins with their voices accom- 
pany his strains; and the souls of virtuous poets, lodged in the 
throats of certain birds that are hovering round the tree of hap- 
piness, join the celestial choir. Meanwhile the crystal bells sus- 
pended in the golden palm-trees are melodiously agitated by a 
breeze which issues from the throne of God.^ 

The joys of the Scandinavian heaven were sanguinary, but there 
was a degree of grandeur in the pleasures ascribed to the martial 
shades, and in the power of gathering the storm and g-uiding the 
whirlwind which they were said to possess. This paradise was the 
image of the kind of life led by the barbarian of the north. 
Wandering along the wild shores of his country, the dreary sounds 
emitted by ocean plunged his soul into deep reveries; thought 
succeeded thought, as in the billows murmur followed murmur, 
till, bewildered in the mazes of his desires, he mingled with the 
elements, rode upon the fleeting clouds, rocked the leafless forest, 
and flew across the seas upon the wings of the tempest. 

The hell of the unbelieving nations is as capricious as their 
heaven. Our observations on the Tartarus of the ancients we 
shall reserve for the literary portion of our work, on which we 
are about to enter. Be this as it may, the rewards which Chris- 
tianity promises to virtue, and the punishments with which it 
threatens guilt, produce at the first glance a conviction of their 
truth. The heaven and hell of Christians are not devised after 
the manners of any particular people, but founded on the general 



' The Koran and the Arabic poets. 



204 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



ideas that are adapted to all nations and to all classes of society. 
What can be more simple, and yet more sublime, than the truths 
conveyed in these few words ! — the felicity of the righteous in a 
future life will consist in the full possession of God; the misery 
of the wicked will arise from a knowledge of the perfections 
of the Deity, and from being forever deprived of their enjoy- 
ment. 

It may perhaps be said that here Christianity merely repeats 
the lessons of the schools of Plato and Pythagoras. In this case, 
it must at least be admitted that the Christian religion is not the 
religion of shalloio minds, since it inculcates what are acknow- 
ledged to have been the doctrines of sages. 

The Gentiles, in fact, reproached the primitive Christians with 
being nothing more than a sect of philosophers; but were it cer- 
tain (what is not proved) that the sages of antiquity entertained 
the same notions that Christianity holds respecting a future state, 
still, a truth confined within a narrow circle of chosen disciples is 
one thing, and a truth which has become the universal consolation 
of mankind is another. What the brightest geniuses of Greece 
discovered by a last effort of reason is now publicly taught in 
every church; and the laborer, for a few pence, may purchase, 
in the catechism of his children, the most sublime secrets of the 
ancient sects. 

We shall say nothing here on the subject of Purgatory, as we 
shall examine it hereafter under its moral and poetical aspects. 
As to the principle which has produced this place of expiation, it 
is founded in reason itself, since between vice and virtue there is 
a state of tepidity which merits neither the punishment of hell 
nor t\ e rewards of heaven 



THE LAST JUDGMENT." 205 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE LAST JUDGMENT. 

The Fathers entertained different opinions respecting the state 
of the soul of the righteous immediately after its separation from 
the body. St. Augustin thinks that it is placed in an abode of 
peace till it bs reunited to its incorruptible body.^ St. Bernard 
believes that it is received into heaven, where it contemplates 
the humanity of Jesus Christ, but not his divinity, which it will 
enjoy only after the resurrection f in some other parts of his ser- 
mons he assures us that it enters immediately, into the pleni- 
tude of celestial felicity ^^ and this opinion the Church seems to 
have adopted.* 

But, as it is just that the body and soul, Avhich have together 
committed sin or practised virtue, should suffer or be rewarded 
together, so religion teaches us that he who formed us out of 
dust will summon us a second time before his tribunal. The 
stoic school believed, as Christians do, in hell, paradise, purga- 
tory, and the resurrection of the body;^ and the Magi had also a 

1 Be Trinit., lib. xv. c. 25. 

2 Serm. in Sauet. omn., 1, 2, 3; De Conaiderat., lib. v. c. 4. 

3 Serm. 2, de S. 3Ialac. n. 5; Serm. de S. Vict., n. 4. 

"^ It is an article of Catholic faith, that the souls of the just, who have nothing 
to atone for after their departure from this life, are admitted immediately to the 
beatific vision. Though some of the early fathers supposed that this happiness 
would be deferred until after the resurrection, they were not on that account 
taxable with heresy, because the tradition of the Church was not yet plainly 
manifested. This tradition is gathered, not from the opinions of a few fathers 
or doctors, but from the sentiment generally held. The declarations of the 
second Coun-.il of Lyons in 1274, that of Florence in 1439, and the Tridentine 
Synod in the sixteenth century, have explicitly determined the question. St. 
Augustine, after his elevation to the episcopacy, coincided with the prevailing 
sentiment on this point. Tract. 26 and 49 in loan, lib. 9; Confess, c. 3. The 
passages from St. Bernard vvhich seem to conflict with that sentiment are all 
susceptible of an orthodox interpretation. T. 

- Senec, Epist 90; Id., ad. Marc; Laert., lib. vii.; Plut., in Resig. Stoic 
tt :n fjc. Inn. 
18 



206 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



confused idea of this last doctrine.* The Egyptians hoped to 
revivs after they had passed a thousand years in the tomb;^ and 
the Sybilline verses mention the resurrection and the last judg- 
ment.^ 

Pliny, in his strictures on Democritus, informs us what was 
the opinion of that philosopher on the subject of the resurrection : 
Similis et de asservandis corporihus hoininum^ ac reviviscendi 
promiasa d Democrito vojiifas, qui non vixit ipse* 

The resurrection is clearly expressed in these verses of Phocy- 
lides on the ashes of the dead : — 

Ov KoXov apfxoviiiv avaXvcfitv audpomoio. 

Kai Taxi i'ix yat'7S tXTri^o/iEj/ Ij (paog iXOeiv ^ 

Atiipav a-0LXO[i€i'Ci}i' OTTiaco Se ^coiTcXe^oi'TaK. 

"It is impious to disperse the remains of man; for the ashes 
and the bones of the dead shall return to life, and shall become 
like unto gods.'^ 

Virgil obscurel}^ hints at the doctrine of the resurrection in the 
sixth book of the ^Eueid. 

But how is it possible for atoms dispersed among all the ele- 
ments to be again united and to form the same bodies ? It is a 
long time since this objection was first urged, and it has been 
answered by most of the Fathers.^ "Tell me what thou art," 
said Tertullian, "and I will tell thee what thou shalt be."'' 

Nothing can be more striking and awful than the moment of 
the final consummation of ages foretold by Christianity. In those 
days baleful signs will appear in the heavens ; the depths of the 
abj-ss will open; the seven angels will pour out their vials filled 
with wrath; nations will destroy each other; mothers will hear 
the wailings of their children yet in the womb; and Death, on 
his pale horse, will speed his course through the kingdoms of the 
earth. 7 

' Hyde, lidhj. Pera. ; Piut., de /». et Osir. 

2 Diod. et llerodot. 

3 Bocchus, in Solin., c. 8 ; Lact., lib. viii., c. 29 ; lib. iv. c. 15, 18, 19. 

* Lib. vii. c. 55. 

^ St. Cj'ril, bishop of Jerusalem, Catech., xviii. St. Greg. Nat. Oret. j)ro ^*»- 
Cnvu.\ St. August., de Civ. Dei, lib. .\x.; St. Chrys., Hoinll in liesur. Carn.i 
St. Gregor. pope, Dial, iv. ; St. Amb., Senn. in Fid. res.; St. Epiph. Ancyrot. 

• In Apoloyet. " Apocalypse. 



HAPPINESS OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 207 

Meanwhile the globe begins to tremble on its axis; the moon 
IS covered with a bloody veil; the threatening stars hang half 
detached from the vault of heaven, and the agony of the world 
commences. Then, all at once, the fatal hour strikes; God sus- 
pends the movements of the creation, and the earth hath passed 
away like an exhausted river. 

Now resounds the trump of the angel of judgment; and the 
cry is heard, "Arise, ye dead!" The sepulchres burst open with 
a terrific noise, the human race issues all at once from the tomb, 
and the assembled multitudes fill the valley of Jehoshaphat. 

Behold, the Son of Man appears in the clouds : the powers 
of hell ascend from the depths of the abyss to witness the last 
judgment pronounced upon ages ; the goats are separated from 
the sheep, the wicked are plunged into the gulf, the just ascend 
triumphantly to heaven, God returns to his repose, and the 
reign of eternity commences. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

HAPPINESS OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 

It has been asked, what is that plenitude of celestial happi- 
ness promised to virtue by Christianity? we have heard com- 
plaints of its too great mysteriousness. In the mythological 
systems, it is said, " people could at least form an idea of the 
pleasures of the happy shades ; but who can have any conception 
of the felicity of the elect?" 

Fenelon, however, had a glimpse of that felicity in his relation 
of the descent of Telemachus to the abode of the manes : his 
Elysium is evidently a Christian paradise. Compare his descrip- 
tion with the Elysium of the ^neid, and you will perceive what 
progress has been made by the mind and heart of man under the 
influence of Christianity. 

" A soft and pure light is diffused around the bodies of those 
righteous men, and environs them with its rays like a garment. 
This light is not like the sombre beams which illumine the eyes 



208 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



of wretclied mortals; it is rather a celestial radiance than a 
light; it pervades the thickest bodies more completely than the 
sun's rays penetrate the purest crystal ; it doth not dazzle, but, 
on the contrary, strengthens the eyes, and conveys inexpressible 
serenity to the soul ; by this alone the blest are nourished ; it 
issues from them and it enters them again; it penetrates and is 
incorporated with them as aliments are incorporated with the 
body. They see, they feel, they breathe it; it causes an inex- 
haustible source of peace and joy to spring up within them; they 
are plunged into this abyss of delight, as the fishes are merged in 
the sea; they know no wants; they possess all without having 
any thing ; for this feast of j^ure light appeases the hunger of 
their hearts. 

'^An eternal youth, a felicity without end, a radiance wholly 
divine, glows upon their faces. But their joy has nothing light or 
licentious; it is a joy soothing, noble, and replete with majesty; 
a sublime love of truth and virtue, which transports them ; they 
feel every moment, without interruption, the same raptures as a 
mother who once more beholds her beloved son whom she believed 
to be dead; and that joy, which is soon over for the mother, 
never leaves the hearts of these glorified beings."^ 

The most glowing passages of the Phaedon of Plato are less 
divine than this picture ; and yet Fenelon, confined within the 
limits of his story, could not attribute to the shades all' the 
felicity which he would have ascribed to the elect in heaven. 

The purest of our sentiments in this world is admiration ; but 
this terrestrial admiration is always mingled with weakness, 
either in the person admiring or in the object admired. Imagine, 
then, a perfect being, the source of all beings, in whom is clearly 
and sacredly manifested all that was, and is, and is to come; 
suppose, at the same time, a soul exempt from envy and wants, 
incorruptible, unalterable, indefatigable, capable of attention 
without end ; figure to yourself this soul contemplating the Om- 
nipotent, incessantly discovering in him new attributes and new 
perfections, proceeding from admiration to admiration, and con- 
scious of its existence only by the ceaseless feeling of this very 
admiration; consider, moreover, the Deity as suprem3 beauty, 



1 Telem., book xiv. 



HAPPINESS OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 209 



as tlic universal principle of love ; represent to yourself all the 
friendships of the earth meetiog together, and lost in -this abyss 
of sentiments like drops of water in the vast ocean, so that the 
happy spirit is wholly absorbed by the love of Grod, without, 
however, ceasing to love the friends whom it esteemed here 
below; lastly, persuade yourself that the blest are thoroughly con- 
vinced of the endless duration of their happiness :* you will then 
have an idea — though very imperfect, it is true — of the felicity 
of the righteous ; you will then comprehend that the choir of the 
redeemed can do nothing but repeat the song of Holy I holy I 
holy! which is incessantly dying away, and incessantly reviving, 
in *.he everlasting ecstasies of heaven, 

^ — ■ ■ ^ .1 . .11 - - — . ^^ ■--■ ■.■■-■-■ 1 1 — ■■■■■. ■ I - - — . J I — ■ — —■ ■■ — Jtm 

' St. Augustin. 
18» 



fart % SaM. 

THE POETIC OF CHRISTIANITY. 



BOOK L 

GENERAL SURVEY OF CHRISTIAN EPIC POEMr 

CHAPTER I. 

THE POETIC OF CHRISTIANITY IS DIVIDED INTO TF»E% 
BRANCHES : POETRY, THE FINE ARTS, AND LITERATl^B 
THE SIX BOOKS OF THIS SECOND PART TREAT IN AN ES 
PECIAL MANNER OF POETRY. 

The felicity of the blessed sung by the Cbristian Home^ 
naturally leads us to consider the effects of Christianity in poetry 
In treatino' of the spirit of that religion, how could we forget its 
influence on literature and the arts — an influence which has in a 
manner changed the human mind, and produced in modern 
Europe nations totally diff"erent from those of ancient times ? 

The reader, perhaps, will not be displeased if we conduct him 
to Horeb and Sinai, to the summits of Ida and of the Taygetus, 
among the sons of Jacob and of Priam, into the company of the 
gods and of the shepherds. A poetic voice issues from the ruins 
which cover Greece and Idumsea, and cries from afar to the tra- 
veller, " There are but two brilliant names and recollections in 
liistory — those of the Israelites and of the ancient Greeks." 

The twelve 'books which we have devoted to these literary in- 
vestigations compose, as we have observed, the second and third 
parts of our work, and separate the six books on the doctrines 
from the six books on the ceremonies of the Christian religion. 

' Now ten only; Ataln and Rene, two episodes of the original work, having 
been retrenched by the author. T. 
210 



THE POETIC OF CHRISTIANITY. 211 



We shall, in the first place, take a view of the poems in which 
that religion supplies the place of mythology, because the epic 
is the highest class of poetic compositions. Aristotle, it is true, 
asserts that the epic poem is wholly comprised in tragedy; but 
might we not think, on the contrary, that the drama is whollv 
comprised in the epic poem ? The parting of Hector and 
Andromache, Priam in the tent of Achilles, Dido at Carthage, 
^Eneas at the habitation of Evander or sending back the body 
of the youthful Pallas, Tancred and Erminia, Adam and Evr. 
are real tragedies, in which nothing is wanting but the division 
into scenes and the names of the speakers. Was it not, more- 
over, the Iliad that gave birth to tragedy, as the Margites was 
the parent of comedy?^ But if Calliope decks herself with all 
the ornaments of Melpomene, the former has charms which the 
latter cannot borrow; for the marvellous, the descriptive, and the 
digressive, are not within the scope of the drama. Every kind 
of tone, the comic not excepted, every species of poetic harmony, 
from the lyre to the trumpet, may be introduced in the epic. 
The epic poem, therefore, has parts which the drama has not : it 
consequently requires a more universal genius ; it is of course a 
more complete performance than a tragedy. It seems, in fact, 
highly probable that there should be less difficulty in composing 
the five acts of an GEdipus than in creating the twenty-four 
books of an Iliad. The result of a few months' labor is not the 
monument that requires the application of a lifetime. Sophocles 
and Euripides were, doubtless, great geniuses; but have they 
obtained from succeedins; asres that admiration and his-h renown 
which have been so justly awarded to Homer and Virgil ? Finally, 
if the drama holds the first rank in composition, and the epic 
only the second, how has it happened that, from the Greeks to 
the present day, we can reckon but five epic poems, two ancient 
and three modern : whereas there is not a nation but can boast 
of possessing a multitude of excellent tragedies. 

1 The Margites was a comic or satirical poem attributed to Homer. It is 
mentioned by Aristotle in his Treatise on Poetry, but no part of it is known t« 
have escaped the ravages of time. 



212 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



CHAPTER IL 

GENERAL SURVEY OF THE POEMS IN WHICH THE MARTELLOUI 
OF CHRISTIANITY SUPPLIES THE PLACE OF MYTHOLOGY — THE 
INFERNO OF DANTE — THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED OF TASSO. 

Let us first lay down certain principles. 

Tn every epic poem, men and their passions are calculated to 
occupy the first and most important place. 

Every poem, therefore, in which any religion is employed as 
the subject and not as an accessory, in which the marvellous is 
the ground and not the accident of the picture, is essentially 
faulty. 

If Homer and Virgil had laid their scenes in Olympus, it is 
douhtful whether, with all their genius, they would have been 
able to sustain the dramatic interest to the end. Agreeably to 
this remark, we must not ascribe to Christianity the languor that 
pervades certain poems in which the principal characters are 
supernatural beings ; this languor arises from the fault of the 
composition. We shall find in confirmation of this truth, that 
the more the poet observes a due medium in the epic between 
divine and human things, the more ejitertaining he is, if we may 
be allowed to use an expression of Boileau. To amuse, for the 
purpose of instructing, is the first quality required in poetry. 

Passing over several poems written in a barbarous Latin style, 
the first work that demands our attention is the Divina Comedia 
of Dante. The beauties of this singular production proceed, 
with few exceptions, from Christianity : its faults are to be as- 
cribed to the age and the bad taste of the author. In the pa- 
thetic and the terrific, Dante has, perhaps, equalled the greatest 
poets. The details of his poem will be a subject of future con- 
sideration. 

Modern times have afforded but two grand subjects for an epic 
poem — the Crusades, and the Discovery of the Neio World. Mal- 
filatre purposed to sing the latter. The Muses still lament the 
premature decease of this youthful poet before he had time to 



THE INFERNO— THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED. 213 

accomplish his design. This subject, however, has the dis- 
advantage of being foreign for a Frenchman ; and according to 
another principle, the truth of which cannot be con-:ested, a poet 
ought to adopt an ancient subject, or, if he select a modern 
one, should by all means take his own nation for his theme. 

The mention of the Crusades reminds us of the Jerusalem 
Delivered. This poem is a perfect model of composition. Here 
you may learn how to blend subjects together without confusion. 
The art with which Tasso transports you from a battle to a love- 
scene, from a love-scene to a council, from a procession to an 
enchanted palace, from an enchanted palace to a camp, from an 
assault to the grotto of an anchorite, from the tumult of a be- 
sieged city to the hut of a shepherd, is truly admirable. His 
characters are drawn with no less ability. The ferocity of Argantes 
is opposed to the generosity of Tancred, the greatness of Soly- 
man to the splendor of Rinaldo, the wisdom of Grodfrey to the 
craft of Aladin; and even Peter the hermit, as Voltaire has 
remarked, forms a striking contrast with Ismeno the magician. 
As to the females, coquetry is depicted in Armida, sensibility in 
Erminia, and indifference in Clorinda. Had Tasso portrayed 
the mother, he would have made the complete circle of female 
characters. The reason of this omission must, perhaps, be sought 
in the nature of his talents, which possessed more charms than 
truth, and greater brilliancy than tenderness. 

Homer seems to have been particularly endowed with genius, 
Virgil with sensibility, Tasso with imagination. We should not 
hesitate what place to assign to the Italian bard, had he some of 
those pensive graces which impart such sweetness to the sighs of 
the Mantuan swan ; for he is far superior to the latter in his 
characters, battles, and composition. But Tasso almost always 
fails when he attempts to express the feelings of the heart; and, 
as the traits of the soul constitute the genuine beauties of a poem 
he necessarily falls short of the pathos of A'^irgil. 

If the Jerusalem Delivered is adorned with the flowers of ex- 
quisite poetry, — if it breathes the youth, the loves, and the afflic- 
tions, of that great and unfortunate man who produced this mas- 
ter-piece in his juvenile years, — we likewise perceive in it the 
faults of an age not sufficiently mature for such a high attempt 
as an epic poem. Tasso's measure of eight feet is hardlj ever 



214 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



full ; and his versification, wliich often exhibits marks of haste,^ 
cannot be compared to that of Yirgil, a hundred times tem- 
pered in the fire of the Muses. It must likewise be remarked 
that the ideas of Tasso are not of so fair a family as those of the 
Latin bard. The works of the ancients may be known, we had 
almost said, by their blood. They display not, like us, a few 
brilliant ideas sparkling in the midst of a multitude of common- 
place observations, so much as a series of beautiful thoughts, 
which perfectly harmonize together, and have a sort of family 
likeness. It is the naked group of Niobe's simple, modest, blush- 
ing children, holding, each other by the hand with an engaging 
smile, while a chaplet of flowers, their only ornament, encircles 
their brows. 

After the Jerusalem Delivered, it must be allowed that some- 
thing excellent maybe produced with a Chfistian subject. What 
would it then have been had Tasso ventured to employ all the 
grand machinery which Christianity could have supplied ? It is 
obvious that he was deficient in boldness. His timidity has 
obliged him to have recourse to the petty expedients of magic, 
whereas he might have turned to prodigious account the tomb of 
Jesus Christ, which he*scarcely mentions, and a region hallowed 
by so many miracles. The same timidity has occasioned his 
failure in the description of heaven, while his picture of hell 
shows many marks of bad taste. It may be added that he has 
not availed himself as much as he might have done of the Mo- 
hammedan religion, the rites of which are the more curious as 
being the less known. Finally, he might have taken some notice 
of ancient Asia, of Egypt so highly renowned, of Babylon so 
vast, and Tyre so haughty, and of the times of Solomon and 
Isaias. How could the muse, when visiting the land of Israel, 
forget the harp of David ? Are the voices of the prophets no 
longer to be heard on the summits of Lebanon ? Do not their 
holy shades still appear beneath the cedars and among the pines ? 
Has the choir of angels ceased to sing upon Golgotha, and the 
brook Cedron to murmur ? Surely the patriarchs, and Syria, the 
nursery of the world, celebrated in some part of the Jerusalem 
Delivered, could not have failed to produce a grand effect.^ 

' The reader's attention may here be invited to Palestine, an Oxford prize 
puem, written by Mr. Reginald Heber. It derives its various and exquisito 



PARADISE LOST. 215 



CHAPTER III. 

PARADISE LOST. 

The Paradise LoU of Milton may be charged witli the same 
fault as the Inferno of Dante. The marvellous forms the subject, 
and not the machinery, of the poem ; but it abounds with superior 
beauties which essentially belong to the groundwork of our 
relio'ion. 

The poem opens in the infernal world, and yet this beginning 
offends in no respect against the rule of simplicity laid down by 
Aristotle. Km edifice so astonishing required an extraordinary 
portico to introduce the reader all at once into this unknown 
world, which he was no more to quit. 

Milton is the first poet who has closed the epic with the mis- 
fortune of the principal character, contrary to the rule generally 
adopted. We are of opinion, however, that there is something 
more interesting more solemn, more cong-enial with the condition 
of human nature, in a history which ends in sorrows, than in one 
which has a happy termination. It may even be asserted that 
the catastrophe of the Iliad is tragical ; for if the son of Peleus 
obtains the object of his wishes, still the conclusion of the poem 
leaves a deep impression of griefs After witnessing the funeral 
of Patroclus, Priam redeeming the body of Hector, the anguish 

beauties chiefly from Scriptural sources. Mr. Heber, endued with a large por- 
tion of Tasso's genius, has supplied many of Tasso's deficiences, so ably enu- 
merated b}' our author. K. 

• This sentiment, perhaps, arises from the interest which is felt for Hector. 
Hector is as much the hero of the poem as Achilles, and this is the great fault 
of the Iliai. The reader's affections are certainly engaged by the Trojans, 
contrarj' to the intention of the poet, because all the dramatic scenes occur 
•within the walls of Ilium. The aged monarch, Priam, whose only crime was 
too much love for a guilty son, — the generous Hector, who was acquainted with 
his brother's fault, and 3^et defended that brother, — Andromache, Astyanax, 
Hecuba, — melt every heart: whereas the camp of the Greeks exhibits naught 
but avarice, perfidy, and ferocity. Perhaps, also, the remembrance of the ^Eneid 
secretly influences the modern reader and he unintentionally espouses the side 
of the heroes sung by Virgil. 



216 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



of Hue aba and Andromaclie at the funeral pile of that hero, 
we still perceive in the distance the death of Achilles and the 
foil of Troy. 

The infancy of Rome, sung by Yirgil, is certainly a grand sub- 
ject; but what shall we say of a poem that depicts a catastrop}:e 
of which we are ourselves the victims, and which exhibits to us 
not the founder of this or that community, but the father of the 
human race ? Milton describes neither battles, nor funeral games, 
nor camps, nor sieges : he displays the grand idea of God mani- 
fested in the creation of the universe, and the first thoughts of 
man on issuins; from the hands of his Maker. 

Nothino' can be more aug-ust and more interestins: than this 
study of the first emotions of the human heart. Adam awakes 
to life; his eyes open; he knows not whence he originates. He 
gazes on the firmament ; he attempts to spring toward this beau- 
tiful vault, and stands erect, with his head nobly raised to heaven. 
He examines himself, he touches his limbs ; he runs, he stops ; 
he attempts to speak, and his obedient tongue gives utterance to 
his thoughts. He naturally names whatever he sees, exclaiming, 
''0 sun, and trees, forests, hills, valleys, and ye diff"erent ani- 
mals !" and all the names which he gives are the proper appella- 
tions of the respective beings. And why does he exclaim, '^0 
sun, and ye trees, know ye the name of Him who created me ?" 
The first sentiment experienced by man relates to the existence 
of a Supreme Being; the first want he feels is the want of a 
God ! How sublime is Milton in this passage ! But would he 
have conceived such grand, such lofty ideas, had he been a 
stranger to the true relioion ? 

God manifests himself to Adam ; the creature and the Creator 
hold converse together; they discourse on solitude. We omit 
the reflections. God knew that it was not good for man to be 
alone. Adam falls asleep ; God takes from the side of our com- 
mon father the substance out of which he fashions a new crea- 
ture, whom he conducts to him on his wakino-. 

Grace was in all her step:;, Heaven in her eye, 
In everj"^ gesture dignity and love. 

Woman is her name, of man 

Extracted ; for this cause he shall forego 
Father and mother, and to his wife adhere; 
And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul. 



PARADISE LOST. 217 



Wo to him who cannot perceive here a reflection of tlie Deity! 

The poet continues to develop these grand views of human 
nature, this sublime reason of Christianit}^ The character of 
vhe woman is admirably delineated in the fatal fall. Eve trans- 
gresses by self-love ) she boavSts that she is strong enough alone 
to encounter temptation. She is unwilling that Adam should 
accompany her to the solitary spot where she cultivates her 
flowers. 'J his fair creature, who thinks herself invincible by rea- 
son of her very weakness, knows not that a single word can sub- 
due her. Woman is always delineated in the Scripture as the 
slave of vanity. When Isaias threatens the daughters of Jeru- 
salem, he says, "The Lord will take away your ear-rings, your 
bracelets, your rings, and your veils." We have witnessed in our 
own days a striking instance of this disposition. Many a woman, 
during the reign of terror, exhibited numberless proofs of hero- 
ism, whose virtue has since fallen a victim to a dance, a dress, an 
amusement. Here we have the development of one of those 
great and mysterious truths contained in the Scriptures. God, 
when he doomed woman to bring forth wiih pain, conferred m on 
her an invincible fortitude against pain ; but at the same time, 
as a punishment for her fault, he left her weak against pleasure. 
Milton accordingly denominates her "this fair defect of nature." 

The manner in which the English bard has conducted the fall 
of our first parents is well worthy of our examination. An ordi- 
nary genius would not have failed to convulse the world at the 
moment when Eve raises the fatal fruit to her lips; but Milton 
merely represents that — 

Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat, 
Sighing, through .all her works gave signs of wo 
That all was lost. 

The reader is, in fact, the more surprised, because this effect is 
much less surprising. What calamities does this present tran- 
quillity of nature lead us to anticipate in future ! Tertullian, 
inquiring why the universe is not disturbed by the crimes of 
men, adduces a sublime reason. This reason is, the patience 
of God. 

When the mother of mankind presents the fruit of knowledp-e 

to her husband, our common father does not roll himself in fh^ 
19 ' 



218 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



dust, or tear liis liair, or loudly vent his grief. On the con- 
trary,— 

Adam, soon as he heard 
The fatal trespass done by Eve, amaz'd, 
Astonied stood and blank, Avhile horror chill 
Ran through his veins, and all his joints relax'd. 
Speechless he stood, and pale. 

He perceives the whole enormity of the crime. On the one hand, 
if he disobey, he will incur the penalty of death ; on the other, 
if he continue faithful, he will retain his immortality, but will 
lose his beloved partner, now devoted to the grave. He may re- 
fuse the fruit, but can he live without Eve ? The conflict is long. 
A wyrld at last is sacrificed to love. Adam, instead of loading 
his wife with reproaches, endeavors to console her, and accepts 
the fatal apple from her hands. On this consummation of the 
crime, no chance yet takes Dlace in nature. Onlv the first storms 
of the passions begin to agitate the hearts of the unhappy pair. 

Adam and Eve fall asleep; but they have lost that innocence 
which renders slumber refreshing. From this troubled sleep they 
rise as from unrest. ^Tis then that their ouilt stares them in the 
face. "What have we done?" exclaims Adam. "Why art thou 
naked? Let us seek a covering for ourselves, lest any one see us 
in this state !" But clothing does not conceal the nudit}" which 
has been once seen. 

Meanwhile their crime is known in heaven. A holy sadness 
seizes the angels, but 

Mix'd 
With pity, violated not their bliss. 

A truly Christian and sublime idea! God sends his ?on to judge 
the guilty. He comes and calls Adam in the solitude: "Where 
art thou?" Adam hides himself from his presence: "Lord, I 
dare not show myself, because I am naked." "How dost thou 
know thyself to be naked? Hast thou eaten the fruit of know- 
ledge?" What a dialogue passes between them! It is not of 
human invention. Adam confesses his crime, and God pro- 
nounces sentence:* "Man! in the sweat of thv brow shalt thou 
eat bread. In sorrow shalt thou cultivate the earth, till thou ro- 

' Genesis, iii. ; Paradise Lost, book x. 



PAllADISE LOST. 219 



turn unto dust from which thou wast taken. Woman, thou shalt 
bring forth children with pain," Such, in a few words, is the 
history of the human race. We know not if the reader is struck 
by it as we are; but we find in this scene of Genesis something 
BO extraordinary and so grand that it defies all the comments of 
criticism. Admiration wants terms to express itself with ade- 
quate force, and art sinks into nothing. 

The Son of God returns to heaven. Then commences that 
celebrated drama between Adam and Eve in which Milton is said 
to have recorded an event of his own life — the reconciliation be- 
tween himself and his first consort. We are persuaded that the 
great writers have introduced their history into their works. It 
is only by delineating their own hearts, and attributing them to 
others, that they are enabled to give such exquisite pictures of 
nature; for the better part of genius consists in recollections. 

Behold Adam now retiring at night in some lonely spot. The 
nature of the air is changed. Cold vapors and thick clouds ob- 
scure the face of heaven. The lightning has scathed the trees. 
The animals flee at the sight of man. The wolf begins to pursue 
the lamb, the vulture to prey upon the dove. He is overwhelmed 
with despair. He wishes to return to his native dust. Yp*^ 
says he. 

One doubt 
Pursues me still, lest all I cannot die; 
Lest that pure breath of life, the spirit of man, 
Which God inspired, cannot together perish 
With corporeal clod; then in the grave, 
Or in some other dismal place, who knows 
But I shall die a living death? 

Can philosophy require a species of beauties more exalted and 
more solemn ? Not only the poets of antiquity furnish no instance 
of a despair founded on such a basis, but moralists themselves 
have conceived nothing so sublime. 

Eve, hearing her husband's lamentations, approaches with 
timidity. Adam sternly repels her. Eve falls humbly at his 
feet and bathes them with -her tears. Adam relents, and raises 
the mother of the human race. Eve proposes to him to live in 
continence, or to inflict death upon themselves to save theii poste- 
rity. This despair, so admirably ascribed to a woman, as well for 



220 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



its vehemonce as for its generosity, strikes our common father 
What rej^ly does lie make to his wife? 

Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems 
To aigue iu thee something more sublime 
And excellent than what thy mind contemns. 

The unfortunate pair resolve to offer up their piayers to God, 
and to implore the mercy of the Almighty. Prostrating them- 
i<elves on the ground, they raise their hearts and voices, in a spirit 
of profound humility, toward Him who is the source of forgive- 
ness. These accents ascend to heaven, where the Son himself 
undertakes the office of presenting them to his Father. The 
suppliant prayers which follow Injur}/, to repair the mischiefs she 
has occasioned, are justly admired in the Iliad. It would indeed 
be impossible to invent a more beautiful allegory on the subject 
of prayer. Yet those first sighs of a contrite heart, which find 
the way that the sighs of the whole human race are soon destined 
to follow, — those humble prayers which mingle with the incense 
fuming before the Holy of Holies, — those penitent tears which fill 
the celestial spirits with joy, which are presented to the Almighty 
by the Redeemer of mankind, and which move God himself, (such 
IS the power of this first prayer in repentant and unhappy man,) 
— all those circumstances combined have in them something so 
moral, so solemn, and so pathetic, that they cannot be said to be 
eclipsed by the prayers of the bard of Ilium. 

The Most High relents, and decrees the final salvation of man. 
Milton has availed himself with great ability of this first mystery 
of the Scriptures, and has everywhere interwoven the impressive 
history of a God, who, from the commencement of ages, devotes 
himself to death to redeem man from destruction. The fall of 
Adam acquires a higher and more tragic interest when we behold 
it involving in its consequences the Son of the iVlmighty himself. 

Independently of these beauties which belong to the subject of 
th^ Paradise Lost, the work displays minor beauties too nume- 
rous for us to notice. Milton had, in particular, an extraordinary 
felicity of expression. Every reader is acquainted with his dark- 
ness vt'sihle, his pleased silence, &c. These bold expressions, when 
sparingly employed, like discords in music, produce a highly 
brilliant cfi'cct They have a counter air of genius; but great 



PARADISE LOST. 221 



eare must be taken not to abuse them. When to< studiously 
Bought after, they dwindle into a mere puerile play upon words, 
as injurious to the language as they are inconsistent with good 
taste. 

We shall, moreover, observe that the bard of Eden, after the 
example of Virgil, has acquired originality in appropriating to 
himself the riches of others ; which proves that the original style 
is not the style which never borrows of any one, but that which 
no other person is capable of reproducing. 

This art of imitation, known to all great writers, consists in a 
certain delicacy of taste which seizes the beauties of other times, 
and accommodates them to the present age and mannei-s. Virgil 
is a model in this respect. Observe how he has transferred to 
the mother of Euryalus the lamentations of Andromache on the 
death of Hector. In this passage Homer is rather more natural 
than the Mantuan poet, whom he has moreover furnished with 
all the striking circumstances, such as the work falling from the 
hands of Andromache, her fainting, &c., Avhile there are others, 
which are not in the ^neid, as Andromache's presentiment of 
her misfortune, and her appearance with dishevelled tresses upon 
the battlements; but then the episode of Euryalus is more tender, 
more pathetic. The mother who alone, of all the Trojan women, 
resolved to follow the fortunes of her son; the garments with 
which her maternal ajffection was engaged and now rendered use- 
less; her exile, her age, her forlorn condition at the very moment 
when the head of her Euryalus was carried under the ramparts 
of the camp; — such are the conceptions of Virgil alone. The 
lamentations of Andromache, being more diffuse, lose something 
of their energy. Those of the mother of Euryalus, more closely 
concentrated, fall with increased weight upon the heart. This 
proves that there was already a great difference between the age 
of Virgil and Homer, and that in the time of the former all the 
arts, even that of love, had arrived at a higher perfection. 

19* 



222 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



CHAPTER IV. 

OF SOME FRENCH AND FOREIGN POEMS. 

Had Ohristianity produced no other poem than Paradise Lost j—^ 
had its genius inspired neither the Jerusalem Delivered, nor 
Polj/euctes, nor Esther, nor Athalie, nor Zara, nor Alzira, — still 
we might insist that it is highl}^ favorable to the Muses. We 
shall notice in this chapter, between Paradise Lost and the Hen- 
riad, some French and foreign productions, on which we have 
but a few words to say. 

The more remarkable passages in the Saint Louis of Father 
Lemoine have been so frequently quoted that we shall not refer 
to them here. This poem, rude as it is, possesses beauties which 
we would in vain look for in the Jerusalem. It displays a gloomy 
imagination, well adaj)ted to the description of that Egypt, so full 
of recollections and of tombs, which has witnessed the succession 
of the Pharaohs, the Ptolemies, the anchorets of Thebais, and the 
sultans of the barbarians. 

The Pucelle of Chapelain, the Mo'ise Sauve of Saint-Amaud, 
and the David of Coras, are scarcely known at present, except 
by the verses of Boileau. Some benefit, may, however, be derived 
from the perusal of these works : the last, in particular, is worthy 
of notice. 

The prophet Samuel relates to David the history of the chiefs 
of Israel : — 

Ne'er shall proud tyrants, said the sainted seer, 
Escape the vengeance of the King of kings ; 
His judgments justly poured on our last chiefs 
Stand of this truth a lasting monument. 



Look but at Heli, him whom God's behest 
Appointed Israel's judge and pontiff too ! 
His patriot zeal had nobly served the state 
If not cxtinguish'd by his worthless sons. 



FRENCH AND FOREIGN POEMS. 223 



Over these youths, on vicious courses bent, 
Jehovah thundered forth his dread decree; 
And by a sacred messenger denounced 
Destruction 'gainst them both and all their race. 
Thou knowest, God! the awful sentence past. 
What horrors racked old Heli's harrowed soul! 
These eyes his anguish witnessed, and this brow 
He oft bedewed with grief-extorted tears. 

These lines (in the original) are remarkable, because they pos- 
sess no mean poetic beauties. The apostrophe which terminates 
them is not unworthy of a first-rate poet. 

The episode of Ruth, jvhich is related in the sepulchral grotto^ 
the burial-place of the ancient patriarchs, has a character of sim- 
plicity : — 

We know not which, the husband or the wife, 
Had purer soul, or more of happiness. 

Coras is sometimes felicitous in description. Witness the fol- 
lowing : — 

Meanwhile the sun, with peerless glory crowned, 
Lessening in form, more burning rays dispensed. 

Saint Amand, whom Boileau extols as a man of some genius, 
is nevertheless inferior to Coras. The Mo'ise Sauve is a lanouid 
composition, the versification tame and prosaic, and the style 
marked by antithesis and bad taste. It contains, however, some 
fine passages, which no doubt won the favor of the critic who 
wrote the Art Poetique. 

It would be useless to waste our time upon the Araucana, with 
its three parts and thirty-five original songs, not forgetting the 
supplementary ones of Don Diego de Santisteban Ojozio It 
contains nothing; of the Christian marvellous. It is an historical 
narrative of certain events which occurred in the mouDtains of 
Chili. The most interesting feature in the poem is the figure 
made in it by Ercylla himself, who appears both as a warrior and 
a writer. The Araucana is in eiaht-line stanzas, like the Orlando 
and the Jerusalem. Italian literature at this period gave the 
law of versification to all European nations. Ercylla amo|lp; the 
Spaniards, and Spenser among the English, have adopte(y this 
kind of stanza, and imitated Ariosto even in the arrangement of 
their subjects. 



224 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Erc3'lla says : — 

No las damns, amor, no gentilezas, 
De cabelleros canto enamorados, 
Ni las muestras, regalos j ternezas 
De amorosos afectos y cuidados: 
Mas el valor, los hechos, las proezas 
De aquellos Espaiioles esforzados, 
Que a la cerviz de Arauco no domada 
Pusieron duro yugo por la espada. 

The subject of the Lusiad is a very rich one for an epic poem 
*.fe is difficult to conceive how a man possessing the genius of 
Cumoens should not have had the art to^turn it to better account 
thai* he has done. At the same time, it should be recollected 
that this is the first modern epic, that he lived in a barbarous 
age, ihat there are many pathetic^ and even sublime touches in 
the details of his poem, and that after all the bard of the Tagus 
was the most unfortunate of mortals. It is a false notion, worthy 
of our hard-hearted age, that the noblest works are produced in 
adversity ^-^ for it is not true that a man can write best under the 
pressure of misfortune. All those inspired men who devote 
themselves to the service of the muses are sooner overwhelmed 
by affliction than vulgar minds. A mighty genius speedily wears 
out the body which it animates; great souls, like large rivers, are 
liable to lay waste their banks. 

The manner in trhich Camoens has intermixed fable and Chris- 
tianity renders it unnecessary for us to say any thing of the 
marvellous of his performance. 

Klopstock has also committed the fault of taking the miarvel- 
lous of Christianity for the subject of his poem. His principal 
character is the Divinity, and this alone would be sufficient to 
destroy the tragic efiect. There are, however, some beautiful • 
passages in the Messiah. The two lovers whom Christ raised 
from the dead furnish a charming episode, which the mythologic 

• We nevertheless differ on this subject from other critics. The episode of 
Ines is, in our opinion, chaste and pathetic, but has been upon the whole too 
highly praised, and is far from having the developments of which it was sua- 
ceptible. 

2 Juvenal has applied a similar observation to the epic poet: 

Nam si Virgilio puer, et tolei'abilc deesset 
Hospitium, c.adcrent omnes a crinibus hydri, 
Surdu nihil gemeret grave buccina. 



FRENCH AND FOREIGN POEMS. 225 



times could never have produced. We recollect no characters 
recalled from the grave among the ancients, except Alceste, Hip- 
polytus, and Heres of Pamphylia.* 

Richness and grandeur are the particular characteristics of the 
marvellous in the 3Iessiah. Those spheres inhabited by beings 
of a different nature from man — the multitude of angels, spirits 
of darkness, unborn souls, and souls that have already finished 
the career of mortality, — plunge the mind into the ocean of ijn- 
mensity. The character of Abbadona, the penitent angel, is 
a happy conception. Klopstock has also created a species of 
mystic seraphs, wholly unknown before his time. 

Gessner has left us in his Death of Abel a work replete with 
tenderness and majesty. It is unfortunately spoiled by that sickly 
tincture of the idyl which the Germans generally give to subjects 
taken from Scripture; they are all guilty of violating one of the 
principal laws of the epic, consistency of mcinners, and transform 
the pastoral monarchs of the East into innocent shepherds of 
Arcadia. 

As to the author of NoaJi, he was overwhelmed by the richness 
of his subject. To a vigorous imagination, however, the ante- 
diluvian world opens a grand and extensive field. There would 
be no necessity for creating all its wonders : by turning to the 
Critias of Plato,^ the Chronologies of Eusebius, and some treatises 
of Lucian and Plutarch, an abundant harvest might be obtained. 
Scaliger quotes a fragment of Polyhistor, respecting certain tables 
written before the deluge and preserved at Sippary, probably 
the same as the Sippliara of Ptolemy.^ The muses speak and 
understand all languages : how many things might they decipher 
on these tables ! 



^ In Plato's Rejmhlic, book x. Since the appearance of the first edition, wo 
have been informed by Mr. Boissonade, a philologist equally learned and polite, 
that several other personages are mentioned by Ajjollodorus and Telesarchus as 
having been resuscitated in pagan antiquity. 

2 The Crif.as or Atlanticus is an unfinished dialogue of Plato. He describes 
an atlantic island that existed in the infancy of the world. Its climate waa 
genial and its soil fertile. It was inhabited by a happy race of mortals, who 
cultivated arts similar to those of Greece. This island, according to the beau- 
tiful tradition of the Egyptian priests, was swallowed up by an inundation 
prior to the deluge oi Deucaleon. 

'^ Unless we derive Sippary from the Hebrew word Sepher, which signifies a 

P 



226 3ENIUS OF CHRISTIANS ITY. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE HENRIAD. 

If a judicious plan, a spirited and well-sustained narrative, 
excellent versification, a pure taste, and a correct and flowing 
style, were tlie only qualities necessary for the epic, the Henriad 
would be a perfect poem : these, however, are not sufficient, for 
it requires besides an heroic and supernatural action. But how 
could Voltaire have made a happy application of the marvellous 
of Christianity — he who directed all his efforts to the destruction 
of that marvellous ? Such is, nevertheless, the power of religious 
ideas, that to the very faith which he persecuted the author of 
the Henriad is indebted for the most striking passages of his 
epic poem, as well as for the most exquisite scenes in his tra- 
gedies. 

A tincture of philosophy and a cold and grave morality be- 
come the historic muse ; but this spirit of severity transferred to 
the epic is a sort of contradiction. When, therefore, Voltaire, in 
the invocation of his poem, exclaims — 

From thy celestial seat, illustrious Truth, 
Descend 

he has fallen, in our opinion, into a gross mistake. Epic poetry 

Is built on fable, and by fiction lives. 

Tasso, who also treated a Christian subject, followed Plato and 
Lucretius^ in his charming lines beginning — 

Sai che la torre in mondo, ove piu versi 
Di sue dolcezze il lusinghier Parnasso, <fec. 

library. Josepbus {de Antiq. Jud., lib. i. c. 2) mentions two columns, one of 
brick, the other of stone, on which Seth's children had engraved the human 
eciences, that they might not be swept away by the deluge, which Adam had 
predicted. These two columns are said to have existed long after the time of 
Isoah. 

• "A3 the physician who, to save his patient, mixes pleasant draughts with 
the medicines proi^er for curing him, and, on the contrary, introduces bitter 
drugs into such aliments as are pernicious," <5;c. Plato, de Leg., lib. i. A ■ 
vluti pueriv ahsinthia tetra mcdentea, &c. Lucret., lib. v. 



THE HENRI AD. 997 

ami ^ § 

^^ There can be no good poetry where there is no fiction/' ob- 
serves Plutarch.^ 

"VYas semi-barbarous France no longer sufficiently cohered with 
forests to present some castle of the days of yore, with its port- 
cullis, dungeons, and towers overgrown with ivy, and teeming 
with marvellous adventures ? Was there no Gothic temple to be 
found in a solitary valley, embosomed in woods'/ Had not thd 
mountains of Navarre some druid, a child of the rock, who, be- 
neath the sacred oak, on the bank of the torrent, amid the howl- 
ing of the tempest, celebrated the deeds of the Grauls and wept 
over the tombs of heroes ? I am sure there must have been still 
left some knight of the reign of Francis I., who within his an- 
tique mansion regretted the tournaments of former days and the 
good old times when France went to war with recreants and in- 
fidels. How many circumstances might have been gleaned from 
that Batavian revolution, the neighbor, and, as it were, the sister, 
of the LeagTie ! The Dutch were just then forming settlements 
in the Indies, and Philip was receiving the first treasures from 
Peru. Coligny had even sent a colony to Carolina; the Chevalier 
de Grourgues would have furnished the author of the Henriad 
with a splendid and pathetic episode. An epic poem should em- 
brace the universe. 

Europe, by the happiest of contrasts, exhibited a pastoral na- 
tion in Switzerland, a commercial nation in England, and a nation 
devoted to the arts in Italy. France also presented a most 
favorable epoch for epic poetry; an epoch which ought always to 
be chosen, as it was by Voltaire, at the conclusion of one age 
and at the commencement of another ; an epoch bordering upon 
old manners on the (ne hand and new manners on the other. 
Barbarism was expiring, and the brilliant age of the great Louis 
began to dawn. Malherbe was come, and that hero, both a bard 
and a knight, could lead the French to battle, at the same time 
chanting hymns to victory. 

It is admitted that the characters in the Henriad are but pov" 



' If we were to be told that Tasso had also invoked Truth, we should reply 
that he has not done it like Voltaire. Tasso's Truth is a muse, an angel, a 
vague something without a name, a Christian being, and not Truth directli/ 
•personified, like that of the Henriad, 



228 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



traits, and this species of painting, of wliich Rome in her decline 
exhibited the first models, has been perhaps too highly ex- 
tolled. 

The portrait belongs not to the epic. Its beauties are destitute 
of action and motion. 

Some have likewise questioned whether consistency of manners 
be sufiiciently preserved in the Henriad. The heroes of that 
poem spout very fine verses, which serve as vehicles for the phi- 
losophical principles of Voltaire ; but are they good rej)resenta- 
tives of warriors such as they actually were in the sixteenth 
century? If the speeches of the Leaguers breathe the spirit of 
the age, are we not authorized to think that the actions of the 
characters should display this spirit still more than their words ? 
At least the bard who has celebrated Achilles has not thrown 
the Iliad into dialogue. 

As to the marvellous, it amounts to little more than nothing 
in the Henriad. If we were not acquainted with the wretched 
system which froze the poetic genius of Voltaire, we should be 
at a loss to conceive how he could have preferred allegorical 
divinities to the marvellous of Christianity. He has imparted 
no warmth to his inventions except in those passages where he 
has ceased to be a philosopher that he may become a Christian. 
No sooner does he touch upon religion, the source of all poetry, 
than the current freely flows. The oath of the sixteen in the 
cavern, the appearance of the ghost of Guise, which comes to 
furnish Clement with a dagger, are circumstances highly epic, 
and borrowed even from the superstitious of an ignorant and 
unhappy age. 

Was not the poet guilty of another error when he introduced 
his philosophy into heaven ? His Supreme Being is, doubtless, 
a very equitable Grod, who judges with strict impartiality both 
the Bonze and the Dervise, the Jew and the Mohammedan; but 
was this to be expected of the muse ? Should we not rather 
require of hev poetry, a Christian heaven, sacred songs, Jehovah, 
in a word, the mens divinior — religion ? 

Voltaire has, therefore, broken with his own hand the most 
harmonious string of his lyre, in refusing to celebrate that sacred 
host, that glorious army of martyrs and angels, with which his 
calents would have produced an admirable effect. He might 



THE HENRIAD. 229 



have found among our saints powers as great as those of the 
goddesses of old and names as sweet as those of the graces. 
What a pity that he did not choose to make mention of those 
shepherdesses transformed, for their virtues, into beneficent 
divinities ; of those Genevieves who, in the mansions of bliss, 
protect the empire of Clovis and Charlemagne ! In our opin- 
ion, it must be a sight not wholly destitute of charms for the 
muses, to behold the most intelligent and the most valiant 
of nations consecrated by religion to the daughter of simpli- 
city and peace. Whence did the Gauls derive their trouba- 
dours, their frankness of mind, and their love of the graces, 
except from the pastoral strains, the innocence, and the beauty, of 
their patroness ? 

Judicious critics have observed that there are two individuals 
in Voltaire — the one abounding in taste, science, and reason, and 
the other marked by the contrary defects. It may be questioned 
whether the author of the Henriad possessed a genius equal 
to Racine, but he had perhaps more varied talents and a more 
flexible imagination. Unfortunately, what we are able to do is 
not always the measure of what we actually accomplish. If Vol- 
taire had been animated by religion, like the author of Athalie, 
and like him had profoundly .studied the works of the fathers 
and antiquity, — if he had not grasped at every species of compo- 
sition and every kind of subject, — his poetry would have been 
more nervous, and his prose would have acquired a decorum and 
gravity in which it is but too often deficient. This great man 
had the misfortune to pass his life amid a circle of scholars of 
moderate abilities, who, always ready to applaud, were incapable 
of apprising him of his errors. AVe love to represent him to 
ourselves in the company of his equals — the Pascals, the Arnauds, 
the Nicoles, the Boileaus, the Racines. By associating with such 
men he would have been obliged to alter his tone. The jests 
and the blasphemies of Ferney would have excited indignation 
at Port Royal. The inmates of that institution detested works 
composed in a hurry, and would not, for all the world, have 
deceived the public by submitting to it a poem which had not 
cost them the labor of twelve long years at least; and a circum- 
stance truly astonishing is, that, amid so many occupations, these 

excellent men still found means to fulfil every, even the least 
20 



230 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



important, of tlieir religious duties, and to carry with tliem into 
society tlie urbanity of tlieir illustrious age.^ 

Such a school Voltaire wanted. He is greatly to be pitied for 
having possessed that twofold genius which extorts at the same 
time our admiration and our hatred. He erects and overthrows ; 
he gives the most contradictory examples and precepts; he extols 
the age of Louis XIV. to the skies, and afterward attacks in 
detail the reputation of its great men. He alternately praises 
and slanders antiquity; he pursues through seventy volumes 
what he denominates the ivretcJi, and yet the finest passages in 
his works were inspired by religion. While his imagination 
enchants you, he throws around him the glare of a fallacious 
reason^ which destroj'S the marvellous, contracts the soul, and 
shortens the sight. Except in some of his master-pieces, he con- 
siders only the ludicrous side of things and times, and exhibits 
man to man in a light hideously diverting. He charms and 
fatigues by his versatility; he both delights and disgusts you; 
you are at a loss to decide what form is peculiarly his own ; you 
would think him insane, were it not for his good sense, and a 
misanthropist, did not his life abound with acts of beneficence. 
You can perceive, amid all his impieties, that he hated sophists.^ 
To love the fine arts, letters, and magnificence, was so natural to 
him that it is nothino- uncommon to find him in a kind of ad- 
miration of the court of Rome. His vanity caused him, through- 
out his life, to act a part for which he w^ not formed, and which 
was very far beneath him. He bore, in fact, no resemblance to 
Diderot, Raynal, or D'Alembert. The elegance of his manners, 
the urbanity of his demeanor, his love of society, and, above all, 
his humanity, would probably have rendered him one of the most 
inveterate enemies of the revolutionary system. He is most 
decidedly in favor of social order, while he unconsciously saps its 
foundations by attacking the institutions of religion. The most 
equitable judgment that can be passed upon him is that his 



' It is much to be regretted that the excellence of these writers and their 
literary labors were so deeply sullied by their attachment to the cause of 
Jansenism. Though Voltaire Avas not the cotemporary of Pascal, he knew how 
to combat Christianity with the same weapons of ridicule that the latter had 
employed against the Society of Jesus, the great bulwark of Catholicism iu 
that age. T. ^ See note N. 



THE HENRIAD. 231 



inlidelity prevented his attaining the height for which nature 
qualified him, and that his works (with the exception of his 
fugitive poems) have fallen very short of his actual abilities — an 
example which ought to be an everlasting warning to all those 
who pursue the career of letters.^ Voltaire was betrayed into all 
these errors, all these contradictions of style and sentiment, only 
because he wanted the great counterpoise of religion; and he is 
an instance to prove that grave morals and piety of thought are 
more necessary even than a brilliant genius for the successful 
cultivation of the muse. 

1 "Voltaire's pen was fertile and very elegant; his obsen'ations are very 
acute, yet lie often betrays great ignorance when he treats on subjects of an- 
cient learning. Madame de Talmond once said to him, ' I think, sir, that a 
philosopher should never write but to endeavor to render mankind less wicked 
and unhappy than they are. Now you do quite the contrary; you are always 
writing against that religion which alone is able to restrain wickedness and to 
aflford us consolation under misfortunes.' Voltaire was much struck, and ex- 
cused himself by saying that he only wrote for those who were of the same 
opinion with himself. Tronchin assured his friends that Voltaire died in great 
agonies of mind. 'I die forsaken by Gods and men!' exclaimed he, in those 
awful moments when truth will force its way. ' I wish/ added Tronchin, * that 
those who had been perverted by his writings had been present at his death. 
It waa a sight too horrid to support. " Seward's Anecdotes, vol. v. p. 274. 



BOOK II. 

OF POETRY COXSIDEEED I^^ ITS RELATION TO MAN 



Clnir.uttrs. 



CHAPTER I. 

NATURAL CHARACTERS. 

From the general survey of epic poems we shall pass to the 
details of poetic compositions. Let us first consider the natural 
characters, such as the husband and wife, the father, the mother, 
&c., before we enter upon the examination of the social charac- 
ters, such as the priest and the soldier ; and let us set out from a 
principle that cannot be contested. 

Christianity is, if we may so express it, a double religion. Its 
teaching has reference to the nature of intellectual being, and 
also to our own nature : it makes the mysteries of the Divinity 
and the mysteries of the human heart go hand-in-hand ; and, by 
removing the veil that conceals the true God, it also exhibits man 
just as he is. 

Such a religion must necessarily be more favorable to the 
delineation of characters than another which dives not into the 
secrets of the passions. The fairer half of poetry, the dramatic, 
received no assistance from polytheism, for morals were sepa- 
rated from mythology.* A god ascended his chariot, a priest 
offered a sacrifice; but neither the god nor the priest taught what 
man is, whence he comes, whither he goes, what are his propen- 
sities, his vices, his virtues, his ends in this life and his destinies 
in another. 

In Christianity, on the contrary, religion and morals are one 
and the same thing. The Scripture informs us of our origin ; it 

* See note 0. 
232 



ULYSSES AND PENELOPE. 233 



makes us acquainted with our twofold nature ; the Christian 
mysteries all relate to us ; we are everywhere seen ; for us the 
Son of God is sacrificed. From Moses to Jesus Christy from the 
apostles to the last fathers of the Church, every thing presents 
the picture of the internal man, every thing tends to dispel the 
obscurity in which he is enveloped; and one of the distinguishing 
characteristics of Christianity is that it invariably introduces 
man in conjunction with God, whereas the false religions have 
separated the Creator from the creature. 

Here, then, is an incalculable advantage which poets ought to 
have observed in the Christian religion, instead of obstinately 
continuing to decry it. For if it is equal to polytheism in the 
TnarvellouSy or in the relations of supernatural things, as we shall 
in the sequel attempt to prove, it has moreover the drama and 
moral part which polytheism did not embrace. 

In support of this great truth, we shall adduce examples ] we 
shall institute comparisons, which, while they refine our taste, 
may serve to attach us to the religion of our forefathers by the 
charms of the most divine among the arts. 

We shall commence the study of the natural characters by 
that of husband and ivi/e, and contrast the conjugal love of Adam 
and Eve with the conjugal love of Ulysses and Penelope. It will 
not be said of us that we have purposely selected inferior sub- 
jects in antiquity, in order to heighten the effect of the Christian 
subjects. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE HUSBAND AND WIFE. 



Ulysses and Penelope. 

The suitors having been slain by Ulysses, Euryclea goes to 

awaken Penelope, who long refuses to believe the wonderful story 

related by her nurse. She rises, however, and, "descending the 

steps, passed the stone threshold, and sat down opposite to 

Ulysses, who was himself seated at the foot of a lofty column, 
20* 



234 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY, 



and, his eyes fixed on the ground, was waiting to hear what his 
wife would say. But she kept silence, for great astonishment 
had seized her heart."^ 

Telemachus accuses his mother of coldness. Ulysses smiles, 
and mak€S an excuse for Penelope. The princess still doubts ; 
and, to try her husband, commands the bed of Ulysses to be pre- 
pared out of the nuptial chamber; upon which the hero imme- 
diately exclaims, " Who, then, has removed my couch ? Is it no 
longer spread on the trunk of the olive, around which I built 
with this hand a bower in my court ?" 

" He said; and suddenly the heart and knees of Penelope at 
once failed her; she recognised Ulysses by this indubitable sign. 
Soon running to him, bathed in tears, she threw her arms about 
her husband's neck; she kissed his sacred head, and cried, 
* Be not angiy, thou who wast always the wisest of men ! Let 
me not move thy wrath, if I forbore to throw myself into thine 
arms. My heart trembled for fear a stranger should betray my 

faith by deceitful words But now I have a manifest 

proof that it is thj-self, by that which thou hast said concerning 
our couch, which no other man has ever seen, which is known to 
ourselves and to Actoris alone, (the slave whom my father gave 
to me when I came to Ithaca, and who is the only attendant on 
our nuptial chamber.) Thou restorest confidence to this heart 
rendered distrustful by grief.' 

^' She said : and Ulysses, unable to restrain his tears, wept 
over this chaste and pnident spouse, whom he pressed to his 
heart. As mariners gaze at the wished-for land, when Neptune 
has shattered their rapid vessel, the sport of the winds and the 
mountain billows, — when a small number of the crew, floating on 
the bosom of the ocean, swim to the shore, and, covered with 
briny foam, gain the strand, overjoyed at their narrow escape 
from destruction, — so Penelope fixed her delighted eyes on Ul3'sses. 
She could not take her arms from the hero's neck, and rosy- 
fingered Aurora would have beheld the sacred tears of the royal 

pair had not Minerva held back the sun in the wavy main 

Meanwhile, Eurynome, with a torch in her hand, goes before 
Ulysses and Penelope, and conducts them to the nuptial chamber. 



' Odyaa., b. xxiii. v. 88. 



ULYSSES AND PENELOPE. 235 

The king and his consort, after yielding to the bland- 
ishments of love, enchanted each other by the mutual recital of 

their sorrows Scarcely had Ulysses finished the last 

words of his history, when beneficent slumber, stealing upon his 
weary limbs, produced a sweet forgetfulness of all his cares/' 

This meeting of Ulysses and Penelope is, perhaps, one of the 
most exquisite specimens of ancient genius, Penelope sitting in 
silence, Ulysses motionless at the foot of a column, and the 
scene illumined by the blaze of the hospitable hearth — what 
grandeur and what simplicity of design ! And by what means 
do they recognise each other ? By the mention of a circumstance 
relative to the nuptial couch. Another object of admiration is, 
that the couch itself was formed by the hand of a king upon the 
trunk of an olive-tree, the tree of peace and of wisdom, worthy 
of supporting that bed which never received any other man than 
Ulysses. The transports which succeed the discovery; that deeply 
afiecting comparison of a widow finding her long-lost husband 
to a mariner who descries land at the very moment of shij)- 
wreck ; the conjugal pair conducted by torch-light to their 
apartment; the pleasures of love followed by the joys of grief 
or the mutual communication of past sorrows; the twofold de- 
light of present happiness and recollected misfortunes ; that sleep 
which gradually steals on, and at length closes the eyes and lips 
of Ulysses, while relating his adventures to the attentive Pene- 
lope : all these traits display the hand of a master, and cannot be 
too highly admired. 

It would be a truly interesting study to consider what course 
a modern writer would have pursued in the execution of some 
particular part of the works of an ancient author. In the fore- 
going picture, for instance, there is every reason to suspect that 
the scene, instead of passing in action between Ulysses and Pe- 
nelope, would have been described in the narrative form by the 
poet. This narration would have been interspersed with philoso- 
phical reflections, brilliant verses, and pretty turns of ex23ression. 
Instead of adopting this showy and laborious manner, Homer 
exhibits to you a pair who meet again after an absence of twenty 
years, and who, without uttering any vehement exclamations, 
seem as if they had parted only the preceding day. Wherein, 
vhen, consists the beauty of its delineation ? In its f7'iith. 



236 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



The moderns are, in general, more scienlific, more delicate, 
more acute, and frequently even more interesting, in their com- 
positions than the ancients. The latter, on the other hand, are 
more simple, more august, more tragic, more fertile, and, above 
all, more attentive to truth, than the moderns. They have a better 
taste, a nobler imagination : they work at their composition as a 
whole, without affectation of ornament. A shepherd giving way 
to his lamentations, an old man relating a story, a hero fighting, 
arc sufficient with them for a whole poem; and we are puzzled to 
te^i how it happens that this poem, which contains nothing, is 
nevertheless better filled than our novels that are most crowded 
with incidents and characters. The art of writing seems to have 
followed the art of painting : the pallet of the modern poet is 
covered with an infinite variety of hues and tints ; the poet of 
antiquity composes all his pieces with the three colors of Poly- 
gnotus. The Latins, placed between the Greeks and us, partake 
of both manners ; they resemble Grreece in the simplicity of the 
ground, and us in the art of detail. It is probably this happy 
combination of both styles that renders the productions of Yirgil 
so enchanting. 

Let us now turn to the picture of the loves of our first pa- 
rents. The Adam and Eve of the blind bard of Albion will 
form an excellent match for the Ulysses and Penelope of the 
blind bard of Smyrna. 



CHAPTER in. 

THE HUSBAND AND WIFE, (CONTINUED.) 

Adam and Eve. 

Satan, having penetrated into the terrestrial paradise, surreys 
the animals of the new creation. Among these, 

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall. 

Godlike erect, with native honor clad, 

In naked majesty seemed lords of all, 

And worthy seemed : for in their looks divine 

The image of their glorious Maker shone. 



ADAM AND EVE. 237 



I 



Truth, wisdoni, sanctitude severe and pure, 

(Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,) 

Whence true authority in men : though both 

Not equal as their sex not equal seemed ; 

For contemplation he and valor formed, 

For softness she, and sweet attractive grace; 

He for God only, she for God in him. 

His fair large front and eye sublime declared 

Absolute rule, and hyacinthine locks 

Round hove his parted forelock manly hung 

Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad? 

She as a veil down to the slender waist 

Her unadorned golden tresses wore 

Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved 

As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied 

Subjection, but required with gentle sway. 

And by her yielded, by him best received. 

Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, 

And sweet reluctant amorous delay. 

Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed : 

Then was not guilty shame ; dishonest shame 

Of Nature's works, honor dishonorable. 

Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind 

With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure, • 

And banished from man's life his happiest life. 

Simplicity and spotless innocence ! 

So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight 

Of God or angels, for they thought no ill; 

So hand-in-hand they passed, the loveliest pair 

That ever since in love's embraces met; 

Adam the goodliest man of men since born 

His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.' 

Our first parents retire beneatli a tuft of shade hy a fresh 
fountain's side. Here they take their evening repast amid the 
animals of the creation, which frisk around their human sove- 
reigns. Satan, disouised under the form of one of these crea- 
tures, contemphites the happy pair, and his enmity is almost 
overcome by their beauty, their innocence, and the thoughts of 
the calamities which through his means will soon succeed such 
exquisite felicity — a truly admirable trait! Meanwhile Adam 
and Eve enter into sweet converse beside the fountain, and Eve 
thus addresses her husband : — 

That day I oft remember, when from sleep 
I first awaked, and found myself reposed 



' Paradise Lost, b. iv. 



238 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Under a shade of flowers, mucli wondering where 

And what I was, whence thither brought and how. 

Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 

Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 

Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved 

Pure as the expanse of Heaven : I thither went 

With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 

On the green bank, to look into the clear 

Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. 

As I went down to look, just opposite 

A shape within the Avatery gleam appeared, 

Bending to look on me : I started back, 

It started back; but, pleased, I soon returned; 

Pleased, it returned as soon, with answering looks 

Of sympathy and love. There had I fixed 

Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, 

Had not a voice thus warned me: What thou seest, 

What there thou scest, fair creature, is thyself. 

With thee it comes and goes; but follow me, 

And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 

Thy coming, and thy soft embraces; he 

Whose image thou art, him thou shalt enjoy, 

Inseparablj^ thine; to him shalt bear 

Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called 

Mother of human race. What could I do 

But follow straight, invisibly thus led? 

Till I espied thee, fair, indeed, and tall, 

Under a platan ; yet, methought, less fair. 

Less winning soft, less amiably mild. 

Than that smooth watery image. Back I turned; 

Thou, following, criedst aloud, ''Return, fair Eve; 

Whom flyest thou? whom thou flyest, of him thou arij 

His flesh, his bone. To give thee being, I lent 

Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart. 

Substantial life, to have thee by my side 

Henceforth an individual solace dear. 

Part of my soul, I seek thee, and thee claim. 

My other half." With that, thy gentle hand 

Seized mine; I yielded, and from that time see 

How beauty is excelled by raanly grace 

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. 

So spake our general mother, and with eyes 
Of conjugal attraction, unreprovcd, 
And meek surrender, half embracing, leaned 
On our first father. Half her swelling breast 
Naked met his, under the flowing gold 
Of her loose Tresses hid. He, in delight 
Both of her beauty and submissive charmi. 
Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter 



ADAM AND EVE. 239 



On Juno smiles when he impregns the clouds 
That shed May flowers, and pressed her matron lip 

With kisses pure 

The sun had fallen 

Beneath the Azores. Whether the prime orb, 
Incredible how swift, had thither rolled 
Diurnal, or this less volubil earth, 
By shorter flight to the east, had left him there, 
Arraying with reflected purple and gold 
The clouds that on his western throne attend. 
Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad. 
Silence accompanied: for beast and bird, 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
Were slunk, — all but the wakeful nightingale; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung. 
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament 
With living sapphires. Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rode brightest till the moon, 
Rising in clouded majestj^, at length. 
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. 

Adam and Eve, having offered up their prayers to the Almighty 
retire to the nuptial bower. Proceeding to its inmost covert, 
they lie down upon a bed of flowers. The poet, remaining as it 
were at the entrance, entones a canticle to Hymen, in the presence 
of the starry host. Without preliminary, and as by an impulse 
of inspiration, he bursts forth into this magnificent epithalamium, 
after the manner of the ancients : — 

Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source 
Of human offspring ' 

Thus, after Hector's death, does the Grecian army all at once 
sing : — 

Hpa/i£0a nsya T[vSog, CTri'pvonsu 'E>cropa Slop, 
" We have gained great glory ! We have slain the divine Hector 

In like manner, the Salii, celebrating the festival of Hercules, in 
Virgil, abruptly shout : — 

Tu nubigenas, invicte, bimembres, &c. 

"Thy arms, unconquered hero, could subdue 
The cloud-born Centaurs and the monster crew !" 

This hymn to conjugal fidelity puts the finishing stroke to 



24C GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



Milton's picture, and completes tlie delineation of the loves ol 
our first parents.^ 

We are not afraid that the reader will find fault with us for 
the length of this quotation. ''In all other poems/' says Vol- 
taire, ''love is considered as a weakness. In Milton alone it is a 
virtue. The poet has had the art to remove, with chaste hand, 
the veil which elsewhere conceals the pleasures of this passion. 
He transports the reader into the garden of bliss. He makes 
him a partaker, as it were, of the pure raptures with which Adam 
and Eve are filled. He rises not above human nature, but above 
corriijot human nature ; and, as there is no example of such love, 
neither is there any of such poetry."^ 

If we compare the loves of Ulysses and Penelope with those 
of Adam and Eve, we shall find that the simplicity of Homer is 
more ingenious, — that of Milton more magnificent. Ulysses, 
though a monarch and a hero, has, nevertheless, something rustic 
about him. His artifices, his attitudes, his words, bear the stamp 
of unpolished nature. Adam, though but just created, and with- 
out experience, is already the perfect model of man. It is evi- 
dent that he must have sprung, not from the womb of a feeble wo- 
man, but from the hands of the living God. He is noble, majes- 
tic, perfectly innocent, and at the same time full of intelligence. 
He is such as the sacred volume describes him, worthy to be re- 
spected by the angels and to walk in the garden with his Creator. 

As to the two females, if Penelope is at first more coy and 
afterward more tender than the mother of mankind, the reason 
is, because she has been tried by adversity, and adversity both 
creates distrust and heightens the sensibilities. Eve, on the 
contrary, is complying, communicative, and attracting; nay, she 
has even a slight tincture of coquetry. How, indeed, can she 
possess the gravity and reserve of Penelope, when all around 
smiles upon her? If affliction contracts the soul, happiness ex- 
pands it. In the former case, we find not deserts enough wherein 

' There is another passage in which the loves of Adam and Eve are described. 
It is in the eighth book, where Adam relates to Raphael the first sensations of 
his life, bis conversation with God on solitude, the formation of Eve, and his 
first interview with her. Tliis passage is not inferior to that which we have 
just quoted, and likewise owes all its beauty to the spirit of a sacred and pure 
religion. 

* En8ui 8ur la Poesie Epique, chap. ix. 



ADAM AND EVE. 241 

to bury our sorrows; in the latter, not hearts enough to which to 
communicate our pleasures. Milton, however, meant not to make 
his Eve a perfect character. He has represented her as irresist- 
ible by her charms, but somewhat indiscreet and loquacious, that 
the reader might foresee the calamity into which this failing in 
the sequel hurries her. ' 

We may here remark, that in the description of the pleasures 
of love the great poets of antiquity evince at once a simplicity 
and a chastity that are astonishing. Nothing can be more modest 
than their idea, nothing more free than their expression. We, 
on the contrary, inflame the senses, though we spare the eye and 
the ear. Whence arises this magic of the ancients, and why does 
a perfectly naked Yenus by Praxiteles charm the mind rather 
than the eye ? Because it exhibits a beautiful ideal, which makes 
a deeper impression upon the soul than upon matter. Then the 
genius alone, and not the body, becomes enamored. It is this 
that burns with desire to unite closely with the master-piece. All 
terrestrial ardor is extinguished and absorbed by a love more 
divine. The impassioned soul entwines itself round the beloved 
object, and spiritualizes even the grosser terms which it is obliged 
to employ in order to express its feeling. 

But neither the love of Penelope and Ulysses, nor that of Dido 
for ^neas, nor of Alceste for Admetus, can be compared with 
the tenderness displayed by the august pair in Eden. The true 
religion alone could have furnished the character of a love so 
sacred, so sublime. What an association of ideas I — the nascent 
universe — the ocean affrighted, as it -were, at its own immeusity^^ — 
the planets pausing, as if terrified in their new career — the angels 
thronging to behold these wonders — the Almighty surveying his 
yet recent work — and two beings, half spirit and half clay, 
astonished at their bodies, still more astonished at their souls, 
essaying at one and the same time their first thoughts and their 
first loves ! 

To make the picture perfect, Milton has had the art to intro- 
duce the spirit of darkness as a deep shadow. The rebel angel 
seeks out the two noble creatures. From their own lips he learns 
the fatal secret. He rejoices in the idea of their future misery; 
and this whole description of the felicity of our first parents is 
in reality but the first step toward tremendous calamities. P*^' 
21 Q 



242 GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 



nelope ;iud Ulysses remind us of past troubles; Adam and Eve 
point to impending woes. Every drama is fundamentally d( fect- 
ive that represents joys without any mixture of sorrows past or 
sorrows in reserve. AVe are tired by unalloyed happiness and 
shocked by absolute misery. The former is destitute of recollec- 
tions and of tears, the latter of hope "and of smiles. If you 
ascend from pain to pleasure, (as in the scene of Homer,) you 
will be more pathetic, more melancholy, because the soul then 
looks back on the past and reposes in the present. If, on the 
contrary, you descend from prosperity to tears, as in Milton's im- 
mortal poem, you will be more sad, more sensitive, because the 
heart scarcely pauses on the present, and already anticipates the 
calamities with which it is threatened. We